Note: Hello all! More drabbles for you – sorry it took me so long to get more done. I'm sure I can come up with some excuse, like exams or coursework, but the truth is more likely linked to me being a massive procrastinator! Ah well! XD Thanks to those who reviewed last time: TrueBeliever831, TamariChan, OhTex and Lena Knight. Much appreciated!

Baking

Helga adored baking – she couldn't imagine her life without it. She spent hours in the Hogwarts kitchens, trying out endless new recipes for their students and then teaching them to the house elves. Presently, she was experimenting with a new recipe for blackberry tarts. The tips of her fingers and the corners of her nails had been dyed blood red by the berries.

The door opened wide; a burst of laughter and loud male conversation preceded Godric and Salazar's entrance.

Helga wiped her floury hands on her apron. She planted them on her hips. "Where have you two been?" she asked in a tone usually reserved for naughty first years – or Peeves.

They both froze and fell instantly silent. Godric blinked as though the kitchen was the last place he had expected to find Helga. "Oh."

"That is not an answer, Godric."

He and Salazar exchanged a look. They were both windswept and bedraggled, their faces red with cold. "We were in the forest looking for specimens for Godric's magical creatures class," Salazar explained. He spoke with the air of a man considering each word carefully. "And we travelled a little further than we intended to – quite a bit further."

Helga frowned at them. "How much further?"

"Do you know The Unicorn's Tail?"

"Not personally. But I gather from the name that it's an inn?"

The men shared another glance. "Well… yes," said Godric.

Helga sighed. "Did you find any specimens for your class, Godric?" She knew before she opened her mouth that he hadn't.

"Oh look," said Godric, distracting himself with the house elves who were peering up at the men in nervous awe. "And who are you?" he asked one particularly tiny female elf who squeaked and quivered at being personally addressed.

"Flossie, sir," the elf quivered. "Would sir like – like something to eat?"

Godric laughed – a booming sound that filled the room. "Of course I would!" he assured the elf, allowing himself to be dragged to the other side of the room.

Helga heaved a sigh and turned back to her cooking. She scarcely noticed Salazar's continued presence until she felt his breath on her cheek and she realised with a start that he was at her shoulder. "Salazar," she said, playfully admonishing him, "if you want my attention, ask for it."

"You are rather presumptuous," he answered. He took a step back and folded his arms. Helga detected an almost huffy haughtiness in his tone – more so than she usually could, anyway.

"Oh, really, Salazar!" she cried. "Was an afternoon of Godric's company – of a friend's company – that torturous to you?"

"No, no," he said. "I can't say what exactly bothers me. It's – it's – " But he failed in attempting to make his point, and Helga just laughed.

"Tell me," she asked, her eyes glinting mischievously. "Was much mead consumed this afternoon? Be honest."

"Yes!" he said. "On Godric's part at least. As for myself, barely one flagon. You know I can't stand that slop, Helga."

"You do tend to make a fuss whenever I serve it." She smiled, but quickly became serious. "Then you truly are melancholy?"

He mused on this. "No. Merely… bored."

"Bored?" Boredom was not a word in Helga Hufflepuff's vocabulary. In fact Helga, whose House was founded on hard work and perseverance, detested the word. "Come here, then," she said to the surprised Salazar, grasping him by the wrist. "You can help me cook."

"Ah – no – " Salazar hastily protested, but discovered to his dismay that Helga was unexpectedly strong. She dragged him to a bowl full of uncooked pastry and without further explanation plunged his bare hands into it. He yelped, like a wounded puppy. "That's cold! And how do you know my hands are clean?"

"They always are, Salazar," she reminded him. "I expect you wore silk gloves in that grubby little inn of Godric's. Eh?"

He refused to reply.

"Come on, knead the flour into the dough – like this!" Helga frowned. "It's too wet. I think we need more flour." She grabbed a bag and poured it into the bowl, pausing suddenly to blow some in Salazar's direction.

She giggled as he blinked and spluttered. "Oh for goodness sake, Helga!"

