The Founders Four: United

by S.T. Le

The story of the founding of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the 10th Century CE. Everyone knows that Hogwarts was founded by four of the most brilliant but disparate wizards. But what not everyone knows is the story of how they found each other, the depths of their relationship, and the joy and heartache that came from it. Part 1 of the 2-part Founders Four Series

3. The Badger

Chapter 3:

The Badger

Helga watched the little clear bubbles form in the water. The warmth and the heat of the small fire provided felt like a tightly nestled welcome hug amongst the chill from the storm draft.

"You know what they say about a watched pot," she heard the familiar friendly soft voice ask.

"Yes, that it never boils," Helga replied while keeping her gaze on the slowly boiling pot readying to add the medicinal herbs.

Helga smiled warmly at the squat man. His many years on Earth showed. His back hunched over, his bewhiskered face once dark was now white as snow. His face once smooth and thick was now wrinkled and paper-thin to the touch.

He returned her smile and continued to rock in his chair, lulling himself to sleep. He once was renowned for waking up before dawn to tend to his giant garden full of magicked vegetation, farming cross-bred seeds, and then stayed up well past midnight to scribble his observations just to do it all over again. Now, he spent most of his days in and out of slumber. In fact, he had slept through most of that blasted duel between Godric Gryffindor the Great and The Rock.

Helga wondered how much longer she had with Carannog the Calm.

Funny how much a person can change in twenty-odd years. She wondered how she would look twenty years from now. What would her life be like? Would Carannog be alive to see it?

She turned towards the mattress and looked past Carannog to the sleeping man quietly recovering from a serpent's poison. She noticed little black hairs started to sprout from his pale bald head. He was not lying, he did shave!

And now, she was nursing him back to life. Why was she doing this?

Though pale, she observed that some color was coming back to his cheek. She sighed in relief as she wanted nothing more than for this man to wake up and annoy her again. She wondered if he would remember her name. As to the question why? All she knew was that her heart wouldn't be able to take his passing.

Well, the Festival and Trials didn't start till next week, what else did she have to do? Oh, right, she offered to help run the kitchen and serve the dining hall for Mrs. Mouffat as more and more wizards from all over came to the Hobgoblin.

Still, she spent the past two nights watching over this man, with Godric the Great intruding every so often to check up on his "pal".

What a funny pair they were, an Angles and an Irishman becoming fast friends.

This morn' he had told her that he needed to visit some nearby wizards for a few days, but he would be back to check up on her and his new best friend and commanded that she not let him leave before he would see him again, as if that was her responsibility. Still, it was cute.

Helga simply loved the way men could quickly form serious deep friendships over nothing more than some innocuous conversation. Of course, he had later told her they came up with the idea of a duel in order to pay Mrs. Mouffat's dinner bill they had accrued. She guessed that if that didn't bond men for life, nothing else would.

What strange creatures men were, she thought.

Eyeing the window, though the rain didn't let up, she saw the sky growing darker. The sun was about to set.

"Aye, I'm going to be late!" Helga exclaimed, rising out of her seat and preparing to rush down the stairs. "Carannog, can you make sure he gets his herbal medicine? He can usually wake for long enough to consume it before going back to sleep."

"Aye," the old man replied as if there was nothing to it. Don't let this tired old man fool you, when push comes to shove, give him a task and it will be done and done well.

---

Despite the rain, some sunlight was seeping through the windows and the spaces in-between the wooden planks. Although she felt some warmth from seeing a near-empty pub in the sunlight from her days growing up in a pub, Helga always took notice of how sad they actually looked in the bright daylight. The sun shine exposing just how old and decreipt they could look with a bunch of sad men who drank rather than do something more productive. Memories of incapacitated fully grown men leaning on their tiny sons as they made their ways back home. And they were the lucky ones. Sometimes the men refused to come home and the little tykes would be met with a slap. When their wives came, all hell broke loose.

Nevermind all of that. Helga had a job to do.

"I'm here! Hope I'm not late!" Helga shouted as she came closer to the bar and kitchen entrance..

"You ain't gotta shout it, I heard you stomping down here! You ain't light on yer toes, are ye?" Mrs. Mouffat sat near the bar, most likely running up her profits from the night before and the brisk lunch trade.

"Well, no, I guess I'm not," Helga replied softly, her face reddened. Now all she wanted to do was run back up the stairs and hide. Then the sound of taunting children came ringing through her ears.

Helga, Oh Helga...why is she so big?

Helga Oh Helga, no one will mistake her for a twig!

She tries to hide her lard by being cuddly like a badger, but because she's so fat, no man will ever have her,

Helga, Oh Helga, why are you so big?

Ridding the voices in her head, she did her best to suck in her gut. Though she did lose a good deal of fat since what her mother called her "awkward years", she knew she wasn't ever going to be considered a small or demure woman. Hell, even the man she's nursing called her "full-figured".

"Well, at least you got a pretty face," Mouffat replied with her eyes never wavering away from her account book.

"Well, thank ye." At least that was something.

"Or at least you're a woman, that's good enough for this lot," Mouffat laughed as she slammed her book and sized Helga up.

"Now, this is your first shift. You said you grew up in a pub. Where are ye from again?"

"Valley Broad in South Wales," Helga replied proudly as her back grew straighter and her shoulders broadened, holding her chin up high. No better place to grow up in Helga's mind - she reckoned long ago that taunting children was a universal truth.

"I take it that it was a community pub, eh?"

"That's right! Our family's tavern was known throughout the community and even extended kin from North Wales and from the mountain areas would come and bring their friends over on special occasions" Helga smiled broadly at the fond memories of those rambunctious family gatherings. "Our friends from the farms who supply our food often come round cause they love our dishes so much." More memories came along - of cooking in the kitchen with her sisters as her mom expedited dishes while her father and brothers served the patrons. All the smiling, laughing faces, singing the same old songs and telling the same old stories. Helga began to feel homesick.

Water was bubbling in the back kitchen, some men at the pub snoozed on their benches, others were quarreling over some hot topic of the day. While some groups were playing cards. This would not be too different from what she experienced back home.

"Sounds quaint," Mouffat responded sardonically, refusing to look in Helga's direction.

Helga suddenly woke up from her safe and warm nostalgia.

"Serving your neighbors, family members who are probably your neighbors, and sheep shaggers who knew ye since you were born, who are probably also your family members, am I right?" Mouffat smirked and arched her brow as she watched Helga attentively, shifting her body closer to the bar, towards Helga as if inviting her to fight.

Helga could feel the blood rushing. How dare she!

"Excuse me! I!"

Mouffat then sighed as her body relaxed, her gaze turning back to the kitchen. Helga suddenly felt like she failed a test.

"Where do you think you are, girl? You're in England now, near the ancient Roman city of London! This ain't no small town public house!"

"I know that but I—" Helga tried to chime in.

"You need to thicken your skin!" Mouffat finally looked Helga's way and pointed her index finger at her. "You're going to hear a lot worse than that from this lot, and mind you, everyone is fair game, not just sheep-shagging Welshies."

"Excuse me, sheep-shagging what?" Helga put her hands on her hips and thought about laying her fist on that overly made-up woman's face.

"Calm yourself down now!" Mouffat commanded. "This ain't your ma and pa's friendly neighborhood tavern. Ain't nobody family here. We get miscreants, vagabonds, travelers, troubadours, minstrels, scops, ill-mannered soldiers, not all of em chivalrous knights so get that romantic notion out of ye head! And the worst of all...acting troupes. Get your wits about ye girl. And so long as they got coin, they are always right! No matter how they treat you, remember, customer is king!"

"I ain't inexperienced you know!"

"Oh yeah? We'll see 'bout that Princess of Wales. Anyway, you promised me you'll make my life easier, and I would usually turn ye down but for the fact that it's the Monday before the Grand Wizard Festival and Trials and I'm expecting at least four times the trade I usually get with more and more coming till they all leave Monday Morn'."

Mouffat tsked as she walked into the kitchen and beckoned Helga to follow.

"First festival inviting wizards from all over the continent to show off their stuff, eh. You know most of 'em foreigners ain't got our manners!" Mouffat continued.

Our manners? Helga was now confused. First, she was a foreigner, and now she was not since Mouffat was now talking about wizards from the continent.

Nevermind, Helga saw that young Lettice was already well into prep - vegetables and herbs strown all over the place, water boiling over, cream and other sauces drying out developing a skin on top, and poultry, red meat, and rabbit just lying on top of one another. Worst yet, Helga could smell the stench of spoiling meat and produce. How was this kitchen organized? Because of this set up, the poor little cherub was running about needlessly.

"Hello, Lettice!" Helga offered a warm smile and a friendly wave, ignoring the miserable state of this kitchen. Lettice refused to look up from her cutting board, as she diced up the sage and rosemary.

