The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

Chaos erupted like a sudden storm. Wands flew into the hands of the boys in an instant, their tips sparking to life with the glow of half-formed spells. The air crackled with tension, the promise of violence hanging thick and heavy. Volg's wand remained raised, though it trembled faintly in his grip, his wild blue eyes flickering from face to face, searching for control that was slipping through his fingers.

Rance moved swiftly, stepping in front of him like a shield, his own wand drawn and steady. His aim never wavered, his stance rigid and unyielding as he faced the boys, daring them to make the first move.

"I told you never to speak my brother's name! Never!" Volg's roar erupted like a crack of thunder, shaking the room with its raw, blistering fury. His wand trembled in his grip; his fingers so tight they looked ready to snap. The sneer on his face twisted into something feral, something broken, his wild blue eyes blazing with unhinged intensity.

"I am the leader of The Calishans!" His voice ragged and fraying, as if torn from his throat. "This Clan is mine—mine! I'll do whatever the hell I please, and you will obey! When I say fight, you fight! When I say die, you die!" He jabbed his wand toward them. "And if you won't, I swear—I'll kill every last one of you myself."

The room felt like it was teetering on a knife's edge, the silence broken only by Adrian's ragged gasps as he slumped against the wall, his hand pressed tightly to his side. Pain carved lines into his face, but his glare remained sharp, unwavering as it locked onto Volg.

"Screw you to Hell and back, Volg!" one of the boys shouted, stepping forward. His wand was raised, his grip unsteadies. "You've finally lost it! We're not your dogs, and we sure as hell aren't your slaves!"

Another boy stepped up, his tone biting, every word dripping with scorn. "What's your grand plan, huh? You think you and your little green-haired bitch can take us all?" He pointed his wand sharply at Rance. "You don't have the balls!"

Rance stepped into the center of the chaos, his emerald eyes gleaming with an icy, predatory light. His wand was raised, its tip humming with a faint, ominous glow. "Treason, is it?" he murmured. "If any of you insubordinate little whelps think you've got the spine for it, be my guest. Go ahead. Take your shot." He tilted his head slightly, his sneer cold and dangerous. "Let's see how far you get before you're begging for mercy."

The room seemed to constrict under the weight of his words. Tension coiled tighter, winding like a spring ready to snap. The boys stood their ground, wands gripped firmly, but doubt flickered in their eyes—a crack in their defiance as they exchanged uneasy glances. The air was thick, oppressive, each breath drawn as if beneath the weight of an oncoming storm.

"Is this what you wanted, Adrian? Division? Doubt?" Volg's voice slithered through the room. "We're supposed to be a Clan—a force. And a Clan obeys its leader. A Clan fights together."

He paused, letting his words hang like a guillotine as his icy blue gaze swept over the group, each look sharper and crueler than the last. "But if you're too spineless to stand with me," he continued, his smirk twisting into something vicious and mocking, though the fury blazing in his eyes betrayed the cracks beneath, "then you're nothing but cowards—dead weight I should've cut loose a long time ago."

A hollow laugh escaped Adrian, the sound scraping the air like shards of broken glass. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, his movements strained but deliberate, every inch of him radiating defiance. His sharp gaze locked onto Volg, unyielding.

"We?" Adrian rasped. "There's no 'we,' Volg. There never was."

He straightened further. "It's always been about you—your bloated ego, your petty grudges, and your spectacular failures." His mouth curled into a sneer. "You talk about loyalty, about strength, but look around—this is what your leadership has earned."

Adrian shook his head, his eyes narrowing into slits as they bored into Volg. "If this is what The Calishans stand for, you can keep it. You're no leader. You're a spoiled child, parading around in your brother's shadow, desperate to be half the man he was."

He took a shuddering breath. "Gryffindor was right about you—you're nothing but a pathetic little weakling."

The words hit like a thunderclap, echoing through the room and leaving a crackling silence in their wake. The boys hesitated, their wands still raised, but the fire of defiance in their eyes wavered. Doubt crept in, seeping across their faces like shadows cast by an unseen flame.

Volg's smirk disappeared, his expression twisting into something dark and dangerous, as though his fury had finally found its breaking point. "Say that again," he growled. His knuckles went white around his wand, its tip sparking faintly with a surge of magic as he stepped forward. "I dare you."

Before Volg could close the gap, Rance moved. He stepped in smoothly, his presence a wall between Volg and the others. With one hand raised to bar his path, Rance turned toward him, his emerald eyes flashing with quiet authority. "Enough, Volg," he said, a calm at the center of the storm. "Let them go."

