The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

"Volg Dryfus!"

The name echoed sharply through the cold, unforgiving chamber, Helena's voice slicing through the heavy stillness with commanding authority, undercut by a simmering rage. Raine flinched at the sound, her golden eyes flicked toward the doorway. The tension in the chains around her neck loosened slightly, eventually sliding to the floor with a dull clang as she instinctively turned toward the approaching girl, her breath caught in her throat. Volg, standing arrogantly in the center of the room, halted mid-step, his smug grin faltering. His icy gaze snapped to the girl striding in.

Helena's Overseer badge glinted in the dim light, pinned prominently on her uniform, a mark of her unyielding authority. Her steps were deliberate, each one carrying an undercurrent of fury, echoing ominously against the wooden floor.

"Helena." Volg forced a smirk that barely masked his irritation. "What an unexpected surprise. You know, there are far more pleasant places for a date, don't you think?"

Helena stopped just short of him, her icy gaze piercing through his bravado. Her eyes flicked briefly past his shoulder, catching sight of Raine—frail, shackled, and trembling—before snapping back to meet Volg's. Her expression hardened. "You were summoned to The Congregation, Volg. Why didn't you answer?"

"Ah, that." Volg's smirk widened. "When I heard about the summons, I assumed it was some sort of hoax. You can't blame me for dismissing childish pranks, can you?"

"Don't play games with me," Helena snapped. "All summons are to be answered. It's the law. Or have you forgotten?" She took a purposeful step closer, her presence filling the space. "So, let me spell it out for your limited comprehension. We whistle, you come running. Like the good little pup, you are."

A shadow of anger flashed across Volg's face, momentarily shattering his smug facade like a fractured mask.

Helena, unfazed, reached into her satchel and drew forth a scroll bound in rich crimson cloth, the wax seal glinting ominously in the dim light. "A Bellum Inter Duos has been declared. By the Old Ways and the Old Laws, you and The Calishans are formally summoned to a duel."

"A duel?" Volg's smirk returned, sharper and more twisted than before, brimming with simmering irritation and disbelief. He let out a mocking scoff, crossing his arms as he leaned forward slightly. "And exactly who has the audacity—or better yet, the sheer stupidity—to challenge me?"

Helena didn't flinch, her gaze unwavering. "Godric Gryffindor," she said sharply. "To settle your grievances the old-fashioned way, as gentlemen should."

There was a beat of silence before Volg erupted into laughter, the sound sharp and biting. "Oh, Helena," he drawled. "I'll admit, the joke was funny the first time, maybe even the second. But now? Now, it's just irritating." His laughter faded, replaced by an icy edge. "And I don't have much patience for people who don't know when to stop pushing."

His posture shifted into something far more threatening, his towering frame casting a shadow over Helena. "Let me make one thing clear," he said. "'New Blood' doesn't have the standing, the station, or the sheer gall to issue a challenge against me."

His sneer stretched wider. "Second." He dragged the word out mockingly, "Gryffindor isn't even a registered member of The Congregation" He let out a short, sharp laugh. "Registration alone takes at least a week. And by then—" his cold, calculating eyes flicked toward Raine, his expression curling into something cruel, "—I'll have already shipped his precious little pelt off to the Mills where she belongs."

"Well then," Helena said, her tone ice-cold, "you might want to let your twisted little friends at the Mill know there's been an… unfortunate change of plans." Helena held the scroll aloft. The crimson wax seal gleamed ominously in the dim light. Her defiant smirk grew sharper as she extended the scroll toward Volg. "And while you're at it, I suggest you take a closer look at this seal."

Volg's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the seal, recognition dawning with a sudden, sharp intensity. His lips curled into a sneer. "Masamune," he hissed, spitting the name like poison. "That meddling slant, always poking his nose where it doesn't belong!"

"Careful, Dryfus," Helena warned. "It's one thing to pick a fight with the Lion of Ignis, but with the Blade of Terra himself?" Her piercing gaze locked with his. "That's not just foolish, that's a death sentence. Or have you already forgotten the last time you challenged him for his seat? You barely walked away with your pride—what little of it you had left."

Volg spun on his heel, pacing the room like a cornered predator. His breaths came sharp and ragged, his fists clenching and unclenching with barely contained fury. "And tell me this, Helena," he snarled, "why in the name of the Old Gods would I even think about accepting such a pathetic, ridiculous challenge?"

"Because there are rules." Helena said. "And without them—"

"We live with the beasts!" Volg barked as he slammed his fist into the nearest surface. "Gods above, I can't stand that stupid line!" His jaw clenched so tight it seemed his teeth might crack. He ran a hand through his slick blond hair, shoving it back in a gesture that oozed arrogance. His expression contorted, his blue eyes blazing with unbridled fury.

"Well, times are changing, Helena!" he sneered, his presence growing more imposing. "There's a new wind blowing through Excalibur. A new dawn. New ideas. New rules." He leaned in, his smirk twisting into something darker and more menacing. "And new management."

