The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

As Professor Lotho dismissed the class, the students filed out, chattering among themselves while clutching books and parchment. Godric and his friends walked toward the west courtyard, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestones as they discussed the day's lessons. The daylight had already started to wane, the chill of autumn biting through the air. Godric adjusted his crimson scarf, tucking it closer to his neck to shield himself from the sting of the wind.

He felt the familiar weight of his longsword resting on his back, though it seemed lighter now. A small smile tugged at his lips as he patted the card tucked securely inside his robes—the permit, finally approved. A sense of relief washed over him.

"I still say a feast would be better than a report," Helga declared, skipping cheerfully alongside her friends. "Ooh! Maybe we could have a study picnic instead! Imagine—hot cider, pumpkin tarts, and fresh sandwiches!"

"Oh, Helga," Godric chuckled, amused by her boundless enthusiasm. "Always thinking with your stomach, aren't you?" He sighed wistfully. "Though I'll admit, a cold glass of butterbeer does sound like heaven right now. It's been a long week."

Salazar smirked, his sharp emerald eyes glinting. "Well, we all know where to find the finest butterbeer in all of Avalon."

Rowena shot him a pointed glare. "Don't you even dare start, Salazar."

"Say what you will, Madam Rosmerta's butterbeer recipe is unparalleled and it's found only in The Congregation," Salazar replied, his grin widening. "Even the best taverns in Avalon can't replicate it. Believe me, they've tried for years."

Their playful banter was cut short as a figure stepped into their path. Volg. The Second-Year's sneering expression was all too familiar, his cold eyes glinting with malice. But this time, he wasn't alone. Beside him stood another boy, unfamiliar to Godric. The newcomer's dark green hair was tousled casually, his robes sharp and pristine, also in Aecor's colors. His piercing green eyes radiated disdain.

Godric's grip on the belt of his scabbard tightened instinctively.

"Don't look now," Salazar muttered under his breath, leaning toward Godric. "But it seems your archnemesis has picked up some new gutter trash. That's Rance Gramont, nephew of Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont."

"Marquis?" Godric arched an eyebrow. "Sounds important."

"Important, yes," Salazar said with a hint of derision. "But as they say, refuse has a way of clumping together."

Volg crossed his arms, a sneer curling his lips. "Well, well," he drawled. "If it isn't the so-called Lion of Ignis. I heard you had quite the show against Argus DunBroch." His eyes narrowed. "Impressive… for a new blood." The last word was spat like an insult.

Godric met his gaze without flinching, his own smirk sharp and unyielding. "Here for a rematch, Volg?" His voice was low and dangerous. "Try it. Cause I promise you, this time it'll end a whole lot differently."

Salazar chuckled, stepping in with his usual flair. "Oh, Volg, if only you'd been there… pity. Though I doubt you could've kept your composure. I imagine the stench of your soiled trousers would have lingered for weeks to come."

Volg's smirk twisted into a snarl as he stepped closer, his teeth bared. "I wouldn't get too cocky, Gryffindor. Argus may have lost, but he's nothing—a runt among the Hounds of Cu."

Rance smirked, his tone dripping with superiority. "Besides, everyone knows the Hounds of Cu are a pathetic excuse for a clan and disgrace to The Congregation. All bark and no bite." He stepped closer. "The Calishans are superior in every way."

Rowena's eyes flashed with righteous fury. "Superior?" she shot back. "Is that why you Calishans need to gang up on defenseless slaves like Raine? Pathetic. Those masks you wear suit you perfectly—only cowards hide their faces."

Helga balled her fists, her usually kind expression hardened with anger. "You lot are nothing but a sack of bullies," she growled, stepping forward and cracking her knuckles. "So how about you pick on someone with some teeth for a change?"

Both Volg and Rance's faces twisted with rage as they leveled their wands, brimming with indignation. Their gazes alight with vengeful intent.

"I'll make you regret that, you Scottish wench!" Rance snarled.

Godric's friends were quick to react, their wands snapping up in unison. Godric's hand instinctively reached for his sword, fingers curling around the hilt. He drew it an inch from the scabbard, its metallic trill slicing through the tense air.

