Godric's mind raced, then settled on a passage he had read in his History of Magic textbook. A confident smile spread across his face as he straightened his posture. "Professor," he began, his voice steady, "surely you recall that Uther Pendragon, one of the Five Heroes and a founder of Excalibur Academy, also wielded a sword in battle." He tilted his chin, a grin tugging at his lips. "Surely, you wouldn't dismiss that?"
Professor Serfence's eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression remained calm. "Ah, young Gryffindor, ever the historian," he said, crossing his arms. "But times have changed, boy. Magic has evolved far beyond the crude tools of the past."
He turned to address the class, his voice resonating with authority. "Now, who here can tell me about the Forbidden Curses?"
Rowena's hand shot up immediately. "The Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, and…" She paused briefly before finishing, "the Killing Curse, Professor."
"Excellent, Miss Ravenclaw. Five points to Ventus." Serfence's approving nod shifted quickly into a sharp gaze toward Godric. "Now, Mister Gryffindor, tell us—can your beloved sword shield you from a Killing Curse?"
Godric's jaw tightened, his grip on the desk firm, as Serfence continued.
"A thousand years ago, during The Calamity, the art of magic was in its infancy—raw, unrefined," Serfence said, pacing the front of the classroom. "The Dark Lord Sarkon hoarded such knowledge, leaving the masses reliant on primitive weapons like swords, bows, and spears."
He stopped and turned toward Godric, his black eyes cold. "The graves of Avalon are filled with those foolish enough to believe their steel could best magic," he said darkly. "I should know—many of those graves were filled by my own hand during my time as an Auror. Each and every one of them, like ashes in the wind, gone and forgotten."
The weight of Serfence's past settled over the room like a heavy cloud.
Salazar leaned back in his chair, a smirk curling on his lips. "Well, well, Gryffindor, it seems your uncle's heirloom might come with more baggage than you thought."
"Salazar, don't make me hit you," Helga muttered, puffing her cheeks in irritation.
Serfence pointed sharply at the door. "But if you insist on keeping your little toy by your side, Mister Gryffindor, then file a request for a permit. Until then, leave it behind." His voice was stern. "Now take your seat before I relieve Ignis of points."
Godric clenched his fists, frustration simmering, but he obeyed, sinking into his chair.
Helga leaned over, whispering softly. "Don't let him get to you, Godric. Your ideals… they're what make you, you."
Rowena added a quiet nod. "Meet me in the library after class. I'll help you file the paperwork with the librarian."
Salazar crossed his arms, his smirk fading into a more thoughtful expression. "Much as it pains me to salt your wounds, Gryffindor, the Professor does raise valid points. Think on it."
Godric exhaled slowly, nodding to his friends as they all turned their focus back to the lesson.
Professor Serfence, now holding his charcoal-black wand, rapped it sharply on the desk. "If we're done with amateur history debates, let us turn our attention to practical defense against the Dark Arts, shall we?" His voice carried finality, commanding the room's undivided attention.
The students straightened in their seats, the earlier tension receding as the lesson moved forward. Godric, though quiet, remained resolute.
****
The hours slipped by, marked by the steady chimes of Excalibur's grand clock tower. The sound signaled the end of yet another lesson, prompting a flurry of activity as students began stuffing parchment and quills into their bags.
"Class dismissed," Professor Serfence announced with a wave of his hand, the classroom door swinging open with an almost theatrical flourish. "Your essays on counter-curses are due next week. No extensions."
The room buzzed with chatter as students filed out, some groaning over the looming deadline, others eagerly discussing plans for the afternoon. Later, the four friends emerged from the library, their steps echoing softly against the stone corridors. Godric held a folded piece of parchment, stamped and signed by the librarian, a triumphant grin lighting his face.
"Well, that's sorted," he said, turning to Rowena. "Thanks for the help, Rowena. I appreciate it."
She adjusted the dark blue highlights streaking her raven-black hair, giving him a measured look. "Don't celebrate just yet, Godric," she said with a shrug. "These things normally take a week or two to process. You'll also need to schedule an appointment with Administration for a formal inspection of your sword."
Godric nodded resolutely. "I'll endure whatever bureaucracy they throw at me if it means keeping it."
"Well, bureaucracy later, cake now!" Helga interjected, grabbing Rowena by the sleeve with a playful tug. "Come on, Ro! They've got fresh tiramisu in the Great Hall. We can't miss it!"
Rowena sighed but allowed herself to be pulled along. "Your sweet tooth will be the death of me, Helga." She glanced back at the boys. "We'll see you both later!"
