The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

"I wouldn't count my dragons before they hatch, Salazar," Rowena said sharply. Her piercing sapphire eyes locked onto him. "You've made Volg desperate, and desperation drives men to foolish—often dangerous—choices."

"What are you suggesting, Ro?" Helga asked, her brow arching in concern. "Do you think Volg's planning to cheat?"

Helena leaned forward. "Cheating would be a gamble even Volg wouldn't take lightly," she said. "The penalties for losing are steep, yes, but for cheating? Especially in a Bellum Inter Duos?" She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. "The consequences for violating the Old Laws are far worse. If he tries it, let's just say forfeiture will be the least of his worries. And trust me—mercy won't be on the table."

"If laws were an absolute deterrent, we wouldn't need Aurors—or prisons, for that matter," Rowena said evenly. "I'm not claiming it as fact, merely offering a word of caution. Volg isn't a rational man; he's a spoiled child."

"A child who's spent his life getting his way, with no regard for consequences, because his wealth and influence have always shielded him from them. But now?" Her sapphire eyes sharpened. "Now he's staring down a truth he's never had to face: no amount of riches or connections will shield him from the reckoning that awaits if he fails."

"A wise man once said, Rowena, it's not the climb that breaks them—it's the fall," Salazar drawled, his smirk widening as he leaned back in his chair. "When you pray for rain, you deal with the mud too. And I, for one, am looking forward to watching Volg drown in the pit he's so generously dug for himself."

Helena shifted her focus to Godric, her tone becoming more serious. "That said, Godric, you should know—this isn't Volg's first Bellum Inter Duos. Far from it."

Godric raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying he and The Calishans have done this before?"

"Six times in the past two years, to be exact," Helena replied matter-of-factly. "Volg thrives on confrontation. Of course," she added with a dry smile, "his opponents have all been fledgling Clans—first and second years, inexperienced and no match for his resources. He's never dared to challenge anyone with real power. Take the Hounds of Cú, for example."

Salazar let out a low chuckle, his emerald eyes glinting. "Oh, Údar and her Hounds would've torn him to shreds. As much as I can't stand her, there's no denying she's unmatched in combat."

Helga couldn't resist a grin. "Aww, that's the first nice thing you've said about your darling fiancée all year."

Salazar's face darkened instantly. "She. Is. Not. My. Fiancée," he snapped. His sulking only made Helga's grin widen as laughter rippled through the group.

"However," Helena continued, "the only time Volg dared to overstep was when he challenged Genji Shimada for his seat at The Table." She gave a sharp exhale, her expression almost amused. "And let's just say… it didn't end well for him."

Godric chuckled, shaking his head. "I've seen Genji in action. That must've been a sight to see."

Helena smirked faintly. "Volg's been stewing over that humiliation ever since. Which is why it stung all the more when he realized The Blade Of Terra entrusted his crest to you. Not that it was done out of spite," she clarified. "Genji's above that kind of pettiness. But I doubt he could resist the irony."

Rowena leaned forward, narrowing her sharp sapphire eyes. "I need clarity on something. Helena, what makes a Bellum Inter Duos different from a standard duel?" Her gaze flicked to Salazar, who was already grinning smugly. "And you—wipe that smirk off your face. If I'm being dragged into this madness, I need specifics."

Helena suppressed a laugh but quickly composed herself. "Fair enough. Regular duels in the arena are just that—competitions for money, fame, power, or status. Public spectacles, really," she explained. Her expression darkened. "But a Bellum Inter Duos is something else entirely. It's not about sport or spectacle. It's deeply personal. A last resort when grievances between Clans can't be resolved through words."

The group leaned in; their expressions taut with focus.

"In the early days of The Congregation," Helena began, "the Old Ways and Old Laws as we know them today, were still fresh. As more Clans joined, their numbers climbed, and so did their ambitions. Egos clashed, grudges formed, and eventually, those grudges escalated into open war. Entire wings of the castle, even the streets of Caerleon were reduced to rubble during some of these conflicts."

