Helga Hufflepuff sat silently in her large oval quarters. There were few candles lit, so she was cast in and out of shadow. Every once in awhile, when the dim light was just right, you could see the soft glisten of tears in her eyes, refusing to fall.

On her desk were an assortment of quills, inks, and parchment. Everything was organized, all the items in their proper places. All but three things, that is. Directly in the middle before her stool were a few handwritten pages, covered with finely written words. Every witch and wizard who had a standing in the Wizengamot Court was given a written copy of each page once a week. The papers were being called newspapers, and they were detailed with the daily happenings throughout the Wizarding World.

The third page had been pulled to the top and finely printed words were running. Large tear stains blotted the words dedicated to the death of one Hathietta Hufflepuff. It never mentioned how the witch died.

Next to the paper were two cards, each taken from a box of the first charmed chocolates of the age. The candies were large talk amongst the students, and the wealthier ones were being sent small boxes from home. The collectible cards came with the chocolates, and each had a small drawing of a famous witch or wizard. The two on Helga’s desk depicted a smiling man with a lion standing next to him and on the other someone who was depicted in shadows. Only half of his face was visible.

Helga looked away from the candle that had captivated her attention for so long. Picking up the two cards, she watched as the one labeled Godric Gryffindor ran his fingers through the thick mane of the creature beside him. Salazar Slytherin’s card, however, had the gaunt man sitting straight as a board against a dark emerald chair, half hidden. The one grey eye she could see glittered. In his hands was a small black snake who twirled beneath his fingers wickedly.

Placing Godric’s card back on the desk, Helga slipped beneath the wool sheets on her bed, holding the card against her chest, knowing she wouldn’t be sleeping again tonight.

Helga slowly let the candle light die around her, staring into the one eye she could see of Salazar. Even on a small card, his eyes enticed her. She stared into the glittering orbs, slowly brushing her thumb over the card. When she pulled her hand away though, she noticed that her finger was covered in what appeared to be a flaky green substance, straight from the card. Squinting her eyes at where the dark green paste had came off, Helga noticed there were two strange markings on the card.

Helga brought the card closer to her tearstained face, trying to determine what the small ruins were that were written directly underneath Salazar’s drawing. Taking her short nail, she attempted to rub away more of the substance.

Immediately, Helga felt a hard jerk behind her navel as she was jerked from her bed and began passing through a whirlwind of sound and colour. Her hand was firmly attached to the dark card, no matter how hard she tried to pull away.

With a resounding thud, Helga’s bare feet hit the ground, and her legs crumpled beneath her. Lying on the soft, sweet grass, she felt her breath shuddering through her nose. She had been transported by a portkey.

Lifting her head slightly, she felt her short curls blowing around her ears. There was a slight wind. She was outside somewhere…

Slowly sitting up, Helga winced quietly as her body creaked. It was obviously bruised from her fall. Crossing her legs, she concealed them completely with her long dressing gown. She was grateful for the soft grass surrounding her. Running her hands along the thick carpet, her progress was thrown off course by a small purple iris. Looking around her, Helga saw that there were many of the flowers dotting against the emerald ground. Picking the one next to her hand, she slowly tucked it behind her ear, smiling.

Immediately, though, the smile slid off her face to be replaced with a look of fear. She had read the purple irises were known to grow where death had befallen someone. Ripping the flower out of her golden locks, she threw it to the ground before standing and crushing it beneath her heel.

The wind began picking up, swirling her nightgown around her ankles. Folding her arms, Helga rubbed them for warmth. There was an odd feeling of darkness surrounding her. Where was she, exactly?

Shivering, Helga’s mind began to feel repulsed. Someone had died where she had been sitting, and recently, else the flowers would no longer be there. Helga’s legs began to quiver. She could hear a hissing sound as the wind made the flowers bend against their stalks.

Quickly, Helga reached for her wand. When she couldn’t find her wand pocket in her robes, she realized she was still in her nightgown.

Her wand was still on her bedside table.

Panicking, Helga heard the soft squish of flowers being trampled. Her breath escalated. Someone was coming, and without her wand, Helga could do very little to protect herself. Hoping her heart wasn’t beating as loudly as she feared, she lifted her gown and ran as fast as she could in the direction of a black forest, which was on the edge of the iris meadow.