"Since this is your first night" —Mouffat interrupted— "I'll have ye work the kitchen while I handle all the ale and alcohol." Mouffat pointed to the various fireplaces already lit. "I assume you know how to keep a fire up. Keep strawin' them as no fire spell will last without straw and wood."

No d'uh, Helga thought.

Mouffat pointed to the table near the exit. "After you finish a dish, go ahead and place them in the order in which I called, not in the order in which you completed because sometimes you'll finish a second table's entire order while waiting for one dish from the first table to finish. Doing it the other way will confuse me and that will just make me mad, and you won't like it when I'm mad!"

Suddenly Salazar Slytherin's hissy voice entered Helga's head as she remembered when he told her the same exact thing when he charged her with counting that Goblin's coin.

Mouffat continued, "I'll also make sure your dishes are alright before serving them. If I get too busy with the ale demands or taking orders, go ahead and take it upon ye self to serve the dishes yourself, if it got a ticket." Mouffat ripped open a piece of parchment and laid it on the table and put an empty bowl on top of it. "It'll look like this. A ticket will tell you which table it goes to. You know how to count, don't ye?"

"Of course," Helga replied. "We had arithmetic lessons in-between our choir practice, rugby games, dragon slayings, and sheep shagging."

Mouffat responded with a hearty laugh and slapped Helga on the back. "There you go, girl! More of that sense of humor and you can make yourself a bit of coin. Part of the deal is I get one-third of your tips as well for the free room and board, so if you gotta serve, make sure you charm the menfolk, yes?"

"I'll do me best," Helga responded. Like hell!

Mouffat winked, and then continued on, "Every table is numbered. Right now, we got twenty benches and I'll have to conjure more up and expand the serving hall if travelers come earlier than I expect. Usually, when there's a festival in London, we don't see the bulk of them until Thursday and they don't stop floodin' in till Sunday."

Helga nodded in response, just ready to get on with what she knew how to do best - cook.

"I expect dishes for a table to be ready to be served at the same time, here me? This place may look like trash but when it comes to the food, this ain't no rubbish place with people gettin' served whenever cook feels like, got it?"

"Of course," Helga responded.

"Cheeky little thing ain't ya? Answer me with 'Yes, Mrs. Mouffat' and nothin' else, got it?"

Helga internally sighed but did as she was told. "Yes, Mrs. Mouffat."

"Good. I already told you the basic recipes yesterday, and since you say you know your way 'round the kitchen I don't expect to have to repeat meself. But if you get confused, just ask little Lettice over there. She knows the recipes, so she'll direct you on the basics. I was gonna write em down, but I realize just because you speak English passably don't mean you can read it, am I right?"

Mouffat nodded towards the girl who was obviously doing her best to ignore the two.

"I know how to read," Helga said stoically, eyes narrowing and body tensing. "I can read and write in Welsh, English, French, and Latin."

Suddenly, Helga watched on as Mrs. Mouffat enjoyed a huge laughing fit. "And do ye juggle too? Let me know if you're a singer of songs, I'll put ye up on the box and you can play court jester while you're at it."

Flummoxed, Helga did not know how to respond. She heard some giggling in the corner from little Lettice.

"Don't stand there gaping at me, you got work to do! Get on with the prep eh!"

Mouffat quickly exited the kitchen, leaving Helga and Lettice alone with fires. She calmed herself, allowing the smell of herbs and various fats of meat permeating all over to enter through her nose. Helga simply loved the smell of the kitchen - even this kitchen.

"Don't think I'm going to offer you any help if you don't know what you doin' Welsh girl!" Lettice spat.

What the? Girl? I have at least 13 years over this brat!

"I've been working here since I was six-years-old, and I ain't gonna let no new slut come in and try to take my job!" Lettice harrumphed, faced Helga with her chin held exaggeratedly high and nose pointed upwards as she thumbed her nose at Helga before turning back to her cutting board.

"Slut?"

"I saw the way you suck! I bet Godric the Great knows all about it. And that snakey fellow you've been roomin' up with as well, I'm sure. And who knows what you've been doing with that poor old wrinkled man who sleeps all day and all night. I wonder what's makin' him tired." Lettice then turned away and focused on cutting some more herbs. "And I don't believe you know how to read neither!"

Helga thought twice before giving this girl a piece of her mind. She was only a child, and obviously her anger was coming from some other place. If anything, Helga wanted to know where she learned to spout such poison and why she felt compelled to do so. Shrugging her shoulders, Helga rolled up her sleeves and decided to get crackin' on the prep.

With the fire crackling in the background, Helga worked as the scent of rosemary, thyme, lavender, mustardseed, and other herbs scattered throughout the kitchen, changing as they were combined into complex mixtures of flour, milk, and butter. The Hobgoblin may have looked like a leaky worn public house, but Helga knew Mrs. Mouffat's food was known throughout the English wizarding community. Still, Helga made mental notes of how outdated some of the dishes were and what she would do to modernize them.

This should be 'easy peasy, lemon squeezy', as her ma would say.

---

A Few Hours Later Into the Night

Helga huffed and puffed as she tried to keep up with the orders. There was no doubt about it, she was in the weeds.

"Ok, table 15 is a four top! One beef stywd, one caboches in potage, and two salats - one with verde sawse and the other with gyngener. Then two roasted quails, one connyng in almond gravy, and a lese fryres followed by three ususshell and one dariolles!" Mouffat's voice boomed through the kitchen, adding to the sense of urgency and panic.

"Yes, Mrs. Mouffat!" Helga and Lettice exclaimed. Sweat dripping from Helga's brow, she hurriedly watched six sautee pans, five boiling pots, and some quail in the oven."

"Where is the final dish for table 12?"

"Hens in broth coming to the pass, Mrs. Mouffat!" responded Helga as she placed the Gelyne in Brothe, completing the table's order.

"The hens look a little pale, but it'll do," Mrs. Mouffat said before leaving the kitchen, full order in tow.

Helga would have responded that the perfect hen breast was supposed to be that color and not all dried out, but she was too busy stirring five pots of garnishes, three pots of sauces to ensure the yolk didn't break and was checking on the fry of that rabbit for the immediate order.

Lettice meanwhile looked as though she was in her own little world as she chopped up more parsley and vegetables. Helga felt as though Lettice was able to help her more effectively at the garnish station but was choosing not to. However, she kicked that thought out of her head and chastised herself for thinking ill of such a little girl.

"Lettice, the order after next, how long can you have the carrots, leeks, fennell, and potatoes for my beef and onion and rabbit dishes?" Helga asked as she sprinkled some green sauce on one salad and ginger on the other.

"Oh, Helga, I'm so behind. Please, can you give me another fifteen minutes before you sautee that beef and fry that rabbit?"

"What? Why are you so behind?"

"Please, I had so much chopping to do for tonight and tomorrow and I've been peeling these vegetables all day today. I've been up since 5 am and I'm ever so tired. Let me just catch up. If she finds out I'm behind, she'll wallop me!"

"Alright," Helga sighed feeling for the poor girl. "I can take another 'hollerin'' from Mouffat, believe you me," Helga said.

About seven minutes later, Mouffat came storming in looking as if she was in no mood for any more mistakes.

"Those lads will be the death of me! I wasn't expecting the dinner trade to be this brisk today! The Festival and Trials will be larger than I expected! I wonder which wizard will win! Anyway, Where's table six!" Mouffat shouted at Helga.

That's the beef and onion and rabbit order.

"Mrs. Mouffat, it'll be ready in about fifteen…"

"Here's the carrot, leek, fennel, and potatoes for table six," Lettice casually said as she handed the garnish dishes onto the pass before proudly striding past Helga with a smirk in her way back to her station.

"Well, where are the entrees?" Mouffat bellowed - face reddening. She looked like a boiling kettle about to whistle.

Helga turned to Lettice who was covering her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

"Sorry, I've got a bit behind, I'll have them in fifteen minutes."

"You what? Why don't you have them in time with these garnishes?"

"I was a bit behind on the other orders and I think I must have skipped ahead to the other ticket," Helga lied. Something told her not to tell Mouffat the truth about Lettice's treachery.

"And what am I to do about these garnishes? Let 'em die? Go cold?"

"We can use the heating spell to keep them warm," Helga said, knowing it was less-than optimal, but not knowing what else to say.

"Lettice!" Mouffat yelled. "Did you hear that? Just let them dry out with a heating spell? I guess in Wales, they ain't got no standards, do they?"

"Not from the sounds of it," Lettice replied, stifling a few giggles.

"I know where you come from, your lot is too poor to afford rabbit and eat rarebit, but in Mighty Old England, we can cook up new garnishes! Shame I have to throw these out!"

Helga knew the woman would just reuse them in one of her famous weeks-old pies anyway, but let her continue her hateful tirade.

"Lettice, go thank Miss Hufflepuff for wastin' your time making these garnishes and having to cook new ones because she can't be bothered! You better have table six ready when I come back or you'll be paying for your room and board for the rest of the week as I'll have no use for ye!"

