The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

Godric strode purposefully toward Raine and the boy, his steps pounding with barely restrained fury. Rowena and Helga both reached out to stop him, their pleas falling on deaf ears. He knelt beside Raine, his expression softening as he extended a steady hand.

The wolfen girl stared at him, her wide amber eyes filled with a mix of surprise and hesitation. For a moment, she seemed frozen, disbelieving. Then, cautiously, she placed her trembling hand in his, and he helped her to her feet with a reassuring gentleness.

"Are you alright?" His voice was low, soothing. She gave a timid nod, clutching her arm as if shielding herself from the world.

The kindness vanished from Godric's face as he turned to Volg. His teeth clenched as his voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "My uncle always said, only a coward would strike a defenseless girl. Apologize to her. Now."

Volg's sneer deepened as he looked Godric up and down, his disdain palpable. "Apologize?" he spat, his tone dripping with mockery. "To that? She's a slave, boonie. Maybe you don't get how things work around here, but if you want an apology so badly…" His lips twisted into a smirk. "… how about you make me?"

Godric's stance shifted, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. The steel whispered against the scabbard as he unsheathed it, the blade gleaming with an almost ethereal light. He held it with unwavering confidence, his eyes fixed on Volg. "Gladly."

As the blade came into view, Salazar's brows furrowed, his usually composed demeanor cracking with intrigue. His eyes locked onto the weapon, tracing its ornate golden guard, the royal blue grip, and the faint bluish glow emanating from the blade's edge. Something about it tugged at a long-buried memory.

"That sword…" Salazar murmured to himself; his voice tinged with awe. "It can't be… But Gryffindor said his uncle had it crafted. Yet…"

Rowena stepped closer, her gaze narrowing on the blade. "Those runes…" she whispered, her eyes scanning the ancient engravings etched into the steel. "I feel as if I've seen them somewhere before."

Volg's amusement grew as he drew an ashen wand from within his richly adorned robes. "You're going to regret this, boonie," he hissed, raising the wand with a flourish.

Godric planted his feet firmly, leveling the blade at his opponent. The sharp edge of the sword seemed to hum with anticipation, catching the moonlight like liquid fire. "Come on, then," he said, his voice sharp as the weapon in his hand. "Have at thee!"

A commanding voice cuts through the rising tension. "What is the meaning of this? What in the Old Gods is going on here?"

The group's attention snapped to an approaching figure. The young man carried himself with an air of authority, his Terra robes resembling Helga's but with a distinguishing feature—a silver badge pinned above the Terra emblem, engraved with the word Prefect. His auburn hair, wavy and wind-tossed, framed sharp, dark grey eyes that swept over the scene with a stern expression.

"Put that away at once, student!" he barked, his voice echoing across the courtyard. "Mundane weapons are strictly forbidden on school grounds without a permit."

Salazar crossed his arms, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "Well, well, if it isn't Mister Graymark, the illustrious Head Prefect himself," he murmured dryly. "Always arriving at the worst possible moment."

Helga waved enthusiastically; her grin wide. "Hey there, Lucian! Fancy running into you here!"

Lucian removed his glasses with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in visible exasperation. "Hufflepuff," he muttered, shaking his head. "Why am I not surprised?" He slid the glasses back on and turned his piercing gaze to Godric. "Well?"

Godric's jaw tightened as he stared at Lucian, but after a tense moment, he sheathed his sword with a measured nod. "My apologies," he said, his tone restrained. "I was merely… settling a disagreement."

Volg scoffed, slipping his wand back into his robes and brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. "This isn't over, new blood," he sneered, his eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare. "Watch your back." With that, he turned and strode off, his arrogant swagger palpable.

Godric's glare followed Volg until he disappeared from sight, then shifted to Raine, whose cheek bore an angry bruise. He knelt slightly to her level, concern softening his expression. "We should get that looked at," he said gently.

Raine flinched, her eyes wide with hesitation, but her voice was soft as she replied, "T-thank you, young master. No one's ever… stood up for me before."

"Please," Godric said, offering her a reassuring smile. "Call me Godric."

Raine blinked, a flicker of something warm and hesitant crossing her face, and for the first time, she smiled back—a small but genuine gesture.

Helga, watching the exchange, clapped her hands together with mock cheer. "Oh, Godric, you've gone and done it now!" she teased, throwing him a playful look. "Looks like you've made yourself another enemy. Again!"

Godric exhaled; his resolve unshaken. "Anytime. Anywhere," he muttered under his breath.

Lucian cleared his throat, his tone calm but firm. "While your intentions may have been noble, Mister Gryffindor, I must remind you once again," his eyes flicked pointedly to the sword on Godric's back, "mundane weapons are strictly forbidden on academy grounds without a permit. Consider this your first and only warning."

Godric shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "Understood, sir. It won't happen again."

Lucian studied him for a moment longer, then gave a curt nod. "See that it doesn't." His gaze swept over the group, pausing briefly on Helga with a knowing glance. "And welcome to Excalibur, Mister Gryffindor. I hope you'll make an effort to stay out of trouble—for both our sakes."

Without waiting for a reply, Lucian turned and strode off, his robes sweeping behind him.

Raine bowed her head slightly, her amber eyes darting between Godric and the others. "I should go," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "I still have chores to tend to. Thank you again, youn—" She hesitated, catching herself. "Thank you, Godric."

She offered a timid smile before retreating, her white tail swishing low as she hurried away, disappearing into the shadows of the castle's hallway. Godric watched her go, a soft, reassuring smile lingering on his face. Though she vanished from sight, something in his gut told him their paths were destined to cross again—and he silently vowed to be ready when they did.

