It wasn't a response to her question. It was a protest. A disbelieving, miserably pained, protest. It was cruel to take a child from her home and place her among strangers, but it seemed all the more cruel, all the more sadistic, when the child was Helga Hufflepuff. Because now it personally struck him.
No small amount of will power kept his anger and the rage threatening to rupture in check.
"I have not, Helga," Salazar said, straining to keep an even voice. It was fortunate he was skilled in hiding his emotions and sealing his thoughts. Any distress that stole over his face was smoothed away. "Your mother may not be here, but I think you will find you have friends among you here in Lockewood."
It would be too much to tell her now. No, a child could not comprehend such things. Ignorance, in her shoes, was bliss.