"Bloody hell," Godric muttered, crimson eyes wide. "You mean students were tearing each other apart? Here?"

"Essentially, yes," Helena confirmed. "To prevent further chaos, the High Table introduced the Codex Duellum and formalized the Bellum Inter Duos. It gave Clans a way to resolve disputes in the arena—under strict rules, with collateral at stake. To the victor go the spoils. To the loser…" She let the words hang ominously.

Helga shivered. "And what kind of consequences are we talking about?"

Salazar leaned forward, his smirk returning. "The losing Clan is forced to disband," he said. "Their crest and name struck from the official records. And before you ask, no, they can't just start over the next day. The stain follows them. Their defeat becomes part of The Congregation's lore."

Helena nodded. "To most Clans, it's a setback. They regroup, form a new name, and try again. But for Volg…" She paused for emphasis, her expression hardening. "The Calishans aren't just any Clan."

"The Calishans were once part of the High Table," Salazar added, his emerald eyes glinting. "They carried weight. Real prestige."

The weight of Helena's words settled over the table, silencing the group. After a brief pause, she continued, her tone heavy with meaning. "Believe it or not, The Calishans weren't always the despicable band of thugs they've become. As Salazar said, they were once part of the High Table. And their leader?" She paused, letting her words hang in the air. "Laxus Dryfus. The former Ignis Visionary."

"Wait… Dryfus?" Godric's crimson eyes widened in disbelief.

Helena nodded gravely. "Laxus is Volg's older brother. One of the most powerful wizards of his time. Under his leadership, The Calishans were a force for honor, justice, and righteousness. They stood for protecting the weak, especially slaves."

Salazar raised a skeptical eyebrow, his smirk twisting with disbelief. "Protecting the weak? The Dryfus family? You're having a laugh." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "And considering Laxus Dryfus is now the face of the Dryfus Trading Company, I'd say the man's just as corrupt as the rest of them. A hypocrite in every sense."

"That's what I thought too," Helena said. "Until I had the chance to speak with him when he visited the castle. He told me, 'You can't dismantle a system by opposing it outright. Real change comes from within, and to make that change, you need a seat at the table.'"

Salazar scoffed, crossing his arms. "How noble. Let me guess—the piles of gold in his vault help ease the burden of that monumental sacrifice."

"Helena's right," Rowena cut in. "Laxus and my brother Bran are close—both were Visionaries, after all. Laxus is nothing like the rest of his family. He's kind, just, and true to his word." Her sapphire eyes fixed on Salazar, as if daring him to argue.

"Did you know he freed nearly a thousand enslaved children? He didn't just liberate them; he found them homes. That's not hypocrisy, Salazar—that's courage. A fitting legacy for one who once wore the Ignis flames."

Godric leaned back in his chair, his crimson eyes darkening as his thoughts churned. "And now Volg's undoing all of it," he muttered with frustration. "Destroying everything his brother stood for."

"Exactly," Helena said sharply, her gaze hardening. "The Calishans were a beacon of honor and justice under Laxus. Now, under Volg, they've become nothing but glorified thugs. He might wear the crest, but he's not worthy of it—not the name, not the legacy, not the power."

"Isn't it strange, though?" Helga voice cut through the conversation. The others turned to her; curiosity piqued. "If Volg's such a raging jerk, why did his brother leave The Calishans to him? Wouldn't it have made more sense to hand it to someone better? Or just disband it entirely?"

Helena sighed, shrugging slightly. "Laxus may be noble, but he's also hopelessly idealistic." She paused, her tone sharpening. "Let's just say Volg and Laxus don't have what you'd call a loving relationship. Laxus represents everything Volg can never be—a constant, agonizing reminder that he'll always live in his brother's shadow. I've seen Volg lose it completely if anyone so much as mentions Laxus's name."

"So, Volg has a bucket full of issues. Even a blind person could see that," Godric said, raising an eyebrow. "Doesn't excuse the filth he's become."

Helena nodded; her expression serious. "It doesn't. But I think Laxus left The Calishans to Volg in the hope that it might give him purpose, maybe even inspire him to grow into someone better. That he'd honor the legacy and rise to the challenge. It was… optimistic, to say the least." She sighed.

