The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

Later that morning, the Grand Hall buzzed with activity as students gathered for brunch. The atmosphere was a mixed bag—some engaged in lively conversation, others nursed pounding hangovers, and a few sulked in quiet frustration, likely stewing over the unexpected romantic escapades of the previous night. The clinking of cutlery against plates and the steady thud of goblets hitting the tables created a familiar symphony of mealtime chaos.

Godric slid into his usual seat at the long table, only to be met with a chorus of stares from his friends. Their expressions ranged from utter shock to barely contained amusement, and it didn't take long for him to realize he was the topic of their morning gossip.

"Is it true?" Helga leaned forward eagerly, her amber eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Did you and Raine actually fu—!"

"Helga!" Rowena nearly leapt out of her seat, clapping a hand over her friend's mouth in horror. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she cast frantic glances around the hall. "For the love of—Not so loud!" she hissed, mortified.

"Well, well, Godric," Salazar drawled from across the table, his smirk so wide it practically split his face. "Congratulations on finally becoming a man." He leaned back in his seat, his sharp green eyes glinting with wicked amusement. "And I would've given every Plata I have to have seen Helena's face when she walked in on you two. Priceless, I'd imagine."

Godric groaned, burying his face in his hands. "By the sweet merciful Gods, how fast does news even travel around here?" he grumbled. "And please, Salazar, don't remind me. It was… awkward, to say the least. We were both…" He hesitated, his voice dropping to a mumble. "Naked. Under the blankets. And yes, Helena saw everything."

Helga managed to wiggle free from Rowena's grip, her excitement undampened. "Oh, oh, come on, details, man!" she demanded, grinning like a cat who'd just cornered a mouse. "How was it? Was it—!"

Rowena grabbed the nearest muffin and promptly stuffed it into Helga's mouth, silencing her mid-sentence. "Helga," she said through gritted teeth, her face still blazing red, "this is neither the time nor the place for such discussions!"

Helga, undeterred, simply chewed the muffin, her eyes still sparkling with mischief as she gave Godric a cheeky thumbs-up. "Mmm, chocolate banana," she said after swallowing. "My favorite!" She licked her lips with an exaggerated flourish, earning an exasperated groan from Rowena.

Rowena pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly fighting for composure. "In all seriousness, Godric, you really ought to be more careful with your… escapades in the future," she said pointedly. "At the very least, use protection. We have magic for that, you know."

"Oh, come now, Rowena," Salazar drawled, leaning back in his chair with a devilish grin. "Would it really be so terrible to have a little Gryffindor Junior running around?" His smirk widened as his sharp green eyes landed on Godric. "I'm sure your uncle would be thrilled at the prospect of grandnephews, wouldn't he?"

Godric straightened up, trying to look dignified, though the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him. "I promise you, Rowena, we were careful," he said firmly. "Raine assured me she's months away from her next cycle."

Rowena sighed deeply, crossing her arms as her gaze softened slightly. "Just… be cautious, Godric," she said. "These things aren't always predictable. And I'm not just saying this for your sake, but also for Raine's… and for the sake of any child you might unexpectedly have in the future."

Godric's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, Rowena?"

Rowena hesitated, her usually steady demeanor faltering as she considered her words. After a long pause, she drew a deep breath, her expression shadowed with the weight of what she was about to say.

"As you're aware, Godric, Raine is still a slave. And under Avalon's Slavery Laws, any children born to slaves are, by default… property of The Guild." Her voice carried the heavy burden of the truth. "If Raine were to conceive while still enslaved, they would… relieve her of her child, which would then be auctioned off to the highest bidder."

The blood drained from Godric's face, the color fading into an ashen pallor as her words sank in. His expression shifted from shock to a simmering rage that threatened to boil over.

"If the child is fortunate," Rowena continued, "they might go to a family who would raise them free. But if not…" Her words trailed off, leaving the grim implications hanging in the tense silence.

Salazar, leaning back in his chair, gave a slight shrug. His tone was as sharp as the edge of a blade, though his expression remained maddeningly neutral. "It's cruel, I'll grant you that. But it's the way of the world here in Avalon. A system that's been in place for centuries. It's profitable—disgustingly so—and greed ensures those wheels keep turning on the backs of the less fortunate."

