It is 950 A.D. Witch burnings where at an all-time high thanks to a hen in Fen who was caught laying brown colored eggs instead of the socially accepted white but thanks to four great wizards, the magic folk can find sanctuary in the safe walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The school is opened and teeming with bright pupils and all Helga Hufflepuff wants to do is make a school song which she's been trying to suggest in the weekly check in meetings the four founders have. Unfortunately, half of the members aren't paying attention to her.
"Helga I'm too busy to be creative!" Godric decried, fidgeting in his seat like a child. "Do you know how many lions I have to punch in the face before tomorrow's morning?"
Helga and Salazar are too stunned to reply and Rowena's nose is deep within a book's crack making her deaf to the discussion.
"Six. I have to punch six lions."
"Is…that in correlation to the curriculum you have set for tomorrow…or…?" Helga inquired, confused.
Godric looked even more confused. "'Curriculum'?"
Helga sighs. "Rowena, what say you?"
Rowena didn't even register she's being called at first until Helga called her again and even then she doesn't raise her eyes from the book.
"Have you guys read this Homer's guy works? It's phenomenal."
"No, because nobody can read Greek, Rowena." Helga says, exasperated.
"Actually nobody can read Greek. Even the Greeks couldn't read or write their own language until the 5th century B.C." spoke up Salazar lazily.
Rowena gasped, moved enough by a thought to put down the book, exclaiming, "Tragedy! Simple tragedy! I should translate this man's work so that way future students won't be limited by ignorance to enjoy epic poetry from two thousand years prior!"
With this she takes out her wand, cries "Accio quill and parchment!" At once a floating quill and parchment appear. She charms them to write while she dictates in a harsh foreign language, completely eliminating herself from the conversation.
Helga sighs deeply.
Godric raises his hand. "If Rowena can ignore you does that mean I can too?"
"Well…I thought this could be a nice thing all four of us could do together—"
"Salutations everyone!" Godric cries as he put on a fancy white glove reserved for punching and unsheathing a sword from his hip and dashes out the door.
Rowena doesn't even notice what is going on.
Contrary to popular belief, Salazar was the only one of the founders who saw the disappointment that bedaubed Helga's elegant face. He knew how badly she wanted all of them to be closer, to spend more time together, for what point would it be for the magical community to be united if the founders couldn't live by the creed?
"I'll help you Helga." He spoke up at last.
Helga, who at this point was banging her head against the mahogany table all while Rowena absentmindedly ignored her, halted surprised. "You will?"
Salazar gave her an unintentionally creepy smile which any other person would have recoiled from but Helga, in her infinite kindness, wasn't repulsed but rejoiced in it. She was the only founder who looked past his monkey-features, his premature baldness, his creepy ability to talk to snakes and his even creepier name and saw a kind soul.
Once the Great Hall had been emptied of its gourmandized students, Salazar Slytherin and Helga Hufflepuff got trashed on some fine mead and went to work on this school song.
"I'm telling you Helga—nothing rhymes with 'Hogwarts'!" Salazar said in-between giggles, his usually gray face rouged and a smile plastered on his usually somber face.
"You're such a quitter you know that!" Helga said good-naturedly as she crossed out yet another line on her parchment. "What about 'Hogwarts, for smart…warts'?"
Salazar shook his head. "So we're a school for smart toads now?"
Scribble, scribble, scribble. "Hmmm, how 'bout 'Can't i-mag-ine a school of mag-ick well you're in luck/ you've hit the buck/ Wel-come to Hog-warty Warts'?"
Salazar shakes his head again, chuckling. "See? Nothing rhymes with Hogwarts! You meant as well just do 'Hogwarts Hogwarts Hoggy Warts Hogwarts'!"
Helga paused, thinking his suggestion over then burst out laughing. "Oh god no! We'll think of something better than that!"
That laugh, what sounded like a mix of a wheezing pig and a goose with a smoker's cough in reality, was a melodious concord of church choirs to Salazar. He could have watched the voluptuous red head laugh for eternity.