Lettice let out a huge guffaw once Mouffat stormed out of the kitchen. Helga simply turned gave her the evil eye of all evil eyes. Lettice's face went from bright to dread once she locked eyes with Helga.

Good, she got the message not to fuck with me anymore, Helga thought.

---

A Few More Hours Later

Mrs. Mouffat strode into the kitchen, looking increasingly inebriated by the hour.

"Those lads play too much! I'm sorry to say but they're not letting up. More and more are coming and those who've been here for hours are ordering their second or third suppers."

Helga wiped the sweat from her brow as she stole a glance at the window and saw groups of drunken men smoking their pipes and laughing it up with their stories. Helga quickly turned away as one unbuttoned his pants and started to take a piss.

"Helga, I'm going to need you to serve table eleven their dishes, as I'm swamped with cashing out some of the tables."

"Yes, Mrs. Mouffat," Helga replied, as she grabbed the four plates of entrees out. "Mrs. Mouffat, why don't we use the carrying spell to help us serve the dishes."

"You come up with a spell that can accurately and precisely serve tables, and I'll use it! No spell works that well, you know it! Plus, these diners like a woman's touch, eh?" Mouffat winked as she exited the kitchen.

Entering the dining hall, it was as if it had never been cleaned up after that dueling tournament. The hall was crowded as people stood shoulder-to-shoulder. Plates were piled up on all tables, men were roughhousing and tumbling all over the floor, drunkards were getting chummy with one another, singing up a storm, and there was one wizard hanging from a ceiling with his stein of lager singing some song about beers on the wall.

"Hey, lassie! Why don't we dance, eh?" a bearded man said to Helga, grabbing her shoulder as spit sprinkled onto her face.

"I thought these types of women weren't gonna show up till Thursday, according to Mouffat?" another drunk man asked.

Helga jumped and yelped at the sensation of being pinched on her bottom. Thank goodness she didn't drop any plates.

"How much darlin'?" the pincher asked.

It took everything in Helga's powers not to drop all of her plates and slap that man senseless. Seeing Mouffat keenly watching her as she served, told her to let it be.

"About time!" one patron at table eleven shouted, as he quickly chewed up his beef.

"How hard is it to cook and serve food on time?" the other patron asked her.

"Sorry, she's new, brand new," Mouffat said, suddenly behind Helga, armful of ale, which she served the table as they cheered her on.

"Good work, virgin," one guy said before slapping both Mouffat and Helga on the ass.

"Oh!" Helga yelped. Her hand formed a fist and she pulled her arm back and before she could punch the living daylights out of the man, Mouffat commanded that Helga take table nine's order.

Helga stomped her way to table nine and asked, "What'll ye have gentlemen?"

Who does Mouffat think I am to think that I should take that kind of behavior?

"Finally! How long does it take to get some service around here?" a man at the table asked.

The men sounded German. Mouffat was right, they're coming from all over.

"In Hanover, they know how to serve, and on time," his tablemate replied.

"Not as well as Bavaria! They serve you with a smile, not shove some scared little mouse to take our order," another man at the table responded.

"Little?" The first man laughed. "The only thing little about her is probably her brain!"

Helga suppressed the rage building up inside of her to repeat her question.

"You don't have any sausages here, do you?"

"I got a sausage for her!" another man from the table shouted and guffawed as if he said the funniest thing that had ever been muttered.

"No, but the chicken is really good today," Helga responded a second away from rolling her eyes.

"Ok, I'll take the chicken special," one man said.

The other three also ordered the chicken, but then one said, "Please no brown gravy on mine. I loathe brown gravy!"

"I got it, one with no gravy," Helga interrupted.

As she walked off, she overheard them say,

"I bet mine will have brown gravy."

"She's just a server, how smart do you think she'll be?"

"Pfft, anyway, let's talk about how we're going to win the Trials! We're clearly smarter than any of these English bastards."

Helga bubbled with rage as she shoved past the men, heading back to the kitchen.

Suddenly, the sweet voice of a man at the nearby table called out to her. Wondering what he needed, Helga made her way to him.

"How can I assist you, sir?"

"I heard what those sauerkrauts had to say. Don't mind them, eh? They're the stupid ones."

Helga smiled and relaxed as her body loosened. Finally, a man with manners!

"Plus, anyone can tell you're not English." He offered a broad unusually white smile. He sure was handsome. Helga was sure those more refined ladies would fancy him.

"That's right, I'm from Wales."

"Oh, where at?" He put his feet to the table and relaxed himself while awaiting to hear Helga's story. Must be an opportunity to make a good tip the way Mouffat said.

"I'm from Valley Broad," Helga said cheerfully, offering the man an even broader smile.

"Oh yeah? Is your valley broad?"

"I guess you can say so. It stretches for miles in-between the mountains."

"Really now? That big and loose? I bet a man can feel at home and warm in there despite how broad it is."

Something was off. Helga was sure there was some sort of innuendo in his tone and his smile went from charming to smarmy. Still, she felt she may have just imagined it. This was the first friendly man she encountered tonight.

"Oh yes, he would be so welcome there. He wouldn't want to leave."

"Oh I bet he'd love to thrust in and out of your valley broad." The man's eyebrow arched as he grabbed his crotch and started tugging at his manhood.

"Oh God!" Helga yelled in terror, nearly backing up to a table and dropping all of their dishes. The group of men from around the area started to point and laugh in her direction. Helga quickly started to run toward the safety of the kitchen.

"Where do you think you're going?" Mouffat asked, again seemingly coming from nowhere, stopping Helga in her tracks.

"I…"

"You never leave the kitchen or enter the kitchen empty-handed! There, go clean table eight, so I can bring the next lot in! Go on!"

Having had enough, Helga grabbed her rudimentary magic stick, and cast a levitation spell, to pick up all the dishes from table eight, then she conjured up a dish rag and enchanted it with soapy water, and had it self-clean the table.

Helga turned towards the dining hall, and some of the men stared open-mouthed as Helga headed back to the kitchen. Smiling proudly and with her chin up, Helga strode into the kitchen.

However, since she hadn't yet perfected the power and accuracy of the spell, the dish rag ended up flying into the various faces of the patrons, slapping and scrubbing extra hard, and all the dishes came crashing down, some plates breaking.

"Helga!" yelled Mouffat.

Helga quickly ran back into the kitchen as she heard the bar patrons laughing after her.

Taking her magic stick, Helga did what she could to sweep the dishes from the dining floor and flew them into the kitchen sink where the soapy water splashed all over Lettice.

---

It was a quarter to three o'clock when Mrs. Mouffat kicked the final drunkards out of the dining hall and shooed them to their sleeping quarters, most of them choosing to camp out on the grassy knoll for pences instead of bunking in the barns or extra rooms Mouffat conjured up.

Finishing scrubbing of the dishes, and sweeping off the ashes, Helga exited the kitchen to see Lettice sighing and wiping her brow as she mopped up the dining floor. Helga eyed all the crumbs, spillages, and even human waste all over.

How did that end up on the ceiling? Helga stared up at various chunky stains.

Helga had half a mind to pick up another mop to help the child, despite the way she had treated her all night. Helga thought of all the children she and Carannog passed by on their way to London. Many of them begging for their and their siblings feed. Thin and frail many of them were. Some, simply sitting and crying as they tried to soothe their shrieking infant sibling, no one to comfort them or to ease the pain of hunger. Helga and Caronnog tried to feed as many as they could with what little they had to spare, and even with their abilities to feed twenty with a portion of one, it was never enough.

Helga sighed.

"Well, I guess you'll do," Mrs. Mouffat said from the bar as she painstakingly recorded every coin into her book.

"Thank you, Mrs. Mouffat," Helga replied.

"It ain't like I have much choice, ain't no one else want to take this job!" Mouffat slapped her leg and roared with laughter as if she had made up the funniest joke known to man.

Helga offered a slight chuckle.

"What's the matter? You don't want the job? I can throw you and that old man out into the street, instead." Mouffat raised an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes in Helga's direction.

"I'm just tired, is all. First night and everything," Helga responded, too tired to argue that she felt she had already done enough work to pay for a week's worth of room and board.

"I don't wonder, with the way you trot!" Mouffat again roared in laughter and this time Lettice joined in.

Helga felt less guilty leaving Lettice to her work and slowly made her way up the stairs to the broom closet she called her room.

Hearing the whispered voices from the dining room say her name made Helga stop in her tracks. She knew it was rude to eavesdrop but she figured it was just as rude to talk about someone behind her back.

"Do you really think she'll make it through the week?" Lettice's young voice asked.

"Aye, let her try. If she can't, then she'll still need to figure out a way to pay for her and that old man's stay here. I say get as much work as we can out of that haughty miss and if she can't last, then we'll get some coin out of her yet."

Lettice laughed in what sounded like satisfaction.

