Fic: Looking for clouds
Fandom: Harry Potter, Founders universe
Pairing: Helga/Salazar. Squint and you'll see Godric/Rowena as well.
Rating: PG - 13
Genre: drama and romance
Beta: the amazing leanstein.
Disclaimer: they're not mine, and I didn't make any money with this fic.
A/N: this pairing had eaten my brain in just couple of days. I think I read everything about them that I could get my hands on. It just wasn't enough, so I decided to write something on my own. I hope I did them jusitce.

Summary: Helga sees the world from Salazar's point of view. He isn't happy about it.

At the end it doesn't really matter who was right.

If he is honest with himself, truly honest, then he has to admit that she is a better person than him. This is why he would never forgive himself, if anything happens to her.

At first he was fueled by blinding anger. She just would not see his reasoning. What she was doing was too risky; and for what? For whom? She would get in the middle of Muggle's fight, their ignorance and prejudice. All of this for people she couldn't trust. She might have known them once, but there was no saying what they would do now with Helga the witch.Innocent people burning all across the land didn't concern him as much as the possibility of the same happening to Helga – if that made him a cold, cruel man, then he was exactly that.

But, don't you see, Salazar? It is the exact same thing. Everyone fears what they don't know! Isn't this your same reasoning? They don't know us and they believe in horrible things about us which aren't true, and we don't even try to prove them wrong. And what are you proposing? That we close ourselves and be no better than -"

"No! Don't be so naive, Helga. As much as you would like to, not all people mean well!"

"Is this something you are saying from your own point of view?"

It was the first time they had a fight like that one. It's not like they never clashed or bickered back and forth about teaching issues before; the four of them rarely agreed with each other- each having their own stubborn way of dealing with things. Helga usually pointed out that it made them all better; that it pushed them onwards.

"All that's behind this is someone's fear fueling the hatred and disdain. I cannot allow them to be burned for a crime that doesn't even exist. Nobody chooses what they're born to be, a wizard or not!"

She wrapped herself in her warmest coat and left; as if she was trying to live Godric's philosophy.

As the days blended together, going by invariably, and the snow started to fall, Salazar's anger and pride melted into worry he wasn't willing to show. Rowena and Godric knew of this, of course; and Godric attempted to calm him. But all of their conversations resulted in ugly fights. Helga would say that the two of them were too similar to be truly different.

Rowena disagreed with Salazar's initial intention to simply follow Helga because she wanted to make a plan. She was the strategist among them, aiming to reach the middle of her target. Godric was more preoccupied with matters of security – not his own, but that of his friends. Impulsive as he was sometimes, he was generous, and put everyone else before himself. At first Salazar felt detached from them, overwhelmed.

She was missing. They were all dealing with guilt – they let her go alone. The sole thought was colder than the winter seizing the hold of the landscape stretching around their home. The great hall echoed with their disagreements; and for the first time he realized how a path to hell could be paved with good intentions.

Finally, there is news- definite, and not very encouraging. If they waited, it might be too late. They make a plan. Salazarmakes a plan and Godric agrees to it, whereas Rowena comes up with details to make it safe, that will make it work. Salazar makes a plan- Rowena makes sure it's safe and that it will work. When Godric sees it, he agrees to the plan.

"This is not like you," Rowena confronts Salazar inside the stable later. Her piercing gaze scrutinizing his every movement, her eyes following his hurried preparations for the journey. "To do something this-"

"Uncalculating?" he provides for her, saddling his horse with haste. "Impulsive, Godric- like?" he continues, fixing her with his gaze. A small smile barely reaches her concerned eyes.

"Something that doesn't bear any use for you," she says, but the words don't carry any bite. His hands pause, a realization slowly sinking in. He looks at Rowena, bright and steady like a cloudless day, until her eyes lock on his- as if she's found something she was searching for. "Oh, Salazar," she says. "I haven't thought something could hold sentimental value for you. I haven't really hoped."