"Cute, Dryfus," Helena said. "Funny how you ended up in Aecor and not Ferrum—seems like the Orb missed the mark." Her eyes narrowed. "And those are some big words coming from a petulant child desperately clinging to authority handed down by L—"

The clang of metal shattered the silence as Volg kicked over a stack of cans, sending them clattering noisily across the floor. His fists balled at his sides, his whole frame trembling with barely contained fury.

"Don't you dare finish that sentence! Don't you dare invoke that name!" he bellowed. The veins in his neck bulging as his breath came in sharp, ragged bursts. "I am the leader of The Calishans! The clan belongs to ME! Not him, not anyone else—ME!"

His eyes blazed with unrestrained intensity, a storm of emotions flickering beneath his wild gaze—anger, resentment, and perhaps something more vulnerable, something deeper, hidden beneath his volatile exterior.

Volg squared his shoulders, his posture brimming with exaggerated confidence. "This is my time. My moment. My destiny!" he declared. "I will claim my rightful seat at The Table, and I'll do whatever it takes to get there—no matter how vile, no matter how despicable. If it means selling my soul to the filthiest pits of Hell itself, then so be it!"

His burning eyes locked onto Helena. "And no one—NO ONE—will stand in my way. Not you. Not Genji Shimada. And certainly not that pathetic boonie, Godric Gryffindor."

Helena sighed. She tilted her head slightly, her smirk returning. "Well, until that glorious day of yours actually arrives, Volg, you will accept. Because, like the rest of us, you still sit beneath The Table. And even you," she said, her tone biting, "are not immune to the consequences of failure."

Beneath Volg's simmering rage, an undercurrent of unease betrayed him—a subtle twitch of his brow, the sharp rise and fall of his chest, the faintest shudder trailing down his neck. His carefully constructed facade was beginning to splinter, and Helena caught every crack. Her piercing gaze dissected his every movement with precision.

Within her cell, Raine remained huddled, her wide, golden eyes darting between them. Though she couldn't fully grasp the depth of their exchange, the tension in the room wrapped around her like a suffocating shroud.

"And if I refuse?" Volg finally growled. "What happens then?" The question hung in the air, a thinly veiled challenge that sounded more like a desperate grasp for control.

Helena's smirk widened. Satisfaction dripped from her every word as she leaned in. "Oh, Volg, don't play coy. You already know the answer." She straightened; her gaze unwavering.

"This isn't some petty spat in the arena. A Bellum Inter Duos is sacred. Once invoked, it's binding. Refusal equals immediate forfeiture, and forfeiture means loss." She paused. "And we both know what happens to a Clan on the losing end of a Bellum Inter Duos."

Volg's breath hitched, the confident swagger draining from his posture. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as the weight of her words pressed down on him, crushing his earlier bravado. For a fleeting moment, uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

"Fine," he spat. His lip curled as he glared at her. "What are Gryffindor's terms?"

Helena stood tall; her gaze steady. "Victoria Fiducia," she began. "The unconditional release of one therianthrope slave, Raine, into his possession. And…" she let the pause linger, savoring the moment, "your immediate and permanent Excommunicado from The Congregation. Every last member of The Calishans included."

Volg's jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as his fists curled at his sides. His breath hissed through his teeth. "Bold, Helena. Very bold," he sneered, pacing a few steps before turning sharply, his disdainful glare falling on Raine. She flinched, shrinking under the intensity of his gaze.

"All this," he spat, gesturing broadly. "All this chaos for a worthless pelt. Tell me, Helena, why? Why would Gryffindor go so far, for her?"

"For love, Volg," Helena said calmly, but edged with quiet contempt. "Not that I'd expect you to understand. That kind of thing takes a heart, and, well… we both know you're running a little short in that department."

Volg's sneer stretched wider, his laugh sharp and mocking. "Love," he spat, the word rolling off his tongue like a curse. "The ultimate delusion for fools and bleeding hearts. Pathetic." He leaned forward slightly. "And what's the brave Lion of Ignis putting on the line for this little game?"

Helena's confident demeanor faltered for just a moment. The smirk she wore faded as her expression shifted, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. Her eyes dropped briefly before she steeled herself, drawing in a measured breath.

"His freedom," she said at last. "A lifetime of service. Should he lose…" She fixed Volg with an unwavering stare. "Godric Gryffindor will become property of The Calishans. Your property."

Volg paused, staring at Helena as her words sank in. Then, slowly, his lips twisted into a manic grin, his eyes gleaming with a sinister light. "You know, on second thought, this might actually turn out to be a fun little game after all."

"No!" Raine's anguished scream pierced the air as she stumbled to her feet, her fingers gripping the cold, rusted bars of her cell. "Please, no! Helena, tell him! Tell him he can't do this!" Her golden eyes filled with desperation. "I'm not worth it, Helena, please!" she pleaded, trembling with despair.

Helena's gaze faltered, her eyes sliding away from Raine. The silent refusal to meet her pleading stare spoke louder than any words could have.

Volg let out a low, cruel chuckle, the sound dripping with malice. "Fine," he sneered. "Go ahead, tell Gryffindor I accept his little challenge."

"The Defendere is tomorrow," Helena replied sharply. "Eight o'clock, at the arena in The Congregation." Her narrowed eyes locked onto Volg's. "And this time, do us all a favor and actually show up." She stepped forward, thrusting the scroll toward him. Volg snatched it from her grasp with a sneer.

