The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

As Godric ascended the Grand Staircase, the sound of his footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness, a figure emerged from the shadows of a smaller hallway to the left. Stepping into the dim light of the entrance hall was none other than Excalibur Academy's resident janitor, Anton Buffer. Dressed in his signature navy-blue jumpsuit, his impeccably styled hair and elegant mustache seemed to belong to someone far more regal than a man with a broom.

"Well, that was… something," Anton said, leaning casually on his broom. His usual booming voice was subdued, his tone carrying a note of dry amusement. "Never thought I'd live to see the day Creepy Creedy nearly pissed himself." He tilted his head, leveling his piercing eyes at Godric. "You've got that spark, boy. I'll give you that."

Godric stopped in his tracks, his crimson eyes widening in surprise. "I… thank you," he said sincerely. "That means a lot, coming from you."

Anton's expression shifted, the easy charm slipping away to reveal a more somber demeanor. His hand tightened slightly on the broom handle, the faint creak of the wood echoing in the quiet hall. "A word of advice, Godric," he said. "Creedy's not the sort to let things go. He holds grudges like a miser clutches his gold, and when he makes a promise—good or bad—he sees it through."

Anton's sharp eyes flickered toward the shadows as if ensuring they were alone before continuing. "He wasn't exactly a beacon of decency even back when we were students here," he added, his tone darkening. "But as Caretaker?" He shook his head slightly, the movement heavy with meaning. "Let's just say time hasn't done him any favors. Whatever goodness might've been there once has long since withered."

His gaze returned to Godric, his words measured but unflinching. "As Professor Nogram said, that nickname of his wasn't given lightly. It's a name he's earned, and I'd wager he's long since owned it."

For a moment, the flickering torchlight reflected something unreadable in Anton's eyes—pity, perhaps, or a resigned kind of disdain. "So, tread carefully, lad," he added softly. "Creedy's the sort who plays the long game, and when he strikes, it's never clean."

He paused, his gaze briefly distant, before continuing. "Not to mention, being a hero these days?" He gave a faint, humorless chuckle. "More often than not, it's a fool's errand rather than a noble cause."

Godric's jaw tightened, his posture firming as he met Anton's gaze head-on. "I'll be whatever she needs me to be, Anton," he said. "My uncle used to say a man has to stand for what he believes in, even if it means standing alone."

Anton studied him for a moment, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Then Godspeed, young Lion of Ignis," he said. "You'll need it."

Godric nodded; his resolve unwavering as he turned to continue toward his dormitory. The weight of the day's events pressed on his shoulders, but his steps were steady. Just as he reached the top of the stairs, he paused and glanced back.

"By the way, Anton?" he called down, drawing the janitor's attention. "You shouldn't let that wanker Creedy walk all over you like that. You're braver than you give yourself credit for."

Anton raised an eyebrow but waved a dismissive hand, though there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes. "If you say so, lad. Now get lost before Creedy decides to crawl back out of his hole."

He shifted his broom with a grin, adding, "Besides, I've got floors to clean and a reputation to maintain."

Godric chuckled softly, shaking his head before turning back and heading to his dorm. Anton watched him go, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he resumed sweeping the hallway.

****

As the days slipped by, the incident with Creedy gradually faded into the backdrop of life at Excalibur Academy. It became a distant shadow, lingering only in the faintest whispers of rumor passed between students and in the quiet corners of the bustling routine. Classes resumed their rhythm, the flick of wands and flash of spells echoed from training halls, and the scent of ink and parchment filled the library's lofty chambers. Chores and assignments piled up as the days grew shorter, leaving little room for the past to linger.

For Raine and Godric, however, the memory of that night marked the beginning of something profound. They embraced their newfound relationship, growing closer with each passing day. Their bond deepened through quiet moments stolen in hidden alcoves and tender gestures exchanged when no one was looking—a shared smile, the brush of fingers as they passed, or a whispered word beneath the towering spires of the castle. Their connection, though filled with the excitement of first love, remained a carefully guarded secret. The walls of Excalibur had ears, and both knew the risks if their relationship became public knowledge.

