Back in the Great Hall, Godric and Raine moved gracefully to the melody that filled the room, the student's clear voice entwining with the delicate strums of violins and the soft, enchanting keys of the piano. Their eyes were locked, each step in perfect harmony, as though the world beyond the music and their connection had ceased to exist. Godric's warm smile mirrored the faint blush on Raine's cheeks, her golden eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion.
Unbeknownst to them, the other students had gradually stepped aside, leaving the entire dance floor to the pair. Every gaze was fixed on them—some filled with longing, like the wistful expression of Professor Workner, whose thoughts seemed to drift to a cherished past. Others looked on with love, as Rowena gently rested her cheek against Bran's arm, her smile serene. Helga beamed with joy, pausing her indulgence in a slice of cake to watch them.
Yet not all eyes were kind; Nerida observed from the sidelines, her lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of envy flashing across her face. She scoffed softly, tossing her hair over her shoulder before departing with a dismissive swish of her dress.
As the song swelled to its final notes, Godric and Raine's movements slowed. Their breaths seemed to sync, and the space between them disappeared. They leaned closer, and when their lips met, the hall seemed to hold its breath. The applause that followed was thunderous, filling the air as the enchanted lights brightened once more.
Pulling away from the kiss, they smiled softly, their expressions holding a depth that words couldn't capture. The applause faded into the background, the crowd melting away in their minds. In that moment, the night belonged to them alone. Raine rested her head against Godric's chest, her arms wrapping around him as he held her close.
No words were exchanged; none were needed. Their hearts spoke everything they could ever wish to say.
From the corner of the hall, Professor Workner's gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders slumping. He drew a sharp breath, his expression a mix of melancholy and resignation, before tipping his glass back to finish the last of his brandy. Without a word, he turned on his heel and made his way toward the exit, his footsteps slow but deliberate against the polished marble.
Professor Serfence, standing near the buffet table, caught sight of Workner's retreating figure. He frowned, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he observed his colleague's departure. With a sigh, Serfence reached for the wine bottle resting on the table beside him and poured himself another generous glass. He swirled the crimson liquid thoughtfully before taking a measured sip.
Headmaster Blaise, seated at the long table at the front of the hall, caught the exchange. His calm, perceptive eyes lingered on Serfence for a moment before he inclined his head in a subtle gesture of understanding and acknowledgment. The room continued to hum with music and chatter, but in those brief moments, a quiet, unspoken conversation passed among the professors—one of shared burdens and regret.
****
As the Yuletide Ball wound down, students began trickling out of the Great Hall, heading back to their dormitories. Professors followed suit, some swaying slightly from having indulged in too much festive wine or whiskey. A few students exchanged mischievous glances, slipping off into the castle's quieter corners under the cover of shadow. Rowena bid her brother farewell as he left for his lodgings in the city, while Helga waved a hearty goodbye to Godric and Raine as they walked arm in arm toward their own quarters.
Stuffed from sampling nearly every dessert and delicacy at the banquet, Helga made her way toward the Terra Dorms, navigating the network of stone-carved tunnels that spiraled deep underground. The soft glow of massive crystals embedded in the cavern walls bathed the pathways in an ethereal light of shifting blues, greens, and pinks. As she entered the Terra Common Room, the earthy warmth of the space greeted her, its wooden platforms laid carefully over the natural ground.
Stretching her arms with a satisfied groan, Helga cracked her back and started toward her own room. On the way, she spotted Lucian, the Terra Head Prefect, just as he reached for the handle of his door. His normally composed demeanor seemed unusually weary. Grinning, Helga couldn't resist calling out.
"Heya, Lucian!" she chirped, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet cavern. "What's shakin', bacon?"
Lucian visibly flinched, spinning around with wide eyes and clutching his chest. "By the Old Gods!" he exclaimed, pressing his back against his door. "Have you no sense of time and place? You nearly scared the soul out of me!"
Helga giggled; her amber eyes gleaming mischievously. "The great Head Prefect, terrified by little ole me?" She tilted her head with mock innocence. "I thought you'd be a bit more unflappable."
Lucian sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I'm not in the mood for your antics tonight, Hufflepuff. It's been… it's been a long evening, and I'd rather not discuss it."
Her grin faded into a look of concern. "Rough night?" she asked gently. "Does it have to do with that Ventus girl you've been seeing?"
Lucian stiffened and cleared his throat, his expression tightening. "That's none of your concern," he said curtly, turning the doorknob. "Goodnight."