Before anyone could cast a single spell, a smug, melodic voice broke through the brewing storm.

"Oh, hey there, lads," the voice drawled. "What's this slander I'm hearing about the Hounds of Cu? Care to repeat that to my face, hhm?"

A young man strode up behind Volg and Rance, casually slinging his arms around their shoulders as though greeting old friends. His spiky blue hair was tied back in a ponytail that cascaded down his muscular frame, his crimson eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and menace. His Ferrum sigil gleamed prominently on his robe, marking him as a Fourth-Year.

The pure terror etched on both their faces was unmistakable. Godric raised an eyebrow, puzzled by their sudden shift in demeanor.

Salazar's grin stretched ear to ear, his sharp gaze narrowing on the newcomer. "Ah, if it isn't the Hound of Cu himself, Cú Chulainn." He chuckled, clearly enjoying the scene. "I see Údar has decided to let you out to play."

"In the flesh," Cú replied, his grin widening as he let go of the two boys and twirled his crimson wand effortlessly between his fingers. He glanced at Salazar, his tone light. "We'll catch up later, Slytherin." His gaze snapped back to Volg and Rance. "For now…" He leaned in, his presence radiating raw intimidation. "I believe I asked you a question. Or has Scáthach got your tongue?"

The boys stiffened, their faces pale as they exchanged nervous glances.

Volg swallows hard, his bravado crumbling like sand. "We… we didn't mean anything by that, Cú," he stammers, retreating a step. "It… it was a joke. Yes, just a harmless joke!" He glances desperately at his companion. "Right, Rance?"

"Y-Yes! Exactly!" Rance nods so vigorously it looks like his head might fall off, sweat streaming down his face. "Nothing serious! Just… playful banter between friends!"

"A joke, huh?" Cú Chulainn's laugh is deep and menacing, his crimson eyes narrowing. His tone shifts, cold and sharp as steel. "Well, here's a little joke for you both: keep it to yourselves, or I might just find myself in need of a fresh pair of boots made from Calishan hide." He takes a step forward, his gaze pinning them like insects under glass. "Understood?"

The two boys nod furiously, their heads bobbing like marionettes before they spin on their heels and bolt. In their haste, they nearly collide with a pair of passing students, drawing muffled laughter from the gathering onlookers.

"All bark and no bite, indeed!" Salazar calls after them. "Run along now, little Calishans. Don't let the hounds catch you!"

Cú chuckles, turning back to the group. He sweeps an exaggerated bow, his ponytail swinging over his shoulder. "Now that the pests have been handled, allow me to properly introduce myself." He straightens, his grin easy but his eyes assessing. "Cú Chulainn, at your service."

His gaze locks onto Godric, his expression turning curious. "And you must be the Lion of Ignis himself—Godric Gryffindor. Your duel with Argus was… intriguing. The Congregation remains abuzz, and your new title spreading like wildfire. Pardon the pun."

Godric meets Cú's intense gaze, his expression guarded. "A pleasure," he says, his tone measured. "Though I can't imagine why someone of your… esteem would find a simple duel so interesting."

Cú's grin widens, but before he can respond, Salazar steps forward with a smirk. "Ah, no mystery there. He's probably sniffing out new blood for the pack." Salazar's voice turns pointed, though still light. "Speaking of which, where's your lord and master? Surely Údar isn't far behind."

The young man's expression flickers for a moment, as though weighing a retort, but he pointedly ignores Salazar's barb. His sharp gaze remains fixed on Godric, sending a ripple of unease through the air.

"Well, if there's nothing else, we'll be on our way," Rowena says coolly, stepping forward with measured composure. "We have more pressing matters to attend to."

"Right!" Helga chimes in, tugging at Rowena's sleeve with feigned cheer. "Those Treacle Tarts won't eat themselves, you know!"

The group turns to leave, but an ominous crackle halts them in their tracks. The air becomes charged, heavy with murderous intent. Godric stiffens, a cold jolt racing down his spine like an electric current. The atmosphere snaps taut, and then, like a coiled spring, Cú strikes.