Godric's jaw tightened, the muscles in his face rigid as he fought to contain the fury coursing through him. His hands balled into fists, his knuckles whitening as his crimson eyes burned with an intensity that made even Salazar pause.

"Not for long," he muttered under his breath.

Helga glanced around the table, her amber eyes flitting between her friends, a flicker of concern visible before she quickly forced a chipper tone. "Well," she began brightly, "at least someone had a fun All-Hallows' Eve last night!" She shot a teasing look at Salazar, her grin mischievous. "Unlike ole' Sal here."

Salazar groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes as he flicked his wand with a flourish. A goblet of cranberry juice zipped across the table into his waiting hand. "Ugh, I would very much like to erase that memory, thank you. If I never have to mingle with those ill-mannered, brainless sheep again, it will be too soon." He took a pointed sip from his goblet. "Honestly, I'd rather have my bottom impaled on a giant cactus."

Helga burst into laughter, earning a glare from Salazar, which only made her laugh harder. "Oh, come on, Salazar," she managed between giggles. "You've got to admit, watching you scowl your way through that whole evening was the highlight of my night!"

Salazar's scowl deepened, and he muttered, "Delighted to have been of service."

Godric leaned forward slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips as he pushed his earlier thoughts aside. "By the way, did any of you happen to finish the assignment on memory charms for Professor Eridan's class tomorrow?"

There was a brief pause before Helga's eyes widened comically, and she shot to her feet in a flurry of motion. "By the great Gods above, I completely forgot about that!" she cried, clutching her head in horror. "Professor Eridan's going to tan my hide!"

"Helga," Rowena sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "How could you possibly forget? We discussed it extensively last week."

"I was… distracted!" Helga stammered as she began gathering her things in a chaotic frenzy, parchment and quills flying everywhere. "By things… important things!"

"Ah, yes, things," Salazar drawled, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. "And by things, do you perchance mean the buffet table at the Samhain Ball?"

Helga's face turned as red as the shimmering crystals in the Ignis hourglass. "That's… that's neither here nor there!" she spluttered, stuffing the last of her scattered belongings into her bag. "I have to go!" With that, she dashed out of the Great Hall, leaving a whirlwind of forgotten quills and papers in her wake.

Rowena stood gracefully, shaking her head as she calmly began collecting her own things. "I'd better go help her," she said with a resigned sigh. "Hecate only knows what kind of state her essay will be in otherwise." She turned to the boys. "I'll see you two later. Try not to get into trouble."

As she walked away, Salazar turned to Godric, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Speaking of memory charms," he began, his smirk widening, "perhaps we should offer one to dear Helena. I'm sure she'd jump at the chance to forget this morning's little… display."

Godric groaned, his face flushing bright crimson. "Oh, har har, very funny, Salazar," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "You're absolutely hilarious."

Salazar chuckled, raising his goblet in mock salute. "I do try."

****

The following day, Godric and his friends shuffled into Professor Eridan's classroom, their footsteps echoing faintly against the polished stone floor. The day felt colder than usual, the sharp bite of the air gnawing at their ears and stiffening their joints—a clear herald of the season's first snowfall lurking just beyond the horizon.

Inside the classroom, the gentle hum of warmth coursing through the enchanted space offered a welcome reprieve. The soft glow from crystal-powered lamps bathed the room in a steady light, pushing back the gloom of the waning sunlight filtering through the steel-framed windows.

Despite the cozy atmosphere, Godric couldn't shake the undercurrent of unease in the air. The tension was subtle but palpable, and its source seemed to emanate from Professor Eridan himself. The dwarven professor stood at the center of the room, his normally composed demeanor betrayed by the way his eyes flickered uneasily toward the back of the class.

Two men, dressed in impeccably tailored suits, stood silently near the rear wall. Their watchful gazes bore into the proceedings with a scrutiny that sent a ripple of discomfort through the students. Godric had never seen them before, but there was something distinctly unsettling about their presence.

"Today," Professor Eridan began, clearing his throat in a vain attempt to steady his nerves, "we'll be discussing the Memory Charm, Obliviate." He paused briefly, his gaze darting once more to the suited men. "But first, a quick announcement." He gestured subtly toward the back of the room. "We have representatives from the Clock Tower observing our lesson today. Please carry on as normal."

