The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

The atmosphere was thick with tension, the air itself seeming to hum with the weight of what had just occurred. The steady rhythm of approaching footsteps echoed from the corridor outside, growing louder with each step. Moments later, Professors Serfence and Workner appeared at the shattered doorway of Creedy's office. Their eyes widened as they took in the carnage within.

Serfence stepped in first, his wand drawn and his expression darkening as his gaze swept over the blood-smeared walls, the piles of coins scattered across the floor, and the crumpled form of Creedy clutching his stump. His eyes then fell upon Godric and Salazar, both standing rigid amidst the chaos. "What in the Old Gods happened here?" he growled, his tone sharp and accusatory. "And of course, of all of the muddling troublemakers, it had to be you two."

Professor Workner followed, his normally composed demeanor breaking into one of shock. "Godric? Salazar?" His gaze darted to the bloodied ashtray shards and the splintered remains of the door. "What are you both doing here? Unhand him at once!" His voice, though stern, betrayed a hint of disbelief.

Salazar, unfazed by the authority of the two professors, smirked with his usual air of defiance. "Well, I'm afraid it's a tad late for that, Professor."

"Mind yourself, Slytherin," Serfence snapped, his tone brooking no nonsense. "Your snark is not doing you any favors. You and Gryffindor will be dealt with accordingly."

Godric's jaw clenched. His crimson eyes flickered with unspent fury; his gaze fixed on Creedy. The man's lips twisted into a smirk despite the pain etched on his face. His smug triumph only fueled Godric's rage.

"Godric, release him," Professor Workner ordered. "Now."

With visible reluctance, Godric released his grip. The man staggered back as he gasped for air, but a glint of malicious satisfaction remained in his eyes.

"Professors, oh, thank the Gods you're here!" Creedy exclaimed as he pointed a trembling finger at the two boys. "I demand you arrest these two monsters immediately! They attacked me! And look—" He thrust his stump forward for emphasis, the blood dripping to the floor. "Look what they did to me!"

Serfence arched an eyebrow, his expression icy as he exchanged a glance with Workner. The other professor gave a curt nod, his own demeanor equally unreadable. Without hesitation, Serfence raised his wand, "Incarcerous!"

Ropes erupted from the tip of his wand, snaking through the air with a predatory grace. They coiled around Creedy in a blur, wrapping tightly around his torso and limbs until he was rendered immobile, his struggles futile.

"What—what's the meaning of this?!" Creedy spat as he thrashed against the unyielding bonds. His face contorted with anger and desperation. "Release me at once! I'm the victim here!"

Workner stepped forward, his boots echoing ominously on the stone floor. "For your sake, Creedy, I'd strongly suggest you shut your mouth." His eyes glinted with dangerous intent. "Forged paperwork. Selling Academy slaves. Pocketing the profits. We know everything."

"Oh, someone's been a very naughty boy," Salazar quipped, his smirk sharp as he leaned nonchalantly against the metal cabinets, arms crossed. Godric stood beside him, his crimson eyes blazing with a mixture of satisfaction and unrelenting anger.

Creedy's face drained of color, his rage melting into abject terror. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly. "But… but how? How did you—?"

A figure stepped into the shattered doorway, silhouetted against the dim light, exuding a calm and effortless confidence. Leaning casually against the frame, he twirled the ends of his magnificent mustache between his fingers, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Let's just say Headmaster Blaise and the faculty received quite the generous tip," Anton said, his tone dripping with smug amusement. "Courtesy of yours truly."

Creedy's shock twisted into fury as he snarled, thrashing against his bindings. "Anton… you gutless, sneaky… backstabbing… conniving little rat!"

"Now, now, temper, Creedy." Anton wagged a finger, his smirk widening. "A bit of advice—if you insist on committing crimes, it's wise to treat those who know your dirty laundry with a touch more respect. You never know who might air it out." His eyes gleamed with amusement.

Anton strode into the room with a deliberate, theatrical flair, his polished boots clicking against the stone floor. Creedy's eyes widened with unrestrained panic as the caretaker's smirk turned predatory.

"Now, remind me…" Anton's tone was laced with mockery as he gestured toward Godric. "What was that charming line you used on the lad? 'I look forward to watching them haul you off to Revel's End in chains,' wasn't it?" He chuckled darkly. "Not quite the triumphant moment you envisioned, is it?"

"Anton, you bastard!" Creedy roared, struggling violently against his ropes. His face was red with rage. "I'll have your head for this, I swear it!"

"Promises, promises." Anton sighed dramatically, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. "How dull. Do try to be more original, Creedy. At least give us some last words worth remembering before they haul you away."

"Enough!" Godric roared as he grabbed the hilt of his sword. With a violent wrench, he freed the blade from the wall and leveled it at Creedy. The tip gleamed menacingly under the flickering light as it nicked Creedy's neck, drawing a thin line of blood. "Where is Raine?! Tell me now, or I'll save everyone the trouble and end this right here!"