Falling under coverage of the dark trees, Helga huddled beside a spruce, noting the occasional purple flower. A grunt from the meadow brought her eyes hurtling to the stranger who was standing in the middle, surrounded by a mass of disgusting irises. The flowers burst as his boots stepped on them, and his cloak swept over the sticky remains. His face was completely hidden by his hood. When he turned and seemed to be looking directly at her, Helga felt her breath catch and she quickly backed further into the forest before turning to run as fast as she could. Her bare feet ached as they picked up stickers and thorns from the small trail, but Helga hardly noticed. She wanted to put as much distance between her and the figure, especially without access to a wand in a strange placed that pulsed with Dark Magic.

She stepped lightly over rotted logs, dashed across dirty creeks. Brambles grabbed at her dress, ripping the bottom to measly shreds, but Helga could care less. She needed to find a way out of this place. She needed to get back to Hogwarts. Surely someone would miss her before too long? But she had been cooped up in her quarters for the past few days, heart breaking over the news of her sister. Perhaps her absence wouldn’t be discovered for days…

The trees began to thin out, and Helga could see the pale sliver of the moon. That had to mean she was coming closer to the other side of this dead forest. And just like that, she was at the edge, the only thing around her now was thick underbrush. A smile of relief bloomed across her face.

That was, until she heard a loud grunt, followed by a roar. Directly in front of her was a giant’s camp! She realized, even through her shock, that she must be somewhere near France or Poland, where the giant tribes were more common.

Helga watched in horrified amazement as two of the nearest giants ripped up a few of the smaller trees around them to use as toothpicks. She startled when a few bones, which looked oddly like human remains, fell from the giants’ mutilated teeth. Ducking back into the shadows of the forest, Helga looked around to find that there must be over a hundred of the twenty and thirty foot giants. How on earth was she supposed to get passed them?

Thinking quickly, Helga tried to Apparate, but to no avail. There must have been some sort of anti-Apparation spells cast over the area, most likely to keep wizards out. How was she going to escape?

Helga came to her only conclusion. She would have to make her way through the camp, and how she would do that without getting herself killed was beyond her. Is that what the person who had staged the portkey had wanted? For her to be killed? If so, they would probably get their wish. She only hoped she would be able to survive without the help of her wand.

Taking a deep breath, Helga kept to the shadows and began walking along the edge of the camp. She prayed giants didn’t have the best eyesight, because her gown shined brightly against the black of night. She kept her hazel eyes on the large beasts as she crept silently through the underbrush. She could hear small noises coming from the trees but she didn’t dare look away from the giants.

Just as she passed the last of the horrible creatures, her bare foot caught in a tangle of roots and she fell, crashing into the bushes. Yelping in fright, Helga struggled to free herself as she saw ugly heads turn her way. Loud roars began shaking the ground and Helga could feel bile rising in her throat as the giants picked up clubs and began making their way to her.

Sitting up, she ripped away at her nightgown, not caring in the slightest how badly damaged it became. Pulling her foot free, she began running as fast as she could into the forest, knowing they would have a harder time catching up with her, having to rip up trees as they went.

Helga didn’t care if there was something in the forest; she just wanted to put as much distance between her and the ferocious giants as possible. She turned to the right and began pumping her legs. She could feel the shreds of her gown twisting between her legs.

She could no longer hear the screams of the giants and presumed she had put quite a bit of distance between them. Slowing down slightly, she noticed that she could once again see the sliver of moon and knew she was coming to the opposite end of the forest.

The blonde witch saw that she was at the base of a cliff, somewhere up the face of the mountain. Quickly, she forced her body to concentrate and focused on Diagon Alley, the new area devoted to magical shops. She knew that there would be no hope of her Apparating inside of Hogwarts’ grounds, so this was the second most logical place to go.

With a sigh of relief, Helga felt herself being squeezed through an imaginary rubber tube before appearing on the pavement of Diagon Alley, right outside Ollivander’s Wand Shop. Nearly crying out in exhaustion, she reached for the door handle, expecting it to be locked. Surprisingly, it opened easily.

