I don't own anything. Cred for idea/prompt goes to RationalElderberry.
Major Character death (multiple) but don't worry, she gets better!
Helga was not a very skilled witch. She could at most be called a hedgewitch, which didn't bother her as much as the fact that it would limit her options in marriage. She wanted a kind husband who would give her children, that was all she wanted.
Her father had looked her in the eye when she said as much and told her that if she could find such a match he would do his best to see it through; with the hard times they had fallen on, he couldn't guarantee a dowry, and he couldn't lie and say that a bride price would have been offensive.
That she achieved her wanted match despite her magical prowess - or lack thereof, rather - felt more magical than Magic itself. He was an older man, her husband, vastly more magically inclined than she was, and seemed to mostly be interested in the live-in help she could offer. He paid the bride price, let her keep her name, and told her father not to worry.
The one complaint she could raise was that she never had more than one child - a son who was the apple of her eye - but in all, Helga was content. She tended her garden, kept her chickens, and sheared her sheep - all without the magic her husband seemed to breathe but didn't see fit to use for her.
He died while she was still young, something she should have grieved more than she did, but she was rather too busy keeping the small homestead going and her son – her Silvan – fed, clothed and happy. Grieving for a marriage of convenience could come later.
Life trudged on, as is its wont, the passing of time tracked more by how the seasons changed and Silvan grew than anything else. He grew up, large and strong, far kinder than his father and far more powerful than her.
Everything was good, and then came war.
Silvan, her beautiful, self-taught son, went off to fight someone else's war and he never came back. She didn't know he was dead, but he never came back to the little cottage she called home, and she drew the only logical conclusion.
Helga died, ten years after her son's disappearance, of nothing so much as a broken heart.
Then she woke up again, on the eve of her wedding to a man she didn't – never would – love. It must have been a dream, a nightmare; she couldn't possibly have lived an entire life only to wake up more than thirty years earlier…
When Silvan was born – again? – she decided she had either lived her entire life once before, or she had dreamt it all and that was now coming true. She really hoped she hadn't dreamt it all, mostly because that would make her a seer and that was something she really didn't hold with. Humans weren't supposed to know the future, was her adamant opinion. Nevertheless, she had been warned, and while routine was something she loved, she felt living her life in the same way a second time wasn't for her.
During evenings and nights, when she'd put her son to bed and her husband had retired, Helga studied. She read through her husband's books and scrolls, grasping as much of the theory as she could and attempting the practical application of spells as much as her magic allowed her.
When her husband died, this time she could talk to Silvan about what his tutor had taught him, instead of just listening to him speak about it, as it had been before.
War came again, but this time she would not let it take her son away. She followed Silvan, a few days after he set off, her now slightly trained magic capable of a tracking spell – maybe enhanced by her desperate desire to find and save her son.
Despite her studying, despite her not letting him just leave, Helga did not find Silvan in time. Instead, she found carnage, a blood-soaked battlefield, many wizards dead beneath fraying, burning banners. The banners had been resplendent once, deep red colour with a rampant lion featured in gold. Now, there were only tatters left.
A stray curse from one of the fighters caught her, and she knew no more.
When Helga woke up on the eve of her wedding, the third time she experienced that very same day, she came to the conclusion that there was some deep, unknown magic at work, to make her relive her life, over and over. With magic like that working against her, there wasn't much she could do but follow along.
Helga got married to a man she didn't love, bore him a child she did, and during every waking moment that he wasn't aware of her movements she studied magic. She found that the spells came to her a little easier this time, and she still remembered the theory she had read through previously.
When Silvan set out to fight in a war he had no business being involved in, she followed him less than two days later and caught up with him before he reached the battlefield he had died on last time. That just meant she saw, first-hand, when he was caught and killed in an ambush, only for her to follow soon after.
Gryffindor stuck with her, however, when she woke up for the fourth time on the eve of her wedding. The Lord her son died for was called Gryffindor.