A demented grin splits Cú's face as his eyes blaze with wild fervor. With a fluid motion, his wand transforms, elongating into a sleek, eight-foot metallic crimson spear. Its deadly point gleams like a predator's fang. Without warning, he lunges.

Godric spins on instinct, his sword clearing its scabbard in a single, fluid arc. Neon lines of jagged circuits blaze to life along his arms and face, pulsing with an ethereal glow. The air hums with electricity as his blade clashes with the tip of Cú's spear.

The sound of metal colliding with metal reverberates like a thunderclap, silencing the courtyard. Passing students freeze in place, wide-eyed and stunned by the sudden eruption of violence.

"So, this is the fabled power of Vis Vitalis!" Cú exclaims. "Hah! You're just full of surprises, aren't you, Gryffindor?!"

Salazar, Rowena, and Helga react in unison, their wands snapping into position with precise efficiency. The three form a protective arc around Godric, each aiming directly at Cú. The air between them brims with palpable tension, crackling like a live wire.

"Attacking a man with his back turned?" Salazar sneers, his tone laced with venom. "Disgraceful. You shame your master. You shame the great House of Culaan. The Hound of Cu? More like the Mad Dog."

"Give me one good reason not to hex you into oblivion, you filth!" Rowena snarls.

"Move," Helga growls through clenched teeth, her stance rigid with determination. "I dare you."

Cú's grin only widens, the deranged glint in his crimson eyes undiminished. If anything, their defiance seems to fuel his twisted delight. The tip of his spear presses harder against Godric's blade, the tension between them thrumming like an unstruck chord.

****

"Oh, you've no idea how long I've waited for this!" Cú snarled. "Every so-called fighter in The Congregation bested by my spear. But you, Gryffindor... you're different." His smirk widened, eyes blazing with manic energy. "Finally, a worthy challenger!"

Godric's grip on his sword tightened, the blade vibrating with latent energy. His crimson eyes narrowed, locked onto his opponent. "If it's a fight you're after, Chulainn, then it's a fight you'll get," he growled. "And by the time I'm done, you're going to wish you hadn't!"

"Godric, no!" Rowena's voice cut through the rising tension, urgent and trembling. "You're not fully healed! Remember what Doctor Adani said—this is madness!"

Godric glanced briefly at her, his resolve firm. "The last time I hesitated, someone got hurt," he said. A flicker of pain crossed his face as the memory of that night in the hallway haunted him. "Never again, Rowena. Never again."

With a roar, Godric swung his sword in a rising arc, the blade shimmering as it collided with Cú's spear. The resounding clash rang out, silencing the courtyard. The force of the blow pushed Cú back, his feet scraping against the cobblestones as he struggled to maintain his footing. Godric pressed forward, twisting his torso as he unleashed another swing. The sheer power behind the strike sent Cú skidding backward, his boots grinding against the stone until he landed at the courtyard's center.

Cú exhaled sharply, momentarily shaken. His arm trembled from the impact, his muscles protesting against the raw strength behind Godric's attack. Slowly, a demented grin spread across his face as he spun his spear with effortless grace.

Godric stepped into the courtyard; his posture unwavering. The neon lines etched across his skin flared to life, pulsing in synchrony with the raw energy coursing through him. Each step he took left cracks and splinters in the stone beneath his feet. He raised his sword, the blade glowing faintly with an otherworldly power.

"Come on!" Godric shouted. "Let's see if you fight as well as you can bark!"

He surged forward with explosive speed, the ground beneath him fracturing from the force. His sword sang through the air, the raw power behind his charge radiating outward like a shockwave.

Cú's face twisted into a grin of exhilaration; his crimson eyes wild with anticipation. He planted his feet firmly, lowering into a stance that bristled with deadly precision. His spear gleamed as he poised it to strike, muscles coiled like a predator ready to pounce.

"That's it, Gryffindor!" Cú roared. "Come at me! Hit me with your best shot!"