The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

Castle Excalibur buzzed with an air of unbridled excitement as the Yuletide season approached, its festive charm infiltrating every corner of the ancient stronghold. Holiday decorations were being meticulously arranged along the corridors, their shimmering hues reflecting the light from enchanted lanterns. The Grand Hall, however, was the pièce de résistance—garlands of holly and ivy draped over the arches, a towering fir tree adorned with sparkling ornaments taking center stage. The murmurs of eager students discussing their upcoming journeys home filled the air, their voices mingling with the soft hum of magic that radiated warmth through the brass pipes lining the walls.

Winter's icy grip was undeniable outside the castle, but inside, the toasty warmth carried the comforting scents of gingerbread, pumpkin spice, and steaming hot chocolate. These small indulgences were enough to make even the most miserable of seasons feel cozy. For most, it was a time of joy and anticipation, but for Salazar Slytherin, the season brought nothing but a cold, hollow indifference.

The Slytherin heir walked through the bustling corridors, his emerald-green eyes flicking to the decorations with thinly veiled disdain. His gloved hands remained firmly tucked into the pockets of his robes, his green-and-silver scarf trailing behind him like a banner of his heritage. Yuletide cheer was not a staple of the Slytherin household, and Salazar had long grown used to the idea of the holidays passing without celebration.

His father, Sigmund, an elusive and distant figure, was most likely off in some foreign land, chasing ventures of wealth or power, sparing little thought for his only son. If luck favored Salazar, he might receive a perfunctory letter or a trinket of some sort, but it hardly mattered anymore. He had learned to stop expecting anything meaningful.

The castle's festive atmosphere only exacerbated the dull ache he carried within—a reminder of something missing, something he doubted he'd ever truly have. Salazar's irritation simmered just beneath the surface, his steps measured but stiff, each garland and bauble a slight against his carefully composed apathy.

His pace faltered when a burst of laughter echoed from around the corner. But this wasn't the warm, merry laughter he had been trying so hard to ignore. This was sharp, cutting, and cruel—tones he knew all too well. His emerald eyes narrowed, and his steps quickened, the sound pricking at his already raw nerves. As he rounded the corner, his gaze locked onto the source of the laughter. His expression darkened, a storm brewing within his chest.

The group of Fourth Years clustered tightly around a smaller figure, their malicious laughter echoing down the corridor. At the center of it all stood their ringleader, his smirk dripping with cruel satisfaction as he held a plush toy just out of reach. The target of their torment—a frail girl dressed in tattered rags—darted her anxious gaze from face to face, her sapphire-blue dress barely clinging to her thin frame. The state of her clothing exposed the sharp outline of her ribs, and the blackened steel collar around her neck gleamed ominously in the dim light.

"Please, give it back!" she cried, desperation as she jumped futilely to reclaim her beloved niffler plush. "Godric gave me that—it's special to me!"

The ringleader's smirk deepened. "Aww, does the little serf want her toy?" he drawled, tilting his head mockingly. "Maybe if you beg a little prettier… or, better yet, why not put that pretty little mouth of yours to proper use?"

Salazar's emerald eyes burned with icy fury as he stepped into view, unnoticed at first by the cruel pack. His gaze locked onto the scene, taking in the little girl's trembling frame and tear-streaked face. The sight of the collar—branding her as property—sent a cold, primal anger surging through him. He slipped his obsidian wand from the folds of his robes, his expression as steely as the collar she bore.

With a flick of his wand, the plush niffler shot out of the ringleader's hand, zipping cleanly through the air before landing safely in Salazar's waiting palm. The boy's sneer faltered, replaced by wide-eyed surprise as his gaze snapped toward the tall, imposing figure of Salazar Slytherin.

He stepped forward with measured precision, boots clicking against the cold stone floor. Without sparing the bullies so much as a glance, he knelt down in front of the little girl, holding out the toy with a rare, genuine smile gracing his usually impassive face.

"I believe this belongs to you, little one," he said, his tone kind yet commanding.

The girl gasped softly. "Thank you, young master!" she cried, clutching the niffler plush tightly to her chest. Tears welled up in her eyes as she hugged it close. "Thank you so much!"

Salazar's expression softened. "What's your name?" he asked.

The girl hesitated at first, her small frame still trembling from the earlier ordeal. "Hi-Hikari…" she finally managed. She held the niffler even closer, as though it gave her courage.