The class exchanged uneasy glances, whispers rippling through the rows of desks. Before Godric could voice his curiosity, Rowena raised her hand with the practiced precision of a model student.

"Professor, if I may," she began, her tone calm and confident. "The Obliviate charm works by…"

She launched into a detailed explanation, as though reciting from memory. Her words flowed effortlessly, and her peers leaned in, quills poised, their silver tips scratching rhythmically against parchment as they captured every detail.

Rowena explained how the spell was designed to erase memories from a person's mind, noting its flexibility—how it could be tailored for temporary forgetfulness or permanent erasure. She went on to highlight the ethical considerations and potential dangers of improper use, her logical mind dissecting the intricacies of the charm with ease.

Professor Eridan nodded, his expression softening with approval. "Excellent, Miss Ravenclaw," he said. "Ten points to Ventus for that comprehensive explanation."

A faint murmur of appreciation swept through the class, though Godric's gaze lingered on the two strangers in the back. Their expressions remained unreadable, their postures unnervingly still. Whatever their purpose, their presence weighed heavily on the room, casting a shadow over the otherwise enlightening lesson.

Godric raised his hand tentatively, his brow furrowed with curiosity. "Excuse me, Professor?" he asked. The dwarven man turned his sharp eyes to Godric, nodding for him to proceed. "But what exactly is the Clock Tower?"

Professor Eridan's serious demeanor softened into a kind smile. "Ah, yes, my apologies, Mister Gryffindor," he said. "I often forget you're still new to our world. The Clock Tower is one of the three great administrative bodies of magic in Avalon. They are responsible for overseeing and regulating magical affairs across the continent. Their jurisdiction is vast, encompassing education, law enforcement, and even the development of magical theory."

Salazar leaned toward Godric, whispering with a mischievous grin. "Pay close attention, Gryffindor. This might just end up on the exam—unless, of course, you'd like to try Obliviating the examiners instead."

Helga stifled a giggle, practically bouncing in her seat with excitement. "Ooh, do you think they'll let us practice the charm on each other?" she said, her amber eyes sparkling with glee. "I've always wanted to forget the time I accidentally turned my cat purple!"

Rowena, seated beside her, shot Helga a stern glance. "Helga, please," she said, her tone bordering on exasperated. "Memory charms are serious magic. They're not meant for erasing every little embarrassment."

Professor Eridan chuckled softly, his rich baritone filling the room with a brief sense of levity. "Quite right, Miss Ravenclaw," he said, adjusting his robes. "Memory charms, while highly useful, must be approached with the utmost caution. They're not to be taken lightly."

He then turned back to Godric, his expression once again tinged with seriousness. "But before we delve into practice, it's only fair we provide a full understanding for those less familiar." He gestured toward the men at the back of the room, who remained statuesque and observant. "The presence of the Clock Tower representatives today underscores the importance of this lesson. Memory magic is both a tool and a responsibility."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over the students like a blanket. Godric glanced at his friends, noting their varied reactions—Salazar's smirk of intrigue, Helga's childlike excitement, and Rowena's steady, thoughtful demeanor. The contrast gave him pause, and he found himself leaning forward, eager to learn more.

Professor Eridan cleared his throat once more, his expression grave as he addressed the class. "Now then," he began, "allow me to elaborate further on the Clock Tower, the administrative bodies, and their immense significance in our magical world."

Godric tilted his head thoughtfully. "An administrative body focusing solely on magic," he murmured. "I'd say our world could certainly use something like that."

Salazar leaned back in his chair, a sly grin spreading across his face. "An intriguing idea, Godric. Perhaps you should call it… the Ministry of Magic?" He tapped his chin theatrically. "Though, I must admit, Salazar Slytherin, Minister of Magic, does have quite the elegant ring to it."

Helga perked up. "Ooh! Can I be the Minister of Desserts?" she said, her amber eyes gleaming. "I'd make cake mandatory for every dinner—no exceptions!"

Professor Eridan raised a hand, silencing the murmurs with a firm yet patient smile. "As much as I appreciate your… creative aspirations, let's focus on the topic at hand."

He continued. "The Clock Tower is the central administrative branch of the Mage's Association, which governs Avalon's magical community. Their authority is unmatched—so much so that it even surpasses the Council of Kings."