"Instead, Volg's turned The Calishans into the very opposite of what they once stood for. He's twisted the name into a symbol of hatred and fear—not just among the students but even among the other Clans. He equates notoriety with power. But most of all, he's obsessed with one thing: reclaiming a seat at The High Table, just like his brother."

Salazar chuckled darkly. "The need to prove oneself—it's the oldest ambition in the book. Sad, really, that he's going about it entirely the wrong way."

"That's why you've got Volg running scared," Helena said. "This Bellum Inter Duos isn't like any of the petty duels he's faced before. Normally, losing a duel means a Clan is disbanded. As I said, for most Clans, it's a minor setback. But for Volg?" She leaned forward, her tone dropping to a pointed intensity.

"That's not an option. Given the stakes, and the collateral on the table—primarily your freedom—his punishment for losing will be far more severe. He and his little band of thugs will face permanent Excommunicado from The Congregation."

"Huh? Ex-the-what-now?" Helga asked, scratching her head in confusion. "Is that, like, a punishment with shackles and a really long leather whip?"

Rowena let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Helga… Excommunicado means banishment. They'll be kicked out of The Congregation. Permanently."

"Wait…" Godric's eyes widened. "You're saying if Volg loses—"

Helena nodded; her expression unflinching. "Yes, Godric. If Volg and The Calishans lose, they'll be disbanded, and every member of the Clan will be exiled from The Congregation. Forever. Every dream Volg has, every ambition to rise to The High Table—it'll all crumble into dust."

"And for someone like Volg," Salazar said, his emerald eyes glinting with a predatory satisfaction, "that's a fate worse than death. Strip him of his power, his status, and leave him to rot as a nobody? It's almost poetic." His smirk deepened, curling with cruel delight.

"And let's not forget the so-called allies he's surrounded himself with." Salazar continued. "Spineless opportunists, the lot of them. I'd wager they'll scatter the moment they realize what's at stake—what they stand to lose if they fail. The price will be too steep, even for their self-serving loyalty."

"Do you see my point, Godric?" Rowena said. "You're both playing a dangerous game with everything on the line. Volg's desperation makes him unpredictable, and someone like him? I wouldn't put it past him to have a trick or two up his sleeve."

Godric's jaw tightened, his crimson eyes burning with resolve. "Let him try," he said. "Whatever tricks or schemes he thinks will give him an edge; they won't matter. When I face him, sword in hand, I'll cut through it all. I'll save Raine—no matter what."

Salazar leaned back in his chair, his trademark smirk firmly in place. "No matter what."

Helga gave a warm, reassuring smile. "No matter what."

Rowena sighed, shaking her head, though a faint smile tugged at her lips despite her exasperation. "By Hecate," she muttered, snapping her book shut with a decisive motion. "We're going to need every ounce of help we can get."

****

Beneath the tranquil surface of Cardigan Lake, nestled behind the imposing Castle Excalibur, lay the Aecor dorms—a breathtaking marvel of magic and architecture. Accessible through a labyrinth of tunnels, the dorms offered an otherworldly sanctuary, seamlessly blending ancient stone with enchanted design. Their walls, carved from solid bedrock, exuded strength and permanence, while shimmering magical windows in the ceilings transformed the space into a living aquarium. The serene waters above teemed with aquatic life, casting ever-changing patterns of light across the common room.

The dorm's centerpiece was a mesmerizing circular waterfall, its endless cascade flowing with magical precision. Fish darted gracefully through the streaming water, their silvery scales reflecting the soft glow of the enchanted lamps that lined the room. The atmosphere was alive with the soothing sound of rushing water, lending the space a perpetual sense of calm and movement.

Aecor's decor was a tribute to the house's identity, its foamy white and jet-black color palette accented by touches of oceanic blue. This theme ran through every detail, from the elegant furnishings to the banners that hung proudly from the arched ceilings. Gothic windows embedded within the stone walls offered stunning glimpses of the underwater world, where sunlight filtered faintly through the lake, illuminating schools of fish and swaying aquatic plants.

