Godric was at a loss for words as he took in the grandeur of the architecture around him. The statues, carved with breathtaking precision, seemed almost alive. The polished marble pillars gleamed under the soft, magical light that illuminated the hall, and the intricately woven buttresses bore designs unmistakably influenced by Avalon culture. It was a stark contrast to the modest buildings he had known all his life. In fact, he couldn't recall the last time he had stepped into a city, let alone a building as magnificent as this one.
The students began to sort themselves into groups, and it didn't take Godric long to deduce that they were separating by year. He stuck close to Rowena, Helga, and Salazar as they joined a specific group near the grand staircase. It was there that a tall, elegant elven woman stepped forward, her mere presence commanding attention. Her long silver hair flowed gracefully down her back, and her majestic violet robes seemed to shimmer subtly with a magical glow. With a single gesture of her hand, the bustling chatter of the students faded into silence.
"Welcome back, Third Years," she began, her voice clear and resonant, carrying an air of authority and refinement. Her piercing moss-green eyes behind a pair of frameless glasses swept over the group, taking in each face with an almost unreadable expression. "For those who are new, I am Professor Agatha Duchannes, your Transfigurations teacher."
The students huddled closer, straining to catch every word of Professor Duchannes. Godric shifted slightly to get a better view, but in doing so, accidentally bumped into someone.
The girl spun around sharply, her pristine white robes flaring with the motion. Her icy blue eyes narrowed as she looked Godric up and down, her gaze as sharp as a dagger. "Watch where you're going, peasant," she snapped, her voice laced with disdain. "Or are your eyes as unrefined as your manners?"
Godric blinked, startled by her hostility. "I... I apologize," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "It was an accident. I meant no harm."
"An accident?" she repeated, her tone dripping with mockery. Tossing back her long, golden hair, she added, "I suppose that's what happens when they let just anyone into Excalibur these days. Especially the rabble."
Before Godric could respond, a calm yet cutting voice interjected. "Mind your tongue, Nerida," Salazar said smoothly, stepping forward with a deliberate, almost predatory grace. "Or has your family's famed eloquence finally abandoned you?"
Nerida turned her icy glare toward Salazar, her expression twisting with disdain. "Slytherin," she spat. "I should have known you'd be slithering nearby." Her gaze flicked past him to Rowena, Helga, and then finally to Godric, her sneer deepening. "Still keeping questionable company, I see. And here I thought you couldn't sink any lower."
Salazar smirked, unruffled by her venom. "Considering the ones you keep; I'll take that as a compliment." He leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping into a mockingly cordial tone. "By the way, how's the family? Any idea when your father and brother will be released from the gulag?"
The air between them crackled with tension, sharp and volatile. A few nearby students paused their conversations, glancing at the two with curiosity and unease. Godric, sensing the hostility, instinctively stepped back to stand closer to Rowena.
"Rowena," Godric whispered, his tone urgent and hushed, "who is she? Is she someone important? And how does she know Salazar?"
Rowena's expression tightened, her voice calm but edged with a trace of distaste. "Her name is Nerida Vulchanova, the eldest daughter of the notorious Vulchanova family from Bulgaria," she explained.
"Once, they were famous for their magical prowess. Now, they're infamous—embroiled in numerous scandals and convicted of heinous crimes." Her gaze flicked to Nerida, who was still glaring at Salazar. "The only thing that exceeds their infamy is their disdain for mundanes and anyone they consider beneath them."
Godric frowned, glancing between Salazar and Nerida. "I see... no love lost there, then."
Rowena nodded. "Not in the slightest."
Just as Nerida opened her mouth to unleash another cutting remark, a sharp, authoritative voice sliced through the tension like a blade.
"Mister Slytherin, Miss Vulchanova," Professor Duchannes appeared behind them, her presence commanding instant silence. "That is quite enough. This behavior is entirely unbecoming of you both. Five points from your respective houses."
Nerida's face turned a shade paler, though her composure barely faltered. She bowed her head slightly, her tone polite but strained. "My apologies, Professor. It won't happen again."
"Of course, Professor," Salazar replied with a curt nod, his voice smooth and measured. "You have my word."
Professor Duchannes narrowed her eyes slightly, as if gauging their sincerity. "See to it that it doesn't," she said coolly before striding back to the front of the group.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Nerida shot Salazar and the group one last venomous glare. With a huff, she spun on her heel and stormed off, her white robes billowing dramatically behind her.
