Godric stepped forward, his longsword glinting coldly in the fading winter sun, its edge a promise of vengeance. His fiery crimson eyes locked onto Volg's smug face.
"I will rain down every agony, every violation imaginable, upon you," he snarled, baring his teeth. "I'll drag your lifeless corpse through every corner of every realm." He raised his blade, the cold steel catching the light like fire, and Volg's lackeys faltered, stepping back instinctively. But Volg, ever smug, held his ground, his grin widening as if savoring every ounce of Godric's rage.
"And I will cast your soul into the vilest pits of Hell!" Godric roared. "That is my promise to you!"
As he lifted his sword, ready to strike, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him back.
"Godric, no!" Salazar shouted as he struggled to restrain his furious friend. "You don't want to do this!"
"Unhand me, Salazar!" Godric thrashed violently, his grip on the sword unyielding. "I'll kill him—I swear, I'll bloody kill him!"
Helga stepped forward, clutching his arm from the front, her amber eyes pleading. "Godric, stop! Please!" she cried.
Volg's smirk deepened, his gaze sweeping over the crowd of students frozen in shock, their whispers a quiet murmur against the tension in the air. "My, my, what a spectacle. It's the gift that keeps on giving, and it's not even Yuletide," he sneered, relishing the chaos. "So much for the brave Lion of Ignis."
"Think, Godric!" Salazar gritted his teeth, tightening his hold. "We can't do this in the open. This is exactly what he wants!"
But Godric's anger was a storm unrelenting, his sword quivering in his hand. "Volg!" he shouted, his eyes blazing with fury. "You're dead! I swear, I'll kill you, even if it's the last thing I do!"
Rowena stepped forward, her sapphire eyes gleaming with both regret and fierce resolve. Her hand trembled slightly as she raised her wand, aiming it squarely at Godric. "Godric… forgive me," she murmured.
"Somnumbulus."
The spell hit him squarely, and Godric went limp, his sword slipping from his grip and landing in the snow with a dull clang. His crimson eyes fluttered shut as he sagged forward. Helga immediately caught him, her arms wrapping securely around his unconscious form.
"I've got you, Godric," she said softly, lifting him effortlessly onto her shoulder. Her amber eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I've got you."
"Well, I suppose all good things must come to an end," Volg's smirk returned as he casually shrugged. "Pity. I would've liked it to last just a bit longer."
Salazar's emerald eyes narrowed dangerously, his tone like ice. "This is far from over, Dryfus," he said. "You've made a grave mistake—one you'll regret to the end of time itself. That, I promise you."
"Sticks and stones, Slytherin," Volg sneered, his gaze sharp and menacing. "I told you and Gryffindor you'd pay for crossing me. And a Dryfus always collects."
With a cruel yank, Volg pulled on the chain around Raine's neck, causing her to stumble forward and cry out in pain. "And tell your friend not to fret about his little pet. In a week's time, after we've all had our fill of her, she'll be shipped off to the Mills where she belongs."
Rowena's breath caught, her sapphire eyes widening in shock. Helga froze, her face twisting with fury. Raine's own expression shattered, horror flooding her golden eyes. "No… no, please!" she begged, tears streaming down her bruised face.
Volg's grin turned sadistic, his tone dripping with malice. "Let's just say, she'll be in very good company for the rest of her days."
"You miserable little—!" Rowena's face twisted with pure rage, her wand lifting instinctively, but Salazar's hand clamped down on her shoulder, holding her back.
"Not now," he said. "We'll handle this… but not here."
Rowena hesitated, her chest heaving with restrained fury. Finally, she lowered her wand, glaring daggers at Volg.
"Enjoy this moment while it lasts, Dryfus," Salazar's tone a dark promise. "Because it's the last victory you'll ever taste."
The three friends departed; Godric's unconscious form draped over Helga's shoulder. Each of them cast one last withering glare of disdain toward Volg, their expressions a mixture of fury and quiet determination.
Raine could only watch helplessly as they disappeared into the distance, her trembling hands clutching her bare, bruised frame. Tears streamed down her face, carving silent trails through the grime and blood on her skin. Her golden eyes shimmered with heartbreak as she whispered his name, barely audible, a desperate plea carried away by the biting winter wind.
"Godric…" It was a faint breath, filled with longing and despair, knowing how futile everything felt in that moment. Her body shook with silent sobs, her spirit broken but not entirely extinguished. Deep within her, a flicker of hope still fought to survive—a fragile ember refusing to be snuffed out.
****
Godric's crimson eyes slowly adjusted to the dimly lit room as he stirred awake, the faint hum of voices filling the air. The soft leather cushions beneath him creaked as he shifted, his body aching from the tension of earlier events. His gaze wandered to the room around him—an office, modest yet stately, with shelves of books reaching up to the wooden ceiling.