As Helena turned to leave, Volg's voice rang out behind her. "It's such a shame, Helena, to see you on the wrong side of recorded history," he said, his tone light but barbed. "Because when I take my rightful place at The Table, my first order of business will be to personally see you declared Excommunicado."

Helena froze in her tracks but did not turn around.

"But why wait for that pleasure?" Volg continued, his smirk widening. "For now, I'll settle for letting you watch as I slap a shiny new collar around Gryffindor's neck. And after that…" His gaze flicked toward Raine, his smile growing more twisted.

"I'll give him and his precious little pelt just enough time to exchange their tearful goodbyes," Volg sneered, "before I ship him off to the mines and her to the mills. Two pathetic, star-crossed fools, torn apart and ground down by their own stupidity. Never to see each other again. It's almost poetic, don't you think?"

Helena spun on her heel, her eyes blazing with fury as she strode back toward him. "As Overseer, Dryfus, I'm obligated by the rules to remain impartial in all disputes within The Congregation," she began.

"But as Godric's friend?" Helena hissed, each word dripping with controlled fury as her piercing gaze locked onto Volg's. The intensity in her eyes caused his smirk to falter, just for a heartbeat.

"I'm counting the seconds until he takes you apart, piece by bloody piece. With the fire you've ignited within him, you'll be lucky to leave that duel on a stretcher… if you leave at all. And trust me, if you do end up in a box, it won't be one fit for an open casket."

Before Volg could retort, Helena interrupted him. "And yes, I'm well aware that the rules explicitly forbid killing," she said. "But don't delude yourself into thinking that the Old Ways will protect your sorry little existence. Remember Matthew Garetty?" She leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing.

"Accidents happen. And in your case, it'll be anything but. Believe me when I say, no one will shed a tear for you when you're gone. Not even your so-called friends." She straightened. "I know I certainly won't."

Without sparing him another glance, Helena spun on her heel and stormed out, her footsteps echoing sharply against the cold stone, each one a defiant beat of her unwavering resolve. Volg's smirk soon twisted into a dark scowl, his fists clenching at his sides as unbridled fury simmered beneath the surface. His eyes burned with a silent promise of retribution as he watched her retreating figure.

Back in her cell, Raine's legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed onto the icy stone floor. The cold seeped into her skin, but she barely noticed as her head fell against the unyielding metal bars. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks. Her trembling fingers clutched at the chains still bound to her wrists.

"Oh, Godric…" her voice cracked, heavy with despair. "What have you done?"

****

The four friends sat in their usual spot in the Grand Hall as dinner was served, the tables brimming with an array of exquisite dishes. Yet, despite the tantalizing aroma that filled the air, none of them had the appetite or focus for a proper meal. Godric sat rigidly, his fingers interlocked and his heel tapping a relentless rhythm against the stone floor.

Salazar leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his fingers drumming a slow, deliberate beat on his forearm. Rowena, ever composed, had her head bowed over a book, her sapphire eyes flicking across the pages, though her usual sharp focus seemed dulled. Meanwhile, Helga sat in an unusual stillness, her plate untouched—a rare occurrence given her typical delight in the Hall's offerings.

The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the faint clinking of cutlery and the distant hum of the other students' chatter. It wasn't until Helena approached, her deliberate footsteps cutting through the quiet, that their attention shifted. She slid into the empty chair at their table, her expression firm and resolute, commanding their immediate focus. All eyes turned to her with the weight of expectation.

"It's done," Helena announced. "Volg has agreed. He'll be at the Defendere tomorrow to finalize the terms."

The group exhaled collectively, their relief palpable, though the weight of what lay ahead still loomed large.

Godric leaned forward, his crimson eyes intense with desperation. "Did you see her?" he asked. "Was Raine there? Is she… is she alright?"

Helena nodded, her expression softening just enough to reveal a flicker of reassurance. "She's holding on—for now," she said. "She's bruised, battered, but not broken. Naming her as one of the terms means Volg can't touch her until the duel is over. For the moment, she's safe." Her lips curled into a small, triumphant smirk. "You've backed him into a corner, Godric. Forced his hand. He's stuck between a rock and a hard place."

Salazar leaned back in his chair, his own smirk widening, emerald eyes gleaming with sharp satisfaction. "Precisely as I expected," he said. "Oh, to be a fly on the wall when he has to call his buyer to explain the sudden… inconvenience. Slave traders aren't exactly known for their patience or understanding," he added with a low chuckle.

"And when he loses, the compensation alone would gut him," Salazar continued. "Refuse to pay, and he'll be the one taking Raine's place. The Dryfus family may be wealthy, but even their coffers aren't limitless. A loss that size? It's bound to sting—hard." He leaned back, his grin darkening.

"In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Dryfus senior lets his dimwitted son face the music. Why waste the family's fortune bailing out a fool who let his arrogance and ego lead him to ruin?"

Salazar's grin turned razor-sharp. "Between losing his place in The Congregation and losing his freedom? I'd almost feel sorry for the bastard." He paused, savoring the thought. "…Almost."