This time she does smile, and he doesn't bear to look at her. He doesn't say anything; just simply finishes his preparations and focuses on his immediate purpose- leaving Rowena's thoughts and implications safely locked away.

Perhaps she is right and this is just another display of his ultimately selfish attitude – he will help others if he gets something out of it for himself. However, he also knows that right now, Helga would give him one of her unwavering, calm looks and say that he was still capable of doing good, which counted more than his thoughts or beliefs.

He believes in everything Helga doesn't; but to her, he is a good man nonetheless. He doesn't want to prove her wrong.

The first time Helga and Salazar meet, she almost runs into him and knocks him over. Moments like these are rare; after all Rowena doesn't agree to this kind of silliness quite often. She comes up running after Helga and they end up standing in the rose garden, appearing utterly disheveled and undignified. A stranger looks at them, his face registering something akin to unpleasant surprise. Perhaps they have startled him, she thinks.

"So much for world's greatest witches," Godric says amusedly, coming up behind the stranger. Helga observes the man, taking in his appearance – he is tall and dark haired; handsome face with a distant, almost detached expression. Godric claps him on the shoulder. "Rowena, Helga... This is Salazar."

"I apologize, kind sir," Helga even bows, eyes gleaming and her cheeks flushed, but the stranger doesn't comment. She can feel her good mood fall slightly when he doesn't even give recognition to her kindness, but her interest remains. "This isn't how we intended to welcome you." So this must be Godric's friend he was telling them about?

Salazar doesn't say anything, but he gives her a small nod.

"Godric," teases Rowena, "is it possible that this friend of yours is so very much unlike you?"

"Indeed he is, my dear. Were the two of you chasing each other through the garden?"

"It is Helga's garden, she can do with it as she pleases," Rowena teases him back. "which we did. With Helga's approval."

Godric laughs, and Salazar gives Rowena a tight smile. Then his eyes meet Helga's. She finds it difficult to hold his gaze.

Rowena and Godric start to bicker back and forth for a few moments and then Godric whisks Salazar with him, to show him the rest of the ruined castle and the adjoining property. As Rowena marches away, dignified even in her raggedy dress, with a flower wreath sitting askew on top of her dark hair, Helga stares after the men for a few moments.

Just before they walk down the path leading to the lake she looks back, only to catch Salazar turning back as well. He turns around quickly, following Godric on the way toward the castle, rays of sunlight caught in his thick black hair.

At first she tries not to think of him, or their fight. Later, she barely has time to think at all, with two dozens women and children hidden away with her and nothing but her own protective charms shielding the small farm in the valley. The snow doesn't stop falling for days, and leaving is too much of a risk right now. She must endure now, in any way possible, and save the people she whisked from the hands of certain death.

Not all of them have magical blood – some women do, attempting to hide it even from themselves, but most children, with hearts untainted with fear and hatred, display certain magical traits. It doesn't matter to Helga much if they are magical or not, for every living soul should be helped if possible. But in the long nights she feels Salazar's words creeping upon her, and she wonders, what if someone isn't as benevolent as her? What if someone repays her attempts to help with betrayal? They were her friends, these women. They ran through fields and creeks and plucked flowers together, but now they try to hide how terrified they are of her power, even though she saved them from certain death in flames.

She sighs at her feeble attempt not to think of the fight she had with Salazar just before she left. She doesn't regret leaving; she doesn't regret her attempt to save these women and their children from unfair and cruel persecution. She is still angry with Salazar though, hurt by his words, though there is more. The people she is attempting to save look at her like she is the reason for their predicament and all their misery. Ignorance is, Salazar's voice echoes in her mind. What if she was – is - simply naive? What if – oh God – what if he was right?

"Lady Helga?"

A small girl approaches, seeming scared.

"What is it, Maggie?" Helga crouches down, her face leveling with the child.