Godric leaned toward Rowena, his brow furrowing in curiosity. "The Council of Kings? What's that?"

Rowena straightened, her scholarly demeanor taking over. "It's a collective body comprising every ruling monarch or elected leader from Avalon's largest kingdoms and nations," she explained. "They convene to settle disputes, establish treaties, and oversee matters that affect the entire continent."

Professor Eridan's pacing picked up, his robes sweeping across the polished floor as he spoke. His voice carried an intensity that seemed to pull the students closer, hanging on every word. "The Clock Tower, as the governing body, enforces magical law with precision and diligence. It ensures the safety and secrecy of our kind, while also upholding the delicate balance between magic and the mundane."

He paused, his piercing gaze scanning the room. "And to accomplish this, they employ two critical roles: the Adjudicators and the Aurors."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over the students.

The professor stopped, his posture rigid yet commanding, as if every inch of him were made of iron. "Adjudicators," he said, "act as the guardians of magical law. They investigate breaches, oversee arbitrations, and ensure justice is carried out. Aurors, on the other hand…" His words tinged with a note of reverence. "Aurors are the protectors. They stand on the front lines, defending our world from rogue mages, magical creatures, and threats beyond comprehension."

Godric felt a spark of admiration light within him. "Sounds like a lot of responsibility," he muttered.

"More than you can imagine," Professor Eridan replied, his sharp ears clearly catching the comment. "But it is a duty that demands the best of us. To wield magic is a privilege. To safeguard it? That is the highest honor."

"Additionally," Professor Eridan continued, his tone tinged with both respect and intrigue, "our very own Professor Serfence was once a distinguished Auror of the Clock Tower before taking up his post here at Excalibur as our esteemed Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor."

He paused, a knowing glint in his eye as he looked over the class. "Let's just say his career was nothing short of illustrious—marked by many notable achievements, though much of his work remains… classified. As such, I can neither confirm nor deny the many rumors that surround his exploits."

"Interestingly enough," Rowena began with a proud smile, her posture straightening slightly, "my family, the Ravenclaws, have a long and illustrious history with the Clock Tower, serving as Adjudicators and Aurors for generations."

"Indeed, Miss Ravenclaw," Professor Eridan interjected, his tone carrying a note of respect. "Your brother, Bran, is a prime example of that legacy. As you know, he holds the distinction of being the youngest Adjudicator appointed by the Clock Tower in nearly a century. A remarkable achievement." He gestured lightly toward her. "It feels like only yesterday that he was sitting where you are now, eager to prove himself."

Rowena's cheeks tinged with a soft blush at the mention of her brother. "He's always been driven," she said, the pride evident in her tone.

"But I digress," Professor Eridan continued, his gaze sweeping the room as he shifted back to his lecture. "While Adjudicators and Aurors often take center stage in discussions about the Clock Tower, they are by no means the only significant roles. The institution also employs Magisters, Barristers, and Prosecutors who collectively form the framework of magical law. Each plays a vital part in ensuring order and balance within our world."

He paused, pacing slightly as the students absorbed this information. "Now, moving on," he said with a flourish, "let us discuss the second branch of the Mage's Association: The Atlas Institute. This branch is dedicated to advancing magic itself—creating new spells, developing magical technologies, and pushing the boundaries of what we know."

Salazar's lips curled into a sly smile as he leaned back in his chair, his green eyes gleaming with interest. "Now that," he drawled, "sounds like a pursuit worthy of the truly ambitious. Advancing the noble art of magic—what could be more important?"

Professor Eridan nodded approvingly. "Indeed, Mister Slytherin. The Atlas Institute represents the cutting edge of magical innovation. They are pioneers, inventors, and visionaries who have given us much of the magic we use today." He gestured toward the enchanted lamps glowing warmly above them. "Even the crystals powering these lights owe their refinement to the ingenuity of the Atlas Institute."

Helga tilted her head, a curious expression on her face. "So, they're like inventors and scientists rolled into one?"

"Precisely, Miss Hufflepuff," Professor Eridan replied, smiling. "Their work is not only about crafting spells or creating artifacts—it's about understanding the very essence of magic and using that understanding to better our society."

Godric, who had been quietly taking in every word, leaned forward, his crimson eyes gleaming with curiosity. "And the third branch?" he asked. "What do they do?"