"Hikari…" Salazar repeated, tasting the name on his tongue. A rare, genuine smile touched his lips. "That's a beautiful name," he said warmly, his emerald eyes meeting hers. "It suits you."

Hikari blinked up at him, her fear slowly melting into a shy smile. She nodded quickly, wiping at her tear-streaked cheeks. "T-that's kind of you to say, young master," she said again.

"Oi!" The ringleader's voice cut through the tension; his bravado laced with irritation. "What the bloody hell do you think you're playing at, Slytherin?" he barked as Salazar straightened, turning to face him fully.

Salazar's emerald eyes narrowed, a glint of ice-cold disdain flashing within them. "I've dealt with mangy, diseased rats more respectable than you lot," he said, his tone sharp enough to cut stone. His gaze flicked briefly to the little girl clutching her plush niffler before snapping back to the ringleader. "Apologize to her… now."

The ringleader sneered, his cronies puffing up their chests in a show of false bravado. "Or what?" he spat, his lips curling mockingly. "What could you possibly do to us, Slytherin? You're just another prissy, stuck-up, pureblood prick sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. So, how about you shove off before we make short work of you?"

Salazar's expression didn't change, but his eyes… they shifted, a strange and otherworldly intensity flickering within their depths. For a moment, they almost seemed to glow, a green light that danced like fire. His presence grew heavier, the air around him charged with an unspoken menace. Slowly, deliberately, he took a single step forward.

The ringleader faltered, his cocky grin melting into something uneasy. His posse exchanged nervous glances, their earlier bravado crumbling under Salazar's piercing gaze. There was something unnatural about him, something primal and deeply unsettling. The silence stretched; the air thick with tension.

"Perhaps," Salazar began, "I wasn't clear the first time." He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint, humorless smile. "Apologize. Now."

As if puppets controlled by an unseen hand, the bullies turned stiffly toward Hikari, beads of sweat trailing down their faces. Their voices wavered as they spoke, unified yet faltering, as though compelled by an invisible force.

"We're sorry," they murmured in unison, their eyes darting nervously. "It won't happen again."

"Excellent," Salazar replied, his expression an unyielding mask of authority. "Now, turn around and leave. Don't look back." He waved a dismissive hand. "And while you're at it, rethink your lives."

The bullies moved to obey, but Salazar's emerald gaze locked onto the ringleader, who froze mid-step. The boy's breath hitched as Salazar's steely expression turned razor-sharp, his eyes narrowing with dangerous intensity.

"And you…" Salazar hissed, stepping closer. The ringleader whimpered, his body trembling as though rooted to the spot, petrified by an aura far more menacing than mere anger.

"She's a little girl," Salazar said slowly, each word striking like a hammer. "A. Little. Girl. If you so much as think of doing what I know you were considering—if you so much as look at her that way again—I swear by the Old Gods…" He leaned in slightly, his emerald eyes blazing like fire. "I will personally relieve you of the three things you hold most dear as a man. Am I understood?"

The ringleader's head bobbed furiously, his voice failing him as a strangled squeak escaped his lips.

"Good," Salazar said, baring his teeth in a wicked semblance of a smile. "Now bugger off."

Without hesitation, the bullies turned and marched away, their movements stiff and unnatural, as though the very weight of Salazar's words had drained them of all will. The corridor fell silent, save for the echoing sound of their hurried footsteps retreating into the distance.

Hikari stood motionless, clutching her niffler plush tightly. Her golden eyes flickered with a mixture of awe and fear as she looked up at Salazar. For a moment, she seemed uncertain whether to thank him or shrink away, but the tension in her tiny frame softened as Salazar turned to her, his expression gentle once more.

"They won't bother you again," he said simply.

"T-thank you again, Master Slytherin," Hikari stammered, clutching her niffler plush tightly to her chest. Her baby blue eyes shimmered with admiration. "That was… amazing!"

Salazar inclined his head slightly, a faint smile softening his otherwise steely expression. "Run along now, child," he said gently. "And do try to keep out of trouble."

Hikari nodded fervently before scampering down the hallway, her small figure disappearing around the corner. The faint sound of her hurried footsteps faded into silence. Salazar adjusted his robes, his emerald eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he turned to leave, only to be met with the sound of more footsteps—heavier, purposeful—echoing from the other end of the corridor.