"Hurry and mop all of this up. We gotta be up in in a few hours to prepare the luncheon. These gents comin' around faster than I thought. We gotta feed this lot and who knows what new ones will come. This Festival...ain't never seen nothin' like it before. Oy! Me feet hurt! Guess they'll always hurt, eh."

"She won't be workin' the lunch trade, will she?"

"Nah, I only hired her for the dinner service while I man the bar and mind the men. Don't think that bumpkin from Wales could handle what we can, eh?" Mouffat clinked the coin.

"That's right, she better not be thinkin' she can show up 'ere and take me job, if that's what that slut thinks."

"Mind your language, girl!" Mouffat spat. "You're gonna be a farmer's wife soon enough and you gotta be a bit more respectable. Not everyone gets to be a wife or someone who has some land you know."

"He don't own the land," Lettice replied.

"So what? He works it, don't he? And with the way they keep changin' kings round here, let me tell you, a serf is safer than a landowner. A landowner may choose the wrong man to support at the next war, and lose his land and 'is 'ead. But the serfs...they come with the land….they're chattel. Wherever the land be, they be - forever. Always need workers, I tell you."

"Still, I don't know why I gotta marry someone when I can just work here with you forever!"

"I already told you! I need the onions! And stay here and do what? Have to flirt with men, let em touch and grab me all over for a few coin just to survive. Work every hour keeping up this public house that ain't even yours day in and day out? No girl, I'm saving you from my life, let me tell you that. Being a wife is the road to safety and some status."

"You seem happy enough."

"Enough back talk girl or I'll get the whipping stick!"

"That's why you want that slut 'ere! You just want to get rid of me as fast you can and have my replacement ready! You prefer her over me! I know it!"

"Shut up, girl!"

"Aye!" Lettice screamed.

Helga heard Mouffat's stomping steps chase after the girl and then heard some thwacking from the stick as Lettice cried for her to stop as she promised she'd behave. Helga was ready to march right down to stop the abuse before she remembered the last time she got involved with a servant girl being hit by her master. It resulted in the girl being sold to some plantation in Ireland.

There has to be a better way, Helga thought as she made her way up the stairs.

Before entering her room, Helga thought to check on Salazar and Carannog.

Caronnog sat peacefully in his rocking chair, with the sandwich Helga made for him half-eaten.

"How's the potion master?" Helga asked, eyeing Salazar lying in his bed, muttering some nonsensical words in his sleep. Some of it sounded like hissing.

"He's getting better by the hour. He may be able to stay awake for a few hours tomorrow."

Stepping closer to see the slumbering man, the dim light from the lamp offered some illumination. Helga wanted to trace the cheeks and nose of his face. It was a sharp face indeed. Sharp but gaunt. He was thin. Probably wasn't eating regularly. He wasn't what she would call good looking, but there was something about his resting scowl and eager way of moving when he got excitable that made Helga smile. Eyeing the dark hairs that were sprouting from his shaved head matching his dark, pointed beard, she imagined how they complimented his grey eyes. Somehow, this shadowy vision of Salazar Slytherin most flattered his face. All she wanted to do was cwitch with him as she imagined what it would be like to cuddle with such a man.

"Say, how was your first night?" Carannog asked, breaking the spell cast by the sleeping man. Carannog offered her his chair. Helga shook her head, refusing as the old man's bones were more painful at night.

"T'was alri, it was. Lot like the pub back home," Helga answered, putting up the broadest smile she could muster as she leaned on a nearby drawer. "Nothin' I can't handle. You know me, strong like an ox!" Helga stood up straighter, chest forward, mimicking a strong creature.

Helga felt exposed as Carannog eyed her carefully. His bright blue eyes shone against the embers of the small fire from the lamp. They pierced through her and were able to see her true feelings now as they did when he would catch her lying during their lessons when she was a wee girl. The way he could peer into her soul even now was something that always astounded her. She could never get anything past him.

"Oh, it was terrible!" Helga cried as her knees buckled under the weight she had been carrying and crashed to the floor. Tears came flooding out and she felt ashamed to be putting on such a display. Some beast of burden she was.

Helga continued, "Those ugly, horrible men called me names, pinched and grabbed me as if I was their piece of meat for their pleasure, the little girl hates me and was trying to sabotage and undermine me all night, and that Mrs. Mouffat - what a nasty woman!"

"Welcome to the world, dear." Caranogg offered a warm smile as he waited forHelga continue.

"The world? Pfft! Just England!"

"I'm sorry to say much of the world is like this. I warned you this trip was no vacation."

"I know, but such people existing!" Helga slammed her fists to the surface of the drawer she had been leaning on. "It ain't right, it ain't decent!"

"Do you think the drunks back home were better?"

"Yes!"

"I'd think about that some more." A look of disdain flashed over the old man's face, as if he had a lifetime of memories flash before his eyes for a moment.

"Why did I think I was strong enough for this? Harold should have come with you instead, he was always more talented than me he was."

"He didn't have the ambition or courage to come, unlike you."

"More like the delusion!"

"The only delusional person I've recently taught in your lifetime was Heilyn and even he was too scared to make this trip. No, you are the one who volunteered and the one I chose. And I believe I chose wisely."

Helga's tear-soaked face felt puffy and burned in shame. What was this old man going on about? She had been the only one to offer to escort him to this horrible kingdom. He chose no one.

"I know what you're thinking, child. Believe me, I did choose you."

Carannog, despite his arthritic knee that Helga could only treat with sparkling fae ointment that offered a reprieve from the pain and stiffness periodically, knelt down to Helga's level and laid his hand on her shoulder.

"I've known you all of your life girl, and let me tell you, you were meant to go to all the horrible kingdoms and make something of yourself."

"Really? Why me?"

"The question is, 'why not, you?' I refuse to give you answers to questions you already know the answers to. Don't let your humility blind you to your gifts, girl!" It had been a while since Carannog used his authoritative tone with Helga, a fact not lost on her, but couldn't dwell on at the moment.

"Gifts? What gifts, everyone passes me over. Noone seems particularly impressed with what I have to offer. For the past few days, on our trip here, talkin' to the other 'brilliant' wizards on their way to the Festival and Trials… when I mentioned what you've been workin' on and what I've been helping you with, people zone out or act like it don't matter!"

"I didn't say they were appropriately appreciated gifts, but they are gifts nonetheless and will bring you far, further than you think they can, but as far as you have fantasized about."

"I just realized you need to work on your pep talks, you do." Helga didn't understand what Carannog was getting at. What had she dared to fantasize about? Nothing! Nothing? No, she had her fantasies….

Carannog laughed heartily. "Girl, in the garden... what do I always say about plants?"

"That if you strive, then they'll thrive."

"Here's a secret that'll help you through anything life throws at you, that doesn't only apply to plants."

He was right. What was this boo-hooing going to do for her? No, she will thrive and make it to the next challenge. And then she'll thrive there. Then she'll keep on striving until the day nobody will ever forget the name Helga Hufflepuff.

She bid Carannog a nos da before rushing back to her room where she grabbed her journal of kitchen and household spells she had been working on. She had work to do.

---

Helga walked back down to the dining hall and took stock over the place that was just hell on Earth to her a few hours ago. However, at the moment she couldn't see much of anything. Tears welled as Helga coughed up the thick black smoke she inhaled. The morning light had yet broken the horizon, and the only light provided to the Hobgoblin was the never-ending hearth. Through her itchy, watery vision, she saw a heavy cord of firewood from the large supply underneath the stairs coming her way. Ducking just in time, she saw the piece of wood fly straight into the hearth, feeding the fire. Helga noted this spell was not in play during dinner service as she could imagine how many souses and louses would be knocked out by it.

Helga eyed the never-ending fire pit in the middle of the dining hall, and opened whatever windows there were at the Hobgoblin to let out the smoke.

"Lustrant per aperturas exibitis auferetur."

Helga whirled her worn, thick wooden branch she used as a wand as she directed the smoke to exit every available window and opening in the building.

"There now. That's lush that is."

Helga rolled up her sleeves, aimed her wooden branch, and got to work.

---

The thud of flat-footed and heavy footsteps came stomping down the steps. Seems like Mrs. Mouffat wasn't light on her feet either.

"What's all this?" Mouffat asked as she entered her newly redecorated kitchen.

"Oh, Mrs. Mouffat, why don't you sit down by the fire while I grab you your tea? Found these herbs in your back garden, and it makes a lush cuppa." Helga hurried Mrs. Mouffat to the chair near the cauldron fire, and provided a foot stool for her feet.

"What garden? You mean that wild assortment of flowers and weeds out back? I never tended to no garden!" Mouffat waved away Helga's offer of tea until she got a good whiff of the aroma of scented lavender with vibrant purple petals in the cup for garnish. "Well, I will take that."

"Lavender tea is calming and will improve one's skin. I also put in a pinch of asphodel to provide the kick you need for the rest of the day."

"What have you done to my kitchen! I won't know where anything is!" Mouffat howled before sipping her tea and smiling at the taste.