The room descended into a charged silence, every breath held, every movement stilled, as if violence itself were poised to strike. And yet, the damage had already been done—any illusion of unity among The Calishans had shattered. The fractures in their ranks were laid bare, jagged and irreparable, as the storm of Volg's hubris loomed closer on the horizon.

"I was content, you know," Adrian's words were steady but edged with bitterness. "Beating on helpless little serfs, knocking down students who thought too highly of themselves. We did horrible things—and I won't lie, we had fun doing it." He paused, a flicker of sadness softening his gaze, as if some part of him still mourned what they'd been. "I didn't care, because you gave us something we all wanted—a place to belong. A place to call home."

He took a breath, his expression darkening, that sadness giving way to scorn. "But it was never enough for you, was it? You wanted more. You wanted blood. You wanted pain. You wanted to fix whatever's broken inside you by filling it with the sick thrill of watching others suffer. Watching those who dared defy you bent, broken, and begging at your feet."

Adrian's eyes hardened "And you call that leadership? No, Volg—that's not strength. That's just you, drowning in your own cruelty and dragging the rest of us down with you."

"Even now, you refuse to see that you're in way over your head," Adrian said, his narrowed eyes burning with disdain. His hand shot to the Calishan emblem embroidered on his coat, fingers curling around it like a vice. With a sharp grunt, he tore it free, the fabric ripping in a sound that echoed through the room.

"You changed the game, and by the Gods, you've gone down a road so long and dark that none of us are willing to follow," Adrian continued. "Gryffindor's coming for you—hard. And you're going to do nothing… because there's nothing you can do." He let the emblem fall from his hand, the embroidered crest hitting the floor with a soft, final thud.

Adrian turned his back on Volg, striding toward the door. "See you around, Volg," he said, the words laced with mockery as he raised a hand in a casual wave over his shoulder. He didn't look back as he stepped out.

One by one, the other boys turned their hateful glares on Volg, their silence louder than any shouted insult. With grim determination, each ripped their own emblems from their coats, the sound of tearing fabric punctuating the stillness like cracks of thunder. The badges fell to the floor in a heap, the symbolic rejection clear.

"Fine!" Volg shrieked after them. "Go! Leave, you worthless, gutless cowards!" His face twisted in rage, veins standing out on his neck as he screamed. "I don't need you, Adrian! I don't need any of you!"

The room was empty before his echoes faded, leaving Volg and Rance alone, surrounded by the scattered emblems of his broken Clan.

Adrian's words lingered like poison in the air as the door clicked shut behind him. For a moment, silence reigned—thick, heavy, suffocating. Then, Volg collapsed back onto the couch, his fingers tangling in his hair as he let out a raw, primal scream that rattled the room. It was a sound of fury, humiliation, and something dangerously close to despair.

Rance moved quietly, lowering himself onto the couch beside Volg. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder, a steadying gesture that belied his own simmering anger. "We're not out yet, Volg," he said calmly, carrying a quiet edge of determination. "We still have a few who are loyal. Loyal to you, to the Clan."

He leaned in, his emerald eyes gleaming with a hint of fire. "And when we win—because we will win—those flea-bitten rats will come crawling back, begging to be let in. You'll see. They'll regret ever turning their backs on us."

Volg's breath came heavy, ragged, his hands finally dropping from his hair to grip his knees like he might crush them under his palms. He lifted his head, his blue eyes blazing with a toxic mix of anger and hatred. "This… all of this," he spat, "because that bastard Gryffindor doesn't know when to quit. He doesn't know how to quit." His teeth ground together audibly, his sneer twisting as though the words themselves tasted bitter.

"I stacked the deck against him," Volg continued. "I had everything planned. Every move accounted for. And still—still—he found a way to shovel shit in my face! Again and again!"

Rance's grip on his shoulder tightened. "Then we stack it higher. We hit him harder," he said. "This isn't over, Volg. Gryffindor doesn't know it yet, but we're just getting started. The Calishans don't fall—we rebuild. And when we're done, he'll wish he'd stayed out of your way."

Volg's breathing slowed, his eyes narrowing as Rance's words sank in, stoking the embers of his rage into something more dangerous. He sat up straighter, his lips curling into a dark, vicious smile. "You're right," he murmured, his tone chillingly calm. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot. He wants a duel? Fine. I'll give him a duel he won't forget."

"I'm with you, Volg," Rance said, his grin sharp and unshakable, brimming with a cruel confidence. "Always have been. Always will be."