Soft crystal lamps emitted a sky-blue glow, casting a cool and tranquil light over the damp stone surfaces. The air was thick with the scent of water and minerals, the humidity clinging to every surface like a faint, misty veil. For Aecor's students, the dampness and the faint sheen of dew on walls and furniture were not inconveniences but defining elements of their home.

Beyond the grand windows lay the frozen expanse of Cardigan Lake, its icy embrace turning the once-vivid aquatic scenery into a mesmerizing tableau of stillness. The frosted waters above created an ethereal interplay of light and shadow, reminding the dorm's inhabitants of the magic that surrounded and protected them in their aquatic refuge.

Within one of Aecor's private rooms, a storm was brewing among the gathered members of The Calishans. Nearly a dozen students crowded the chamber, their voices rising and overlapping in a chaotic cacophony of outrage and fear. News of the Bellum Inter Duos had reached them, and the high stakes it carried weighed heavily on their minds.

Their leader, Volg, sat hunched in the grand chair at the center of the room. The once-imposing velvet throne seemed more like a seat of judgment now, its cushions offering no comfort. His clasped fingers pressed against his lips, his blue eyes fixed on the polished coffee table before him, where his own distorted reflection stared back, dull and unyielding.

At his side stood Rance, his ever-loyal second. But even Rance's usual confidence faltered, his green eyes betraying unease as the room descended into chaos.

"You told us you had everything under control, Volg!" one of the boys snapped, jabbing a finger at the parchment sprawled across the table. His voice, sharp and accusing. "So, tell me—what in the bloody hell is this?!" His finger struck the scroll again, the wax seal catching the light like a mocking reminder of their imminent doom.

"Oh, you've really outdone yourself this time," another boy chimed in. "Do you even understand what this means? For us? For all of us?"

Volg's jaw tightened, his silence speaking louder than any defense he might have offered.

"Get a grip," Rance interjected sharply, stepping forward with a tone that demanded attention. His piercing green gaze swept the crowd, though it did little to calm the growing dissent. "This isn't our first duel. We've been here before, and we've come out on top every single time."

"Not like this."

The words carried a quiet finality, breaking the stillness with a calm that demanded attention. A boy stepped forward, his uniform marked by the greens and steely whites of House Ferrum. His wavy black hair fell in untamed locks around his face, his dark eyes narrowing as they fixed unflinchingly on Rance.

His fists were clenched at his sides, trembling not with fear but with tightly held resolve. The others turned to him, their attention shifting as if drawn by an invisible force. There was a steadiness to him, an unspoken authority that set him apart—a pillar of reason in a room ready to fracture.

"I've been with you both since the beginning, and the stakes have never been this high. Losing the Clan is one thing, but Excommunicado? Permanent exile from The Congregation?" His voice cracked with frustration as he threw up his hands. "I didn't sign up for this—none of us did!"

He jabbed a finger toward Volg, his eyes blazing with fury. "And if you think I'm going down because he"—his finger stabbed the air accusingly— "couldn't keep his tiny little prick in check, then you've got another thing coming!"

"You forget your place, Adrian," Rance snarled. His piercing green eyes gleamed dangerously, locking onto Adrian with the intensity of a predator. "Like it or not, Volg leads this Clan. Without him, you lot would still be scurrying around like street rats, begging for scraps of respect in the gutters."

He paused, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. "Everything you have, everything you are, is because of him. So, unless you're eager to crawl back to where you came from, I suggest you remember who put you here."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from the likes of you, Gramont," Adrian shot him a glare. "You have your head so far up his ass that you've forgotten the truth—without us, he wouldn't even have a Clan to lead."

His gaze swept the room as he continued. "Ever since Volg took over, every decision he's made has dragged us from bad to worse! And you?" He pointed an accusing finger at Rance. "You just stood there and let it happen."

He turned his glare to Volg, his frustration boiling over. "We told you to leave it alone. We warned you not to poke the damn lion. But no—you just had to get even with Gryffindor. And now look where we are!"