At that moment, Godric came around the corner, his arms laden with pasties, booming, "Thank you, Mossy!"

"Er, Flossie, sir."

"Oh, yes. Quite." He paused, finally noticing Salazar who was up to his elbows in dough and whose face was streaked white with flour. "Oh dear, Salazar, what's happened to you?"

"Shut up!" Salazar stormed out with a petulant swish of his travelling cloak, leaving Godric baffled.

"What on earth did you do to the poor man, Helga?"

She leaned forward on her elbows, the picture of innocence. "He was helping me bake."

Advice

A cool spring breeze blew over the trees of the forest and whirled among the turrets of the castle. The last of the winter snow had only just thawed; the grass was still damp under Rowena and Helga's feet. They walked side by side across the tranquil grounds.

Helga spoke rapidly. "He is so brisk sometimes that I can hardly believe he has a beating heart beneath all that stone. And yet, other times, he's, well, he's positively – "

"Silky?" Rowena ventured, an eyebrow arched.

Helga dissolved into a fit of giggles. "I was going for 'warm', but yes, silky. He is indeed that!" After her mirth had vanished, however, she lapsed into a sigh. "But honestly, Rowena, I walk into our potions classes not knowing whether I'm going to encounter a block of ice or an honest, human creature."

A long silence followed this speech. Helga stole glances at her friend, wondering what Rowena's considered verdict would tell her. With Rowena, it was inevitable that some reading between the lines would be required. "I would advise caution, Helga," she said. "Salazar is a good friend to all of us, but an undoubtedly complicated man all the same. I would – " But here Rowena hesitated. "Maintain distance," she said at last. "I think that would be wisest."

Wise. Helga mulled the word over in her head. She turned towards Rowena, reading the tiny words engraved across the diadem on her friend's head: "Wit beyond measure, is man's greatest treasure." She was not like Rowena. Her world was one of emotion, not logic. But though they were very different women, she thought she understood what Rowena was saying. Like a venomous snake, Salazar was perhaps best kept at arm's length.

Grief

He was waiting for her. Helga drifted along empty corridors, numb against the sunlight that burst through windows and the cold flagstones beneath her feet. She felt like a ghost, as light as air and just as fragile. There was a mess to be cleaned up and students to reassure, but Helga had never felt less like working in her life.

She knew he was waiting for her. Drawn to him, the only one that could understand, she reached Godric's office and pushed the door open without knocking. He looked up when she entered, but didn't move from his seat behind the desk. His face was not bloodied or even bruised. Rather it was bloodless – stark white against his wild red hair. "Helga – forgive me for saying this – you look dreadful."

She laughed. It was meant to be a laugh, at least, but it sounded more like a pained hiccough. "I could say the same to you," she told him, forcing the words from her choked throat. It was as if she hadn't spoken in an age. "Godric, tell me honestly, are you injured? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Huh!" He thumped the desk top with his fist. "Course not, course not, my dear. I'm as right as I'll ever be."

They both knew that this was at best an exaggeration and at worst a downright lie. While he looked a looked a little weary, Godric was mostly untouched. Mentally, however, Helga felt less sure. Banishing your greatest friend in a bitter duel had to be a scarring experience. Without another word, Helga slipped behind the desk and sank to the floor beside Godric. She leant her head on the crook of his arm. All her energy, her will to fight and recover what Hogwarts had lost, vanished. As she knelt there, Godric's hand awkwardly patting her hair, Helga let her grief escape.

Something had died today – a part of Hogwarts. Salazar was everything to her, to them all; they all meant the world to one another. But now… now he was gone, as good as dead. "There," Godric muttered, "there, there, Helga. Come on." They were meaningless words of comfort. They made the pain better, but they made it worse too. Helga wanted to laugh at the twisted irony of it all.

This was a different kind of anguish – it was the irony that Godric was not the man she had fallen for, but rather the man she should have.

A/N: Thanks for reading and please review if you have time! :)