A sturdy oak coffee table stood nearby; its surface polished to a sheen. His sword leaning against it. The air carried a subtle warmth, scented with cocoa and a hint of bourbon. The walls were lined with framed certificates, awards, and clippings from old newspapers, each a testament to someone's achievements. Above the mantle, trophies gleamed under the soft lamplight, centered by a glass case containing a curious white whistle. Its pristine appearance seemed almost out of place amidst the chaos of Godric's swirling thoughts.
"That ledger we found…" Professor Workner's voice broke through Godric's haze, sharp with anger and regret. "That bastard Creedy's been doing this for years!" The sound of a fist slamming onto a desk made the glasses atop it rattle. "Years! Right under our bloody noses. All those slaves… I should have seen it. I should have known. How could I be so careless?"
"Calm yourself, Workner," Professor Serfence replied, his tone steady but edged with its own frustration. "None of us could've predicted how far Creedy had fallen. But…" There was a pause, accompanied by the rustling of papers. "I'll give him this much: the little rat was smart. Multiple aliases, scattered buyers, careful misdirection. The Authority will be lucky to track even half of them down, especially if they've already fled Avalon."
"How did we let this happen, Edward?" Workner's voice softened, burdened by a deep sorrow that seemed to echo through the room. "Creedy was our friend. We were all friends once. Have we truly fallen so far that this is where we've ended up?" His words hung in the air, heavy with regret and unspoken pain.
He paused, as if searching for something—answers, absolution—that he knew wouldn't come. "In a way, I'm almost glad Amelia isn't here to see this… to see what we've become."
The room fell into a somber silence, broken only by the faint clink of Serfence's glass as he took a deliberate sip. "There's no use dwelling on the past, Workner. What's done is done. What matters is what we do next."
Godric's heart raced as he heard Serfence's tone shift. "Now… about Mister Gryffindor and that slave."
"Professor Workner!" Godric stumbled to his feet, bolting upright, nearly tripping over himself. His crimson eyes darted around, frantic. "Raine! Where… Salazar, Helga, Rowena—they…"
"Easy, lad, easy!" Workner was on his feet in an instant, rushing to steady Godric by his shoulders. "You've been asleep for hours. Take a moment to gather your bearings."
"Your friends made the right call," Serfence piercing black eyes bore into Godric with a mix of frustration and judgment. "Given how foolhardy and pigheaded you are, Gryffindor, you should be thanking the stars you're surrounded by people with more sense than you. If you'd gone through with attacking Mister Dryfus, not even Headmaster Blaise could have saved you.
Godric's breath hitched as he clutched his head, his fingers digging into his hair. "I promised her. I swore I'd protect her, no matter what."
Workner's gaze softened as he placed a firm hand on Godric's shoulder. "The Clock Tower's finest are on their way to collect Creedy. Rest assured; he'll face justice for what he's done. You have my word on that."
Godric lifted his head, his eyes brimming with desperate hope. "What about Raine? Where is she?"
Workner's expression faltered, his gaze flickering downward. The silence stretched before he finally spoke. "I'm afraid… I have some bad news, Godric. Edward and I have combed through the paperwork. It's ironclad and legally binding. Whoever orchestrated this was meticulous—methodical. They know every loophole in Ius Servitium, and they exploited them all."
"Primarily, Mister Dryfus himself," Professor Serfence said, his arms folded tightly across his chest. "Whatever you've done to earn his ire, Gryffindor—and I neither know nor care—it's irrelevant now. What matters is that this isn't some petty, spur-of-the-moment grudge. Volg Dryfus was born into Avalon's slave trade, a legacy his family has cultivated for generations. They know its every nuance and every dirty trick in the book. It's no surprise that he'd wield it as his weapon of choice against you."
"But… but Raine's a slave of Excalibur Academy!" Godric protested, desperate, grasping for hope. "She was sold without the Academy's knowledge. She's stolen property! Surely we can prove that."
Workner's expression darkened, his eyes filled with regret. "I wish it were that simple, lad. Perhaps if we had caught this before her Excalibur brand was removed, we'd have a stronger case. But…" He sighed heavily. "As much as I loathe to admit it, Creedy was Excalibur's Caretaker. His authority over matters concerning the slaves—limited though it may have been—was legitimate."
Godric's crimson eyes widened in disbelief. "You're saying—?"
"Legally speaking," Workner said, his gaze locking with Godric's, "Raine is now the property of Volg Dryfus and the Dryfus family. Filing a case with The Slavers' Guild could challenge it, but…" He hesitated. "Even if they take the case, an investigation could take months. More likely, years."
