Rowena sighed, carefully placing her book on the polished surface of the table. "Helga's right," she said, her tone measured but firm. "This isn't the time or place for such… passionate debates."
"Agreed." Salazar leaned back, his usual composure returning as he surveyed the Great Hall. His sharp emerald eyes flicked toward the nearby students, their curious gazes lingering on the group after the earlier outburst. "We're drawing too much attention. Perhaps we should save this discussion for somewhere more… discreet."
Godric exhaled deeply, the tension in his posture easing as he nodded. "Yes… of course," he muttered, though the fire in his eyes hadn't completely dimmed.
The palpable tension at the table began to ebb, leaving behind a quieter, more contemplative atmosphere. Helga, ever the peacemaker, felt a sense of relief wash over her as she glanced between her friends. While the embers of their disagreement still glimmered beneath the surface, it was enough that they were willing to set it aside—for now.
"I'm glad we can all breathe again," Helga said with a small smile, trying to inject some levity.
Helga perked up, pointing toward the towering doors of the Great Hall. A couple, pale and visibly shaken, were being escorted past the rows of students by Professor Serfence. His usual stern demeanor was softened by what looked like sympathy, a rare sight.
"Hey, Ro… who're they?" Helga asked, her amber eyes following the trio. "I don't think I've ever seen them before. They don't look like new professors, that's for sure."
Rowena furrowed her brow, her sharp eyes narrowing as she watched. "If I'm not mistaken, those are Rufus Gristle's parents."
Godric's chest tightened at the name: Rufus Gristle. The boy he had thrashed half to death in the bathroom during that fateful encounter with Raine. His expression hardened, a shadow passing over his face as he tried to appear nonchalant. "Why would his parents be here? What happened?"
Rowena lowered her voice, her tone quiet but steady. "He was found unconscious in the bathroom—one of the old ones in the wing students usually avoid. Whoever attacked him wasn't gentle." Her gaze flicked toward Godric, though her words remained impartial. "Broken bones, missing teeth… even a fractured skull. He's been in a coma for over a week. He only woke up yesterday."
Salazar leaned in closer. "The Congregation's been buzzing about it. Some speculating that it may have been a Clan hit. Turns out Rufus is one of the Calishans, Volg's little band of cronies. The boy's got quite the… sordid reputation, especially with the female students." His green eyes glinted with an edge of disdain. "Then again, it's no surprise considering how many enemies the Calishans have made under Volg's leadership."
Helga frowned; her cheerful demeanor replaced by a rare seriousness. "Well, it doesn't excuse what happened to him. I mean, a fractured skull? That's not just sending a message—that's downright brutal."
Rowena sighed; her tone laced with frustration. "Like I said before, this whole Clan nonsense is spiraling out of control. Such savagery and violence have no place in Excalibur. Not now, not ever."
"Do… do they know who's responsible?" Godric asked, his tone feigning curiosity, though a glint of satisfaction flickered briefly in his crimson eyes.
Rowena shook her head. "No leads," she said matter-of-factly. "From what I've heard, Rufus can't remember a thing. He doesn't even recall why he was in that bathroom in the first place—likely the result of the head trauma."
For a brief moment, a dark smile tugged at the corners of Godric's mouth, vanishing just as quickly as it appeared. Salazar caught it, his emerald eyes narrowing slightly as they flicked toward the faint bruises on Godric's knuckles.
"Well…" Godric's voice carried a dangerous edge. "He's lucky getting his head put through a sink was all he got. If you ask me, those Calishan bastards deserve far worse."
Helga tilted her head, her sharp amber eyes narrowing as she studied him. "Godric… no one said anything about a sink." Her voice softened, but it carried an undertone of accusation. "You seem to know an awful lot about this. Is there something you're not telling us?"
All eyes turned to Godric, the weight of their gazes pressing down on him like a heavy stone.
"What? No, I just…" Godric shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I mean, everyone knows the Calishans are trouble, right?" He forced a chuckle, waving his hand dismissively. "Sides, he was found in the bathroom with a head injury. So, I just naturally assumed."
"Indeed…" Salazar leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers steepled as his emerald eyes bored into Godric. "But your… enthusiasm regarding Rufus' misfortune is rather… peculiar." His tone was cool, probing.
Godric laughed nervously, glancing away. "Come off it, Salazar. You're just imagining things." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know me. I just have strong opinions about bullies, that's all."