She kept studying, learning as much from helping Silvan as from reading on her own.
Nothing helped – time passed, a war began, and she woke up on the eve of her wedding.
The eleventh time through, when the practical magic was getting almost easy to grasp and she couldn't really be called a hedgewitch anymore, she ran. She waited until her husband had died and then she took Silvan and she ran. Helga didn't stop running until she could no longer understand the language being spoken, and there they settled. Seeing Silvan become a father was a dream come true for Helga. Everything was well.
Then she woke up, on the eve of her wedding. Despair hit her then, what was she to do? What was the purpose of her torture? It seemed that no matter what, she was doomed to repeat her life, over and over again.
Helga lived her life again, mostly by muscle memory. Two weeks before she knew Silvan would go off into a war he wouldn't return from, she set out instead. A week of travel later, she happened upon a large camp, flying the red and gold banners of the Lord Gryffindor. It took a lot of fast-talking, and one well-timed confusion spell, but she managed to finagle a meeting with the Lord in question.
She had, over the course of her many lives, grown more powerful, her magic now enough to gather her some respect, even in the camp of warriors. When she introduced herself as a protector of the forests, she was taken on her word.
"Lord Gryffindor," she began, scrutinising the man seated in front of her. He was a large man, in the way of sinewy muscle and heavy bone structure rather than fat, and the one word she would use to describe him would be leonine. "May I ask – for what is this war fought? The portents, they are not… they are not promising a bright future for this endeavour."
She neglected to mention that her 'portents' was just herself living the same life over and over again, she felt that might be taking it a step too far.
"They took my wife, Mistress Helga. They took her away from me, and not a single portent will make me stop attempting to avenge her," he replied, voice steady but sounding a hundred years older than his visage belied. His words rang with all the conviction of a vow, and she could see there would be no convincing him differently.
She nodded her acquiescence and left, for what else could she do? She couldn't very well force him to abandon a war effort, not one he was so set on seeing through to the bitter end – his bitter end, she knew.
Helga managed to find out just what had happened, ever thankful for her plain looks allowing her to blend in well with the servants in the camp – and if there was something she knew, it was that servants gossiped, and they would always be happy inform someone new of all the nuances in an intrigue.
"This 'as been goin' on fer nigh fifteen years now, y'know," the young witch peeling potatoes pointed out, thin nose twitching with glee at having gossip to share. The heavy-set, matronly witch next to her tutted, but kept chopping – and, Helga couldn't help but notice, listened intently. "The Lord's best friend, tha's who did it, 'e killed the Mistress."
"No! His best friend?" Helga gasped in reply. She wasn't really much for gossip, but she knew what theatrics were appreciated, and where.
"Well, no' really the best friend, 'is men though." The young witch shrugged, peeling potatoes so quickly her hands were a blur.
"If you ask me, 'twas was an horrible time, that," the matronly witch said, her chopping slowed almost to a halt, gaze caught somewhere far away outside the enchanted window above the workbench.
"Aye… 'is men killed the Mistress, and when 'is Lordship killed the men in a rage, the mate, 'e… 'e declared war on 'is Lordship over the loss of 'is men. No' a word about the Mistress," she continued, heedless of the interjections from the woman beside her. Helga felt as if it all were rehearsed – not as a lie, but rather to convey the gossip, and the horrors within, in the best way possible.
"Who was the friend, then?" she asked, nonchalantly, trying to appear as unbothered by it as she possibly could. Perhaps – perhaps she was meant to prevent this one death to prevent all the senseless death that followed it?
"They were all so very close growing up," the matron said, sending the chopped vegetables into a boiling pot with a single wave of her wand. "Lord Gryffindor, the Lady Rowena and… him. Salazar, Lord Slytherin."
Lord Salazar Slytherin.
When Helga once again woke up on the eve of her wedding day, she had a plan. It might not be a good plan, but it was serviceable and would hopefully be easy to stick to.
