Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine!

Note: Hello! This is my new Founders project – a collection of Helga/Salazar drabbles. A few things first: many of these have also been published on the Founder Era blog I co-run, details of which are on my profile. Secondly, I'll be posting several drabbles per chapter because feel like devoting a chapter to just one drabble is a bit of a waste, plus the number of chapters would get silly. So without further ado – enjoy the Helga x Salazar angst/goodness!

Light and Shadow

Disappointment

He was dismayed and alarmed to find her crying. He was also deeply confused.

It was a cool, fair spring day. Light streamed through the windows and radiated throughout the castle's halls. Nothing untoward had happened at the meeting, either. They had all merely discussed student preferences and lessons – issues that they had gone over a hundred times before. Godric's temper had been a little fraught over talk of his precious muggle-borns, but then that was nothing new. Salazar stepped towards her warily, as if she was a wild animal who might turn and bite.

She did not cry as he had expected. Not in a manner as soft and as delicate as her nature, in any case. Her tears were full and fast-flowing, and her cheeks were blotchy. It wrenched him, but he did not know what to do or say.

Salazar did not understand. "My lady," he began, his voice unusually faltering. "What troubles you?"

He had startled her. She turned, stumbling, and rubbed at her face furiously. "Oh, Salazar! Why are you creeping about like that?"

"Merely concerned for you," he answered. "If my presence is not welcome...?"

"I would rather be alone."

He nodded, but his curiosity and slight irritation at her lack of trust drew him back. "I must know: what troubles you?"

Helga seemed to consider him for a moment. Then she said, rather plainly, "Disappointment." She hurried off before he could form an answer.

Salazar Slytherin may have been one of the cleverest men in the country, but this he could not fathom. What did a woman of beauty, intelligence and pure blood have to be disappointed about?

Potions

They had taught their first potions lesson together and discovered themselves to be an effective team. Helga – the last founder to join the group – had been wary about working with Salazar Slytherin, who had been nothing but dismissive and stand-offish when they first met.

He was, however, a talented potions master: precise, accurate and focused on the finer details. And she fitted perfectly alongside him, bringing creativity and an unwaveringly positive enthusiasm. To her, brewing a potion was just like preparing food. She told Salazar this as they ate by candlelight.

"Ah! You make a good point, Helga. Though I certainly hope you haven't added any flobberworm mucus to this chicken stew..."

She smiled, as he chuckled to himself. She felt her grin widening and her shoulders relaxing. Salazar's company was oddly comfortable.

"I think it was a rather successful lesson," Helga ventured.

He nodded. "And I agree. Except, of course, for that damned boy who forgot to take his cauldron off the heat!"

Helga gasped. "Oh goodness, yes!"

Salazar laughed again, apparently finding the memory of melted pewter and barely contained chaos amusing.

For a while, Helga watched him and swirled her spoon repeatedly around the bowl. It took her several minutes of this to realise that her appetite had vanished.

It was not a pleasant feeling nor, particularly, an unpleasant one: just the bare realisation that her affection for Salazar was markedly different from her affection for Godric.

Storm

There was something quite spectacular about standing in the Slytherin Common Room in the middle of a storm. The Black Lake was storm tossed and throwing its might at the magically enhanced windows. The long, low room alternated between light and shadow as the lanterns swayed and flickered.

Salazar stood before the fireplace, impassive.

It was winter break. The students that could afford it had returned home and the few that remained were either hunched over books in the library or skulking in their dormitories. He stood alone in the ornate room, watching waves crash against the glass and stone that would be his legacy. Not his only legacy, of course.

He closed his eyes and imagined standing in the Chamber, dark and still and beautiful, forever untouched by the storm.

Then, unbidden, she crept into his mind and thoughts of the Chamber disappeared. He imagined her as he dreamed of her, her head resting softly on his shoulder and her hand reaching out for his. She was his comfort in dark times. Where was she now? He mused on this, his eyes blinking open. He knew she would not be afraid. Mere weather could not scare Helga Hufflepuff.

Maybe that was why he was both alarmed by and endeared to her. The mixture of softness and fragility and strength was more than he could understand.

AN: Please leave a review – I'd love to know what you think! :)