"Don't worry yourself about that, I've re-arranged everything for faster cooking and servin'. I've already set up the mise en place for me and Lettice to run lunch and dinner. Spend a bit more time prepping, and you'll spend less time sweatin' during the service. It'll cut the cooking time by nearly half, you'll see you will!"

Mouffat grumbled as she inspected Helga's layout of the kitchen. "It ain't gonna work, not for me. I don't know why you even need to bother."

"You'll learn the new layout in no time - it's simply instinctual."

Helga started to point out how she moved the garnish station closer to the hot pass so the food that is the easiest to prepare will be at the ready to meat the entrees. She showed Mouffat the way she arranged all the spices and categorized them by which meats they go best with, after teaching Mouffat what some of the spices actually were since Mouffat was unfamiliar with a few "foreign" ones like oregano, tarragon, and cumin.

"As for the garden, once the sun came up, I went to the back and pulled as many weeds as I could and planted some seeds. Don't worry, I know you ain't got time to tend to it, but with all this work freeing up hours of kitchen work, I figured I could teach Lettice to do it and give her a few spells she could use. That way you'll always have basics like onions, carrots, potatoes, and all the spices I've shown you, and some magic herbs as well in case you need them." Before Mouffat could protest, Helga added, "It'll also prepare her for farm life, as well."

Mouffat looked around as if she was looking for some new thing to complain about. "Is that wash rag soaping and watering itself?" The sound of the rag slapping against the sink provided a nice flourish to Mouffat's question.

"Yes, it is. I hoped to find a way to create a rag that could do that without a water source nearby, but alas, the best I could do is have the rag dip itself in the wash water and soap itself."

"Won't it waste more water and soap?"

"That's the beauty of it. I've researched households from Wales to London and found that this rag uses a quarter of the water and soap than we do when we hand wash everything ourselves. It does everything efficiently and still manages to clean everything."

Suddenly the sound of a wooden spoon scraping against an iron cauldron grabbed both women's attention.

"Is that cauldron stirring itself?"

"It sure is. Now, I wish I could have created a cauldron built to self-stir, but I've come up with a charm that will make the wooden spoon stir itself. You just have to repeat the spell every hour or so."

"You ain't got anything that'll chop up the vegetables and meat by itself, have the broom sweep up the ashes, or have the mops mopping for you, have ye?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I took Beatrice's Book of Household Charms…"

"You mean that centuries-old book with all those incantations that don't work for modern day cooking and cleanin'? Dem spells waste more time and energy than simple elbow grease! Half of dem didn't work back then neither!" Mouffat smirked, as if she got the better of Helga.

Helga rolled her eyes, and calmly exhaled before continuing. "As I was saying, for the past five years under Professor Carannog's research, we've been dissecting each charm and observing everyday home care and cleaning and have come up with some nifty…"

It was then that Helga first noticed Lettice at the corner of her eye. She had been standing near the broom closet where she slept.

"Good, you're up. Lettice, how would you like to take a trip to the market?" Helga offered the broadest, warmest smile she could muster.

"What? But I don't go to the markets. Every supplier knows what I order!" Mouffat protested. She coughed up some thick morning phlegm and spat it right on the floor, preparing to continue.

"Yes, Mrs. Mouffat," Helga interrupted, not allowing the nasty woman a word, edgewise. "And that's fine, but there are muggle market stands all over, nearby that have the freshest produce and meats. Carannog and I passed them up on our way here. Ain't no better ingredients you can find for miles."

"But me suppliers, they've been wit me for years and folks be expectin' that sort of food here you know?"

"You can keep using the same suppliers, but why not utilize these local farmers to have daily specials for variety's sake? And they're cheap to purchase so think of what you can upsell them for if you market them as "specials!" as if they can only get say... gammon and parsley sauce on a Wednesday, eh?"

"Well, I never thought about…"

"And if I take Lettice, she can take the special trips to market while you can spend more time checking your books, minding the hall, or catching up on some sleep, eh?" Helga kept moving from the garnish station to where Mouffat sat, under the guise of seasoning some of the early prep work Helga had started for the luncheon trade in a few hours.

"Well, that does sound…" Mouffat was ready to rise up from her seat to protest.

"Oh, I also have this for ye." Helga handed Mouffat three small vials full of a thick light violet cream. "I brewed it meself last night after dinner service. It's fae dust, veela milk cream that soothes the muscles and rid your feet of nasty corns and bunions. Believe you me it works. Maybe you can try it right now. I can fetch ye a tub of warm lavender water for ye feet."

Helga turned to Lettice and gave her a wink. She tried to read the girl's face, but her expression remained neutral.

---

The sun was in its mid-morning rise, and shone brightly. The sky was a brilliant blue, and the clouds were full and fluffy. Helga felt simply giddy as she and Lettice reached their destination. It was a small marketplace with a dozen or so stalls selling the freshest of the season's offerings.

"I love the market, don't you? Don't you love the smell of fish, meat, and fresh goods on an early morning?" Helga nearly sang as she twirled around, giant basket in hand, ready to do some haggling, basket nearly walloping a nearby woman on her face.

Lettice simply shrugged as she followed Helga.

The two of them pushed through the narrow pedestrian dirt road as they heard all kinds of rumblings and noises of purveyors and their customers haggling over prices.

"I need six eggs!" a woman desperately pleaded as she carried a crying infant and a slippery toddler in her arms while wielding a basket as she slowly made her way to the chicken stall with two older children hanging onto her legs.

"That's too expensive!" a gruff man told the strawberry salesman.

Standing in the middle of the action, this is where Helga felt at home. She deeply inhaled and took in the smells of peppery marjoram, thyme and mint that made up the summer savoury, the lemon and mint of the thyme sold separately, the cloves and liquorice of basil, the pine and citrus smell of rosemary, and of course the earthy and minty sage.

"What's that nasty smell?" Lettice asked as she held her nose. That was the first thing she had said to Helga all morning. Finally some progress.

"That my dear is the best smell of all! It's what gives you the best sustenance!" Helga turned towards the stall where a wretched smell emanated. What a glorious smell!

"Fresh fish! We catch em, you buy 'em!" a stout man shouted. Helga led Lettice to the fish stall and took in everything.

"That's the smell of the sea, girl! Take in the salty breeze!" Helga announced.

"If that's what the sea smells like, I'm glad I've never been!" Lettice responded with a scowl.

"Ain't you never been near the water, girl?"

"I ain't never beens nowheres else but here in this village." Lettice suddenly crossed her arms as if defending herself from an attack. "And I like it that way! Don't need no mer-people kidnapping and drowning me."

"Well, be that as it may, I'm about to give you a tour of Wessex, Mercia, and East Anglia." Helga roared with excitement. Oh she was going to give this girl a fun time even if it killed her!

"England, basically," Lettice replied sardonically.

This girl has a nasty sarcastic streak I didn't know about. Means there's a mind in there.

"To your young mind, it's England. For those of us a bit older, it's been a bunch of things before they decided to unite the kingdoms."

"What do I care? None of that affects me." Lettice turned away from the stand as if she were to gag at the sight of fish.

"Oh but it does! But anyway, my point is, through food, you can travel all over and never leave your kitchen!"

"What do yer mean?"

"Every piece of vegetation, every piece of meat, every body of fish, it come from all over. You think they come from the same place. The way it smells, looks, and tastes, it's all a product from whence it came. The lamb from Wales, the Picts or Scots like to think they have the best mutton on the island, but we Welsh show them up, we do! The beef from Wessex, the hens from Cornwall, the strawberries from Mercia...you know the difference between a pheasant from East Anglia differs so much from one from Kent and then one from East Wessex, why, I had one from Scotland once and…"

"I get it!" Lettice yelled, stomping her foot out of impatience.

"Now inhale!" Helga commanded, paying the girl no mind.

"What?"

"I said, inhale!"

"No!" Lettice responded, crossing her arms even tighter.

"Well, I guess we're just going to stand here until you do! I'm sure Mrs. Mouffat will appreciate how you made us late for the lunch rush."

Lettuce gulped, and after much hesitation, she finally breathed in the smell of the market.

"What do you smell?"

"All kinds of stuff, it's all muddying together."

"Don't some of it come out more than others?"

Lettice breathed in deeply and closed her eyes again, this time holding the smell. Slowly but surely, her shoulders relaxed, and a soft smile played on her lips.

"Well?" Helga asked with baited breath.

"I do smell the herbs over at that stall there. Funny how no matter what you cook, herbs always take over."

"That's right!"

"I love the smell of rosemary on the chicken."

"What else?"

"I smell mustard seeds, my favorite. And pepper. I do love pepper! It tickles the nose." Lettice smiled widely.

Helga wanted to hug the girl for finally agreeing to play along.

"But I hate onions!"

