The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

The two boys sprinted through the winding, dilapidated corridors of the Slave Quarters, their boots echoing against the cracked stone floors. The air was heavy with the faint, acrid scent of damp stone and despair. House-elves paused in their duties, their wide, solemn eyes following the boys with an almost knowing look, but saying nothing. The pounding of their footsteps was matched only by the frantic rhythm of their hearts, each beat driving their legs faster, the suffocating weight of dread tightening around their chests like an iron vice.

Godric skidded to a halt before Raine's room, his breath catching as his crimson eyes took in the scene. The door hung off its hinges, splintered and broken, swaying gently as if it had been forced open with brute force. The chaos within froze him in place. Furniture lay overturned, shattered pieces of wood and broken belongings scattered across the floor like remnants of a violent storm.

In the midst of the destruction sat Sophia, battered and bruised, her dark hair matted with blood, cradling a sobbing Hikari in her arms. Across the room, Chef Gusteau sat slumped against the wall, his once-pristine white uniform stained crimson, a bloodied bandage wrapped haphazardly around his forehead. His face was pale but determined, his hand resting on the flat of his bloodied skillet, which bore dents from the struggle.

"What… what happened here?" Godric's words came out hoarse, his body frozen at the doorway.

Chef Gusteau glanced up at him, managing a weak but valiant smile despite the blood streaking his face. "Ah, mon garçon," he rasped, lifting the skillet slightly in a defiant gesture. "Je suis désolé. I gave them the flat of my pan, oui, but…" His gaze dropped briefly to the bloodstains on the floor, where loose teeth lay scattered like grim breadcrumbs. "Zere were too many. My père always said, 'You have ze spirit, Gustave, but you are no warrior.' Turns out, he was right."

Before Godric could respond, Salazar pushed past him, his emerald eyes narrowing with barely-contained fury as he took in the carnage. "Sophia! Hikari! What in the name of the Gods—"

Sophia looked up, her swollen eye nearly shut, a fresh stream of tears streaking down her dirtied face. Her voice wavered, choked with guilt and pain. "Salazar… Godric… I—I'm so sorry." She clutched Hikari tighter, her trembling hands brushing the little girl's silver hair. "I tried… I tried to stop them… but I couldn't…"

Salazar crouched beside Chef Gusteau, his emerald eyes scanning the dwarf's injuries with concern. "Are you alright?" he asked, his tone steady but laced with worry.

"Bah, I'll live," Chef Gusteau replied, waving off the concern with a dismissive gesture. "I am a dwarf, mon garçon. We are made of tougher stuff, oui? This?" He gestured to his bloodied bandage and bruises with a crooked grin. "Pfft, nothing. Boiling oil is like dragon fire—if I can survive zat, zis is but a scratch." He chuckled, though the sound was strained.

Godric dropped to his knees beside Sophia, his hands trembling as he grasped her shoulders gently. "Sophia," he whispered. "Who did this? Where's Raine?"

Sophia shook her head. "It was Creedy," she said, her tone heavy with regret and anger. "He came here with men we didn't recognize. They took her, Godric… they took Raine. We tried to stop them, but…" Her voice faltered as her gaze drifted toward Chef Gusteau, his bloodied bandage and weary expression telling the rest of the story.

Hikari, clutching the torn remains of her niffler plush, stepped forward, her small hands trembling. The once-beloved toy was now in shreds, its stuffing strewn across the floor like the remnants of a battle. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked up at Godric, her blue eyes filled with guilt.

"I'm so sorry, Mister Godric," she whispered. "Creedy… he broke my niffler… and he…" Her words trailed off, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a thundercloud as she touched the clear bruise on her cheek.

Godric's face contorted with fury, his fists tightening so hard his knuckles turned white. The fiery intensity of his crimson eyes burned brighter, his entire frame vibrating with barely contained rage. His mind replayed Anton's warning, Creedy's lingering grudge, and the weight of his own failure to act sooner.

"Creedy…" he growled under his breath. "I should have known."

Before the tension could escalate further, Salazar stepped forward, his emerald eyes softening as he approached Hikari. He knelt down to her level, speaking gently, "Now, now, little one. Don't fret. Let's see what we can do about this, shall we?"

With a fluid motion, he withdrew his wand from his robes, the polished ebony catching the dim light. Pointing it at the torn niffler plush, he flicked his wrist in a precise motion. "Reparo."

The plush began to mend itself, the torn pieces rising into the air and stitching back together seamlessly as if guided by invisible hands. Within moments, the niffler was whole again, its soft form restored to its former state.

"There you go, right as rain." Salazar lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. "And don't you worry, child. We'll get Raine back too. That's a promise."

Hikari hugged the repaired niffler plush tightly to her chest, her small frame trembling as a glimmer of hope flickered in her tear-streaked eyes. "Thank you, Master Slytherin!" she cried. "Thank you so much!"

Salazar rose to his feet, his emerald eyes flashing with a dangerous glint as he turned to Godric. A cold smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Right then, Godric. Shall we go kill that bastard?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Godric replied. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, the weight a comforting reminder of his resolve. "I should have ended that son of a bitch when I had the chance."