If her calculations were correct and if she wasn't as iffy on the passage of time, as she had once been, the murder of Lord Gryffindor's wife would take place the year Silvan was to turn six, giving Helga roughly four years between her husband's death and that of Lady Rowena, four years in which to establish herself as part of the Gryffindor Keep staff. If she could get close to the Lord and Lady, she could protect them.
It turned out to be rather easy, getting taken on in the Keep. It might have been due to her showing up newly widowed with a very young child on her hip, both of them soaked to the bone due to an unexpected storm, but Helga decided to count it as a successful part of her plan nonetheless.
She caught sight of Lord Gryffindor and Lady Rowena soon after, and it was many years of training – and all the more years of living – that let her bite her tongue and keep the exclamation internal. Helga recognised her, despite the multitude of years that now separated Helga from her. They had played together when they were young, been in the same tutoring lessons – back when Helga's brother was to grow up to be a Lord, and their house hadn't yet fallen on hard times.
She was stationed in the kitchen, cooking and keeping the kitchen clean to be her main duty – as she had Silvan with her, she was also to watch the Keep's children every third afternoon.
Despite it all, the day it happened she was watching the children, too far away to help. She was, however, close enough to know what had happened – and what to prevent in her next life.
All it took to be assigned as Lady Rowena's lady-in-waiting was a slip of the tongue, one Helga had very carefully kept herself from her first time in the keep – and just as carefully allowed through the next.
"Of course, Lady Ravenclaw – apologies, Lady Gryffindor," Helga said in response to – something the Lady had asked for. She had been too elated that the time had come to actually listen to what Lady Rowena had said, she'd realised first after letting the slip through.
"Now that is a name I haven't been called for years now. Who are you to use a name so long left behind?" Lady Rowena asked, scrutinising Helga as if she could divine all her secrets by merely looking at her. That look brought it home to her just how threadbare she was, from her frizzy hair down to her shoes, a single misstep from falling apart.
"I am Helga, my Lady," she said hesitantly, feeling more unsure of herself than she had for many years. This was unbroken ground, even for her. "Formerly of Hufflepuff."
"Helga? Helga, who I had embroidery with when I was little?"
"Helga who convinced you to skive off embroidery, my Lady," she admitted with a wince. It might not be the best of ideas, reminding her employer about the fact that she regularly used to skive off of tasks.
"I have missed you so! Whatever happened to you? Inquiries after your whereabouts have led nowhere!"
"I was - Oleg lost his gold and then his life, and the last thing my father - may Merlin rest his soul - did was marry me off to Master Smith. I bore a child who may be Heir Hufflepuff, but… My husband, Merlin rest his soul, was not a wealthy man. I cannot afford a heritage test, and I haven't been back to our Keep since my wedding day." Helga shrugged, leaning on the handle of her mop, looking up at Lady Rowena through her lashes. She was ashamed, airing her family's dirty laundry like this, but - Lady Rowena had been her closest friend when they were little girls, and Helga had never known her to be the judgemental sort.
"Oh my dearest Helga! Such tragedy that have befallen you… I had heard of the loss of Oleg, and I know Alford grieved, as did I." Lady Rowena shook her head, a sheen to her eyes that showed her remembered grief to be real. "Well, there is nothing for it! Helga, dear, you simply must become my lady-in-waiting. I would have you near, and your opinions and thoughts have always been refreshing to me."
Helga was surprised, later that night, as she lay in a far more luxurious bed than any she had experienced since the loss of her brother. She had hoped that her plan would work, but never had she expected everything to work out as well as it did.
Once again Helga was in the upper echelons of Wizarding society, and luckily her status as a lady-in-waiting meant she was still expected to be subservient - after so many years, so many lives, all lived on her own or as a maid, to be a Society Lady would have required some training. Training she really shouldn't need - after all, it hadn't been more than ten years since House Hufflepuff's fall from grace.
Time passed, as is its wont, and the closer it came to the day when Lady Rowena had been killed in every other life, the tenser Helga became. Despite it all, despite every precaution Helga had taken, it was pure luck and happenstance that she was close enough to Lady Rowena to save her.
