The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

Godric yawned and stretched, feeling the warmth of the morning sun slipping through the gaps in the dark crimson curtains. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and smacked his lips groggily.

"Blimey…" he muttered, his voice rough with sleep. "Two weeks already? Feels like only yesterday."

Then his eyes shot open in alarm. "Wait… what time is it?" He snapped his gaze to the clock mounted on the wall. The hands spelled out his doom. "Oh, by the Old Gods!" he yelped, stumbling out of bed.

He scrambled into his robes, grabbing books, quills, and his wand, shoving everything haphazardly into his bag. In his rush, he almost tripped over his own feet as he bolted out the door, barreling past startled students.

"Oh, I'm dead. So very, very dead," he muttered, racing down the spiraling staircase of Ignis Tower.

Time seemed to drag as he navigated the labyrinth of the castle. Finally, through sheer luck or divine intervention, Godric stumbled into the dungeons. The air was colder here, damp and heavy, with the faint, unsettling echoes of dripping water reverberating through the stone halls. A musky scent lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of old magic.

Sliding to a stop, Godric pushed open a thick wooden door and stumbled inside, panting and red-faced.

"Godric! Over here!" Helga called, waving enthusiastically from a table near the middle of the classroom. "We saved you a seat!"

He rushed over and slumped into the chair between his friends, trying to catch his breath.

"Cutting it a bit close, aren't we?" Rowena asked, raising an unimpressed brow.

"Sorry," he huffed, setting his bag down. "I was up late last night… reading A History of Magic. Avalon has such a fascinating history; I lost track of time."

Salazar smirked, leaning back in his chair. "I'll bet you a Plata he gets detention in the first ten minutes."

"Oh, har har," Godric shot back, rolling his eyes.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, crashing against the wall with a thunderous bang. A man stomped into the room with the presence of a storm cloud. His shoulder-length black hair framed a stern, angular face, and his piercing black eyes scanned the room with a withering intensity. His robes, black as midnight and woven with intricate patterns, swept the floor as he walked.

"Dobro pozhalovat' to page three hundred and thirty-four," the man growled, his accent sharp and unfamiliar. "You miserable excuses for Third Years."

Godric leaned toward Salazar. "Professor Rasputin is even grumpier than usual. Wonder what's got his beard in a twist."

Salazar stifled a chuckle. "It's a permanent state, I'm afraid. Smiling? I don't think he's biologically capable of such an expression."

Leaning closer, he added, "Fun fact: Professor Rasputin isn't just an enigma; he's from the future."

Godric's eyes widened. "You're joking."

"Nope," Salazar whispered conspiratorially. "They call people like him Vagabonds. Supposedly bound by some kind of unbreakable code not to reveal details about their timelines."

Before Godric could ask more, Rasputin slammed a heavy tome onto his desk, rattling the beakers and vials scattered atop it.

"Today," he boomed, his voice like thunder, "you will brew a Calming Draught. Partner up! Two to a group, blyat!"

Godric exchanged a glance with Salazar. "Did he just swear at us in… whatever language that was?"

Salazar shrugged, suppressing a smirk. "I believe so. You'd better find a partner before he singles you out."

"Slytherin!" Professor Rasputin's voice cut through the room like a whip. "Partner with Gryffindor. And for the love of the Old Gods, ensure the eedeeoht doesn't kill us all."

Salazar sighed, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Well, Gryffindor, looks like you're stuck with me." He gestured for Godric to follow. "Come along, then."

Time passed as the students paired off at worn wooden tables, each one battered and stained from years of alchemical mishaps with Helga and Rowena working at the table next to them. Cutting boards, knives, and various utensils littered the surfaces, and metallic cauldrons bubbled with iridescent colors over intense flames. Godric stood beside Salazar, chopping ingredients as best he could, but his attention kept wandering to his partner.

Salazar worked with an almost unnatural precision, each motion deliberate and practiced. His hands moved with ease as he measured, crushed, and stirred, the bubbling brew in their cauldron shifting to a rich cerulean hue. Around them, other students struggled with their mixtures, some looking on in envy. Salazar's confidence and skill exuded a level of expertise uncommon for someone their age.

Godric stared, momentarily forgetting his task.

Salazar paused, glancing sideways at him. "Something the matter, Gryffindor?" he asked, raising a brow.

Startled, Godric shook his head. "No, nothing. I was just… uh… admiring your technique."

Salazar rolled his eyes. "If you have time to gawk, you have time to brew," he said, handing Godric a small vial filled with a viscous purple liquid. "Add exactly three drops of this. No more, no less. And for the love of all that is sacred, be careful."

Godric nodded, swallowing nervously. He gripped the vial tightly and leaned over the cauldron, its contents bubbling ominously. As he tilted the vial, his hand slipped, and the entire contents poured into the mixture.

"Whoops…" Godric whispered, his voice rising in panic.

Salazar's eyes widened in horror as the cauldron began to rumble. The bubbling brew frothed violently before erupting with a deafening BANG, covering both boys in a sticky, glowing purple goo. The room fell silent for a beat before erupting into laughter.