Creedy, much to their surprise, kept his distance. He seemed to make a point of avoiding Raine entirely, not even sparing her a passing glance in the corridors or common areas. For Godric, the reason was clear: fear. The memory of their confrontation had undoubtedly left its mark, and Godric suspected Creedy believed that his threat had not been idle. The thought brought him a quiet sense of satisfaction.

What mattered most to Godric, however, was that Raine appeared untouched since that night. There were no new bruises, no signs of the cruelty she had once endured. Seeing her smile freely, her golden eyes bright and unshadowed, filled him with a quiet determination. He couldn't change everything overnight, but he could protect her—and for now, that was enough.

Life moved on, and as classes resumed, Godric found himself seated in Transfigurations alongside his closest friends. Their instructor, Professor Duchannes, the elven teacher from their first day of school, stood at the front of the classroom, demonstrating today's lesson: turning a rat into a goblet.

Godric squinted at his own attempt—a lopsided goblet that still had patches of fur and a wagging tail. Beside him, Helga stifled a laugh behind her hand, her amber eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, Godric," she teased, "I think your goblet wants to run off and find some cheese."

Godric grumbled good-naturedly, flicking his wand at the unfortunate goblet-turned-rat without much improvement. But his attention soon shifted to Salazar, who sat a few seats away, arms crossed and glaring at his rat with a look of pure disdain.

Leaning over to Rowena, who was methodically perfecting her own flawless silver goblet, Godric whispered, "Um, Rowena? Is it just me, or does Salazar look like he's about to turn that rat into a fireball instead of a goblet?"

Rowena's quill paused mid-note, and she glanced at Salazar before rolling her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Oh, you know Salazar," she replied in a hushed tone. "He thinks Transfigurations is as useful as a chocolate teapot. He reminds us of that every single time we come to class."

Godric stifled a chuckle as he watched Salazar mutter something under his breath, his wand hovering over the rat with clear reluctance. "I half expect him to claim the rat is better company than a goblet would be," Godric quipped.

Rowena smirked, turning back to her notes. "Don't tempt him. He might just prove you right."

Professor Duchannes, sharp-eared as always, glanced in their direction. "Mister Gryffindor," she said, "if you spent as much energy on your spellwork as you do on chatting, perhaps your goblet wouldn't still have a tail."

Godric flushed under the attention, giving Helga just enough fuel to burst into laughter once more. Even Salazar's stern expression cracked slightly, though he quickly hid it behind his usual aloof demeanor.

With a sheepish grin, Godric raised his wand again, focusing on the rat-goblet hybrid before him. "Right, then. Third time's the charm," he muttered, ignoring the amused glances of his friends as he gave the spell another go.

"How utterly diligent, Gryffindor. If only Transfigurations weren't such a frightening waste of time," Salazar muttered under his breath.

Professor Duchannes's sharp elven ears twitched yet again, and she turned swiftly, fixing her keen eyes on him. "Mister Slytherin," she said, her tone poised but edged with amusement, "do you have something to share with the class about the finer points of Transfigurations?"

Salazar rose gracefully from his seat, his wand spinning elegantly between his fingers. "Indeed, Professor," he said. "I was just pondering the sheer practicality of turning rats into goblets." He gestured dramatically, as though presenting to an enraptured audience.

"Picture, if you will, hosting a grand soirée. Oh, the glamour, the splendor! But alas—you've forgotten the cups! What a catastrophe!" He paused, his tone shifting to mock solemnity. "But wait! Thank the Gods for the rat infestation in the cellar! With their noble sacrifice, your evening is saved. Disaster averted!"

The classroom erupted into laughter, with Helga laughing the loudest, clutching her sides as tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

 "Oh, Salazar!" she managed between giggles. "You're absolutely terrible!"

Even Professor Duchannes couldn't suppress a small chuckle, though she quickly composed herself, her lips twitching into a faint smile. "Quite clever, Mister Slytherin," she said, folding her arms. "Though, I must admit, you're not the first student to voice such thoughts about the practicality of Transfigurations. I myself have engaged in plenty of similar debates with my colleagues."

