The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

The following morning, after a hearty breakfast, Godric perused the day's schedule while he and his friends made their way to class. Their chatter echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the hum of voices from other students navigating the corridors.

"Hmm, Charms with…" Godric trailed off, squinting at the parchment. "Professor Cavendish? Haven't met him yet."

Rowena's sapphire eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, you're in for a treat! Professor Eridan is brilliant! Did you know he's the first dwarven Charms Master in centuries?"

"Honestly, when I first heard about Professor Eridan, I thought it a mere hoax," Salazar interjected with a smirk. "'Sides, we all know that dwarves are better suited swinging hammers rather than wands."

"Salazar!" Helga gasped dramatically, placing a hand on her chest. "That's awful! The professor is wonderful—and so patient."

Salazar rolled his eyes. "With your wand skills, Helga, one would require the patience of a God. I still remember when you set half the class on fire mispronouncing Inflamari."

Helga pouted, her cheeks flushing. "I thought we all agreed to never bring that up again!"

As they arrived at the Charms classroom, they found their seats near the front. Godric immediately noticed the room's unique design—unlike the other classrooms, this one was arranged in a circular formation, with tiered seating descending to a central platform. The walls were lined with polished wood, engraved with the names of various spells, some familiar and others entirely unpronounceable.

Moments later, a stout, dwarven man entered the room, his white robes swishing gracefully around his frame. His meticulously groomed silver hair and beard gleamed under the light, and his dark brown eyes, framed by round glasses, scanned the students with keen interest.

"Good morning, class," he began, his voice rich and measured. "For those who've had the pleasure—or the misfortune—of my lessons before, welcome back to another year at Excalibur. And for those who are new…" His gaze landed briefly on Godric, his lips curving into a small smile. "I am Professor Eridan Cavendish, your Charms instructor."

He clasped his hands together and continued. "Today, we'll be practicing the Aquamenti Charm. Now, who can tell me its primary use?"

Rowena's hand shot into the air before anyone else could react. "The Aquamenti Charm, or the Water-Making Charm, conjures clean, drinkable water from the caster's wand, Professor."

Professor Eridan's face broke into a warm smile. "Excellent as always, Miss Ravenclaw. Five points to Ventus!"

He gestured to the platform at the center of the room, where a series of empty bowls sat waiting. "Now, let's see if the rest of you can summon as much knowledge as Miss Ravenclaw. Wands at the ready—Aquamenti awaits!"

The students began practicing, flicking their wrists and murmuring the incantation as they tried to master the Aquamenti charm. Success varied—some conjured streams of water, while others managed only feeble drips or none at all.

"Blimey…" Godric muttered, frowning at his wand as it sputtered out a small trickle of water. "This is harder than it looks."

"Speak for yourself, Gryffindor," Salazar said with a smirk, his wand producing a flawless stream of water that arced gracefully into his bowl. "It's really quite simple if you have the talent."

Before Godric could retort, a sharp clatter drew the class's attention. Nerida Vulchanova's face was a storm of frustration, her wand clenched tightly in her hand. Her attempts at the charm had yielded no results, and with each failure, her scowl deepened.

Professor Eridan, ever patient, approached her station. "Miss Vulchanova," he said gently, "your wand movements are a touch too rigid. Try relaxing your grip and—"

"Be quiet!" Nerida snapped, slamming her wand onto the desk. Her voice was sharp and filled with venom. "My family has been practicing magic long before your kind crawled out of the dirt!" She glared at the dwarf professor with disdain. "Why don't you go back to the mines where you belong?"

A collective gasp swept through the room, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air. Professor Eridan's expression remained calm, though his dark eyes narrowed slightly, his demeanor steely and composed.

After a moment, he turned to Rowena. "Miss Ravenclaw," he said smoothly, his tone even, "would you demonstrate the charm for the class?"

Rowena rose gracefully, her wand poised with precision. With a flick of her wrist, she incanted, "Aquamenti."

A perfect stream of crystal-clear water flowed effortlessly from her navy-blue wand into one of the empty bowls, the sound of the water filling the room. Applause erupted from the students, accompanied by a few chuckles aimed at Nerida's failure.

Professor Eridan smiled warmly at Rowena. "Splendid work, Miss Ravenclaw! Another five points to Ventus for an exemplary demonstration."

Turning back to Nerida, his gaze hardened ever so slightly. "Miss Vulchanova, please remain after class. We'll work on refining your… technique."

As the professor resumed his circuit of the classroom, Helga leaned over to Rowena, whispering, "Psst! Row! Could you help me with this later? I'm absolutely dreadful at it!"

Rowena gave her a reassuring smile. "Of course, Helga. We'll work on it after lunch."

Godric, still frowning, glanced toward Nerida. "I can't believe someone would talk to a professor like that," he muttered. "It's just not right."