Volg turned to him, the anger in his gaze softening ever so slightly, a glimmer of gratitude breaking through the cracks. "The whole world can turn its back on me," he said, "but you… I can count on you. I always could."

Rance's emerald eyes held firm. "You're damn right you can. There's no Rance Gramont without the Calishans, and there sure as hell isn't a Calishans without Volg Dryfus. Whatever comes—hellfire, war, or worse—I'll be standing right next to you."

He turned his attention to the two boys still lingering at the edges of the room, their wands lowered but their eyes locked on Volg. "You see?" Rance continued. "You're not alone, Volg. Not now. Not ever."

The two boys exchanged a glance before stepping forward, their jaws set and shoulders squared. Their silence spoke louder than words, their expressions etched with grim determination.

Volg looked at each of them, his chest rising with a slow, steady breath. The fire in his eyes reignited, brighter and more dangerous than before. "Then let's remind the world who we are," he said. "The Calishans don't falter. The Calishans don't break."

The room seemed to pulse with a new, dangerous energy, the air thick with the promise of retribution. Volg turned his back to the scattered emblems littering the floor, stepping over them without a glance. The fractures within The Calishans were deep, but his hatred burned deeper still. And hatred, Volg decided, would be enough to fuel what came next.

****

A soft beeping filled the room, the sound cutting through the air like a needle. Volg's eyes flicked to the spherical object resting on the coffee table. It vibrated with an unsettling hum, a violet light pulsing ominously in sync. His baby blue eyes narrowed, a silent groan of frustration building in his chest. He didn't need to look twice to know who was on the other end—a conversation he had done everything in his power to avoid.

But avoidance was no longer an option. Word of the Bellum Inter Duos had spread like wildfire across The Congregation and the school. It was only a matter of time before news reached the farthest corners of Avalon, especially to those with connections that ran as deep as roots in stone.

Volg's gaze shifted to Rance. Rance met his eyes with a knowing, almost sympathetic look before gesturing toward the two remaining boys. They nodded wordlessly, their expressions tense, and filed out of the room after him.

Alone now, Volg exhaled sharply, running a hand back through his blonde hair as if trying to smooth the chaos out of his mind. With a deliberate, reluctant step, he approached the device and lifted it into his palm. The orb floated effortlessly into the air, its vibrations stopping as it hung suspended. A thin hum filled the silence before a holographic screen flickered to life above it.

The projection sharpened into the image of a man in his mid-twenties, exuding wealth and authority. His blonde hair, spiked and swept back, gleamed as though each strand had been placed with purpose. A finely tailored suit hugged his muscular frame, the fabric immaculate, while a long overcoat hung from his shoulders with the kind of casual poise only someone used to power could pull off.

"Laxus," Volg said through gritted teeth, his tone dripping with thinly veiled animosity.

"Volg," Laxus returned smoothly, though irritation laced his words. "It's about time you picked up. You've been avoiding me for days."

Volg's lip curled, his eyes narrowing. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm at school, Laxus. Some of us have better things to do than waste our time trading petty pleasantries with the likes of you."

Laxus's brows furrowed slightly, his sharp blue gaze hardening. "Like it or not, Volg," he said coolly, "I'm not just your brother. I'm the head of the Dryfus Trading Company. You'd do well to remember that—and address me with the respect I'm owed."

"Oh, respect?" Volg scoffed, the word a sneer on his lips. "Who died and made you king? Just because Dad handed you a corner office and a shiny plaque with your name on it so he and Mom could go gallivanting across Avalon doesn't mean you get to waltz in here and start barking orders at me."

His brother's jaw tightened, but Volg didn't stop. He leaned slightly toward the projection, his voice dropping to a low, mocking growl. "You want respect? I have about as much respect for you as I do for the serfs we own. So how about we skip the family reunion act and get to the real reason you're calling."

Laxus's expression darkened ever so slightly, the air between them growing heavier, the holographic glow casting sharp lines across his face. "Careful, little brother," he said, his tone quiet but dangerous. "You're walking a fine line."

"And you're wasting my time," Volg shot back, his glare unwavering. "So, say what you have to say or get the hell off my line."

The young man pinched the bridge of his nose, a tired sigh escaping him as he leaned back against the mahogany desk. Behind him, the large office stretched into quiet luxury, framed by a massive floor-to-ceiling window that offered a panoramic view of a sprawling city bathed in twilight. The skyline gleamed with golden light, a stark contrast to the growing tension in his voice.