"What? Onions, scallions, shallots...that provides the beautiful sweetness and crunch that gives every meal the extra… oomph to turn food from the dirty earth into something you believe came from the heavens." Helga smiled at the vision of sizzling shallots and onion into a bit of oil with some garlic that could make the most beautiful symphony of sauces.

"I don't care! And I hate vegetables, and dirt, and farming and farmers and their sons!" Lettice bellowed as she slammed her basket onto the dirt ground.

Oh my, I touched a nerve.

Sighing, Helga quietly picked up the basket and handed it over to Lettice. The girl seemed too ashamed to look Helga's way and after a few moments of composing herself, she quickly snatched the basket back and returned to her silent self.

Helga surveyed the nearby fish stall whose smell Lettice had complained about before eyeing something precious that made her heart flutter.

"Oh look at this! Cod and eel!" Helga exclaimed as pointed to the slimy flesh.

"And oysters, clams, and cockles!" a freckle-faced girl working the stall responded. She must have been the same age as Lettice. The girl smiled warmly to Lettice, who couldn't help but smile back. Lettice must have rarely seen children her age.

"Don't you love fish? Did you know if you take lard and I mean a lot of lard and heat it to a liquid, you can powder the cheapest fish in flour and salt and pepper and deep-fry them in the oil to make the most delicious fish you've ever tried? Now, don't dare do that to halibut, anglers, or salmon. Salmon, now that's what Scots do well."

"I don't much like fish," Lettice replied, her eyes narrowing.

Good, she's having a real conversation with me. We're getting somewhere!

The freckle-faced girl from the fish stand shrugged her shoulders and handed Lettice some herbs tied with wool.

"I didn't like fish much either when I was a babe, me mom and dad tell me, but put this into any pan of fish, and you'll begin to love it. If you have cow's butter, it's even better."

Lettice carefully extended her hand to accept the gift, and then examined it. "Thank you," Lettice said barely above a whisper before hiding behind Helga.

"Thank you, child," Helga responded before ordering pounds and pounds of cod.

Fish stand, bean stand, flour and sugar stand later, and Helga was still in heaven. Don't tell Helga Hufflepuff that heaven wasn't a place on Earth when the Earth provided so much for man to enjoy. Rocks to sit on, moss to soften the road, trees to sleep under, dirt and sand to wiggle your toes in, the breeze to fan your face when the sun shone too brightly…

"What about lice?" Lettice interrupted. Just then, Helga realized she was speaking out loud.

"Whoops, I hadn't realized I'd been speaking," Helga responded.

"So long as you're not singing again. You spinning around on them hills talking about how they're alive with the sound of music was embarrassing!"

"Why? Nobody was looking!"

Lettice shook her head and kept it staring down to the ground. However, Helga could see a smile form on the corner of her mouth.

Reaching the root vegetables stand, Helga examined each vegetable carefully. "Our russet potatoes will be delivered by Mouffat's usual suppliers, but look at this, Lettice. These potatoes are so nice and golden, and these other ones are so red and vibrant. I'm gonna buy some tons of these and cream them up. You'll never know what hit you. It's gonna be crackin' you know!"

Helga proceeded to order pounds and pounds of potatoes. She wondered how she was going to convince Mouffat to reimburse her for all of this. No matter. All she wanted to do was cook.

"I don't much like potatoes." This time Lettice didn't sound as deadpan as before.

"Fair dos, but make sure you eat them anyway."

"Why do you talk so funny?" Lettice spat.

"What it is, is you learn two or three languages and see how you talk in em."

"Do you really speak three languages?"

"I do indeed. Well, I speak four. Welsh and Latin because I had to learn me spells and read the Bible, then Carannog taught me English and French. He felt the last two were the most important if I ever wanted to succeed outside of Wales."

"How are you able to do that?"

"I just had to hunker down and learn. It wasn't easy, but anybody can do it, even idiots can speak, can't they?" Helga spoke carefully. This little girl was pulling at her heartstrings.

"But, I can't. I can't even read and I don't know me spells."

"I'm not being funny, you can learn! You just need someone to teach you how."

"Can you teach me?" Lettice's eyes grew wide and face pained.

"I would if I could, but I'll be leavin' on Sunday." Helga's heart was breaking.

"No, you're not."

"What do you mean?"

"You came to the pub to get a job and take over once I get married off."

"It's not true. I'm only working here to pay for me room and board before I escort Carannog to meet his colleagues at the Festival and Trials. Then I'm on me way back to Wales to continue me studying. I got a family back home to care of. Me mom's got another one in the oven."

"You can teach me. You can do a spell and just make me brain work better. Then I can be smart and then do what I want."

Helga crouched down to Lettice's level as she learned from bringing up her younger siblings. Helga grabbed hold of Lettice's shoulders to provide some comfort. "Lettice, darling, there ain't no spell like that. The only way to learn is through instruction and years of learning. You can do it, it'll just take time and…"

"You just don't want to because you want my job. You don't care what happens to me. You're only being nice now so I won't give you any more trouble!" Lettice wrestled from Helga's grip and started slapping her away.

"Lettice, darling, I…" Helga struggled as she tried to control the poor girl.

"I knew it! You ain't got nothin' to say! You're a liar!" Lettice shouted and many of the other market shoppers and stand owners turned to watch the scene.

Helga could see the sheer hurt and pain on this child's face. Here was a girl who knew nothing but disappointment and broken promises. Before Helga could think of something to say to comfort her, Lettice threw her basket full of goods down and ran off, running as fast and as far from Helga as she could.

"Where you to?!" Helga yelled after the girl to no avail.

Oh goodness, Mrs. Mouffat will have me head if her one ward ran off never to be seen again.

Although the girl couldn't have run too far, she was small and capable of hiding and sneaking past. Helga, holding all the baskets and produce, with the help of an anti-weighing spell, looked over every stand multiple times to see where the girl ran off to. She could have just given up and gone back to the Hobgoblin to explain the situation to Mouffat, but there was no way she was going to abandon this girl as who knows what dangers awaited her.

It was not until another half-hour before Helga checked the fish stand again. This time, the stout standowner beckoned Helga to his direction.

Without a word, he directed his gaze over the grassy knoll some good feet away from his stand. Understanding, Helga quickly made her way over the hill.

There, she found Lettice and the freckled-face girl chatting, and even laughing. The freckled-face girl was soothing Lettice's hair with her fingers while animatedly telling a story as Lettice giggled on.

Upon seeing this, Helga thought it'd be wise to allow Lettice to have some time with a child her own age. Helga made her way back to the fish stand.

"Those two seem like peas in a pod, don't they?" the stout man asked.

"Yes, indeed. Lettice doesn't get much time with other children, unfortunately."

"Shame," he answered, "My Molly works so hard at home with all the cookin, cleaning, and carin for the other babes that she looks forward to Sundays and market days where she can meet new people and see if they brought their children with them so she could play for a bit. The other mothers appreciate it while they shop, I tell you that."

"Children have it hard, don't they?"

"Not like we had it any better when we were their age, did we?"

"No, I guess we didn't. But we should have done. As they all should have."

The stout man tilted his head quizzically as he peered intently at Helga, as if trying to understand some alien concept Helga had just created.

Helga looked on towards the grassy knoll and hoped against hope that Lettice would not only gain some fond memories with her time with Molly but that Mouffat would make Lettice go to the market every week from now on just so she can add more.

By the time Helga fetched Lettice to go back to the Hobgoblin to prepare for the lunch trade, both ladies walked side-by-side with a bit of pep in their step.

Helga eyed Lettice holding on to a cloth bag with golden straw stitched at the top.

"She gave it to me," Lettice offered. "Said her name is Beryl. Do you think she's pretty?"

Helga nodded at the sight of what was supposed to be a doll.

"Do you really think you can convince Mouffat to let me shop here every week?" Lettice looked towards Helga with hopeful puppy-like eyes.

"You betcha. I don't make promises I don't intend to keep, do I?" Helga answered, sure she will make it happen as she strode forward towards the pub.

"No, you don't, do you?" Lettice responded, offering Helga the broadest smile she had ever seen.

---

"Three fennell salads, two potato soups done...now moving on to: two cods, one snapper, one rack of lamb, and one pigeon," Helga gently stated. "I'd say we can get this done in fifteen minutes, eh? It's the lamb and pigeon that'll take the longest, I think you can handle that pigeon on top of all the garnishes. I'll take care of the rest."

"Yes, Ms. Hufflepuff," Lettice responded as she placed the pigeon in the pan and started heating up all the garnishes for each dish. The sound of poultry skin sizzling on a hot skillet was the second-best sound to Helga.

The lavender foot cream worked so well to relax Mouffat, that she was not quite in her usual castigating self when she agreed to allow Helga to cook every dish her own way using her own recipes and to change the menu. Now, every time Mouffat entered the kitchen, she would mutter something about how Helga's fancy foreign cooking would have them begging for Mouffat's feed before night was out and she'd charge double for it. She had every right to bet on it. It was a hard wizard's pub after all. No fuss, no muss. Just good ole pub grub.