As Helga, Rowena, and Salazar rejoined Godric, Salazar's eyes lingered on the blade at his friend's back.

Godric caught the look and shifted subtly, angling the sword away. "Well," he said, trying to lighten the mood, "two lifelong enemies and a warning from the Head Prefect—not bad for my first day, don't you think?"

Rowena opened her mouth to retort, but the deep toll of the clocktower bells interrupted her. The resonant chimes echoed across the academy grounds, sending faint tremors through the cobblestones.

"That's the bell," she said with a resigned shrug. "We should head to our dorms."

Helga's eyes lit up. "Ooh, let's meet for breakfast tomorrow!" she suggested. "We can go over our schedules, and, Godric, you have to try the pancakes. They're absolutely out of this world!"

Godric chuckled; her enthusiasm infectious. "Grand Hall at dawn?"

"Dawn it is!" Helga agreed with a wide grin.

With warm goodnights exchanged, the group parted ways. Godric joined the flow of Ignis students heading toward the tower that served as their dormitory. The stone bridge leading to it was weathered, its surface uneven with the marks of countless footsteps over the centuries. As he walked, the whispers began—soft murmurs that rippled through the crowd.

Some students stared at the sword on his back with awe, others with curiosity, disdain, or caution. Godric ignored them all, keeping his head high and his stride steady. The night air was crisp, and as the moon cast its silvery glow over the castle grounds, he felt the weight of the day's events settle heavily on his shoulders. Yet, despite the challenges, a determined smile crept across his face. His journey at Excalibur had only just begun, and he was ready for whatever lay ahead.

*****

The stone staircase spiraled upward, carrying Godric higher and higher until he finally stepped into the Ignis Common Room.

"By the Old Gods..." he breathed, his voice tinged with awe.

The room was nothing short of magnificent—a masterpiece of gothic architecture. Tall ceilings arched overhead, the intricate carvings in the volcanic stone giving the entire space an air of both power and refinement. Every corner seemed alive with the faint shimmer of molten hues embedded within the charcoal-gray walls, as though the room itself still carried the heat of its fiery origins.

The space buzzed with activity. Ignis students of every race and age filled the room, lounging on plush red velvet couches or gathering around polished wooden tables. Silver-tiered platters laden with decadent treats invited indulgence, and the scent of warm spices hung faintly in the air. At the heart of it all was a massive fire pit, its polished marble base gleaming under the flickering light of a spiraling flame. The fire twisted and swirled like a living tornado, climbing toward a wide funnel in the ceiling. It roared with life, a symbol of Ignis' unyielding spirit, yet the room remained surprisingly temperate—comfortably warm but never stifling. Godric's gaze lingered on the students closest to the fire, who sat unbothered by its size and intensity.

For a moment, Godric simply stood in awe, absorbing the vibrant energy of Ignis as if the very room pulsed with the fiery determination of its house. This was his new home.

"Welcome to Ignis, new blood!" a voice called, breaking his reverie.

Turning, Godric found himself facing a girl in Ignis robes. Her shoulder-length brown hair framed her friendly face, and her warm brown eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. A clipboard rested in one hand, a quill in the other, and a badge above her Ignis emblem marked her as someone of authority.

"I'm Helena Abbot, your dorm monitor," she said cheerfully, pointing to the badge. "Need help finding your room?"

"Aye, thank you! Godric Gryffindor," he introduced himself, offering a polite smile.

Helena scanned her clipboard. "Ah, here you are—Godric Gryffindor. Follow me, please. Your belongings have already been delivered."

"Brilliant!" Godric said, relief softening his tone. "It's been… well, let's just say it's been a rather eventful evening."

As they moved toward a spiral staircase that curled upward, Helena glanced at him curiously. "Oh? Do tell. We love a good tale here in Ignis—it keeps the fire burning, so to speak."

The staircase opened into a corridor glowing with the soft amber light of hanging lanterns. Their warm radiance cast shimmering reflections on the polished volcanic stone walls. Golden-framed portraits of past Ignis alumni adorned the hallway, their faces exuding a mix of pride and fierce determination. Helena stopped at the fourth door from the entrance, where a bronze placard bore his name.

"Here we are," Helena said, pushing the door open with a grin. "Your home away from home."

The room was cozy yet elegant. A four-poster bed draped in crimson linens stood against the far end, accompanied by a sturdy wardrobe and a polished wooden desk. A woven rug decorated the floor, and the walls bore woven sashes depicting magical creatures, some of which Godric had never seen before. The highlight, however, was the large window, offering a sweeping view of the city below, its lights twinkling like scattered stars.

Godric stepped inside, momentarily at a loss for words as he took in the room. Finally, his eyes landed on his trunk and belongings, neatly placed near the bed.

"It's not much, but—" Helena began.

"It's perfect," Godric interrupted, his voice earnest. "Larger than my room back home, actually."

Helena's smile widened. "I'm glad to hear that. And if you need anything, just shout. Ignis looks after its own."

"Thank you, Helena," Godric said, unbuckling his scabbard and leaning his sword against the bedpost. "I think I'm going to like it here."

Helena gave a parting wave as she left. Alone, Godric sat on the bed, the mattress yielding softly beneath him. He took a moment to reflect on the whirlwind of the day—the grandeur of Excalibur, meeting his new friends, and the confrontation in the courtyard. His gaze drifted to the sword by the bedpost, then out the window to the sprawling cityscape.

"Well, Uncle Gareth," he murmured with a faint smile, "looks like you were right. Avalon's going to be quite the adventure."

His musings were abruptly interrupted by the loud rumble of his stomach.

"Oh… dang," he groaned, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to skip that feast after all."