"Helga." Salazar Slytherin was speaking very quietly and moving his lips as little as the words would allow. "Hide your face."
Helga Hufflepuff obeyed for once. Usually she would have made a point of not being told what to do or say, but this time she simply grabbed the hood of her robes and pulled it over her head.
She felt Salazar's strong protective hand on the small of her back and knew something was wrong.
They had been to a wizarding market in order to buy ingredients for potions lessons at their newly founded school and on their way back they had to cross through a large town.
In the centre of the town stood a pyre, faint smoke rising from the ashes of wooden logs scattered around.
Salazar had stared straight ahead while passing it, his gaze resentful bordering on furious, but Helga had stolen a sad glance at it.
Burning witches and wizards was a common occurence in their time. Most able sorcerers feared no harm on the pyre, but then the most able were seldom caught.
It was mostly uneducated Muggleborns and more often even Muggles themselves (wrongly accused of witchcraft) that burned to their death on the stake.
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