Cautiously, Helga stepped into the shop of her old friend. She was shocked when she saw that every box that held his wands had been cleared out. Where had everything gone? Only a fine layer of dust was left in the shop. Even the small, spindly chair was gone. Spinning on her tortured foot, Helga saw a shimmer of blue catch her eye. Looking at the display window, Helga saw a pile of Wizard Cards. How on earth had they gotten here? she thought. Walking forward, she saw the one that had caught her eye was lying separate from the rest. Picking it up, she saw that it was a drawing of Rowena Ravenclaw, her dearest friend, holding a wand. She remembered Ollivander used to have a plump purple cushion in this window which had displayed a single wand.

Examining the card, Helga brought it close to her face. Suddenly, the card’s surface turned black and Rowena’s skin turned a startling shade of white. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she began shrieking loudly, screams which filled the forgotten room. The card began burning Helga’s fingertips and she gasped in fright, dropping the card. Her heart was pounding like a jack hammer in her chest. The card, she saw, had turned back to normal, Rowena smiling serenely while shooting blue sparkles out of the wand tip.

Picking the card back up, Helga placed it in the pocket concealed in her tattered gown. She opened the door to reveal a quiet street. Shivering, Helga could hear the wind hissing down the winding road, reminding her of the purple irises. Helga felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the wind.

A crunch sounded behind her. Whipping around, Helga stared wild-eyed into the shadows of the street. A man, cloaked all in black, stared out at her from inside Ollivander’s. His eyes gleamed silver against the black of the shop. Letting out a scream, Helga did the only thing she could think have done; she Apparated to the Hogwarts gates.

Heaving, Helga opened the gates and slipped inside her home. She was so happy to be back but she could barely think straight. Tapping herself on the head, she used one of the few wandless magic spells she knew and Disillusioned herself before creeping to the castle. Why she hadn’t done this with the giants, she would never know. She must have been panicking, not thinking clearly. This time, Helga didn’t want anyone to be able to see her and hoped the man following her wouldn’t be able to see her in the night if he Apparated to Hogwarts. He seemed to have an odd way of catching up with her.

Reaching the castle doors, she pulled against them but to no avail. She knew the doors would be sealed shut, and she couldn’t risk knocking. She would have to find another way to get inside the castle.

Helga could feel a heat coming from inside her pocket, and when she reached inside, she felt her fingers graze the Rowena card. Pulling it out, she saw Rowena point her wand to the right and tap the edge of the card. Lifting an eyebrow, Helga shrugged before making her way to the side of the castle. After she had walked about twenty meters, the card began heating up again. Helga stopped in her tracks, facing the wall. Doubtfully, she watched Rowena’s drawing shout a spell. Reading the tiny word bubble that appeared on the card, Helga faced the wall and waved her wand, whispering, “Reducto!”

With a slight crash, seven large boulders, part of the Hogwarts foundation, crumbled away, leaving a large and dark tunnel. Looking back at the card for reassurance, Helga was met with white, rolling eyes. Hastily dropping the card in her pocket, Helga checked the grounds, making sure there was no man in a black cloak skulking around, waiting to catch her off guard.

Borrowing a bit of Gryffindor courage, Helga clenched her fists and stepped inside.

The air in the tunnel was thick, making it hard to draw breaths. She held her hand against the stone wall, feeling the rough stones rub her palms raw, but she didn’t dare allow only her eyes to guide her. The tunnel was so black, it pounded against her ears.

After walking for what felt like hours, Helga could feel her body begin to succumb to sleep. The air had gotten hotter and hotter the further she walked and it was effecting her senses. Stopping to lean against the wall, Helga felt her legs fall out from under her and she slid down the length of the jagged stones. Curling into a ball against the cool earth beneath her, Helga felt her mind shut down, and sleep overcome her tortured body.

Helga didn’t know how long it had been since she had fallen asleep, but presumably much later she jerked awake, having heard a noise, quite like approaching footsteps. Scrambling to her feet, Helga turned and began to run, going deeper into the mysterious tunnel. She could hear the swish of a cloak snaking over the dirt.

Looking behind her, Helga could see the spark of silver eyes.

Silver eyes.

The eyes she had seen on a card.

Salazar’s eyes.

Coming to an immediate halt, she watched the hooded figure stop about twenty feet away from her. She leaned against the wall, her breath heaving. She watched the man warily. Helga had never been as fond of him as Godric, but she remembered earlier that night she had chosen his card. That had to stand for something.

“Why are you here? Why have you been following me?” she rasped out, clutching a stitch in her side. Helga pushed matted curls away from her face and watched closely as the man lowered his hood. Salazar’s shining black hair gleamed blue in the tunnel.

