Envy
Another sorting ceremony, and Helga watched with intermittent interest as the Sorting Hat assigned various students to different houses. The new system Salazar had imposed on the hat this year, forbidding the entrance of muggleborns, or indeed half-blood students, into Slytherin house, was perhaps for the best, she thought. After all, it did at least mean that they would face led prejudice from their house mates, not to mention from their Head of house.
In fact, it wasn't that that was really bothering her, even though she still thought it ridiculous.
She heard the shouts of the hat, thinking back to its opening song.
It had sung of Gryffindor's placed importance on Bravery and Daring, Ravenclaw's love of Intellect and Individuality, Slytherin's respect for Cunning and Ambition (and purity of blood, Helga had thought wryly) and Hufflepuff's admiration of, what exactly? Being Nice? Being Fair? Hardworking?
And it wasn't that that irritated her the most, it was the fact that, due to her fair and nice nature, Hufflepuff house was known as the house where students with no particular attributes were sent.
Half her house were true Hufflepuff's, and regardless of Salazar's instant dismissal of them as 'pathetic', she was proud to take on those who were Kind and Hardworking and Loyal.
She less liked being the head of the Leftover House.
So Helga sat there filled with Envy, as the Houses filled up, knowing that Rowena would never be given a stupid, or boring, student. Godric would never receive a coward. Salazar would never receive an ineffective student.
But she? She would receive plenty who were not true Hufflepuffs. And that meant that her House was the source of undeserved derision.
She envied her friends proud Houses.
But as she sat their jealously looking upon the Sorting, she glanced at Rowena.
The woman sat in her chair with calculated indifference in place, allowing herself a smile as each Ravenclaw was housed, but otherwise maintaining her mask of emotionless observance.
But Helga could see that Rowena was paler and thinner than last year, when she had seemed so full of life.
She had not seen her all through the summer holiday, she had claimed to be travelling for research purposes, yet Helga was not sure if she believed her.
And watching the way Salazar glanced across at Rowena, with what looked like concern, she thought of how he had adopted a child over the summer. From 'a dear friend', he had said. The child was being looked after by a wet nurse at his family home.
A child with dark hair, and pale skin.
A child rumoured to already be performing magic.
A child who resembled very much a woman she knew very well, who seemed now so bereaved. As if she had lost something very, very dear.
Suddenly, Helga didn't feel quite so envious of her friends.