The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

"For the better…" Godric leaned back, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "That's… an interesting thought, Salazar."

As if on cue, a figure shuffled past their table—Raine. Godric's eyes followed her as she carried a teetering pile of dirty dishes. Her long, snowy hair was matted, her tail tangled and stained. Bruises marred her arms and legs, faint but unmistakable.

"Raine…" Godric muttered, his chest tightening. He clenched his fists under the table. "I should have protected her. Instead…" His voice dropped, teeth grinding. "Leaving my sword behind… stupid! Stupid and careless! My uncle always said, 'A warrior never leaves home without his weapon.' He'd be ashamed of me. What was I thinking?"

"Poor thing…" Rowena pursed her lips, exhaling sharply as she watched Raine disappear into the kitchens. "Volg and the Calishans have much to answer for." She turned back to Godric, her tone urgent. "But surely you're not actually considering Salazar's proposal, are you?"

"I… I don't know," Godric admitted, running a hand through his dark red hair. His sigh was heavy, burdened. "But look at her. Look at all of them—slaves, treated like they're less than human. It's not right." He clenched his fists. "Maybe… maybe Salazar has a point."

"Godric, I love a good game as much as anyone," Helga leaned forward, her voice a mix of concern and disbelief. "But this isn't about fun anymore. The Clans have changed. The game has changed!"

"Dangerous?" Salazar's voice cut through her words like a blade. He leaned forward, arms crossed, his emerald eyes sharp. "Or powerful?"

His tone darkened as he continued. "Think about it, Godric. Together, we could wield unthinkable power. Not just sway the student body but reshape the Academy itself. You said you wanted change. With a Clan, we wouldn't just demand it—we'd create it. Set things right."

"This is madness!" Rowena slammed her fork down with a sharp clang, startling nearby students. "He's crazy! You're both crazy!" She pointed at Godric, her blue eyes blazing. "Please tell me you aren't actually going through with this?"

He glanced between his friends, then back at the doorway where Raine had vanished. "I… I don't know." His voice wavered. "It's a lot to think about. Maybe we could make a difference…"

"Godric, please," Helga said, her voice breaking as she grabbed his arm. Her amber eyes were wide with fear. "Remember what happened to Matthew Garetty. People not only get hurt. They die."

"But with us in charge, it could be different." Salazar's voice dropped to a near-whisper, persuasive and venomous. "We wouldn't be like the Calishans. We could control the game. Shape it. Change the very fabric of Excalibur. Think of what you could achieve, Godric. The lives you could transform. Your ambitions."

Godric shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. "I… I need some air." He grabbed his bag and his sword hastily. "This is too much to think about right now."

"Godric, wait—" Rowena half-rose from her seat, but he waved her off.

"I'll see you all in Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said, voice tight, as he turned and strode toward the Great Hall's towering main entrance. "I just… I need to be alone."

The group watched him leave in tense silence.

Helga and Rowena both turned on Salazar, their glares sharp enough to pierce armor. Anger simmered in their eyes, tempered by exasperation.

Salazar leaned back in his chair; hands raised in mock innocence. A sly grin played on his lips, smug and unapologetic. "What?" he drawled, his tone laced with feigned confusion. "What did I say?"

Helga's patience snapped like a taut string. She leaned forward, her voice cutting and uncharacteristically sharp. "Oh, shove off, Salazar!" she hissed, her usual warmth replaced with unrestrained frustration.

Rowena crossed her arms, her gaze icy. "You're poisoning his mind," she accused, her tone low but trembling with restrained fury. "Playing on his guilt, twisting his thoughts. And for what? Your own twisted ambitions?"

Salazar's grin widened, unbothered by their scorn. "My ambitions?" he echoed, his voice a silken thread of mockery. "Oh, Rowena, don't be so melodramatic. I merely offered him perspective. What he does with it…" He shrugged lazily, his grin turning predatory. "Well, that's entirely up to him, isn't it?"

Helga clenched her fists, her knuckles whitening against the polished wood of the table. "You Ferrum lot are all the same. You don't care about anyone but yourself," she spat. "Godric is your friend, Salazar. He's our friend! Not some mindless puppet you can make dance on a string!"

Salazar's smirk faltered for the briefest of moments, his gaze narrowing. "And perhaps," he said smoothly, though his tone was edged with steel, "you should stop underestimating him. Godric is not a child to be coddled, Helga. He's a lion—a warrior. Let him decide where his roar will echo."

Rowena slammed her hands on the table, rising to her feet. "Enough of this foolishness! Godric doesn't need your nefarious schemes, Salazar. He needs friends who will support him, not steer him into ruin."

Salazar rose as well, his expression unreadable. "Support him? Or stifle him?" His voice was calm, but his words carried a dangerous weight. "There's a fine line, Rowena. Perhaps you should tread carefully."