Maggie points toward the windows, shielded by protective charms. She speaks in thin, scared voice, "I think there's someone out -"

But before Maggie's thought is complete she can hear something – someone – just outside the door. Everyone around her, two dozen souls, freeze in fear and she stands in the middle of the room, their sole defender. What would Godric say now? Would he laugh at the irony of things? His calm and collected friend in the middle of the battle she didn't wish upon herself. All she wanted was to prevent needless suffering, but there is no time for fears now. It comes down to sword and magic, as Godric often says. She thinks of her friends when she lifts her wand, wishing more than anything else to see them again.

She doesn't expect to see himwhen the door opens and the snow rushes inside. It's not what she would expect or hope, for she is not a fool and she knows her friends well. She knows Salazar is least likely to do this, but it's him who is here.

The room falls silent as the door closes behind him – a tall, dark man with snow in his hair, breathing harshly, with a sword on his left side, eyes searching for a sign of danger. Helga gasps silently when their eyes meet. All her anger dries up, disappearing underneath exhaustion and fear she's been feeling all this time. Relief grows rapidly, with each step he takes towards her, until he is so close, right there, and she stares into his eyes and his familiar face.

"Helga," he says. She hears the undertones of the single sound he chokes out, sorrow and guilt and fear. It's not just her foolish heart; she knows him well enough, and knows he won't be apologizing. Not in words. But he is here, the action speaking louder than any words could. Before she can utter a word she falls against his chest, and then they're hugging each other, her hands clutching him tight; his hand on her back, in her hair, his lips against her forehead. She lets it all go, lets herself forget the harsh words and the hurt, burying her face against his chest. She is safe now, theyare all safe, and she doesn't care in the slightest what his exact motive is.

It takes several moments until they can pull apart. She is almost unwilling to do so. The entire room starts breathing again, and there is hope on most faces, while some still harbor fear. At first she wants to tell him, look at the hope, but she chooses to stay silent. He will not take any credit for it anyway; she is just happy that he is here. Among the three of her friends, it's Salazar she wanted to see the most.

His hands are cold, and she keeps holding them. "Are you hungry?" she asks.

His smile is small and tired as he shakes his head no. He will not admit to exhaustion or hunger, just like she wouldn't; and it occurs to her that they are similar in some strange way. "I was worrying that you are hungry," he says, his hand touching her face freely. They don't touch like this, they barely make physical contact in normal circumstances and she feels strange, almost isolated from everything around her. "But you will feed me nevertheless," he adds.

"I will. I will," she answers, holding onto him just a little while longer.

"You are too kind, too accepting," he says, walking slowly next to her. His posture seems relaxed enough and his eyes are fixed somewhere in front of them most of the time. It's not a real discussion, it's just yet another among their conversations. "People might hurt you."

She gives him one of her bright smiles. He doesn't realize that he's badly hiding his concern. She doesn't point it out to him, that she can see right past his calm facade. He would be too uncomfortable to put his inner thoughts, concerns, and emotions on public display. He is very unlike Godric, or even Rowena; he prefers keeping things for himself, silently observing. Perhaps that is why they became rather close – because she was just as quiet as him.

She did enjoy provoking him out of his somberness.

"You, my dear Salazar, are being quite silly."

As always he frowns at the dissonance of their tones, and she doesn't fail to laugh, finding his reaction amusing.

"I'm being silly?"

She laughs while he's looking at her, perplexed and amused and perhaps just a little bit hurt.

"Oh, I didn't mean to offend you. I didn't mean anything bad. All I meant is that you are always seeing the world so -," she pauses to think, looking at his eyes, "so dark and mean. It's not like that."

"It's not?" he is half serious, attempting to match her tone without sounding too merry, causing her to shake her head in disbelief.

"It's not. I am kind and accepting, but I am not stupid. You might just miss the sunshine while you're carefully looking for the clouds."

He stops for a moment, watching her walk through the meadow without a worry on her mind. She turns around, to smile at his perplexed expression. There is something in his eyes – something that causes a flutter in her chest and a slight blush in her cheeks. She slows down, so he can catch up with her. When he reaches her he hands her a flower – a rare kind of lily and her eyes widen in surprise. Somehow she had walked past it, probably too wrapped up in their conversation.