The group erupted in a chorus of agreement, their voices overlapping in a rising tide of frustration and dissent. Each outcry added to the cacophony, a boisterous symphony of anger and betrayal echoing through the room. The air was charged with rebellion, their collective fury aimed squarely at Volg and Rance.

"So, let's cut the crap, Rance," Adrain snapped. "You and Volg dragged us into this mess. We've fought for you, bled for you, followed every damn order without question. And for what? So, you can throw us into a fight we didn't want? A fight we didn't ask for?"

His glare intensified. "You expect us to put everything on the line—our futures, our standing within The Congregation—just to clean up this little bastard's mess? We're not your pawns, Rance, and we refused to be sacrificed so he can keep pretending he's not the pathetic failure everyone knows he is."

Volg's eyebrow twitched, his face darkening with fury as Adrian's words settled over the room like a storm cloud.

"Really?" Rance's voice cut through the air, sharp and biting, his crimson eyes gleaming with predatory amusement. A cold sneer curled his lips, revealing the edge of his teeth. "Funny how it wasn't a problem when you were all tripping over yourselves like starving mutts for a scrap of that pelt. So, spare me the self-righteous act, Adrian, you're just as guilty as the rest of us."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words smothering the protests like a shroud. Uneasy shuffles broke the stillness as several of the boys shifted, their bravado crumbling under the sharp edge of his rebuke. Nervous glances darted between them; the fire of defiance dimmed by the heavy shadow of their own guilt.

"But if your faith in Volg has faltered," Rance began, "then you don't belong here." He gestured to the door; his movements calm but heavy with finality. "If you want to leave—if any of you want to leave—then go. There's the door. No one will stop you."

His gaze swept over them like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. "But don't fool yourselves. Walking away from The Calishans won't spare you from Gryffindor's wrath. When he finds out what you've done, he'll come for you all the same. And believe me, he won't stop until he takes what he's owed."

Adrian's expression remained steely; his stance unshaken. "Maybe you're right, Rance," he said. He stood straighter, his arms folding tightly across his chest, meeting Rance's fiery gaze with one of ice. "But I'd rather face Gryffindor on my own terms than go down with the rest of you. At least then, I'll have a shot at keeping my place in The Congregation when this storm passes." His words hung heavy in the silence, each one laced with cold certainty, daring anyone to challenge his resolve.

The boys behind Adrian murmured their agreement, their voices growing louder, a ripple of dissent spreading through the room. Even Rance seemed to waver, his sharp edges dulling under the weight of their collective defiance.

Volg rose slowly from his chair, every movement deliberate, his narrowed eyes glinting with a dangerous light. When he spoke, his voice was low and cold, the kind of cold that froze the blood. "Adrian," he said, his words measured and dripping with menace, "you're starting to get on my nerves. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to challenge me for the right to lead."

Adrian scoffed. "Challenge you?" he repeated. "For this heap of refuse you dare to call a Clan? Don't flatter yourself, Volg. I have no desire to inherit your failures."

He paused, letting his words sink in, his confidence unwavering as his gaze swept the room. "Once upon a time, The Calishans were a force to be reckoned with, one of The Congregation's finest. But those days are long dead, buried under the weight of your incompetence."

"And let's not forget," he added, "none of this would've happened if Laxus—"

Volg's eyes narrowed to slits, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. His expression twisted into something raw and animalistic, a fury barely contained.

Before Adrian could finish his sentence, Volg moved.

"Depulso!" he bellowed, his wand flashing in his hand as he shot to his feet.

A blinding surge of light exploded from his wand, striking Adrian square in the chest with bone-crushing force. The impact sent him hurtling backward, his body slamming into the wall with a sickening crack that reverberated through the chamber. The room seemed to shudder under the blast; portraits tore from the walls, their glass shattering on the polished stone floor in an eruption of chaos and shards.

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating, broken only by the faint groan of Adrian's body crumpled against the wall. Volg's wand remained raised, his face a mask of unrelenting fury, daring anyone to speak.