"Hhm…" Salazar's gaze didn't waver; his smirk was absent for once. He gestured toward Godric's hands. "By the way, Gryffindor, how on earth did you manage to get your fists so banged up?"
Godric instinctively moved his hands beneath the table, narrowing his eyes at Salazar. "Training," he said sharply, his tone leaving little room for further questioning.
Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills playing out between them. The tension between the two was palpable, the air around the table thick with unspoken truths.
****
Rowena, oblivious to the brewing tension, interjected smoothly. "Speaking of which, I've heard they're planning to elect more Prefects because of this incident."
Helga groaned dramatically, throwing her hands into the air. "Bacchus' butterbeer! It's going to be impossible to pull off pranks now. How am I supposed to turn Lucian's room into a swamp with more Prefects swarming the halls?" She pouted theatrically, slumping against the table.
Her pout faded quickly, however, as her attention—and that of the entire group—shifted to a figure sweeping near the teacher's table. Dressed in a plain navy-blue jumpsuit with the word Janitor emblazoned across the back, the man moved with an easy grace. His sleek black hair was tucked under a leather beret, but it was his perfectly styled, magnificent mustache that truly caught the eye.
"Wait a minute…" Godric's crimson eyes narrowed in recognition. "Isn't that the announcer from The Congregation?"
"Ah, indeed," Salazar replied, a smirk curling his lips as he leaned back in his chair. "Anton Buffer. By night, the legendary ringside announcer extraordinaire. By day…" He gestured lazily toward the man, his tone dripping with amusement. "Excalibur's humble janitor, forever at the beck and call of dear old Creedy."
Helga tilted her head, watching the man with growing interest. "How does someone go from announcing epic duels to scrubbing cauldrons and fixing leaky pipes? Isn't that, I don't know, a bit of a downgrade?"
"Not at all," Salazar said, raising an eyebrow. "I'd say it's rather fitting. The man loves drama and spectacle. What better place to collect stories than in the hallowed halls of Excalibur, where chaos and intrigue practically write themselves?"
As if on cue, Creedy appeared from a nearby hallway, his finely pressed three-piece suit pristine, the diamond cufflinks on his sleeves gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the hall's towering windows. His footsteps were heavy and deliberate, each one echoing with the sharp, controlled fury that was etched into his scowling face.
"Buffer!" he barked, his voice slicing through the ambient chatter of the Great Hall. "Why the hell haven't you cleared the refuse from the bins yet, you lazy good-for-nothing?" Creedy loomed over Anton, his hands planted firmly on his hips, radiating contempt.
Anton sighed, shoulders sagging under the weight of the tirade. "I'll get to it in a minute, Mister Creedy," he replied evenly, though the resignation in his voice was unmistakable. "Just finishing up the sweep."
"Useless! Absolutely useless!" Creedy sneered, spinning on his heel. "Why do we even keep you around? Now hurry up before I decide to find someone more competent!"
With that, Creedy stormed off, his indignation trailing behind him like a noxious fog. Anton stood still for a moment, gripping his broom tightly, his dark eyes betraying nothing, though his deflated posture spoke volumes.
Godric's hands balled into fists, the tension in his knuckles white-hot. His gaze tracked Creedy's retreating figure with barely restrained fury. "One day," he muttered through gritted teeth, "I swear I'm going to teach that arrogant bastard a lesson he won't forget."
His jaw clenched as he continued. "I've seen my uncle fold thugs like him in half for less."
Salazar chuckled darkly, patting Godric on the shoulder. "Save some of that righteous fury for me, old friend," he said, his green eyes narrowing as they lingered on the corner Creedy disappeared around. "There's nothing I'd enjoy more than giving Creepy Creedy the thrashing he so richly deserves."
Rowena pinched the bridge of her nose and let out an exasperated sigh. "Boys," she interjected, "need I remind you what I said about violence, oh, I don't know, five minutes ago?"
"Oh, I've got it!" Helga chimed in brightly, her tone betraying an almost alarming amount of glee. "We'll break his legs! That'll teach him to stop treating everyone like dirt."
Rowena's groan was nearly audible above the din of the hall. "Helga, for the love of everything sacred, please don't encourage them."
"Actually, that's not a half-bad idea," Salazar mused, stroking his chin with mock seriousness. "In fact, we could make it look like an accident. Alright, Helga, you grab him, and I'll grab the hurley stick."
"As tempting as that sounds," Godric interjected, though his tone carried a faint edge of amusement, "how about we put that plan on the back burner? For now, at least. On account of… well, Rufus and everything."