Salazar, lounging comfortably in his chair, smirked. "Well, it seems like our beloved Vulchanova Princess isn't quite as talented as she thinks she is. At least something entertaining came out of this lesson."

The tension in the room lingered, a sharp undercurrent beneath the splashes of water and murmured incantations.

****

The days blurred into a routine of lessons, assignments, and frantic studying for Godric. Despite the Professors offering additional help after classes, the effort of cramming two years of foundational knowledge into just three weeks left him overwhelmed. Rowena's quiet reassurance that such a feat was nearly impossible was a small comfort, though it did little to ease the frustration of constantly feeling behind.

On one cool September night, Godric found himself in the library with Rowena and Helga. They were surrounded by leaning towers of books and scattered parchment as they worked through their week's assignments under the soft glow of crystals.

"Godric," Rowena said, her quill gliding across her parchment with deliberate strokes. "How are you finding Professor Cavendish's extra lessons?"

Godric sighed, rubbing his temples. "Challenging, but rewarding. For the first time, I feel like I might actually belong here."

"Oh, you've always belonged here, you silly goose!" Helga said with a grin, patting him on the shoulder. She yawned and stretched. "But enough work for one night. I'm going to lose my mind if I stare at these runes any longer. Let's head back."

They packed their things and parted ways, the girls heading toward the dormitories while Godric chose a shortcut through a quiet corridor. The passage was avoided by most students, thanks to a lingering tale about faceless wraiths that supposedly haunted it at night. Godric dismissed the rumors with a roll of his eyes. The amber glow of lamps cast long shadows across the stone walls as his footsteps echoed softly through the silence.

A sudden sound broke the quiet: a mix of cruel laughter and muffled cries of pain. Godric's pulse quickened.

"What in the world?" he muttered, quickening his pace.

Turning the corner, he stopped short, his crimson eyes widening. A group of students dressed in white cloaks marked with an unfamiliar sigil surrounded a figure crumpled on the floor. Their laughter echoed, sharp and mocking.

His gaze locked onto the figure on the ground, and his breath hitched. "Raine…"

The leader of the group stepped forward and delivered a vicious kick to her stomach, making her cry out in pain. "See what happens when filthy little pelts forget themselves!" he sneered.

"Please… stop…" Raine whimpered, her wolfen ears pressed against her head as she curled tighter into herself. "It… it hurts…"

Godric's fury surged, recognizing the voice as he stepped forward. "That's enough, Volg!" he shouted, his own voice echoing through the hall. "Get away from her, now!"

The group of six turned to him, their faces obscured by pale porcelain masks with narrow slits for eyes. It then clicked in his mind—the faceless wraiths of the rumors. Volg removed his mask, revealing a smirk that ignited Godric's anger further.

"Well, well," Volg said mockingly. "If it isn't the new blood. Come to play hero again?"

Godric reached instinctively for his sword, only to grasp at empty air. Panic flared as he remembered he'd left it behind. "Blast it!" he muttered.

Volg's grin widened as he raised his wand. "Depulso!"

A burst of blue light shot forth, hitting Godric square in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer. He slammed into the wall and crumpled to the ground, gasping for air, pain radiating through his body.

"Godric!" Raine cried, her voice breaking. "No, don't hurt him! Please, it's me you want—"

Her plea was cut off as Volg kicked her again, silencing her with a cruel laugh. "Shut up, pelt. You'll get yours soon enough." He turned back to Godric. "Looks like you're nothing without your precious little sword. Calishans, let's teach these two a lesson they won't forget."

Godric coughed, blood splattering the cobblestones beneath him. The metallic tang filled his mouth as his blurred vision found Raine's battered form. His hands trembled as he tried to push himself up.

"Raine…" he gasped, his voice weak but firm. "Run…"

Volg loomed over him, wand at the ready, his expression one of sadistic glee. "I told you to watch your back, new blood. I haven't forgotten our little chat in the courtyard. Today's the day you learn your place," he sneered, casting a glance back at Raine. "Just like this filthy little pelt."

Godric glared up at Volg, defiance burning in his crimson eyes despite the blood trickling down his lips. "You're just a pathetic weakling, Volg," he spat, his voice steady despite the pain. "Hiding behind your pack of lackeys. Picking on those who can't fight back?" He let out a sharp scoff. "Cowards like you make me sick."

Volg's face twisted in fury, his grip on his wand tightening as its tip began to glow with dangerous light. "You low-born, insolent little—!"

Before he could finish, a flash of crimson light streaked through the hall like a bolt of lightning. Volg's wand flew from his hand with a loud crack, clattering to the stone floor. He staggered back, clutching his wrist as his pained cry echoed through the corridor.

"What the—!" Volg whirled around, his wide eyes searching the shadows. "Who's there? Show yourself!" he bellowed, his voice tinged with panic.