He turned to Sophia, his gaze softening slightly. "Stay here with Hikari and Chef Gusteau. We'll send help as soon as we can." His voice grew firm again. "We'll get her back, no matter what."

Sophia reached out, her bruised hand trembling as she grabbed Godric's sleeve. "Please, be careful," she implored. "Creedy may not look like much, but back when he was a student, he was a force to be reckoned within The Congregation. He was also a champion duelist—ruthless and cunning."

Salazar twirled his wand between his fingers with calculated precision, his jaw clenched. A menacing grin spread across his face. "Oh, I'd like to see that slimy little weasel try!"

Godric nodded, his determination unwavering as he strode toward the door. "Come on, Salazar. We don't have a moment to waste."

The two boys exchanged a glance, their shared determination unspoken but palpable. Without hesitation, they charged out of the room, their footsteps fading into the cold, echoing corridors. Left behind, Sophia, Hikari, and Chef Gusteau were a mix of worry and hope.

"They'll save Raine, won't they?" Hikari looked up at Sophia, clutching her repaired niffler tightly. "Master Godric and Salazar are so strong!"

"Of course, dear," Sophia replied, her smile gentle but weary as she smoothed Hikari's hair. "If anyone can bring her back, it's those two. Now, let's get you cleaned up while we wait, alright?"

Chef Gusteau coughed lightly, adjusting the bloodied bandage on his head as he leaned back against the wall. "Oui, I 'ave no doubt zey will succeed," he said, his French accent flowing smoothly, his words tinged with a quiet determination. "But, I must say… it would appear zat dinner, she will be late tonight, non?"

Sophia gave a soft chuckle despite the tension, shaking her head. "Only you, Gusteau, would think of dinner at a time like this."

"Ah, but it is my duty, non?" Gusteau replied, his mustache twitching as his lips curved into a faint smile. "And when zis is all over, I shall prepare a feast worthy of heroes, a true masterpiece! Mark my words."

He tapped his chest with a bloodied hand. "Zey will 'ave zeir victory, and we shall celebrate it properly!"

****

In another part of the castle, hidden away in its labyrinthine depths, lay the Caretaker's Office. Unlike the grandeur of the teacher's lounge or the opulence of the Headmaster's quarters, it was a modest and secluded space—private and unassuming, much like its occupant preferred. The room was dimly lit by iron sconces mounted on the walls, the flickering crystals within casting dancing shadows across the wooden beams of the low ceiling. Filing cabinets stuffed to bursting lined the walls, their contents spilling out in untidy stacks of parchment. Above a large wooden desk hung a corkboard pinned with notices, diagrams, and old photographs, a chaotic mosaic of papers.

The air hung heavy with the acrid scent of cigar smoke and the sharp, spiced tang of bourbon. A tumbler of amber liquid sat on the desk, the spherical crystal ice clinking softly as it melted slowly into the drink. Creedy leaned back in his creaking leather chair, exhaling a plume of smoke from his thick cigar. His dark brown eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction as they roved over the towers of gold and platinum coins neatly stacked on his desk. At the center lay a chaotic pile of loot, a monument to his ill-gotten gains.

Creedy chuckled darkly as his fingers sifted through the glittering heap. "Oh, what a glorious haul," he muttered to himself, the gold clinking musically against his nails. "Too easy. All this time, and those pompous fools haven't the faintest clue what's really going on." He flicked the ash from his cigar into the crystal ashtray, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Blind as bats, the lot of them—"

His gloating was cut short by a sudden, deafening noise. A blur of steel sliced through the air, and the office door exploded into shards of splinters, raining down like wooden shrapnel. Creedy yelped, recoiling violently as his cigar dropped from his lips and rolled across the floor, forgotten.

Standing in the wreckage of the doorway was Godric, framed by the dim light spilling from the corridor behind him. His crimson eyes burned with unbridled fury, his face a mask of righteous rage. His teeth bared in a snarl, his pupils were pinpricks of intensity, locking onto Creedy like a predator cornering its prey. In his trembling hand, the longsword gleamed ominously, its edge catching the flicker of the crystal lamps.

Creedy's smug demeanor dissolved instantly, replaced by a look of pure dread as Godric stepped forward, the weight of his presence filling the room.

"Gry—Gryffindor?!" Creedy stammered, scrambling to his feet with a loud clatter as coins scattered across the floor like spilled marbles. His face twisted in a mix of panic and outrage. "What in the bloody hell do you think you're—"

Creedy's words caught in his throat as Godric's sword whistled through the air, narrowly missing his head and slamming into the corkboard behind him with a deafening crack. The blade split the photo of Creedy in two, the edge embedding itself deep into the wood. A thin red line appeared on Creedy's cheek, a cruel reminder of how close he'd come to meeting the steel. His wide eyes darted to the glimmering blade, his own terrified reflection staring back at him.

Before Creedy could fully process what had happened, Godric vaulted over the desk in one fluid motion. Creedy barely had time to flinch before Godric's knee collided with his face, a sickening crunch reverberating through the room. The force sent Creedy sprawling back into his leather chair, his hands instinctively flying up to protect himself.

But Godric was relentless.