"Perhaps you are right," he says, as he strokes the flower she is holding with his index finger. "But there is an advantage to looking carefully, you know." His eyes are almost smiling and she can't decipher his look, but she feels her cheeks continue flushing. They're both looking at the flower in her hand instead of each other.

"Just when I thought you couldn't surprise me any more," she says. This time he does smile, seeming quite pleased with himself. They continue walking side by side in silence.

He can't stop looking at her all night long.

He had never gotten along well with Muggle originated customs, or celebrations in general. He was never fond of large crowds either. The streets are crowded, despite the cold. There is noise and laughter and sounds of joy; all of which makes him feel even more detached than he usually does. He certainly did not sing the songs along with the rest of the people there, and it didn't help that Godric tasked him to keep an eye on a small child while he had to do something more important.

Which, essentially, meant holding a sleepy little girl – one he recognized from Helga's refuge.

And that is how she finds him – awkwardly holding a child asleep against his shoulder, feeling more lost than he's willing to admit – should the girl wake up and, heaven forbid, start crying for her mother, he would be completely helpless to calm her. Except with some sort of spell, and he is fairly certain nobody would appreciate that. Not that he is really helpless.

Suddenly she's standing in front of him, amusement and surprise spreading over her face.

"Salazar," she says, observing the unlikely scene in front of her. It's an expression she makes when she is delighted with something, and he feels even more miserable when she covers her mouth with her small hand. She walks up to him.

"Oh, just hand her to me," she says and for a moment they are carefully passing the sleeping child between them. She smiles, the small girl curling into her naturally. His hand floats in the air, somewhere between previously occupied shoulder and the girl's hair. Helga smiles at him again, and he just stands there, unsure what to do with himself.

It's been barely a month since she's returned, and after they relocated the Muggles to non wizarding villages and everything had eventually settled down. It was like a divide had opened between them – something that no amount of magic could mend; a certain distance. He felt guilty, he still does, and she was uncharacteristically quiet most of the time.

He's attempting to find a topic for a conversation – it used to be easy – when she touches his hand lightly. He looks at her, having trouble keeping all his thoughts and emotions under control.

"Would you," she inhales a shallow breath, looking both uncertain and hopeful, "would you walk with me? I should take her to her mother."

"Of course," he says.

And so they walk. Slowly and away from the crowd and finally he starts to relax. Finallysomething within him loosens.

They reach a house and return Maggie to her mother, turning around and starting to walk back towards the celebrations. Even if they feel a bit more comfortable in each other's presence, it seems that she, of all people, is looking for words now.

It takes a few moments before he prompts her to speak.

"I am assuming you were going to tell me something," he says. He can see the center of the village now, and hear and see people gathered there. They slow down their steps simultaneously.

"I- ," she starts and then pauses, looking troubled.

"Yes?" he prompts patiently. She closes her eyes and sighs.

"You were right," she says. This time he stops in his tracks.

"Helga-"

"I was helping them, but all they could see was a witch," she explains, a bitter and sad tone slipping from her lips; and if he is right, then there are tears under her downcast lashes.

He comes closer; stands in front of her. It takes a few moments until she looks up at him – sad and subdued light flickering in her eyes. He purses his lips, offers her a tame smile -

"But there were some who accepted your help with gratitude," he offers.

"I came to see for myself what you were telling me," she presses on. He doesn't know how to feel – partly because what he's been saying, what he was warning them all of – is somehow validated. But at the same time he feels bad for her. How ironic, he thinks, because he is the one advocating the practice not to spare their students of hardships and unfairness. And yet, it hurts to see Helga like this, hurt and disappointed by the world.

"I am sorry," he offers. She looks at him, eyes widening. "I am glad that you are safe. And you did save them, in spite of their ignorance."

They share a very long look, and it feels like winter melting away. When they turn towards the crowd, to complete their slow journey back, Helga sneaks her hand under his arm, her palm a small weight on his bicep.

The cold seems to disappear as they walk back.

Thank you for reading! Please be kind and leave me a comment. :)