"Aww, you're no fun, Godric," Helga pouted, slouching dramatically in her seat. She crossed her arms and huffed. "I was already planning which corridor we'd ambush him in."
"Helga!" Rowena's tone was both incredulous and weary, her head sinking into her hands. "You're all diabolically impossible."
****
As their lighthearted banter carried on, a familiar figure approached with the kind of calm authority that could quiet even the rowdiest table. Professor Workner strode over to the group, his hands clasped behind his back and a genial smile on his face. His usual pleasant demeanor seemed to carry a hint of purpose.
"Good afternoon, young scholars," he greeted warmly, nodding to each of them in turn. "I trust the day finds you well." His gaze landed on Godric. "Mister Gryffindor, may I have a word with you? Privately, if you don't mind."
Godric immediately stood, the speed of his movement almost knocking over his goblet. "Of course, Professor!" he said, brushing his robes hastily. "I'll catch up with you lot later, yeah?" he added, glancing at his friends.
They nodded in unison, though their curiosity was palpable. As Godric followed Professor Workner out of the Great Hall, the lively hum of student chatter faded behind them. They came to a stop by the grand staircase, tucked just far enough away from the throng of students to ensure privacy.
"Godric," Professor Workner began, adjusting his glasses as he spoke, "I was wondering if you might have some time this weekend to assist me with a small errand. It's related to your upcoming Dungeon Studies coursework."
"Absolutely, Professor!" Godric replied, his enthusiasm unmistakable. "What do you need?"
Professor Workner smiled, patting Godric on the shoulder. "Excellent. I need you to visit Spindles and Spells in town and retrieve a few books—some maps, encyclopedias, and a bestiary on dungeon creatures. Additionally, there's a personal order I placed that I'd like you to collect."
"I'd be happy to help, sir," Godric replied eagerly. Then, shifting his weight slightly, his expression grew more tentative. "But… I was wondering if I could bring a friend with me?"
"A friend?" Professor Workner arched an eyebrow. "Godric, you don't need my permission to bring a classmate. You're free to bring whoever you like."
"Well…" Godric hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not exactly a classmate I have in mind."
Realization dawned in Professor Workner's eyes, and he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Are you referring to…" He paused. "A certain Therianthrope slave?"
Godric straightened, meeting the professor's gaze with unwavering determination. "Yes, sir. It's Raine," he said firmly. "And I'll take full responsibility for her. She's never been outside these walls, Professor, not in years. She deserves to see the world beyond the kitchens and servant halls she's been confined to."
"Godric, that's a risky proposition." Professor Workner removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as his brow furrowed deeply. "You understand the implications of what you're asking, don't you?"
His jaw tightened as his fists clenching at his sides. "I do, Professor," he said firmly. "But she's been trapped within these walls for so long… She deserves to see Caerleon. Even if it's just for a day."
Workner sighed, shaking his head slowly, though a small, understanding smile tugged at his lips. "Your heart is in the right place, lad. But…" He paused, slipping his glasses back on. "A word of advice—be cautious. The world isn't always kind to those who challenge its rules, no matter how noble their intentions."
Godric's expression softened, gratitude shining in his crimson eyes. "Thank you, Professor. I promise, I'll be careful. We both will."
"As a member of the faculty, I have the authority to allow this," Workner said, his tone tinged with resignation. "But I'll need to have a word with Creedy. Out of courtesy and necessity. I'll also prepare the necessary paperwork."
Straightening his robes, he added, "Once everything's in order, I'll hand you the permit, Godric. But be clear on this—Raine will be your responsibility entirely. This isn't just a simple outing. It carries risks, for both of you."
Godric nodded solemnly. "I understand, Professor. I'll take good care of her. You have my word."
Placing a firm hand on Godric's shoulder, Workner fixed him with a piercing gaze. "Like it or not, Raine is still a slave. Legally, she is property of Excalibur Magical Academy. That's a reality you cannot afford to forget, lad."
Godric swallowed hard, his expression shadowed but determined. "I won't, sir."
Workner studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Now off you go—and do send Raine my regards," he said, his tone lightening as he patted Godric's shoulder. "Most importantly… have fun, both of you. After all, it's not every day you get to rewrite someone's story, even just a little."
Godric managed a small smile. "Thank you, Professor Workner. I won't let you down."
As he turned to leave, Workner's eyes lingered on him, a faint look of pride tempered by concern.