The chair tipped slightly under the force of Godric's fury as he landed atop Creedy, his fists raining down with merciless precision. Each strike echoed with bone-crushing impact, splitting Creedy's lip and painting his once-smug face with blood. Godric's knuckles turned raw, but the pain only fueled his rage.

"Where is she, Creedy?!" Godric's voice was a raw scream. "Where the hell is she?!"

Creedy sputtered, his face a grotesque mask of blood and bruises. He tried to shield himself, but Godric's blows came harder and faster, each punch driving home the weight of his anger. Blood spattered across the room, splashing onto the desk, the cabinets, and even the flickering iron lamps mounted on the walls.

Coins clinked and scattered across the floor, forgotten amidst the chaos. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, the crackling of firelight, and the unrelenting sound of Godric's fists meeting flesh. Creedy's cries turned to choked gasps, his resistance fading under the relentless assault.

As Godric paused, grabbing Creedy by his bloodied collar, the man spat to the floor both blood and a tooth. He pulled a defiant grin. "Gone, boy…" he panted between his words. "You'll never see your filthy mutt again. I told you before, didn't I?" his grin turned into a smirk. "You'll rule the day you decided to cross me. You only have yourself to blame."

At that moment, something snapped inside Godric. His strikes became erratic, raw screams tearing from his throat as unrestrained rage consumed him. His vision blurred, his fists swinging wildly. In his frenzy, his guard dropped for a split second—enough for Creedy to seize the opportunity. With a desperate shove, Creedy sent Godric sprawling backward, crashing into the metal cabinets with a deafening clang.

Creedy's eyes darted to his wand lying on the desk, his salvation within reach. Scrambling frantically, he snatched it up and turned to face Godric, his face contorted in a mix of fury and terror. The tip of the wand glowed an ominous green, its deadly light reflecting in Godric's crimson eyes as they widened.

"You've sealed your fate, boy!" Creedy growled. "Avada—!"

Before the Killing Curse could leave his lips, a sharp voice rang out from the doorway.

"Sectumsempra." Salazar's tone was calm, almost casual, but his wand's motion was swift and precise.

A blinding flash of white light filled the room, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a blade slicing through flesh. Creedy froze, his eyes widening in shock as his wand hand was severed cleanly at the wrist. The hand and wand both hit the floor with a sickening thud, blood spurting from the jagged stump and splattering across the walls.

Creedy staggered backward, a guttural howl of agony ripping from his throat as he clutched at his mutilated arm.

"Now, now, Creedy," Salazar stepped into the office, his emerald eyes cold as he twirled his wand between his fingers. "Didn't your mother ever teach you it's rude to point?"

The words were delivered with a chilling calm, a smirk tugging at the corners of Salazar's lips as he watched Creedy writhe in pain.

Godric's chest heaved; his breaths ragged as the weight of the moment bore down on him. His crimson eyes darted to Salazar, who stood unfazed, his wand still trained on Creedy.

"Salazar… he… he was…" Godric stammered. "He was going to… I nearly…"

Salazar stepped closer, placing a steadying hand on Godric's shoulder. "Save it, my friend," he said coolly, his tone a sharp contrast to the chaos. "We're not done here. And this slimy little weasel still has information we need. We're not leaving until we know what he's done with Raine."

Creedy's bloodshot eyes, wild with disbelief and fury, darted between the two boys. His face twisted in pain and rage as he pressed his mangled stump against his chest, blood dripping steadily onto the floor.

"You… you blasted whoresons!" he spat. "You'll both rot in a cold, dark cell for the rest of your bloody days for this!"

The fire reignited in Godric's eyes. He surged to his feet, grabbing the crystal ashtray from the desk. With a sharp swing, it smashed against Creedy's head, shattering into jagged shards. The man yelped in pain, but before he could recover, Godric hauled him up by the front of his jacket and slammed him against the filing cabinet with a deafening crash.

"Speak, you rotten son of a bitch!" Godric growled. "Where's Raine? Talk, now!"

Creedy glared at him, defiance flickering in his bloodied face. "I'll die before I tell you anything, boy," he hissed.

Salazar stepped forward, his wand leveled at Creedy's throat, its tip glowing faintly. "Don't make promises you don't intend to keep, Creedy," he said coldly, his emerald eyes narrowing. His gaze flicked briefly to the man's severed stump before returning, piercing and unrelenting. "You saw what I did to your hand. Next will be your head."

Godric turned to Salazar, unease flickering in his crimson eyes. "Salazar, wait… we're not actually going to—"

"Oh, we can, and we will, Godric," Salazar interjected. "For Raine. Remember what's at stake here. You said it yourself: no matter what."

The tension in the room thickened like a coiled spring ready to snap. Godric stood motionless for a moment, the weight of Salazar's words sinking in. Creedy's panicked breaths filled the silence, his bravado crumbling as he saw the unwavering resolve in their eyes.

Godric exhaled sharply, nodding as his expression hardened. "You're right, Salazar… no matter what." His gaze bore into Creedy's. "Start talking, Creedy. Now. Or I'll let him make good on his threat."

Creedy's defiance faltered, his eyes darting desperately around the room. It was clear he had run out of options.