She stepped forward, her expression softening into one of quiet conviction. "However," she continued, "you may be interested to know that Transfigurations form the very foundation of magical theory. Since the dawn of time, and the earliest days of magic, mages have sought to transform one thing into another. Whether for survival, innovation, or art, Transfigurations is as much about understanding the nature of magic itself as it is about practicality."

The class quieted, her words leaving a contemplative hum in the air. Salazar remained standing, his smirk faint but still present. "A compelling argument, Professor," he said with a slight bow. "Perhaps next time, I'll suggest turning goblets into rats. Imagine the possibilities at dinner parties."

This earned another ripple of laughter from the class, though Rowena rolled her eyes, muttering, "He's incorrigible."

"Also, observe…" Salazar said with a dramatic flourish, twirling his wand before pointing it at the rat on his desk. "Vera Verto."

With a brilliant flash of blue light, the rat transformed into a flawless silver goblet, its polished surface gleaming under the classroom's enchanted lanterns.

Godric's jaw dropped slightly, blinking in disbelief. "Blimey, Salazar. That was…" He turned to his friend, still staring at the goblet. "But didn't you just say…"

Salazar's smirk widened. "Just because I find it tedious and utterly ridiculous doesn't mean I'm not exceptional at it, Godric," he said smoothly. "Some of us are blessed in all areas of magic."

Rowena groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "And some of us are blessed with an overabundance of ego to match," she quipped, her tone cutting but amused.

Professor Duchannes clapped her hands, drawing the class's attention back to the front. "Excellent work, Mister Slytherin," she said. She shook her head lightly, but the faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth betrayed her own enjoyment of the moment. "Now, perhaps you'd like to demonstrate how to turn that ego of yours into something more… useful?"

The class erupted into laughter, Helga nearly doubling over in her seat. Salazar's smirk faltered, his emerald eyes going wide in uncharacteristic surprise. He cleared his throat, muttering as he sat back down, "Touché, Professor. Touché."

Helga nudged Godric with an impish grin. "Oh, she got him there. Ten points to Professor Duchannes!"

Godric chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced over at Salazar, whose wounded pride was now evident in his slightly flushed cheeks. "I swear," Godric said, "Salazar's silver tongue is sharper than any sword I've ever wielded."

Helga grinned. "Sharper, maybe. But sometimes, even the sharpest blade gets a little dull." She winked as Salazar shot them both a sidelong glare, his goblet still sitting flawlessly on the desk.

****

As the Excalibur clock tower chimed, marking the end of class, Godric, Helga, Salazar, and Rowena gathered their belongings and stepped into the lively hallway. Students bustled in all directions—some hurrying to their next lesson, others strolling toward the Great Hall for lunch. The air was filled with the clatter of footsteps, snippets of conversation, and occasional laughter, a rhythm that had become second nature to life at the academy.

The four friends chatted idly, their banter light and playful, when Raine appeared, weaving her way through the crowd. Her wolfen ears twitched nervously, and her black-and-white tunic made her stand out among the sea of colorful robes. She hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, her golden eyes seeking out Godric's.

"Um, Godric?" she said softly, her hands fidgeting with the metallic collar around her neck. "Could I… could I talk to you for a moment?"

Helga raised an eyebrow and exchanged a knowing look with Rowena, while Salazar smirked faintly. Without a word, the three stepped aside, giving Raine and Godric some space.

He turned to her, his crimson eyes warm and attentive. "Of course, Raine," he said. "What's on your mind?"

Raine glanced around, her nervousness evident, before leaning in slightly to speak in a hushed tone. "We're… we're having a little celebration in the kitchens tonight," she began, her words slow but sincere. "It's for one of the new slaves. It's their birthday, and I was wondering…" She hesitated, her hands wringing together as she avoided his gaze. "If you'd like to come?"

Godric's expression softened, and he reached out to gently squeeze her hand, his touch reassuring. "I'd be honored, Raine," he said. "What time should I be there?"