Helga stood too, stepping between them as tension crackled in the air like a brewing storm. "Alright, that's enough," she said firmly, her voice quelling the brewing argument. "We're all friends here." Her expression solemn. "Or at least we're supposed to be."

The three stood in silence, the sounds of the Great Hall continuing around them as if unaware of the charged moment.

Finally, Salazar scoffed, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. "You'll see soon enough," he said, his voice smooth but distant. "I have faith that Godric will make the right decision. You two may not believe in him, but I do."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode off, leaving Rowena and Helga to exchange worried glances.

****

Godric's boots clapped against stone as he stormed out of the castle, his mind awash with doubt and turmoil. The crisp morning air bit gently at his face, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and autumn leaves just beginning to wither. The red-bricked path led him through the sprawling grounds until his eyes found the solace of Cardigan Lake.

The shimmering surface glowed golden under the sun's soft embrace, the water rippling with a tranquil rhythm that mocked the chaos in his mind. His gaze locked on the wooden bridge leading to the floating pavilion at the lake's center, its isolation calling to him. Without hesitation, he crossed, the hollow thud of his footsteps echoing in the quiet.

Godric threw his bag onto a bench, dropping into the seat with a heavy sigh. He buried his fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots as he groaned. "By the Old Gods, what am I supposed to do?" His voice cracked as it carried into the stillness, swallowed by the gentle lapping of water against the pavilion's posts.

Staring at the shimmering expanse before him, he absently traced the hilt of his sword on his back. A Clan... Could it truly bring change? Or just invite more chaos? His knuckles tightened on the hilt. "Uncle Gareth," he murmured, "I could really use your wisdom right now."

 A faint rustling disturbed the serene stillness behind him. Godric's hand instinctively gripped his sword, fingers tightening around the hilt. The soft trill of metal against the scabbard broke the silence as he eased the blade an inch free, his body taut with anticipation. But as his gaze locked onto a familiar figure, his grip loosened. With a quiet sigh, he slid the sword back into place, the tension melting from his posture.

 "Oh, I—I'm sorry," Raine froze mid-step, her wolfen ears flattening as her golden eyes widened. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll leave—"

"No, please," Godric said quickly, raising a hand to stop her. "Stay. This is your place, isn't it? If anything, I'm the one intruding."

Raine hesitated, her tail twitching uncertainly. "I… I do come here sometimes. It's peaceful," she admitted softly. "Most students are in class by now, so no one really notices me."

"Well, you don't have to leave on my account." He smiled warmly, patting the bench beside him. "If you want to sit, that is. No pressure."

After a moment, Raine nodded and cautiously approached, settling on the edge of the bench. She kept a respectful distance, her hands folded in her lap. "Thank you," she said quietly. "That's… kind of you."

Godric's gaze lingered on her, his stomach twisting as he noticed the bruises on her pale arms and legs. They were faint, faded to a sickly yellow, but unmistakable.

"Raine…" His voice dropped, soft but firm. "Those bruises… they aren't from yesterday, are they?"

Her ears flattened again, and she turned her gaze to the water. "No," she said after a pause. "They're… older. It's nothing, really. I'm used to it." She offered a weak smile, her voice tinged with resignation. "Beatings, threats, insults… it's just another day. It's just… how things are."

Godric's jaw tightened, his fists clenching on his knees. "It shouldn't be," he said, his voice trembling with barely contained anger. "By Charlamagne, it shouldn't have to be this way. No one should live like this—to be treated like someone else's property."

Raine's eyes widened at his words, shimmering with a mix of surprise and something else—hope. "You're… different," she said softly. "You're the first student who's treated me like… like a person. Not just a slave. Thank you for that."

Godric turned to meet her gaze, a determined fire igniting in his crimson eyes. "Raine, I don't know how yet, but I swear to you—I'm going to change things. This isn't right, and I won't let it go on any longer."

Her lips parted, and for the first time, a genuine smile broke across her face. "I believe you, Godric," she whispered. "If anyone can make a difference… it's you."

They sat in silence after that, the soft hum of the lake and the distant calls of birds filling the air. Godric's hand brushed the hilt of his sword again, but this time, it didn't feel like a burden. It felt like a promise.

"By the way…" he began, a soft smile curving his lips. "I don't think I've had the chance to properly introduce myself. I'm Godric—Godric Gryffindor."

"It's nice to meet you properly, Godric." Raine fidgeted with the hem of her tattered dress, her voice soft but steady. "I've heard about you from the other slaves. They say you're a new student, even though you're a Third Year." Her golden eyes met his with quiet curiosity. "Were you… held back for some reason?"

Godric flushed slightly, clearing his throat awkwardly. "No, no!" he said quickly. "It's… well, complicated. Let's just say my arrival was delayed." He shifted in his seat, eager to change the subject. "But honestly, I'd much rather hear about you, Raine. I've never met a Therianthrope before. Tell me more about yourself."