“Isn’t it obvious, my fair lady?” His tone was like silk. Helga shook her head. Sighing, he continued, “The death of your beloved sister was written in the Daily Prophet. It never said how she perished.”

Nodding, Helga waited for him to go on but suddenly gasped. The death of her sister, the purple irises. Her sister’s favourite flower, no matter the superstitions that clung to them like flies. Hathietta had always flocked to the places where they had flourished…grave sites.

The mountains, as Helga remembered, had been teeming with the unpleasant flower. No doubt because of the many that had perished at the hands of the monsters that made their homes upon the rocks. Hatthietta had been killed picking wildflowers. Helga could feel the irony of the situation leaking along her bones. She had been at her sister’s grave site, picked a flower from the beds.

The newspaper would never have reported the cause of death, considering the ghastliness of it. How had Salazar known?

“I had been meeting with the Wizengamot when a reporter had burst into the Ministry of Magic, claiming a disgusting Muggle mountain climber had found someone of our number dead.” Salazar looked at her with knowing eyes. He seemed to read her thoughts. “I immediately questioned him and soon recognized that it was your sister when the rest of our number had been accounted for. You, however, had not permitted me into your quarters to tell you how your sister had lost her life, preferring to hole up like a badger.”

Helga could feel a pinching behind her eyes. The audacity of Salazar shocked her, but what he spoke was indeed true. She hadn’t allowed anyone to see her for the past few days, not even Rowena.

Salazar watched her intently, his eyes cutting right through her like a knife. “I just thought you might now be able to find solace about your sister, now that you know the truth.”

Helga could feel an incredible loss inside her, like a gaping hole. It seemed so unfair that Hathietta had been taken from her in such a cruel fashion. She came to a conclusion and knew she would have the giants banished completely from this world. They would pay for her sister’s life with their own. She knew it wouldn’t happen overnight, but through the years, Helga knew she could succeed. She would succeed. For Hathietta.

Turning once more to face what was left of the tunnel, she took one step before the card heated up in her pocket. She pulled it out of her pocket and showed it to Salazar, who looked into Rowena’s shrieking mad face with a hint of unpleasantness. Holding it out to the wall, Helga watched as seven rocks crumbled away, leaving a gaping hole without a word from Salazar.

“Where did you find this card?” he asked, watching as Rowena’s face shrank back to its normal beauty.

Looking at him quizzically, Helga answered, “In Ollivander’s, where you saw me. It was lying where the purple cushion used to be in the window display…” She tapered off. Taking the card away from Salazar, she eyed it wearily before smashing it into the wall, widening the hole. “The wand in this card…its performing magic.”

Helga thought back to where she had fallen asleep against her will back in the middle of the tunnel and knew Rowena’s wand had made her do it. The card was like a bad luck charm hovering over her, bringing danger at every turn. Turning to face Salazar, she watched Rowena point her wand at the ceiling of the tunnel, grinning in the manic way that seemed to possess her for short time periods.

“Look out!” Helga screamed, grabbing Salazar and pulling him through the hole in the wall, watching as the ceiling collapsed behind them. Dust blew up and settled in their lungs, making the two gag.

“Welcome to my quarters,” he said in between coughs and splutters, waving his hand around the room.

Climbing to her feet, Helga only felt a slight twinge of queerness. An unmarried woman was to never set foot into a man’s quarters. She knew Salazar wouldn’t tell anyone though.

“Where is your fireplace?” she asked. Her eyes hardened as Rowena smirked up at her. She was going to be rid of this card. It caused nothing but badness. Black tunnels, creepy shadows in the night, dust piled high…she was through with it.

Salazar waved his wand and the dust vanished. There was only a rough outline of where the rocks had caved in. Taking her elbow, he led her into another room, presumably his sitting room. A large fire roared and Helga smiled in sick delight before letting the card fall from her fingers, letting the fire lick away and devour it.

The card was gone. Just like that, it vanished. Just like her sister. But unlike the card, her sister left for a better place, not a world that seemed to be going under bit by bit every day. And Hathietta still lived on in memories. This card, who had dictated a night of horrors, lived no longer. Helga watched in sadistic pleasure as Rowena’s face shrieked in agony as the flames ate her away.