Creedy's response was a low, sinister chuckle. His lips curled into a malevolent smirk as his dark eyes locked onto Godric's. "Oh, I think you already know, boy," he said mockingly. "You've been thinking it this entire time, haven't you? That nagging fear you've refused to acknowledge."

Godric's crimson eyes widened, his grip faltering slightly as the weight of Creedy's words pressed down on him like a suffocating fog.

"I sold her," Creedy sneered, savoring every word. "To someone with quite the axe to grind against you."

Godric's face paled, the blood draining as realization crashed over him like a tidal wave. His lips parted in a silent gasp, horror flickering across his expression. Salazar, standing rigid beside him, felt the chill of recognition run down his spine.

"Creedy… you didn't…" Salazar's voice was low, shaking with fury. His emerald eyes burned as he advanced a step. "You wretched, vile son of a whore!"

"Raine…" Godric whispered before it twisted into a furious roar. "That bastard!" Without hesitation, he turned on his heel, racing out of the office with a determined fire in his stride, his sword still in hand.

"Godric, wait!" Professor Workner called after him.

Salazar turned a scathing glare at Creedy, who wore his smug grin like a badge of honor despite the blood trickling down his neck. "If you live to regret this, Creedy," Salazar growled, "it'll be the longest regret of your miserable life." Salazar then turned and bolted after Godric.

****

As the fading footsteps echoed down the corridor, Workner turned to Creedy, his usual warm demeanor replaced by a cold, cutting edge. His gaze bore into the former caretaker, who still wore a smug smirk, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction.

"There was a time," Workner began, "when the man you once were would look upon the man you've become today with nothing but disgust. You stood for something once—courage, honor, justice. What happened to that man?"

Anton let out a dry, mocking laugh. "You're delusional, Workner. We seem to remember this vile wretch very differently."

Serfence's wand twitched, tightening the bindings around Creedy's body until the man let out a strangled gasp. "Rest assured," Serfence said coldly, "you'll answer for every one of your crimes, Creedy. Every single one."

Creedy's smirk faltered but didn't fade entirely. Instead, he spat out with venom, "Oh, spare me your sanctimonious drivel, Serfence. The mighty Executioner of the Clock Tower, reduced to playing babysitter for snot-nosed brats. Such a pity, if weren't such a pathetic little weakling back then…"

He leaned forward as much as his bindings allowed; his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. "Perhaps Amelia would still be alive."

The room went deadly silent. Serfence's eyes widened briefly, a flicker of raw pain crossing his face before it was replaced with an icy, murderous calm. Anton's face drained of color, his usual demeanor crumbling into visible unease.

"Oh, no," Anton muttered under his breath. "He's gone and done it now."

Workner closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple as if trying to stave off the inevitable. "Creedy," he muttered. "You really don't know when to keep your mouth shut."

Serfence's voice broke the tense silence, low and controlled but carrying a dangerous edge that sent a chill through the room. "Workner… Anton…" he said, his tone unnervingly calm. "May I have the room, please? I'd like a moment alone with Mister Creedy."

Creedy's face fell, his smirk vanishing entirely as the realization of what he had just provoked settled in. His panicked eyes darted between Workner and Anton.

"With pleasure," Workner said, turning on his heel without hesitation. He paused at the doorway and glanced back at Serfence. "Just… remember. We need him breathing when the Aurors arrive."

Anton hesitated, casting a wary glance at Serfence before following Workner out. "You have fun in here, mate," he said under his breath. "I'll be praying for what's left of you."

Workner flicked his wand with precision, the splintered door creaking as it reassembled itself piece by piece. The heavy wood sealed shut behind them with an ominous thud, leaving Creedy alone in the room with Serfence. The dim light from the flickering crystal lamps cast long shadows, accentuating the unreadable expression on Serfence's face. It was a mask of cold calculation, but beneath it, there was the unmistakable presence of a brewing storm.

Creedy swallowed hard, the bravado that had fueled his earlier taunts evaporating under the suffocating silence. Sweat began to bead on his brow, and he shifted uncomfortably, his bindings creaking.

"You know, Creedy," Serfence said. "As an Executioner, I'm afforded certain… liberties." He began to pace slowly. "Sanctioned by the upper echelons of the Clock Tower. Liberties which extend to the unrestrained use of the Forbidden Curses." His gaze darkened, locking onto Creedy with an intensity that felt suffocating.

"To most, even a single one would land them before a Magister," Serfence said. "And if found guilty? Well, let's just say they'd be enjoying an extended stay in Revel's End for the next decade, if not longer." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before a cruel smirk tugged at his lips. "But for me? It's just another Tuesday."

He raised his wand, the tip beginning to glow ominously with a deep red hue. The faint hum of magic filled the room. Creedy's breath quickened, his eyes darting between Serfence's wand and his implacable expression.

"So, let's make this interesting, shall we?" Serfence's tone turned mockingly conversational, like a teacher addressing a particularly slow student. "Here's a little impromptu quiz for you, Creedy. Out of the Three Forbidden Curses, which one do you suppose is my personal favorite?"