"Years?" a voice cut through the heavy atmosphere, and all eyes turned toward the entrance as Salazar, Rowena, and Helga stepped into the room. Helga's face was flush with urgency as she spoke, "But, Professor, we don't have that kind of time!"
"As much as I'd like to stay optimistic," Salazar added, folding his arms and narrowing his gaze, "Volg made it clear—he intends to ship Raine off to the mills by week's end."
Workner and Serfence exchanged grim looks, the weight of the situation visibly pressing upon them. A shadow of dread crossed their expressions, their usual composure faltering for a moment.
Godric's head snapped toward them, his face filled with confusion and fear. "Mills?" he asked. "What does he mean? What's a… mill?"
Rowena stepped forward hesitantly, her sapphire eyes cast downward. Her voice was quiet, almost trembling, as she forced herself to answer. "A Slave Mill is…" She paused, the words lodging painfully in her throat before she managed to push them out. "A place where slaves are sent to… be bred. Their offspring are then sold for profit."
A frigid chill crept down Godric's spine, as if the very soul within him had been hollowed out. The weight of her words crushed him, leaving him feeling as if a part of himself had just died.
Rowena continued. "And you know… Therianthropes mate for life. Raine…" She gritted her teeth, struggling to keep her composure. "She chose you, Godric. Therianthropes will only bear children with their chosen mates. To her, this isn't just an atrocity—it's a fate worse than death." Her hands balled into fists. "She'd rather die than… be forced into something like that. I have no doubt that she might…"
As Godric rose to his feet, he staggered back a step, his breaths shallow and rapid as the room seemed to spin around him. Rage, despair, and helplessness warred within him, each emotion threatening to overwhelm the other.
"No…" Godric whispered hoarsely. "No! I won't let that happen. I can't let that happen!" His fists clenched at his sides, trembling with the weight of his desperation. Suddenly, he looked up, a spark of hope igniting in his crimson eyes. "Headmaster Blaise! He'll know what to do!"
Workner sighed heavily, his expression tinged with regret. "Godric, lad, Headmaster Blaise is currently on sabbatical in your world. He's indisposed, and for an undisclosed amount of time."
"But—" Godric began, only to be cut off.
"And even if he weren't," Workner continued, "his hands would be as tied as ours. As reputable as he is among Avalon's upper echelons, not even the exalted Blaise Windsor is above The Authority."
"No," Godric muttered, shaking his head as if trying to dispel the truth. "No, this can't be!" His gaze darted between Serfence and Workner, his desperation etched into every line of his face. "You have to help me. We have to act now!"
However, Serfence merely looked at him, his expression twisting to one of object disdain. "Help you? "Surely, you jest, Gryffindor," Serfence tone dripped with scorn. "What did you expect? Falling in love with a slave? Did you honestly believe you were going to get your happily ever after?"
The words hung heavy in the air, shocking Godric and his friends into a stunned silence. They exchanged looks of disbelief, their expressions a mix of hurt and outrage.
"Edward," Workner shot him a gaze, his eyes sharp with a warning. "That's enough."
But Serfence wasn't finished. He shot Workner a glare, his eyes hard and unyielding. "No, Workner. You've been coddling this boy long enough," he growled before turning back to Godric. "You're a fool, Gryffindor. You've been a fool since the very first day you set foot in my class. The only thing I didn't anticipate, however, was the extent of your abject stupidity."
"Edward!" Workner snapped. "I said that's enough!"
But Serfence took a step forward, undeterred. His gaze bore into Godric and his friends, his tone turning colder. "Life is not some fanciful fairy tale where love and courage conquer all. Problems do not simply vanish because we wish it so or because we hold onto some misguided belief that hope and faith will make everything better in the end. None of us get happily ever afters, Gryffindor, because they simply do not exist!"
Godric's fists clenched, his face twisting with fury, but before he could respond, Serfence pressed on. "And I haven't even begun to address the reckless, idiotic stunt you and Slytherin pulled, barging into Creedy's office on your own!" His voice rose with barely restrained anger. "Do you have any idea how close you came to getting yourselves killed? Look me in the eye and tell me—tell me you don't realize that if not for sheer dumb luck, we wouldn't even be having this conversation right now."
Godric opened his mouth to speak, his chest heaving with unspoken words, but nothing came out. His mind swirled with emotions—rage, guilt, and helplessness—yet Serfence's words had struck a chord that silenced him.
"That's what I thought," Serfence said coldly, his gaze unwavering. "Give thanks to whichever God you pray to, Gryffindor. For if I were Headmaster Blaise, you and Slytherin would already be on the first train home!"
"Professor Serfence," a voice interrupted from the doorway. All eyes turned to see Anton standing there, his expression a complex mix of emotions—disapproval, sympathy, and perhaps a hint of regret. "Your colleagues from the Clock Tower are here to see you."