It had been a day like any other - the Lord and Lady holding court in their Great Hall, visitors, servants and commoners alike spread around the hall. In one corner were three boys - Helga thought they might have seen fifteen summers, if that - roughhousing like puppies scrapping for treats. Clearly, one of them was not as happy about the game as the two others, and suddenly a sinisterly crimson curse flew astray.
Helga saw it out of the corner of her eye, as the pulsating beam grew ever nearer to Lady Rowena. Both Lord and Lady had their attention on the petitioner in front of them, too caught up to see the curse, too unaware to avoid it or halt it in any way.
It was the work of a moment for Helga to conjure up a wooden platter, the piece of wood appearing mid-air to intersect the curse before it reached Lady Rowena. As the platter exploded, the Great Hall went silent, the sudden absence of sound deafening on its own.
"My Lady! Are you unharmed?" Helga yelled frantically as she gathered her skirts and ran towards Lady Rowena.
"Me? Helga, my dearest, you are the one who is bleeding!" Indeed, as the platter exploded a majority of the splinters had hit Helga's unprotected face and arms, and rivulets of blood were appearing over every inch of uncovered skin.
"Boys! What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing?!" came a deep voice from the doorway, a voice Helga, through all her lives, had never heard. The wizard who it belonged to was tall and imposing, wearing a green and silver cloak, and looked as worried as he sounded wroth.
"Salazar! Are these miscreants yours?" Lord Godric called to the newcomer, standing up to greet him.
"Miscreants is the least to call them, Godric - that curse could have killed your Lady wife, had it hit," Lord Salazar spat, glaring hard enough at the boys that Helga was surprised they hadn't caught fire. It was clear that Lord Salazar forced himself to calm down before turning to Lord Godric again and sweeping into a deep bow. "Lord Gryffindor, my deepest apologies for this incident. The three will be suitably punished, and any restitution you demand will be yours."
"Salazar, don't talk nonsense! Your punishment of them will be enough to make them think twice before casting lethal spells in friendly spats, I think," Lord Godric said as he clapped Lord Salazar on the shoulder, leaving his hand there to tow him over to the slight dias upon which Lady Rowena were currently healing Helga's scrapes. "I do not think you have met Helga? My wife's Lady-in-waiting, and except for her son, the last Hufflepuff."
"The last Hufflepuff?" Lord Salazar bowed to Helga, who hurriedly pulled her hand from Lady Rowena's grasp as to curtsey back. "Madame, your whereabouts have been widely debated for the past decade."
"Lord Slytherin, I - I was not aware that such was the case," Helga couldn't help but stutter, the man's intense green eyes spellbinding her, his scrutiny leaving her weak in the knees in a way her husband had never managed. Abruptly she was thankful for the finery Lady Rowena had demanded she wear, and for the care she has been able to show both her hair and magic in the years since she had come to Gryffindor Keep.
"Helga is my dearest friend, Salazar, I do hope there is nothing to fret about?" Lady Rowena's tone was glacial in a way Helga had never heard it, and that it was in seeming protection of her warmed her. "I would be most upset if anything were to happen to her."
"Not to worry, dear Rowena, not to worry - Helga is as much part of the family as I am, and Salazar would not harm that, I am sure," Lord Godric soothed his wife, but the threat in his voice was badly disguised. Lord Gryffindor had never been one for covert threats, but nevertheless, his words warmed Helga as much as his wife's had.
"A witch who inspires such loyalty in my dearest friends deserves nothing less from me," Lord Salazar proclaimed, once again bowing deeply to Helga.
The shock of her injuries and of succeeding with her self-imposed mission was catching up to her, she was sure, for what other reason was there possibly for blushing bright enough to match the Gryffindor red drapes?
It was the birth of a lifelong friendship and relationship, all of which would go down in history - but that part is a story for another day.
Me, and story, can be found on AO3 under same name.