So far, three hours into dinner service, none of that happened and the patrons demanded seconds and thirds of Helga's dishes. Furthermore, since she had convinced Mouffat to only mind the customers, take their orders, and tend to the bar while she and Lettice handled the expediting, cooking, and running of the food, dinner service was a lot more syncopated and harmonious. Something Mouffat took note of and grew more and more annoyed with with every passing half-hour.

Things were certainly going her way!

This kitchen was a sight for sore eyes - indeed! Not only did Helga make sure it was finally clean, but right at this moment, a cacophony of colors from orange from the carrots to the greens of the watercress and spinach to the deep blood red of the meat and tint of pink from the salmon and skin-on red snapper - all working individually in their pots and pans to create a vivid live painting. It reminded Helga of a beautifully manicured— but not too manicured — garden with its wide array of colors warming the observer's heart. She had only wished people could share in this stunning vision that was this kitchen...no, her kitchen.

"I like the way you bark orders, you talk soft. Unlike mean Madame Mouffat," Lettice whispered.

"Talk soft? Then I ain't barkin' now, am I? And shhh…mind your tongue," Helga said with a smile before sticking her tongue out, causing Lettice to chuckle. "Now I should mind mine, eh?" This caused Lettice to nearly double over in laughter. Now, that was the best sound in the world. The sound of a child's laugh. A laughing child was a happy child — and all children should be happy.

This child is actually letting me into her heart! Helga could have leapt for joy, but she didn't want to come off too strongly, so she stopped herself before making a display. However, Helga allowed herself to celebrate by taking in the beautiful aroma of lamb frying in the pan as she patiently watched as the meat on the left side of the ribcage started to sear that nice dark brown. She readied herself to shift its weight to the bloody red right side before the left side overcooked itself.

Mouffat burst in throwing a pile of dirty plates and bowls into what was now the self-washing and sorting station. Helga tried not to watch Mouffat too carefully or keenly as the pub's landlady inspected every corner of the kitchen, as if hoping to find something to complain about.

"My, it sure is quiet in here with all these tickets yet to be served," Mouffat finally stated as she added four more tickets to the queue. She grabbed the ticket Helga and Lettice were about to finish and was about to read its contents.

Oh no, she's about to take over expediting! Gotta stop her!

"This is what a functional kitchen sounds like," Helga responded, allowing herself the slightest of smirks as she didn't bother looking up from her pots and pans to address Mouffat properly. She hoped to anger the woman so she'd stomp off. Thinking that was not enough, Helga added, "We're making good time tonight, no table had to wait more than six or seven minutes before receiving their first dishes and no more than ten for their entrees, and that's at the high end."

It is the truth, Helga thought.

"Well, we'll see how long that lasts!" Mouffat harrumphed as she exited the kitchen.

Now was not the time to brag as service was far from over. We must keep our wits about us.

"Mind what I said about the pigeon," Helga said pointing to the oven, being a bit more authoritative than she had been before and adopting a deeper voice.

Lettice looked up from her boiling pot of carrot coins, wiped the sweat from her brow, and nodded before making her way to check on the oven. "Yes. Don't make it like Mouffat. Roasting them too long makes them tough."

"Dry. Pigeon gets dry when it's overcooked. Red meat like lamb and beef get tough when you overcook them."

"Right! I'll remember!" Lettice responded as she checked her bird. "I promise not to make it like Mouffat if you don't start acting like Mouffat."

"Why you little rascal!" Helga pretended to chase Lettice with a wet rag. Lettice responded by giving Helga another one of those child-like laughs.

"I'm serious," Lettice said when she and Helga went back to their dishes. "The way you set everything up makes everything so much easier," Lettice said cheerfully as she continued preparing her garnishes.

"Well, learn it, girl. It's your job to keep things this way, got it?"

Lettice nodded vigorously and with the uttermost seriousness. "Mouffat better not change things back when you leave," Lettuce said less cheerfully and more threateningly as her eyes narrowed towards the entrance.

"I'll hex her with never-ending Mouffat discount pies if she does!" Helga joked. This time, Lettice nearly keeled over in a laughing fit.

As Helga waited until both the lamb and pigeon looked about three-quarters done, she gently placed the two cods and snapper onto their pre-heated pans with lots of fat ready to butter right before she'd plate them. Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy, as her mother would say.

She looked to Lettice and was comforted that Lettice was in her own little rhythm and able to handle the pigeon and the garnish. Eyeing the vegetables either boiling in a pot of salted water or sauteing in a pan while carmelizing with a rich array of herbs, or seeing how the creamed potatoes and rutabaga started to burst a bit due to the heat, Helga stood proudly as she watched Lettice prepare each side dish for each entree as if it was now second nature to her. Girl was a fast learner.

Turning back to her own meat for the following table, making sure not to get too cocky, Helga watched as the pork's juices flowed over its flesh as it roasted on a spit over an open flame. She readied the oven for the salt and peppered rosemary-crusted beef sizzling in a pan for that nice sear. Whoever ordered that dish must have been rich and refined. Not many could afford this cut of beef. With money came refinement, right?

Four hours into dinner service, the drunken patrons started to sing Helga's praises. Helga's ears took in the delightful sounds of the minstrel's new song,

"T'was a heavenly woman named Hufflepuff,
Whose food and good cheer, no man could rebuff
They say her cod could even make a sod sing

'Oh fair Lady Hufflepuff be mine as I can't live my days without your fine wine…'

To which she answered, she'd never been more flattered

As she cooked and charmed her way to making us fatter!"

The dining hall roared with laughter and raised their glasses, mugs, and other cups to praise Helga.

Helga felt her cheeks go hot at all the praise.

"Come on, Helga, come up with a song for us!" the minstrel commanded.

The rest of the pub cheered her on and begged her to sing them a song.

After much cajoling, Helga finally gave in to much applause.

"Now I ain't no minstrel, but I'll do me best, I will," Helga shouted to her captive audience. A bunch of shit-faced fuckers, Helga thought. But they're my shit-faced fuckers. They know good food when they get it.

"I go by the name Helga Hufflepuff
By the looks of me, men don't think I am the stuff

But prod a little closer, and I'll show all of yer
That I'm gonna outlast, cause none of your stuff is that tough!"

Cheers and uproarious laughter echoed throughout the hall as they pleaded for another verse.

"I may be soft and cuddly, and it makes you want to 'have her'

But that don't give none of you the right to think you can badger

Especially when, and no offense to those who aren't from Valley Broad or Glen,

None of you English bastards got a big enough snake underneath your trousers!"

That was it. The men went wild for that one, slapping each other on the back, pretending she wasn't talking about them but their buddies at the table. Many of the men threw coins at her, which she happily shared with the minstrel who provided her not only the opportunity to make extra coin but a melody to go along with her "poetry".

"Ain't nobody's snake big enough for your Valley Broad!" one contentious shit-faced man shouted.

"Don't speak for everyone else!" Helga retorted much to the cheers of the rest of the men.

I'm getting pretty good at this!

"Well, aren't ye popular?" Mouffat asked as she served four stouts of lager to a nearby table.

"It's just the novelty of something new. If I stayed more than month, they'd be tired of me. Just like food. Which is why I told you to make use of the seasonal fresh ingredients from the muggle markets, then every day there'll be something new."

"Ay, you may have a point there. Whatever you're doing, just keep doin' it. These louses are spending their coin like there's no tomorrow."

Suddenly, Helga felt a palm on her ass as it rubbed up and down her bottom before slapping it hard.

"Now, now Sir Gawain..." Helga said to the incredibly but conventionally attractive horribly-mannered knight as she "playfully" slapped his hand away and did her best to put on the appeasing charm with an inviting smile and a wink.

Remember, the customer is king as Mouffat said.

"Now, now, is right!" Gawain laughed as he licked his lips before flicking some coin her way, to which she gladly pocketed.

She told herself, so long as she was paying for her room and board and enjoying some extra coin, and was allowed to cook the way food was meant to be cooked, she could deal with anything.

As she made her way back to the kitchen, suddenly she heard the voice of a cranky, crotchety old man a few tables from the entrance.

"I can't eat my beef steak this way! Are you trying to kill me?"

"Kill you? Oh no Professor Highbottom. My apologies, I'll make sure we'll refire this."

"Don't your staff know how to cook? This is a monstrosity."

Helga didn't know when she strode in his direction, but she suddenly found herself looking down at the sitting man at his table. It felt as though she was having an out-of-body experience.

"What's the matter?" Helga asked the old man, trying her best to remain cool and collected.

"Helga, everything is fine, just…" Mouffat began to say.

"This beef! It's not cooked at all! It's inedible!" the man interrupted.

"What do you mean 'inedible'?"

"Everyone knows beef must be charred and black on the outside, and completely brown all the way through!"