"Salazar?" Godric rounded the corner, slightly out of breath, his crimson eyes scanning the scene. His gaze lingered briefly on the retreating shadow of Hikari before settling on his friend. "What's going on here? I thought I heard—"

"Ah, Godric," Salazar interrupted smoothly, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. "Right on schedule, as usual. Nothing to concern yourself with. Shall we head to class? I believe Professor Serfence has prepared quite the lesson for us today."

Godric raised an eyebrow, falling into step beside his friend as they started down the corridor. "Right…" he said slowly, glancing sideways at Salazar with a wry grin. "And I suppose you had absolutely nothing to do with the Fourth Years I passed looking as if they'd just seen a ghost?"

Salazar's lips curved into a rare smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Heh, perhaps I've been spending too much time in your company, my dear friend. Your hero complex seems to be… rubbing off on me."

Godric chuckled, giving Salazar a playful nudge with his shoulder. "Or maybe, just maybe, deep down, you're actually a good person. Shocking, I know."

Salazar chuckled softly; the sound rare but genuine. "Careful, Gryffindor," he teased. "Say things like that too often, and people might start expecting me to care."

Godric laughed, shaking his head. "Too late. I already do."

****

"Remember," Professor Serfence said in his usual stern tone, his black eyes scanning the class with sharp precision, "I expect a full-page report on the distinctions between curses, charms, and hexes, as well as their practical applications, no later than next week." His words drew a chorus of groans and muffled complaints from the students. "And any late submissions," he continued without missing a beat, "will result in a firm deduction of house points. Class dismissed."

With that, Serfence began stacking his books into a neat pile, his movements methodical and deliberate as the students shuffled out of the classroom in clusters, muttering amongst themselves. His gaze drifted to Godric and his friends, who lingered at the door, engrossed in lively banter. Godric, oblivious to the Professor's scrutiny, gestured animatedly as he spoke, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

A faint scoff escaped Serfence, his sharp gaze catching sight of the longsword strapped securely to Godric's back. His expression hardened, and his attention momentarily shifted to the desk drawer. Inside rested a white porcelain mask and next to it, a phial radiating an eerie violet glow, the crystalline substance within pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. The faintest trace of unease flickered across his otherwise stoic demeanor before he shut the drawer with a quiet snap.

"Oh, good to see you, Professor Workner," Godric's voice broke the silence as he greeted the approaching figure of Workner entering the classroom.

"Godric, lad," Workner replied warmly, adjusting his glasses with a practiced motion. His friendly expression shifted to something more formal as his eyes moved to Serfence. "Do excuse me. I have some matters to discuss with Professor Serfence. We'll catch up later."

Godric hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering toward Serfence, who regarded him with a steady, inscrutable stare. There was an unspoken intensity in the air, though Godric couldn't quite place it. He nodded politely before turning to leave, his friends trailing behind him as their chatter echoed faintly down the corridor.

As the door swung shut, the room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint shuffle of papers on Serfence's desk. Workner's smile faded, and his posture straightened, the easy warmth in his demeanor replaced by quiet authority.

"Edward," Workner said at last, "You wanted to see me? I take it this is about the assignment Headmaster Blaise put you on?"

Serfence leaned back slightly, his sharp gaze locking with Workner's. "As a matter of fact," he replied, his tone measured and serious. "It was no easy task tracking down every one of those caravans. Though, I'll admit—begrudgingly—it took me twice as long as it would have in my prime." He gave a faint shrug, his lips curling into a humorless smirk. "I'm getting rusty. Not a feeling I enjoy."

Workner allowed himself a small, understanding smile. "We both have some dust to shake off, dear friend." His smile faded, replaced by a sharper, more focused expression. "But I assume you found what you were looking for?"

"That," Serfence said, leaning forward slightly, "and more. It would seem our intel checked out. There's a slimy little rat burrowing its way through Excalibur. A certain wretch has been hawking off Academy property for months now, and I've uncovered their trail." He paused, his gaze narrowing. "And you're not going to believe who it is."

Workner sighed before removing his glasses and rubbing his temple. "As much as I'd like to feign surprise," he said, sliding his glasses back on, "I have a pretty good idea who it might be." His eyes sharpened as they met Serfence's. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Most importantly…" His voice grew cold and firm. "We can't afford to let them know we're on to them. Not yet."

Serfence nodded curtly. "Understood. I've already alerted my colleagues at the Clock Tower. We'll make our move tomorrow. Quietly." He held Workner's gaze, his expression hardening. "Can I count on you?"

Workner didn't hesitate. "Always."