"Volg…" Laxus said, his tone softer now, almost pleading. "I'm not your enemy. I never have been. I don't know what I did to make you hate me so much, but all I've ever wanted was the best for you. You know that."

"Oh, save me your sentimental bullshit," Volg snapped. "I don't want it. I don't need it. And you can keep whatever 'care' you claim to have for me—I'm not buying it."

Laxus pushed himself off the desk, his movements deliberate, though his expression remained strained. "I'm not trying to hurt you, Volg. Why can't you see that?"

"I'm done with this conversation," Volg cut in. "If that's all you've got to say, then do me a favor and leave me the hell alone."

Laxus froze for a moment, his frustration finally breaking through the thin veneer of patience. He exhaled slowly, but when he looked back at the screen, his blue eyes had hardened into an unmistakable glare.

"Alright," he said. "If that's how you want to play it. Fine. You're a big boy now, Volg. And since you've made some very big boy decisions in the past week, I'm sure you're ready to deal with some big boy consequences."

Volg's glare didn't falter, but his fists tightened at his sides as Laxus turned toward his desk. Without another word, he tapped several glowing holographic buttons on the sleek surface. A new projection materialized, and the air between them filled with a sharp hum. On Volg's screen, numbers began to scroll—an account statement glowing ominously in blue light.

"Perhaps you can explain…" Laxus said, his tone now laced with restrained anger, "why one of our trade accounts is ten thousand Platas short."

Volg's expression froze. His eyes darted to the screen, his lips parting slightly, though no words came. The color drained from his face, and for a moment, he was silent.

"You didn't think I'd notice," Laxus continued, "when ten grand mysteriously disappeared? That's sloppy, Volg. Even for you."

Volg opened his mouth, but Laxus wasn't done. He tapped his desk again, and a new screen replaced the accounts. A grainy, looping image flickered—a ledger seal bearing a familiar name.

"Oh, and then there's this," he said. "I got a very interesting call from Don Seville the other day. You know him, don't you? Runs one of the more profitable slave mills in Avalon."

Volg's breath caught in his throat.

Laxus's glare sharpened, like a predator ready to pounce. "And he told me a fascinating story. Something about how you came into possession of a white wolf therianthrope. A rare catch. You sold her to him, collected the full price… but then failed to deliver." Laxus tilted his head slightly, his eyes burning into Volg. "Curious, isn't it?"

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the holographic screens. Volg's eyes darted away for half a second, his face pale, but Laxus didn't let up.

"Let me guess," Laxus said, his blue eye levelled. "You thought you could cover your tracks. Play your little games. But here's the thing—I always find out."

"And while you're at it…" The screen flickered, the light casting sharp shadows across Laxus's face as he straightened. His arms folded across his chest. "I'd very much like to hear about the Bellum Inter Duos you and the Calishans were dragged into. I may not have all the details, but it doesn't take much to put two and two together. So, tell me—what's the real story here? And don't lie to me, little brother. Not this time."

A slow, chilling chuckle escaped Volg, his shoulders shaking slightly as he looked up at his brother with a twisted smirk. He began to clap, slow and mocking, the sound unnervingly hollow in the quiet room.

"Bravo, Laxus. Always the clever one. Dad's golden boy." His voice was bitter, sharp as broken glass. "You never had to earn his love, did you? It was just handed to you, like everything else. It's always Laxus this, Laxus that. Or better yet—Volg, why can't you be more like your brother, Laxus?"

Volg's smirk shattered into a snarl. "You were born lucky, Laxus! I was lucky to be born!" His words trembled, as if something buried too long had finally clawed its way out. "Dad reminds me of that every single day of my life. Every. Single. Day." He pointed an accusatory finger toward the screen, his chest heaving.

"And that look. That stupid, pathetic look of pity you always give me." Volg growled, his eyes burning with hatred. "You think I don't see it? Never a day goes by that I don't imagine gouging it out of your skull with my bare hands."

Laxus stood silent, his expression softening, though his gaze remained fixed and steady. He said nothing, letting Volg's anger ripple and burn.

"Back home?" Volg continued. "I'm a joke. A stepping stone. Either they walk all over me or they glare at me with that same goddamn disappointment in their eyes. But here…" He spread his arms wide, a manic triumph flashing across his face. "Here, no one dares to step on me. No one even looks my way without thinking twice. Here, I have power. I have respect!"

"Is that what you think it is?" Laxus asked quietly. "Respect?" He shook his head slowly; his words deliberate and sharp. "No, Volg. That's not respect. That's fear."