Godric exchanged a look with his friends, his brow furrowed. "What was that all about?" he asked, still slightly bewildered by the hostility.
"Don't let her get to you, Godric," Rowena leaned in, her voice low but steady. "Noble pure-blood families like the Vulchanovas often value lineage over merit. To them, bloodlines define worth. But don't worry, you'll prove your worth soon enough."
"She's right!" Helga added cheerfully, giving Godric a hearty pat on the back. "And you've got us on your side. Now, let's focus. I can't wait to see what they have planned for us this year!"
Her infectious enthusiasm drew a small smile from Godric as they turned their attention back to the group, the tension slowly dissipating in the wake of their camaraderie.
Professor Duchannes clapped her hands, cutting through the murmur of the gathered students. "Settle down, students. It's time for a brief introduction to our esteemed institution."
The chatter died instantly as all eyes turned to the professor. From the folds of her robes, she drew a sleek wand of white cedar, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the light. With a practiced flick, shimmering illusions materialized above the group, casting a soft glow over their awed faces. The images shifted and moved: Castle Excalibur in all its glory, the bustling city nestled around it, and the sprawling lands beyond.
"The Excalibur Magical Academy is the crown jewel of magical education in Avalon," she began, her voice carrying effortlessly across the hall. "We are proud to host over a thousand students from across lands, realms, and even timelines."
Godric's jaw slackened as he stared up at the ethereal display. "Blimey, it's like a living tapestry," he murmured in wonder.
"Hush, Godric," Rowena whispered sharply, elbowing him gently in the ribs. "Pay attention."
The illusion shifted seamlessly, depicting armored knights, mages, and creatures of diverse races engaged in scenes of ancient valor. At the heart of the images stood five distinctive figures, their features noble and their bearing commanding.
"Excalibur was founded over a thousand years ago by the Five Heroes of Avalon," Professor Duchannes continued. "Each represented one of the main races of Avalon: humans, elves, dwarves, orcs, and therianthropes."
Salazar raised an eyebrow, his voice low but audible to those nearby. "The legendary tale of Uther, Galad, Aura, Broughston, and Hati," he mused. "It's curious how they managed to unite, given their... inherent differences."
Helga leaned in, her voice barely containing her excitement. "Ooo, I love hearing about their final battle against the Dark Lord Sarkon! Gives me chills every time!"
Professor Duchannes dispelled the illusions with a graceful wave of her wand, her tone turning serious. "Our founders believed that magic belongs to all races, not just one. It was their vision that forged this very institution." She paused, her gaze sweeping over the students. "But I digress. You will delve deeper into this in your History of Magic class with Professor Lotho."
"Hah!" Nerida scoffed loudly, her voice cutting through the respectful silence. Her lips curled into a sneer as her gaze drifted toward a group of orc and therianthrope students. "As if magic truly belongs to lesser beings. If you ask me, some traditions are better left buried in the past."
A ripple of discomfort passed through the group, and Godric's hand instinctively tightened on the belt of his scabbard. His crimson eyes flashed as he stepped forward, his voice firm and unyielding. "You'd do well to keep such thoughts to yourself, Vulchanova. As far as I'm concerned, we're all equals here."
Rowena quickly placed a hand on Godric's shoulder, her touch both calming and cautionary. "Easy, Godric," she said softly. "It'll do you no favors if she baits you into trouble on your first day."
Professor Duchannes turned to Nerida, her moss-green eyes narrowing dangerously. "Miss Vulchanova," she said, her voice sharp as a blade, "Mister Gryffindor is correct. One more remark of that nature, and you'll spend your first day back in detention. Is that clear?"
Nerida's cheeks flushed as she bowed her head, though the defiance in her eyes remained. "Crystal, Professor."
As the tension lingered, Salazar leaned toward Godric, his voice low and edged with amusement. "My, my, Gryffindor," he drawled. "I might be starting to like you. Though, do try not to make lifelong enemies of the entire student body before dinner."
"Speaking of dinner," Helga chimed in with a grin, breaking the tension with her usual cheer. "I do hope they serve treacle tart tonight. It's simply magical here!"
The group chuckled softly, the moment of levity easing the charged air as they refocused on the professor's address.