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He had been riding west, Sal knew that much. He had avoided villages and towns as much as he could and spent every evening sleeping wrapped in his cloak under a tree.
Seek other wizards, his father had told him. That was all well and good but he had never even seen another wizard. He had lived his entire life in one village and had probably not gone much further than ten miles away before. The local town hardly had a vibrant wizarding community. The few times he had accompanied his mother there, the townspeople had looked upon the pair of them with barely concealed contempt and looked over her potions and charms with the same manner.
The only wizarding community he knew of for definite was in London. His father had learned his trade as a metalcaster there and he often spoke of a street known only to the wizards where they could gather and trade their wares. Unfortunately, Sal had no idea where London was. He only knew he had been travelling west because that was where the sun set every day.
Slowly the landscape had changed from the flatlands and fens he knew so well to rolling countryside of small hills and woodland. He had enjoyed the ride but slowly the land had changed again. Now it was valley after valley of beautiful scenery. This he was not appreciating so much, since the weather had taken a turn for the worse and he had eaten the last of his provisions that morning.
He had no choice but to keep pressing on even as the wind rose and the rain came down in sheets. His bare hands turned into blocks of ice upon the reins and icy water was trickling down the inside of his hood. The light was fast fading but he could see nowhere where he could make a rudimentary shelter to spend the night in.
Nowhere, save for the twinkling lights of a building in the distance. Even if they were Muggles, he could plead hospitality and leave before morning light. He turned the horse towards the lights and squeezed her flanks.
She trotted off obediently. The lights twinkled in the dark but they never seemed to near. He gave the horse another nudge and she sped up again. Still the lights of the house seemed no closer. His hood fell back as he kicked the horse into a full blown gallop and he screamed in desperation as the heavy rain made the lights flicker and then vanish. He could see no longer and he could barely hold on to the reins.
Suddenly, he had slipped from the saddle and was bouncing on the grass. Pain shot through his arm and then the world went black.
As he came to, he kept his eyes shut. He was lying in what felt like the comfiest bed he had ever been in. One arm felt bandaged and twinged with pain when he tried to move it but he inched the other one out underneath the blankets. He didn't reach the edge of the bed.
He opened his eyes.
This bed was huge and the room beyond it was bigger than the house he had just left. The walls were bare stone but had been covered in beautiful tapestries of yellow and black that matched the embroidery of the blankets upon the bed.
"Ah, I see you are awake," a cheerful voice said from his left. He turned and stared at the smiling face of the girl seated on a stool by his bed. She placed her embroidery to one side and stood up. He tried to wriggle away as she leaned over the bed towards him. She glared at him and then peered into his eyes.
"Well, you seem to be fine. Father was quite worried when he found you lying by yourself in the valley," she said, her green eyes flicking around his face. She seemed satisfied and left his bedside to stoke the fire in the massive fireplace.
He watched her carefully. She was about his age and dressed in a simple black dress. She dusted her hands off and sat back on her haunches. Some of her strawberry-blonde hair fell into her face and she pushed it back behind an ear.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"In the house of Hufflepuff," she answered in her peculiar accent. "Deep in the beautiful green valleys of Wales."
She stood and moved across the room to open the shutters. "I'm Helga, Sir Hufflepuff's daughter," she added. As the shutters were thrown wide, he saw the green valley he had been passing through the night before. He had somehow made it to the house he had seen in the distance. And it would seem like this girl was one of his hosts.
"What kind of a name is that? Hufflepuff!" he snorted. He tried to sit up and gasped in pain.
"It is my name and I like it very much," she said primly. "And how dare you mock me for it. Unless you are named John Smith then I shall guess that yours is as unusual as mine."
"It's Sal. Salazar Slytherin," he admitted. She giggled at that.
"And you say my name was funny?" she chuckled, tucking the errant piece of hair behind her ear again. "I think I shall take my leave of you for now. You need more rest and my father will want to know you have awakened."
She left in a swirl of skirts. As the door shut behind her, there was a clunk from the lock. He struggled out from under the blankets and scuttled across to the door. Yes, she had locked the door behind her. Wonderful.
He knelt down and pressed an eye to the key hole. If only he could remember the words of opening spell his mother taught him.
Sir Randolph Hufflepuff was a tall, imposing man with a once powerful body now given over to middle age and too much food and ale. He had the same piercing green eyes as his daughter and no hair on his head save for his bushy eyebrows and luxuriant moustache. Stroking this moustache was a favoured relaxation technique for him and he was doing so now as he studied the boy he had found lying in the dirt.
He did not know exactly what to make of the child. His pale skin and thin face made him look almost sickly and he was not helped by the dark hair falling across one eye. Helga had fixed him up as best she could and talked to him when he came around. Eventually, he had felt strong enough to see his host and was now sat opposite Sir Randolph in their dining hall.
"So, m'boy," he said eventually. "I hope you have been made comfortable?"
"Yes, sir, very," the boy answered.
"That accent... south-east England if I am any judge? You are a long way from home," he said. The boy blinked.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I wouldn't know. I lived where I lived and then I had to leave. Your daughter told me I was in Wales but I don't know where that is," he said.
Helga had slipped through a door while he was speaking. She crossed the room in a few short steps before setting the tray in her hands on a table and picking up her father's tankard.
"Guests first, Helga," he reminded her gently. She blushed but quickly picked up the bowl of stew and offered it to their guest. The boy accepted it and began to gulp it down.
"It's good. Thank you," he said.
"Thank you, Sal," she smiled, taking a seat at her father's feet.
"So, Sal," Sir Randolph said. "Why did you leave home? Where are your parents?
Sal stopped eating. "My parents are dead, sir. I left home because there was nothing left for me there. And, if all is well and good, I will be taking leave of your hospitality soon. I need to find people like me."
"Like you?" Helga asked. "What do you mean, like you?"
He hesitated and looked down at his stew. How could he possibly explain? These Muggles were nothing like the villagers. They had taken him in and patched him up. They had shown him nothing but kindness but he knew he couldn't stay. He had to find other wizards.
Sir Randolph smiled suddenly and twitched that wonderful moustache of his. "You are always welcome here in the House of Hufflepuff. We would never turn away a guest," he said.
He flicked his hand towards his tankard lying on the table where Helga had left it. It rose and floated towards him steadily. Sal's mouth fell open and Helga giggled.
"I think, my dear, that Master Salazar has been searching for people like us," Sir Randolph said.