Legal Disclaimer: I own my stuff, but not the original source material. That belongs to whoever. Also, the opinions and interpretations I use here may not reflect the same in said whoever that owns the source material. Look, I'm just a poor college librarian. Suing me isn't going to get you anything but tears.

Warning: This work may be offensive to some readers. Feel free to back out if that's you.

Author's Note: So I stumbled across the concept of none of the Founders being originally British (or at least, not being white). It heavily influenced this piece.

Submitting Info:
Stacked with: Hogwarts (Term 10); MC4A
Individual Challenges: In a Flash (Y); Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux; Ethnic & Present
House: Hufflepuff
Assignment No.: Term 10 – Assignment 8
Subject (Task No.): Mundane Literature (Task #2: Write about someone who loves someone unconditionally.)
Other Hogwarts Challenges: Auction [17.1] (Enthralled [Emotion]); Insane Prompt Challenge [342](Shouting); Scavenger Hunt [67] (Write a Founders Era fic.); Constellation [Pisces] Kullat Nunu (Salazar Slytherin); Gym (Kissing)
Space Address (Prompt): 2E (Ribbon/Cord)
Representation(s): The Hogwarts Founders; Helga Hufflepuff/Salazar Slytherin
Bonus Challenges: Found Family; Nontraditional; Zucchini Bread; Fizzy Lemonade; Machismo; Second Verse (Ladylike; Not a Lamp; Persistence Still; White Dress); Chorus (Odd Feathers)
Tertiary Bonus Challenges: n/a
Word Count: 757

(^^)
Enthralling Fascination
(^^)

Salazar traced the fluid line of Helga as she moved through the battlefield, despite the potential danger to himself in allowing himself to be so distracted. By the gods, who could blame him? Helga was a thing of beauty in her vicious efficiency. Like him, she used both wand and knife, one in each hand, as she fought. At some point, she had lost her helm, though the dark gold coils of her braids remained undisturbed.

The thick ribbon tied around her neck glinted despite its dark color. The black cloth had been embroidered with white badgers and yellow sigils. It served her well as any gorget, perhaps even better than a mundane version because of the magic it carried within its stitches. The ribbon moved like a second skin as she paused for just a moment to pant for breath before launching back into the frenzy.

The battle raged around them, forcing Salazar to turn away from the enthralling sight of Helga in a full battle rage. He could have gladly watched her take down her enemies. She was beauty and grace and snarling fury from the top of her gilded head to the soles of her black boots. Helga was the very epitome of her animal form, even while physically human. The thin layer of sweat over the dark tan of her skin made it glint like the gold that reminded him to treasure her always lest he find himself facing down her fangs.

Salazar lost track of her, lost track of everything outside the endless rhythm of battle. It was much like the way that Helga could so effortless captivate him or how he could so easily get lost in the wonders of nature. Outside the battlefield, Helga had her potions and tinctures, but it was Salazar who all things plants and stones, eagerly gathering the precious treasures of the only thing he loved more than Helga herself. He loved nature in all its spectacular splendor, just as he loved his fierce warrior of a bondmate.

"Have you seen Helga lately?" Godric called over the clash of his sword against the shield of his opponent. The man flashed a toothy grin at Salazar, the thick twists of his hair stained crimson with ocre and still looking like a lion's mane around his dark face. "I want to compare counts with the little mother!"

"Don't let her hear you call her that," Salazar warned even knowing it was pointless. Godric never worried over Helga's reaction to the endearments he bestowed upon her any more than he reined in his competitive nature. Helga indulged comparing their kill counts, something that neither Salazar nor Rowena bothered keeping track of. She did not indulge Godric referencing her off-field habit of taking care of them all as if it were something shameful.

"You will enjoy seeing her fierceness under less dire circumstances," Godric countered with a booming laugh. "It will be my gift to both of you, my friend! May you seed many crops in her lovely fields!"

"Godric!"

"Salazar," Godric returned jovially, not concerned with the embarrassment helping flush Salazar's cheeks along with the exertion of battle. "You have fine taste. The little mother is a mate to be proud of!"

"Don't call me that, pussy-cat," Helga interrupted, arriving between them. She grabbed ahold of Salazar's breastplate to yank him into a quick kiss, trusting Godric to have their back even as she argued with him. Breaking off the kiss, she barked out, "twenty-six confirmed kills; another eighteen incapacitated at the very least."

"I need to double my efforts," Godric announced, "if I shall even have a hope to be as fierce a warrior as you! Truly you are a credit to your badger spirit, Helga!"

Helga gave Salazar another kiss, more passionate than the last before leaving the two men for the furious battle around them. Salazar shook his head to clear the clouds clinging to his mind in the wake of Helga's ill-time affection. She enthralled him even after she had left the reach of his senses. He could easily become lost in her, forgetting that they were surrounded by an enemy army.

"Return to the present, my friend," Godric commanded with a slap to Salazar's shoulder. "Now is not the time to become drunk on passion, no matter how lovely Helga is!"

"Oh, stab something already," Salazar grumbled, making Godric laugh again before returning to the battle at hand. "Maybe stab me."

"Nay, my friend. I would never survive your lady!"

Well, he's not wrong.