From the darkness, Salazar stepped forward, his wand still raised, its obsidian surface glinting in the dim light. A wry grin played across his lips, sharp and predatory. "My, my," he drawled, his voice cold and mocking. "What have we here? A pack of rabid mongrels pretending to be wizards. How quaint."
"Slytherin," Volg hissed, taking a cautious step back. The anger in his voice barely masked the fear in his eyes. "I should have known. Stay out of this! It doesn't concern you."
Salazar's emerald eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "Oh, but it does," he said, his voice silkier than venom. "You see, this 'new blood,' as you so love calling him, happens to be my… associate." His wand tip glowed faintly; the threat implicit. "And I don't take kindly to vermin touching what's mine."
Volg hesitated, his bravado faltering as his companions exchanged nervous glances. One of them finally stepped forward, placing a hand on Volg's shoulder. "Volg, mate," he muttered, his voice low. "We should go."
The young man shrugged him off with a snarl. "What? No! I'm not going to—"
The boy interrupted firmly. "Slytherin is too powerful. Even with all of us, we wouldn't stand a chance."
For a moment, Volg looked ready to argue, but the fear creeping into his expression was unmistakable. He growled in frustration before backing away, his face twisted in fury. "This isn't over, Gryffindor!" he barked, stooping to retrieve his wand. "You and Slytherin will pay for this, I swear it!"
With that, he turned and stormed off, his lackeys trailing behind. Their hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor until the group disappeared into the night.
Salazar lowered his wand, brushing imaginary dust from his robes as he strolled over to Godric. His grin turned smug, equal parts amused and chiding. "Oh, how the mighty hath fallen," he said, extending a hand to the fallen boy. "Our brave little lion cub. Charging headfirst into trouble and failing spectacularly at playing the hero. I hate to say it, but I told you so."
Godric grimaced but took Salazar's hand, wincing as he rose unsteadily to his feet. "Thanks, Salazar," he muttered, his voice strained. "I owe you one."
Salazar arched a brow, an air of mock indifference masking the sharp glint of approval in his eyes. "Consider yourself fortunate," he replied, helping steady Godric. "That I decided to take the… scenic route back to my dorm."
Raine rushed to Godric's side, throwing her arms around him as she buried her face in his chest. Her body trembled with barely-contained tears. "I'm so sorry, Godric," she said, her voice breaking. "You got hurt because of me."
Godric managed a faint smile, gently patting her on the head. "It's alright, Raine. None of this is your fault. I'm just glad you're okay."
Salazar's cold voice cut through the moment. "You. Slave." His emerald eyes narrowed as he looked down at Raine with thinly veiled disdain. "Return to your quarters immediately. We don't need any more… incidents."
Raine flinched but nodded quickly. "Y-yes, Master Slytherin," she stammered. She turned to Godric, her lips quivering into a small, grateful smile. "Thank you… both of you," she said before hurrying off down the corridor, her footsteps echoing faintly in the silence.
Salazar sighed and adjusted his robes with practiced nonchalance. "Come along, Gryffindor," he said, gesturing toward the hallway. "I'll escort you back to the Ignis dorms. Scáthach knows what sort of trouble you'd stumble into without proper supervision."
Godric winced as he began to walk, leaning slightly for support. Despite the pain, a mischievous grin spread across his face. "Admit it," he teased. "You were worried about me."
Salazar rolled his eyes, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him. "Oh, don't flatter yourself. I simply couldn't stomach the sight of my fellow purebloods disgracing our lineage by acting worse than barbarians."
"Riiiight," Godric said, his grin widening. "Whatever you say, Salazar."
Salazar shook his head, his smirk deepening as the two of them made their way through the quiet corridor.
****
Godric and Salazar navigated the near-empty hallways, the quiet punctuated only by the soft echoes of their footsteps. Most students had already retired to their dorms for the night, leaving the castle steeped in a serene hush. The amber glow of enchanted crystals within the torches cast shifting patterns of light and shadow on the ancient stone walls.
"By the way, Salazar," Godric said, breaking the silence. "Do you know why Volg and his friends were wearing those matching outfits? The masks? And that strange sigil on their backs?"
Salazar arched an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, so you've noticed the Calishans," he replied. "It seems I must educate you on yet another one of Excalibur's more… colorful traditions, my dear lion cub."
As they rounded a corner, the torchlight flickered.
"Welcome to the world of Clans, Gryffindor," Salazar said with a dramatic sweep of his hand. "Students from different houses form these groups to compete in a game of sorts. They vie for fame, power, prestige, and occasionally…" He grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Rewards of a more tangible nature."
Godric frowned. "Sounds an awful lot like a gang to me, Salazar," he said flatly. "My uncle deals with heaps of them back in my town and all they bring is trouble."
Salazar chuckled dryly. "A crude description, but not entirely inaccurate. These Clans ebb and flow like the tides. Smaller ones dissolve or merge into larger groups. The strong absorb the weak—it's a natural order."
