As the seasons marched on, the months got colder. Little snowflakes drifted gracefully from the sky and landed on the earth like tiny crystals. Soon enough, the whole ground was coated in white, including most of the vegetation. The cottage roofs were blanketed with snow and horses struggled to trudge through the sea of white. The village was brimming with rosy cheeked children, laughing and screaming whilst throwing snowballs at each other.

People dressed in warm clothing roamed the streets and visited the many petite shops, particularly the bakery. It was currently show casing various gingerbread figures and all sorts of sweet treats. The baker beamed proudly as customers lined up to purchase his goods. Business was booming.

"Helga!" He called to the kitchen. "Don't let the cakes burn!"

"I won't!" The girl replied. She sat on a stool, watching the dough as it rose with fascination. She always had a knack for baking, and looked forward to taking over her father's business when he retired or passed away. She could just see herself now, making all sorts of exciting and creative figures and baking cakes that were beyond the realm of imagination.

Suddenly, she was snapped out of her fantasy when she heard a commotion coming from the front. She her father's voice was loud and angry, though the other voice sounded much younger. Her curiosity getting too much to bear, she picked up her golden skirts and ambled towards the noise.

Soon enough, she saw her father, red faced and scowling, yelling at an adolescent boy. Helga's jaw dropped as she hid behind a rack of recently baked bread. The boy looked around sixteen or seventeen, with a mop of auburn hair. He had a tall, but thin figure and the beginnings of a beard began to show on his face. But what made him most fascinating to her were his eyes. They burnt a bright green, and Helga swore she saw tiny flickers of flame dance within them.

"You know I don't have that much money! Five gold pieces and no more!" The boy shouted his face redder than her father's. She could just feel the heat resonating from both of them.

"Either pay the given amount or go home! I have no time for your games, boy!" Her father snarled.

"But you can't! W-we need food! M-my mum…she's sick and-" The boy stuttered. Strangely, Helga now felt an urge to help the handsome stranger. His expression was now pleading, no longer headstrong or stubborn like before. She even caught a glimpse of the fire in his eyes getting fainter. At once she stepped out of her hiding place and walked past her father and towards the boy, standing beside him defensively. She was shocked at the boy's height. He must've been at least six feet tall compared to her meagre four.

"Father, please just make an exception just this once! His mother must be really ill." The baker's gaze suddenly turned to her, his hazel eyes identical to hers.

"Helga, I thought I told you to stay in the kitchen and look after the cakes." He said, his angry tone dropping slightly. Helga hung her head and rubbed her arm.

"I know but…I jus' got curious, sorry."

Her father's gaze softened and a small smile appeared on his moustachioed lip.

"It's alright lass, now go in an' look afta' the pestries."

Helga strode back to the kitchen at once. Unbeknownst to the boy and the baker, Helga took four gold pieces that she had been saving from her purse and snuck them into the boy's small pouch, making sure neither had noticed her.

"Sir, I promise I'll pay you back! Please." The fire haired boy pleaded again. He instinctively reached for his pouch, causing a small smile to appear on Helga's rose lips. She watched behind the rack as the boy's expression became bewildered.

"What the..." Bug-eyed, he gazed upon the sight, thinking that maybe it was some kind of miracle. Four golden pieces immediately tipped out on the counter, much to the baker's glee.

"See son," He said beaming, his large hairy arms on his hips. "I told ya that ya jus' hav' ta' look." The boy stood silent and astonished as her father took the rest of the money and wrapped the warm bread in a sack and handed it to him.

"There ya go, and make sure not to catch the death of cold." Her father said. Though they just had a rather nasty argument, Helga's father, Will, did not have a single hateful bone in his body and thought of all the children as his.

The crimson haired teen marched out, still dumbfounded. Helga couldn't resist the urge to follow after him. She was able to quickly sneak past her father and catch up to him, though found it difficult as he went at a rapid pace.

Wow, he's fast. Helga thought to herself. She almost tripped trying to catch up to him. She froze after he turned to her, his green eyes burning into her hazel ones. Helga's heart stopped. She talked to tonnes of boys before, but they were usually just children, most four or five years her junior. He was older and more mature, which made him quite intimidating to her.

"Um, hi." She greeted, rubbing her arm again. The boy stood still. At first he was glaring, though his gaze turned soft after he realised it was just her, and he allowed a broad smile to crawl upon his lips.

"Hello." He replied, more confident. He stepped nearer, closing the distance between them.

"You're the baker's daughter, aren't you? I knew it! You were the one who saved me from my little dilemma." He beamed. Helga felt the heat crawl up her cheeks and she shuddered slightly. He was incredibly handsome when he smiled.

"Well, yes…." She responded. She stroked a golden lock from her face. "When I heard your mother was sick, I couldn't just stand by and let you leave empty handed. After all, my mother died when I was seven."

The boy's face dropped and his expression saddened.

"Sorry."

"It's okay, no need to worry over something that's out of your control." Helga attempted to fight back the tears and forced a smile. She could still here her mother's heart-warming laugh and sweet, soothing voice, how her golden curls flowed down her shoulders when she danced and how she missed the swish of her elegant dress. Her mother was a vision, though death decided to snatch her away and make her his forever. Helga sobbed still thinking about her memory.

The boy's lips formed a reassuring smile.

"My little golden angel," He said sweetly, causing Helga's face to turn crimson. He held out a gloved hand for her to shake. "Godric Gryffindor…and you are?"

Helga gazed at his palm and up at his chiselled face. It seemed warm and welcoming. Helga suddenly felt much safer and took his hand in hers.

"Helga Hufflepuff."