Serfence adjusted his cloak with a brusque motion, nodding curtly. "Tell them I'll be there shortly," he said, dismissing Anton, who exited with a glance back at the room. Turning to Godric, his tone remained cold and cutting. "Accepting defeat is one of life's harshest but most necessary lessons, Gryffindor. My advice? Put her out of your mind, and move on."
He let the weight of his words settle before continuing. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I have the unenviable task of explaining to my fellow Aurors why their prime suspect is currently missing a hand, along with the reason the Caretaker's Office currently resembles a scene out of a bloody nightmare." Without waiting for a response, Serfence headed for door, leaving behind an oppressive silence.
Godric's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions welling up inside him. His fists trembled at his sides; his knuckles stark white.
"Is that what you did, Professor Serfence?" Godric's voice cut through the silence, laced with raw defiance and barely contained fury. "Put her out of your mind and moved on?"
Serfence froze mid-step, his figure silhouetted in the doorway. The faintest flicker of something unspoken crossed his face, but he didn't turn around. Workner's eyes widened, darting between the two.
"Thanks for the advice, Professor…" his tone hardened, venom dripping from each word. "Most of all, thank you for being the perfect example of the kind of man I absolutely refuse to become."
The words hung in the air like a dagger before Serfence's shoulders stiffened. His fingers curled into fists, knuckles straining against the leather of his gloves. Without a word, he strode out into the hallway, the heavy echo of his boots the only sound marking his departure.
Professor Workner approached him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I apologize for Edward," he said softly. "His words are harsh, but they come from a place of experience… and pain."
Godric trembled with restrained anger and despair. "So, what am I supposed to do?" he demanded, his crimson eyes blazing. "Just… give up?"
Workner sighed deeply. "I wish I could give you the answer you want, lad. I truly do. But there are moments in life where we have to accept the limits of our power, no matter how much we wish it weren't so." He paused, the words seeming to carry their own weight. "For now, return to your quarters. Rest. Sometimes, clarity finds us after a good night's sleep, even when the world feels like it's falling apart."
"But—" Helga began, stepping forward, her amber eyes filled with protest.
Rowena gently placed a hand on her arm, silencing her with a small shake of her head. "Come on, Helga," she said quietly. "The Professor is right."
Salazar moved to Godric's side, his green eyes steady and unwavering. They shared a silent look, an unspoken promise passing between them, before all four friends turned to leave.
As they reached the door, Workner called after them. "And one more thing," he said. "Don't judge Edward too harshly. Believe it or not, he understands… more than you might realize."
The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning, as the four friends stepped out into the corridor, their thoughts darker than the winter night surrounding them.
****
Workner moved around his desk and dropped heavily into his leather chair, the worn seat groaning softly under his weight. A deep, weary sigh escaped him as he removed his glasses, placing them gently on the polished surface of the desk. His hand rose to his face, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to quell the ache building behind his eyes.
His gaze drifted downward, settling on a framed photo that rested near the edge of the desk. The frame's edges were slightly scuffed, its once-polished surface dulled by the passage of time. The image within, though vibrant, carried the weight of memory: four young faces alight with joy, frozen in a moment that felt like a lifetime ago.
The photograph captured four younger individuals, their arms entwined in camaraderie, frozen in a moment of unguarded joy. Their smiles were wide and genuine, brimming with a vitality that seemed almost foreign now. Workner's gaze traveled across each figure, lingering on their youthful faces.
A younger Serfence stood at one side, his expression unusually light, a faint smile softening the usually hard lines of his face. Beside him, a brash-looking Creedy grinned with mischief, his eyes sparkling with a carefree confidence that now seemed a distant memory. Then there was himself, his younger self—slightly awkward, yet wearing a sincere smile that radiated a quiet warmth.
Finally, his eyes settled on the figure at the edge of the group: a snow leopard therianthrope. Her arm draped casually over Serfence's shoulders; her bright, radiant smile illuminated the entire photograph.
She seemed to exude an effortless charisma, her presence a vibrant thread that bound them all together. Even in the stillness of the image, her warmth and vitality seemed to shine through, filling the room with an almost ghostly echo of the life they had once shared.
"Amelia…" he murmured, her name escaping his lips like a fragile whisper, heavy and raw. "Why did you leave us?"
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he buried his face in his palms. The weight of years seemed to press down on him.
"Things haven't been the same since you left," he admitted, his words thick with sorrow. "We all fell apart… lost our way."
He straightened in his chair; his gaze fixed unwaveringly on her radiant smile in the photo. The ache in his chest was sharp, almost suffocating. Tears traced silent paths down his cheeks, glistening in the dim light. His jaw clenched tightly, his teeth grinding together as he fought against the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm him.
"I miss you... so much," he said softly. "We all do."