Her laugh eventually faded into a chuckle and then into a contented sigh and thus they sat in silence for a few heartbeats. Salazar had to look away from her for he felt uncomfortable staring at a woman for so long, even one as beautiful as she, what with her olive-skin and crimson lips. Her beauty inspired deep insecurities in him, making his anti-handsomeness all the more profound to him: his black hair that refused to stay on the top of his head but loved to mock him by staying on the sides and back, his crooked smile which he was mindful of hiding, his beady eyes that made children in the village he grew up in convinced he was a man-badger. Salazar felt like the dirty snow of early spring and he wished how he could just melt from the earth and leave, so someone like Helga (no only Helga, just Helga) couldn't be hindered by his hideousness.
But then, he saw, in the farthest corner of his sight, that she was looking at him and that she was smiling even when she thought he wasn't looking, she was smiling at him. And when he turned his head to look back, she didn't retract her gaze but eagerly searched for his and they held shared, for one glorious second, softened eyes and tendered smiles.
Then Salazar did something that in their repressed-anti-sexuality-British era—he puckered his lips and used them to steal a kiss, which keep in mind in the 10th century England was the equivalent of ducking underneath the table and performing cunninlingus on her right then and there.
Helga drew back from this momentary lapse of affection, gasping for breath like a shocked fish. She held his chest and stared at him with a strong emotion he couldn't decipher.
"Salazar!" She cried, panting. She took several deep breaths before saying, "You—you know that I'm—"
"I know! I know and I apologize deeply for being so forward but," His dark eyes were soft and wet like soil after a good rain, "Helga—I'm afraid I have to speak ill of your husband—but he doesn't deserve you!" (What's with Slytherins telling the red-heads their obsessed with who they should've married?)
Helga didn't talk for her countenance was morose and her eyes casted downward as if in shame. Salazar turned completely in his seat and pleaded,
"Helga, I worship you! I—I've changed so much since I've met you! In my past life, I would have never agreed to letting in the mud—" (He stopped himself) "The muggle-borns. But you've enlightened me, Helga! You—with your kindness and your compassion—you didn't lambast me like Godric or merely label me as a lost cause like Rowena—you saw what I could not have seen back then. I owe so much because of you. Helga…"
The Lady of Hufflepuff is now the same shade as her hair when he breathes her name. She looks up at him and gives him a smile, but he sees it's weak and wavering.
"Salazar…I…if…"She can't saw any of those words though. Those words that, while honest and no doubt what he longs to hear, would inspire a hope that she could not afford to encourage. "You know what happens to women who leave their husbands. I might as well go out there and declare myself a witch."
"Damn social obligations!" Salazar cries vehemently. "Don't women deserve the same happiness as men? Why, if your husband decides tomorrow he doesn't want to be married, he can—!"
Helga puts her hand on top of his and makes him malleable. She speaks now in a deliberate but doting voice and when he looks to find her glorious hazel eyes he finds they are as if designated for his gaze alone:
"I made a vow Salazar. 'For better or for worse' and I have no intention of breaking that troth. I must remain loyal."
It's a final say in their debate and Salazar hangs his head in defeat. Helga tries to apologize but he interrupts her,
"No. No, you must've." He gives her a small but genuine smile. "My feelings are my responsibility." (Yeah Snape, take note)
Helga can't help but give him a wide smile. "Thank you Salazar."
Salazar's smile fades in weakness but there's respite in the pain for he recognizes while Helga and he can never be, at least she was kind enough to still be his friend. And that was enough for him.
There's an awkward silence for a while until Salazar speaks up again and says,
"My daughter is to be married anon."
Helga nods. "Congratulations. Is it anyone I know?"
"Doubtful. The bridegroom is a muggle."
He said it so causally it was all the more shocking for Helga to hear. She's almost unable to pick her jaw from the floor. "Salazar!"
He gives her a nod and then a smile slides forward. "Wasn't it meant to happen this way? The daughter of pureblood falls for a muggle man?"
They laugh together in the irony.
"Does that mean…?" Helga asks with caution but Salazar already knows.
"She says he knows but she also says he loves her." He shrugs. "What more can a father ask?"
Helga can't stop from smiling, though apart of her is envious of Salazar's daughter's good fortune (how lucky is she, to have a wise father who sees her future as of her decision and not a business venture?). She reaches over and touches Salazar's hand again.
"You Salazar are a good father."
He would have rather her compliment another aspect of his life but he squelched those lustful thoughts and humbled himself in knowing at least Helga saw goodness in him when so many others saw the opposite.