The question hung in the air as Creedy's mouth opened and closed, his eyes wide with terror. "Edward… you wouldn't— You wouldn't curse an unarmed man," he stammered.

Serfence let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "You think far too highly of me, Creedy. Or perhaps too little. And by the way…" The glow from his wand intensified, casting an eerie red light across the room.

"It's Serfence to you," he said coldly, his tone like a slap. "Last I checked… we aren't friends."

Outside the room, Workner stood with his arms crossed, his expression hardened, though his brow furrowed ever so slightly as Creedy's agonized screams ripped through the stillness. Anton flinched at the sound, trembling as he muttered, "Bloody hell… that's worse than I imagined.

Workner didn't look at Anton but kept his gaze fixed on the closed door, his jaw tightening as another scream echoed down the hallway.

****

Godric tore through the castle, his crimson eyes wild and frantic as they darted across every corridor and hallway. The grip on his sword's hilt tightened with every step, his boots thundering against the stone floor. Students turned to watch him in alarm, some stepping back at the sight of his drawn blade, their murmurs echoing in the air. Salazar followed close behind, his emerald eyes sharp, matching Godric's urgency.

As Godric rounded another corner, Rowena and Helga appeared from an adjoining hallway, nearly colliding with him.

"Godric, we heard what—" Rowena stumbled back, startled by the intensity in his expression as he brushed past her without a word.

"Rowena, Helga!" Salazar skidded to a stop beside them, panting as he clutched his side. "Thank the Gods you're here."

"Salazar, what's going on?" Helga asked, her amber eyes wide with concern. "Where's Godric going?"

Salazar glanced in the direction Godric had run, his expression grim. "There's no time to explain everything. It's Volg. He has Raine, and Godric's out for blood. We have to stop him before he does something reckless!"

Without waiting for a reply, Salazar sprinted after Godric. Meanwhile, Godric barreled through the door to the castle courtyard. The icy air hit his face like a slap, but it did nothing to cool the fire raging within him. His gaze locked instantly onto Volg and his group lounging near the fountain. Volg turned, catching sight of Godric's approach, and his lips curled into a smug smirk.

"Volg!" Godric's voice was a furious roar that echoed across the courtyard. He marched toward him with purpose, each step heavier than the last. "Where is she, you blasted son of a whore?! Where is Raine?!"

Volg remained unfazed, his smirk widening as he straightened and spread his arms theatrically. "Well, well, if it isn't Gryffindor," he drawled, his tone mocking. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your—?"

Godric's teeth clenched, his free hand balling into a fist. "Don't play coy with me, Volg!" he snarled. "I know you have her. Tell me where she is before I cut that smirk off your face!"

"Oh, you mean this little mutt?" Volg sneered. His smirk deepened as he stepped aside, yanking on a heavy chain. From behind his wall of sneering friends, a bruised and bloodied Raine staggered into view.

The iron links tugged at the collar around her neck as she tripped, collapsing into the snow with a cry of pain. Her bare body shivered violently against the icy ground, her white fur streaked with blood and dirt.

Godric's crimson eyes widened in horror at the sight of her, broken and trembling, her golden eyes pleading through the tears that streaked her bruised face. The sight sent a piercing ache through his chest, twisting into something darker and far more dangerous.

"Not so good at keeping secrets, are you, Gryffindor?" Volg mocked, thick with malice. "It's bad enough that you'd sully yourself by laying with this pelt… but to give her your heart?"

His laugh echoed, sharp and cruel. "Oh, the very thought of it still makes my skin crawl. Loving a filthy pelt? It turns my insides out!" He gestured to his chest as if retching, his smirk growing wider.

The laughter of Volg's lackeys joined his, jeering and ridiculing, but to Godric, it all sounded muffled—like echoes in a distant storm. All he could focus on was Raine, her pain, her fear. The glow of his blazing rage intensified, his sword trembling in his hand as his grip tightened to the point of pain.

Volg leaned down beside her, his cruel grin widening as he stroked her tear-streaked face. He turned his cold eyes back to Godric, relishing every moment. "Best ten thousand Platas I ever spent," he said mockingly.

"All just to see that look on your face, Gryffindor. Priceless." Straightening, he tugged the chain sharply, forcing Raine to cry out again. "White wolf therianthropes are incredibly rare, you know. She'll fetch a fortune once I'm done with her."

Godric's entire body stiffened, his crimson eyes glowing with a terrifying intensity. The world around him blurred as pure, unrelenting rage clouded his vision. All thoughts of reason and restraint fled, replaced by a primal, all-consuming fury. Bright, glowing lines—like cracks in a furnace—began to streak across his body, igniting him in a blaze of incandescent fury. The air around him seemed to heat and crackle, his energy palpable and suffocating.

"Volg…" Godric growled through clenched teeth. His face twisted with unbridled wrath as he took a step forward. "You're dead."