Her golden eyes widened, her ears perking up slightly as a shy smile spread across her face. "After dinner—around eight," she said softly, her cheeks tinged with pink. "Thank you, Godric. It really means a lot to me."

Godric's smile deepened. "I'll be there. And, Raine… I'm glad you asked."

Raine's blush grew as she nodded, her tail swishing behind her in a small, happy motion. She took a step back, her eyes lingering on him for a moment before she disappeared into the crowd, the soft click of her footsteps fading into the chatter of the hallway.

"Well, well, Godric," Salazar drawled, leaning casually against the wall, arms folded as a sly smirk tugged at his lips. "So, are you two, like… official now?" He made a small circle with his finger, his emerald eyes glinting with amusement.

Godric hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck as a faint blush crept onto his cheeks. But after a moment, he straightened up, meeting Salazar's gaze with quiet resolve. "You know what? Yes. I suppose we are," he admitted.

"Aww, that's so sweet!" Helga cooed, clasping her hands to her cheeks as her face lit up. "Honestly, I knew you two would end up together."

To Godric's surprise, Salazar's smirk softened into something uncharacteristically sincere. He pushed himself off the wall, standing a little straighter as he looked at Godric. "It seems I owe you an apology, my dear friend," he said, his tone unusually earnest. "I've been… terribly insensitive about Raine. If she holds your heart, then she has my respect."

Godric blinked, taken aback by the rare moment of vulnerability. "Thank you, Salazar," he said.

Rowena stepped forward, her expression more measured, though there was a flicker of warmth in her gaze. "Godric, I'm happy for you—truly," she said, her brow furrowing slightly. "But you must understand the challenges ahead. Raine is a slave, and the laws against this sort of relationship are strict."

"Oh, don't be such a wet blanket, Rowena!" Helga chimed in, wrapping her arms around Godric's shoulders with a grin. "I think they make an adorable couple. Besides, love conquers all, right?"

Rowena sighed deeply, her expression softening as she shook her head. "It's not that simple, Helga," she said, her tone calm yet tinged with a firm undercurrent of seriousness. "The Ius Servitium makes it explicitly clear—slaves are forbidden from engaging in any form of romantic relationships. It's not just frowned upon; it's outright illegal."

She paused for a moment, her brow furrowing as she continued. "And it doesn't stop there. They're also denied the right to marry, even amongst themselves. Their lives are so tightly controlled that even the smallest freedoms are withheld."

Rowena's gaze flickered to Godric, her voice softening slightly, though her tone retained its gravity. "If you want to pursue this within the bounds of the law, Godric, there's only one option—you'd have to buy her freedom outright. It's not impossible, but…" She trailed off, her expression a mix of sympathy and uncertainty, leaving the unspoken challenges lingering heavily in the air.

"Then that's what I'll do," Godric said without hesitation, straightening his shoulders as a fire ignited in his crimson eyes. "No matter what. I love her, and that's all that matters."

He smiled, glancing at his three friends. "Thank you for your support. A guy couldn't wish for better friends."

Salazar smirked, nudging Godric's arm. "Well, thank the stars above that at least you're not stuck with a one-eyed, red-haired, grouchy gorilla," he said with a shrug. "Unlike me."

As if on cue, a loud sneeze echoed from down the corridor, followed by a string of colorful Gaelic curses. The four friends burst into laughter.

"Oh, Salazar, you're such a prude!" Helga said between giggles, wiping a tear from her eye. "But speaking of grouchy gorillas, we should probably get to Potions before Professor Rasputin decides to toss us into his cauldron."

"Aye, right you are, Helga," Godric chuckled, adjusting his robes. "Though I'd wager that even Rasputin's cauldron is less dangerous than what we'll be brewing today."

"With you at the ladle, Gryffindor," Salazar quipped with a smirk, "anything you touch might as well be labeled poison."

"Oh, shove off, Salazar," Godric shot back, grinning. "I'm getting better."

As their laughter echoed down the corridor, the four of them headed toward the Potions classroom, their banter light but their bond unshakable.