They passed a group of students who caught Godric's attention. Unlike the usual school uniforms, these students wore a patchwork of themed outfits, vibrant colors, and unique accessories. Their garments bore sigils or emblems stitched, painted, or embossed onto their backs, arms, or collars, each marking their allegiance.
Godric watched them warily. "And the teachers just… allow this?"
Salazar's grin widened. "Oh, they're well aware. But so long as the rules aren't violated and nothing too illegal occurs, they turn a blind eye." His tone darkened slightly. "Of course, if anyone dares to challenge or break those rules…"
"Let me guess—they're expelled?" Godric ventured.
"Expelled?" Salazar gave a low chuckle, leaning in. "Oh, you sweet summer child. Let's just say getting expelled would be the least of your troubles." His eyes gleamed with a hint of malice.
Godric shivered but pressed on. "So, why bring this up now? Do you think I should be worried?"
Salazar stopped, turning to face him with a calculating expression. "Worried? No. Intrigued? Perhaps. After all, with your sword and my cunning…" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We could form a Clan of our own. Imagine the possibilities, Gryffindor. The power we could wield. The respect we'd command."
The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows across Salazar's face, and for a moment, Godric thought his emerald eyes flashed with something cold and unnatural. A chill crept down his spine, though he couldn't explain why.
"So," Salazar drawled, "what do you say, Godric? Does this little game intrigue you?" The corners of his lips curled into a faint, calculating smile, promising both danger and opportunity.
"I'll… think about it," Godric replied cautiously, his voice unsteady. "But for now, let's just focus on getting back to the dorms. I've had enough excitement for one night."
Salazar straightened, masking his disappointment behind a casual shrug. "As you wish. But don't take too long to decide, Gryffindor. Opportunities like this are fleeting and far in between."
Godric nodded; his thoughts restless as they continued walking. When they reached the stone bridge that divided their dormitories, they exchanged brief farewells. Salazar's words lingered in Godric's mind as he made his way to his quarters, the night's events replaying over and over. Something about this world of Clans both excited and unsettled him.
****
The following morning, the four friends gathered in the Great Hall for breakfast. Sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling, where the dawn painted the clouds a soft ember glow. The clinking of dishes, cutlery, and goblets filled the air, mingling with the rich aroma of fresh pastries, toast, roasted meats, and an assortment of hearty fare—oats, cereals, cheese, and milk—all spread across the long tables to fortify the students for the day ahead.
"Godric, we heard about what happened with Volg last night," Rowena said, leaning across the table with a hushed but urgent tone. "This is serious. You need to report it to the professors immediately."
Helga nodded vigorously; her usual cheerful demeanor replaced with concern. "Rowena's right. Those Calishans are getting out of hand. Attacking slaves? Now students?"
Godric waved a dismissive hand, reaching for a piece of toast. "It's fine, really," he said nonchalantly. "No need to make a fuss over a little scuffle." He smeared butter onto the toast, his eyes lingering on the knife for a moment, the tension in his grip betraying his casual words. "Besides, if I'd had my sword with me, things would've turned out differently."
Salazar leaned back in his chair, smirking. "And let's not forget," he said smoothly, "I sent those little cretins scampering away with their tails tucked between their legs. They won't be bothering us—or anyone else—anytime soon."
Rowena rolled her eyes, nudging a half-eaten sausage around her plate with her fork. "This whole Clan nonsense has gotten worse over the years," she said grimly. She punctured the yolk of her sunny-side-up egg, letting it spill across her plate like liquid gold. "They're becoming more violent. Even criminal."
Helga lowered her voice, glancing around cautiously. "I've heard dozens of students have been expelled," she whispered. "Some even sent to prison in Revel's End after duels went too far."
A heavy silence settled over the group, broken only by the background murmur of nearby students.
Salazar sighed, running a hand through his sleek black hair. "I assume you're referring to the Matthew Garetty incident two years ago," he said, his tone unusually subdued.
Rowena nodded solemnly. "Yes. That's the one."
"Incident?" Godric looked between his friends; his brow furrowed. "What incident? What are you talking about?"
Salazar leaned forward, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "Matthew Garetty was a Fifth-Year. Part of a Clan locked in a bitter feud with another. During a duel in the Observatory…" He paused, letting the weight of the words sink in. "He was blasted from the top… to his end."
Godric's face turned pale, his piece of buttered toast slipping from his fingers. "By the Old Gods…" he whispered. "I had no idea these things had such… dire consequences."
"That's why we're so worried, Godric," Helga said gently, reaching across the table to pat his hand. "These Clans, they aren't just harmless fun anymore. They're dangerous!"
Salazar tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table, his expression thoughtful. "Perhaps," he said, his voice calm but edged with ambition. "But under the right leadership, a Clan could do more than wreak havoc. It could wield influence, shape Excalibur for the better." His sharp gaze locked on Godric; his tone soft but probing. "Don't you agree, Godric?"