"Fear is respect!" Volg roared, his face twisting with rage. "I'd take fear over admiration any day! The sight of them groveling at my feet fills me with more purpose, more satisfaction than a thousand suffering slaves ever could!"

Laxus's calm cracked, his jaw tightening as his eyes darkened. "And the money?" he demanded. "What did you do with it?"

Volg's smile returned, twisted and cruel. "You want to know what I did with those Platas?" he hissed. "I took it. I took it so I could teach a filthy little boonie what happens when he forgets his place. I did it to show his kind—to show everyone—what happens when they step even a toe out of line."

He jabbed a finger toward the screen, his chest heaving with raw fury. "I did it to burn his world to the ground and remind them all what happens when they cross me. And I won't stop until there's nothing left but ash."

Laxus's eyes widened, the color draining from his face as realization dawned. "Volg… what did you do?"

Volg's breathing slowed as he straightened, his expression hardening into something cold and unrepentant. "What I had to," he said flatly. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll get the hell out of my way."

"Don't—" Laxus began, but before he could say another word, Volg's finger stabbed at the orb

The screen dissipated, leaving the room in silence, save for the faint hum of the device shutting down. Volg let out a long breath, his hands trembling as he lowered them to his sides. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the wall where screen used to be.

****

"Trouble in paradise, dear Volg?"

His head snapped toward the door, his eyes narrowing as they landed on a young woman lounging against the doorframe. The faint blue light from the wall lamps bathed her in an ethereal glow, casting sharp edges across her Aecor uniform. Her long blonde hair coiled around her finger as she smirked, the picture of unbothered amusement.

"Come to gloat, Nerida?" Volg sneered. "Or are you just here to give more credence to the rumors about your licentious tendencies?" His gaze sharpened into a glare. "Because I'm not interested."

Nerida's laughter rang out, sharp and mocking, more insult than humor. "Please," she drawled, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a dismissive flick. "Even I have standards." Her eyes swept the room, settling on the torn emblems scattered across the floor. A glimmer of amusement played in her gaze. "Though it seems even the rats that once followed you have theirs too. Can't say I blame them—only fools cling to a sinking ship."

"That's a lot of talk for someone who doesn't even have standing within The Congregation," Volg shot back, his smirk curling into something cruel. "Not for lack of trying, of course. Difference is, spreading your legs only gets you so far."

Nerida's smirk didn't falter. If anything, it sharpened. She pushed off the doorframe and sauntered into the room. "Funny," she said softly, circling closer to him. "Because from what I hear, you're in deep with some very… minacious individuals." Her smirk widened as she met his glare head-on. "The types of people who don't take kindly to those who go back on their word—especially when money's involved."

Volg stiffened, his pale blue eyes widening slightly, though he masked it quickly with anger.

Nerida's finger tapped her chin in mock thought as she paced around him. "I wonder, Volg… If you lose the duel—and that precious little pelt you so graciously sold but failed to deliver—who do you think they'll take in her place?" She paused, her gaze trailing over him, lingering just long enough to make him squirm. "You?"

Volg's jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides as his glare followed her like a hawk.

"You see, Volg," Nerida cut him off smoothly, her tone taking on a sing-song quality as she ignored his anger, "us Vulchanovas have a saying: A man's ambition should never surpass his worth." She stopped in front of him, her smirk downright venomous now. "And wasn't it you who said, 'A diamond knows its place and doesn't try to be something it's not'?"

The realization struck him like a blow, his eyes widening before narrowing into pure spite. "Nerida… you—"

"Careful now," she cooed, turning on her heel as she made her way back to the door. "If you're going to call someone a harlot, you'd better make sure you're not about to join the company you're so fond of insulting." She paused at the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder with a wicked smile. "And with a mouth like yours, Volg, they're going to love you."

Her laughter echoed as she exited the room and disappeared down the hall, leaving Volg alone in the blue-tinted room, his fury simmering, his fists trembling, and the weight of her words settling like a stone in his chest.

Volg's breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps, his teeth bared like a cornered animal. The room seemed to shrink around him, the weight of his fury boiling over. With a primal roar, he exploded, flipping the table with a deafening crash. The impact sent lamps shattering and couches toppling as he tore through the room like a storm unleashed, his screams raw and incoherent.

He finally stopped, his chest heaving as he stood amidst the wreckage, fists trembling at his sides.

"Gryffindor…" he growled. Each breath came out like a hiss through clenched teeth. "I will rip and tear everything you hold—everything you love—out of your life."

Volg's blue eyes burned with something unhinged, a promise etched in his fury. His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he whispered through his labored breaths.

"I swear it."