As the girls disappeared down the corridor, Godric turned to head toward his extra classes with Professor Eridan. He had only taken a few steps before Salazar's voice called him back.
"So, Gryffindor," Salazar drawled, leaning against a stone pillar with his usual air of nonchalance, "have you given more thought to forming your own Clan?"
Godric hesitated, running a hand through his crimson hair. "I'm… still not sure," he admitted. "You made some good points, but so did Rowena and Helga."
Salazar pushed off the pillar, his emerald-green eyes glinting mischievously. "Perhaps I can help sway your decision. Meet me tonight at ten o'clock, West Wing, by the unicorn statue. I have something to show you."
Godric raised a skeptical brow. "What in Charlemagne's name are you planning? Can't you just tell me now?"
Salazar smirked, already walking away. "Where's the fun in that, my friend?" he called over his shoulder. "Ten o'clock. Don't be late."
Left alone in the corridor, Godric watched his friend's retreating figure, curiosity and unease churning within him.
He tightened his grip on his scabbard's belt, muttering to himself, "Whatever you're scheming, Salazar, it better be worth the risk of getting caught after curfew."
****
As the chimes of the clock tower reverberated through the castle, signaling the stroke of ten, Godric found himself standing uneasily by the unicorn statue. His crimson eyes darted through the dimly lit corridor, his heart pounding with each echo of the silence. His palms were slick with sweat, and he fidgeted with the belt of his scabbard slung over his shoulder.
"Salazar, where in blazes are you?" he muttered under his breath, glancing nervously down the hall. "We're so going to end up scrubbing cauldrons in detention for the next week if we get caught."
A sudden beam of light cut through the gloom, blinding him momentarily. Godric squinted, his stomach dropping as Lucian, the Head Prefect, emerged from the shadows. The illumination came from the tip of his wand, his stern expression visible beneath the glow.
"Gryffindor?" Lucian said, his voice sharp as he adjusted his glasses. "Why in the blistering blue barnacles are you here skulking about past curfew? State your business this instant, or I'll have you reported!"
Godric stumbled back, pressing himself against the statue in an attempt to shield his sword from view. His mind raced for an excuse. "I… I was… just…"
Before he could fumble any further, Salazar appeared from the darkness, his entrance so smooth it was as though he had materialized out of thin air.
"Ah, Lucian, ever the vigilant guardian of the rules," Salazar said with a casual air, his signature smirk already in place. "You see, Godric and I are on an errand for Professor Rasputin. A last-minute request for some rare potion ingredients, if you will."
Godric blinked, catching on quickly. "Exactly! That's right!" he said, nodding so vigorously it was a wonder his head didn't fall off. "Rasputin. Potions. Ingredients!"
Lucian's baby-blue eyes narrowed; his suspicion palpable. "Is that so, Slytherin? Perhaps I should confirm this with the professor himself."
"Oh, please do," Salazar replied smoothly, not missing a beat. "I'm sure Professor Rasputin would be thrilled to be disturbed at this hour. You know how… agreeable he is when woken unexpectedly."
A flicker of hesitation crossed Lucian's face. Even the Head Prefect wasn't immune to the infamous temper of the eccentric potions master. After a brief pause, he sighed, lowering his wand.
"Very well," he said begrudgingly. "But straight back to your dorms when you're done, understood?"
"Crystal clear," Godric replied, forcing a nervous grin. "Thanks, Lucian."
Lucian gave them a final scrutinizing look before turning on his heel and retreating into the shadows.
As soon as he was out of sight, Salazar grabbed Godric by the arm and tugged him down a narrow, unlit corridor. They moved swiftly, avoiding further patrols until they stopped in front of what appeared to be a blank stone wall.
"Now, Gryffindor," Salazar said, slipping his wand from his robes with a flourish, "prepare to have your mind blown."
Godric looked around, frowning. "Salazar, there's nothing here but stone and—" He stopped mid-sentence, noticing the suits of armor lining the hallway. Their helmets had turned, and their eyeless visors seemed to watch the two boys intently. "Wait… are those suits of armor…?"
Salazar chuckled, tapping the wall with his wand. "Watch and learn," he said before clearing his throat. "Ahem, I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The wall rumbled as bricks began to shift, grinding against each other with a sound that echoed through the corridor. Dust trickled down as the wall morphed into an arched doorway, glowing faintly at the edges.
Godric's jaw dropped. "By the Old Gods…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Salazar gestured toward the newly revealed entrance with a theatrical flourish. "After you, Godric. Welcome to The Congregation. Now, come along. Let's not keep them waiting."
With a mix of trepidation and excitement, Godric stepped through the archway, following Salazar into the unknown.