Salazar stood frozen, his face and hair dripping with the concoction. He turned to Godric with a deadpan expression, slow-clapping with exaggerated sarcasm. "Bravo, Gryffindor. Truly spectacular. Next time, might I suggest you finish the job entirely? At least then I'd be spared the shame of being your acquaintance."

Godric grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, at least we're calm now, right? That's… something."

Professor Rasputin pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an audible groan. "Bozhe moy… Gryffindor!" he roared. "Back to the basics for you, you utter klutz!"

Helga giggled from the table beside them. "Well, Godric, at least you made an impression!" she chirped.

Rowena sighed, shaking her head as she wiped a speck of potion from her sleeve. "This is going to be a long year, isn't it?"

****

Sometime later, Professor Rasputin dismissed the class with a dramatic wave of his hand, muttering in frustration about the incompetence of youth.

"Class dismissed," he grumbled, his accent thick with disdain. "Perhaps you'll all manage not to blow yourselves up by the time you're old and gray."

Rowena rolled her eyes but wordlessly waved her wand. The remaining goo clinging to both Godric and Salazar evaporated, leaving them spotless.

"Thanks, Rowena," Godric said, straightening his robes. "I'll admit, that could've gone better."

"Understatement of the century, Gryffindor," Salazar deadpanned, brushing at an imaginary speck on his sleeve.

Godric chuckled; his mood undeterred. "So, what's our next class?"

"Herbology!" Helga exclaimed, practically bouncing on her toes. "We're headed to the castle orangery. You're going to love it, Godric!"

The four of them made their way across the sprawling castle grounds, the midday sun casting golden rays over the glittering greenhouse in the distance. Godric's eyes widened as they drew closer. The structure was unlike anything he'd ever seen, a blend of steel and glass that shimmered like a diamond.

"By the Old Gods…" he whispered as they climbed the stone steps leading to the entrance.

Inside, the greenhouse was a verdant labyrinth. Exotic plants of every shape and size sprawled in every direction, their vibrant hues almost overwhelming. The air was heavy with humidity, carrying earthy scents both alien and oddly refreshing.

Salazar wrinkled his nose, clearly unimpressed. "This," he said, waving a hand vaguely at their surroundings, "is why I absolutely despise Herbology. I can feel my allergies already staging a rebellion."

Rowena gave him a pointed look. "Stop being so dramatic, Salazar," she said, her sapphire-blue eyes scanning the lush flora. "Just look at these specimens! Some of these plants could be older than the castle itself."

As they entered the classroom section of the orangery, a towering orc came into view, carefully pruning a Whispering Willow. The gentle murmurs of the tree ceased as his large but nimble hands moved with precision.

Godric froze, his jaw slack as he took in the sight. The orc turned toward them, secateurs still in hand, and gave a warm, tusked grin.

"Welcome, young sprouts!" he said in a deep, rumbling voice. "Ready to get your hands dirty?"

"Oh, I can't wait, Professor Lagduf!" Helga beamed, her enthusiasm lighting up the room.

Professor Lagduf chuckled heartily. "Ever the eager one, aren't you, Miss Hufflepuff?"

Standing at an imposing seven feet tall, Professor Lagduf was a sight to behold. His green skin glistened faintly under the sunlight filtering through the glass. His short, neatly trimmed beard was dusted with soil, and his earth-stained robes bore the wear of countless gardening sessions. Noticing Godric's lingering stare, the orc raised an amused eyebrow.

"Something on my face, lad?" he asked with a playful grin. "Or is it odd to see an orc who knows his way around a trowel rather than a warhammer?"

Godric flushed. "N-no, sir! I didn't mean to stare. It's just… I've never…"

Lagduf roared with laughter, clapping Godric on the back with enough force to nearly knock him over. "Relax, boy! I'm just pulling your leg. But you're not wrong—a learned orc is rarer than a well behaved Venemous Tentacula. Can anyone tell me why?"

Rowena's hand shot up. "Orc culture traditionally values physical strength and combat prowess. Intellectual pursuits are often seen as… less desirable."

"Spot on!" the orc professor nodded approvingly. "Ten points to Ventus. Now, settle down, everyone, and let's see if you can identify this lovely specimen." He hefted a pot from behind his desk, revealing a plant with vibrant yellow flowers that seemed to pulse faintly.

As the students took their seats, Helga leaned in closer to Godric, whispering behind her hand. "Show-off. I bet Row sleeps with a copy of 'Orc Culture for Dummies' under her pillow."

Godric stifled a laugh, then glanced back at Professor Lagduf, who was now explaining the plant's unique properties. "It must be hard, though," Godric murmured. "Being different like that. I can't imagine how it feels to be an outcast simply because you chose to walk a different path."

Salazar leaned in; his tone quieter but edged with gravity. "A wise man once said, 'A nail that sticks out is quickly hammered down.'" His emerald green eyes glimmered with something unspoken. "The world isn't kind to those who stand apart, Gryffindor. It never has been, and it never will be. Remember that."