"Nonsense. This is prime beef from the area between Sussex and Kent. Surely, as one of the few men who could afford this dish and therefore is refined would know that it is meant to be served at 130-135 degrees. I took it out of the oven when it reached 133 degrees and it continued to cook while it rested. That beef is perfectly fine. Having it cooked anymore would make it tough, tasteless, and impossible to chew."

"Helga...it's…" Mouffat began to plead.

"Who are you to speak back to me, woman! You don't know what you're talking about! That's why all the best cooks who serve the lords and ladies and kings are men! I tell you, eating beef that is this pink will kill you!"

"Pearls before swine," Helga muttered.

The patrons around this table looked to watch the show happening before their eyes.

"What did you dare say to me!" the old man barked.

"Haven't you ever heard of tartare? No you wouldn't, would you? You miserable old kook! You can eat beef raw and live past life expectancy!"

"Helga!" Mouffat shouted as she escorted Helga back to the kitchen.

Suddenly Helga was the target of the man's favorite four letter words as he spat insult after insult in her direction.

"You fat, idiotic, Welsh, hillbilly, bumpkin….."

"I'm never cooking for you again!" Helga shouted at the man as she freed herself from Mouffat's hold, stormed her way back to the man, and slammed her fist on his table, giving the other patrons at this man's short bench a good shake. "Go eat burnt rat flesh for all I care! You don't have a palate!" Helga shouted over the old man and he continued his rant full of increasingly coarse language. "Now how's that for me French?!" Helga asked Mouffat, who simply ignored her and pushed her through the kitchen entrance.

Lettice ran back to her station from clearly eavesdropping on what had just happened when Mouffat force-levitated Helga back into the kitchen.

Helga was shaking in rage and continued to yell about what an imbecile that man was.

"Calm yourself, girl! Breathe in and breathe out," Mouffat said as she took the mug of water Lettice offered. "Here, drink this."

Helga gulped her water as her frayed nerves began to cool.

"Ha! I guess you're not so perfect, afterall!" Mouffat laughed in satisfaction.

Helga was too shaken to answer back as her rage transferred back and forth between the old man and Mouffat.

"I told you that the customer is king!" Mouffat then reprimanded, adopting a serious tone.

"Oh, and what am I, the court jester?"

"No, you are the second best cook I've ever seen," Mouffat replied.

"You're the best I've ever seen!" Lettice added, before hiding away to her tasks after Mouffat gave her a death glare.

Still too shaken to comprehend that Mouffat had just complimented her, Helga responded, "If that's so, then why should I take that disrespect...any kind of disrespect? All of my life I…."

"Honey, welcome to the real world! You don't think I had to deal with this? You're going to get idiots every day coming at you. Constantly. They're the majority. You can try and try to refine and teach people, but some are just meant to stay ignorant. Now you know you're brilliant, I know you're brilliant, and all those men out there wanting four servings of your food know you're brilliant. Don't focus on the one who doesn't."

Helga simply stared at Mouffat as she realized that was the best pep talk she had ever had.

"Now, put yourself together, and finish up Table 37 and serve it. I'll deal with the geezer."

"Make sure he ain't a sharp-toothed goblin in disguise, like the one we ended up confining and sending to the dungeons," Lettice shouted at Mouffat who simply waved her off.

Helga quickly composed herself, breathed in and then out. She leaned against the hot pass and closed her eyes to concentrate on her breathing. After exhaling, she stood straight and read the next ticket.

"Two creamed potato soups, one creamed eel and spinach, and a salmon," Helga said unflustered.

"Yes, Mrs. Hufflepuff!" Lettice answered, head held high and chin up, as if she was serving the best general of the best brigade.

Just then, two words began to haunt her.

"Second-best...second best? Who is first-best?" Helga started muttering to herself. "She's just saying that to keep me on my toes…"

---

After dinner service, Mouffat commanded that Helga and Lettice rest up for the night while she supervised the mops tidying the dining hall and kitchen, the self-washing rag finished the giant stack of dishes, and the broom self-swept all the ashes from the firewood.

No argument from me!

Helga slowly made her way up the stairs feeling the stress of the past two days finally weighing on her. She would like nothing more than to just plop into her bed and sleep till mid-morning, however, there was one more task she needed to finish.

As Helga opened the door, she saw a shocking sight.

While Carannog snored in his rocking chair, Salazar — in his bed shirt —was in a panic rummaging through the drawers.

Oh my! Helga tried to hide her face before stealing a sight of the man's skinny pale legs.

"What are you looking for?" Helga asked, doing her best to look in the direction of the hallway.

"What does it look like, woman? I'm trying to find a razor and to see where the hell you and that old man put my belongings!"

The sounds of his running towards the chest at the foot of the bed followed.

"Calm down, what do you think, we stole your stuff?"

"I wouldn't put it past you and the old man! I tried to wake him up but nothing seems to work."

"Have you tried kissing Sleepy Beauty?"

"Hardy har-har!" Salazar replied as he rummaged through the chest that was only full of hay-filled pillows and blankets.

"If we wanted to steal from you, why would we still be here nursing you? You're welcome, by the way!"

"Ha! Make me feel safe and then go in for the steal! The oldest trick in the book!"

"I love the way you trust your fellow man," Helga said, giggling. She stole another sight of the half-naked man. As he frantically dug through an ordinary chest she stared at his exposed pale legs attached to his wiry frame — it was the most ridiculous and yet adorable vision.

"Fine, if you didn't steal from me, then where did you put my bag?" Salazar crashed down to the floor and sat, legs spread.

Oh my! Helga quickly covered her eyes.

"What are you hiding from, woman?!"

"You're exposed!"

"Oh my...why are you looking?!"

"Stupid man! I'm trying NOT to look!"

Salazar quickly stood up and tried his best to keep his legs together. "I'd put my trousers on but I don't know where they are."

"Here everything is!" Helga took out her wooden stick and conjured up his bag from under his bed.

"There it is!"

"Didn't check the most obvious area?"

"Obvious to who?" He muttered to himself, quickly grabbing a razor and conjuring up a bowl of water and skin foam. "Good God, I must be a ghastly sight," he said as he rubbed the top of his head and caressed his cheeks, feelining the little short hairs.

What a princess! Helga thought, imagining having to deal with this man every morning.

"You must be bouncing off the walls after being asleep for so long," Helga asked, still staring into the darkness of the hallway.

"You've said it! I'm supposed to be training and practicing my potions and curses for next week!

"Curses?"

"That's what I said, curses." Salazar raised his razor blade, checking it for sharpness.

"Why not more positive spells?"

"Because curses are for protection. People are after us, you know!"

"Protection? Curses aren't defensive, they're offensive."

"Potato, Potahto." Salazar looked in the mirror. "Argh! It's too dark here!"

"Why don't you wait till morning?"

"Because I need to do something, anything!" Suddenly, Salazar collapsed to the ground.

"I knew it!" Helga ran to the man, and laid his head on her lap.

"Knew...what?" Salazar whispered, as the color drained from his face.

"That poison is still affecting your muscles. You need two more days before you're fully recovered," Helga said softly as she soothed the man.

"I just want to get working," Salazar sleepily said.

"Of course. We all want to get to it," Helga said.

"I can't just lie down. The world is moving fast and I'll be passed up and forgotten…"

"Hush, now. Ain't nobody is going to pass you up nor forget you." Helga smiled sweetly as she began to massage his head.

"How do you know…" Salazar began to fall asleep.

"Shhh…stop your worrying. I've met you, and I couldn't forget you even if I wanted to."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Salazar cuddled closely and laid his face on Helga's bosom.

"Do you want to?" Salazar asked.

Want to do what! Helga was close to pushing this sick man off of her lap and leaving him on the half-swept floor.

"Forget me."

Helga's initial shock and embarrassment passed over as she felt her own sense of warmth and comfort from the touch of his skin onto hers.

"Not on your life."

Salazar smiled as he fell deeper into his slumber.

At that moment, all she knew was that she wanted her ample body to forever stay this close to the face she had so admired.

Her eyelids gradually felt heavy as the weight of the past few days started to wear on her body. Days of traveling and camping from Wales to Southeast England only to catch sight of a horrifically violent duel — followed by curing a poisoned and seemingly ungrateful man, then nursing him back to health. All of that on top of cooking for a horrible woman and with an undermining child in a new kitchen all night while serving all those nasty sex-starved men...that in of itself was tiring. However, add in spending the rest of that night and morning studying and then incanting new recipes and experimental spells to restructure an entire kitchen and creating self-working cleaning tools, turning wild weeds into a plentiful garden, going to market, getting the undermining child to bond with her, and then working lunch and dinner service….

Yes, it was time for the badger to burrow back down to the ground and get some rest.

---

A/N: Here's a long one. I hope you guys enjoy! Also, I know a lot of that food most likely wouldn't have existed during this time period, but let me tell you, the 10th Century CE is a very difficult time period to set a story in as so many things didn't exist or were introduced to Britain yet. Next chapter, The Eagle!