Before he could step inside, Helga stopped him again. "For what it's worth," she said, "I think you're a really great guy. If she can't see that, it's her loss."
Lucian hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. For a moment, his usually stoic features softened into a faint, warm smile. Helga flashed him a grin, then turned on her heel and began walking away.
Lucian entered his room, but the moment he stepped inside, a loud splash echoed as his foot landed in a puddle of muddy water. The room was alive with the croaks of frogs and the rhythmic chirp of crickets. His shoulders stiffened, and his nostrils flared as realization struck.
"HUFFLEPUFFFFFF!" he bellowed, his voice carrying through the dorm.
Further down the corridor, Helga erupted into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, skipping merrily back to her room, utterly delighted with herself.
****
The chill winter air seeped through the ancient stones of the castle, winding its way through every crack and crevice of the titanic structure under the quiet cover of night. The stillness was broken only by the soft howling of the arctic winds rattling the windows of the Ignis dorms. Inside, the amber glow of crystal lights bathed the room in a warm, muted light, contrasting the icy whispers outside. The quiet was filled with the sounds of labored breaths and soft murmurs, the heat between Godric and Raine defying the cold that surrounded them.
Raine's silver hair cascaded like liquid moonlight against her bare shoulders, catching the glow of the crystals as she gazed down at him with a tender smile. Her golden eyes shone with warmth; their shared emotions reflected in their depths. Both of them lay entwined, their bodies glistening with the effort of their connection, the rhythm of their breaths slowing as they sank into the comforting stillness of the moment.
As Raine settled beside him, panting as her gaze locked with his. Godric's hand reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek softly. He pressed his forehead to hers, the gesture as much one of love as of quiet gratitude. "You've no idea how much I've missed moments like this, my love," he murmured, his own chest heaving with exertion.
Raine leaned into his touch, her smile deepening. "I've missed this too," she whispered. "And if I'm honest… I've been feeling a bit… eager as of late." She chuckled softly, her tail flicking lazily behind her.
Godric laughed, the sound warm and familiar. "It's a teenager thing," he said. "Uncle Gareth always says a man needs to keep his impulses in check. Apparently, he had a friend once who let his… well, his baser instincts do the thinking. Now the man's got a house with seven kids."
"Seven?!" Raine covered her mouth, her eyes wide. "By Freya, I can't imagine managing that many!"
"Neither can I," Godric admitted with a grin. "I think I'd settle for one… at least for now."
Raine's ears perked up, and her golden eyes sparkled. "If we do… when we do, what do you think we'd have? A boy or a girl?" Her tail wagged softly as she rested her chin on his chest.
Godric pretended to think for a moment before grinning. "A girl," he said confidently.
Raine's grin widened, her fangs peeking playfully. "Godric Gryffindor wants a daddy's girl, is that it?" she teased. "I think she'd have your hair—fiery red, like flames."
"And she'd have your eyes," Godric replied. "Golden, like the sun."
Raine hummed softly. "Hhm," she muttered, a warm glow spreading through her chest. "I know I might be thinking a little too far ahead, but… what would you name her?"
Godric tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as he considered the question. "Honestly?" he mused, scratching his chin. "I don't know. I've never been particularly good with names." He glanced at her. "What about you? Do you have one in mind?"
Raine paused, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on his chest. "I… I've always loved the name Alura," she said quietly. "It was my mother's name. And I don't know… it's always felt so beautiful to me."
Godric's eyes softened as he repeated the name under his breath. "Alura Gryffindor…" A genuine smile spread across his face. "I love it."
Raine's ears perked up. "Really?" she asked.
"Of course," he replied, tucking a strand of her silver hair behind her ear. "It's perfect. Beautiful, strong… just like you."
A blush spread across Raine's cheeks, and she rested her head against his chest, her tail wagging softly.
Godric smiled warmly, his crimson eyes meeting hers with unwavering sincerity. "When we have our first, and if she's a daughter, we'll name her Alura," he said softly. Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "You have my word."
Raine's golden eyes shimmered with emotion as she smiled, her cheeks tinged with warmth. "Thank you," she whispered. "It means so much to me."
Godric held her close, his hand brushing gently through her silver hair. "It's the least I could do," he said. "For you, for her—our family."
They both fell into a comfortable silence, their imaginations painting a picture of the life they both yearned for—a life full of warmth, love, and the joy they had fought so hard to protect. In the quiet glow of the room, the harshness of the world outside seemed to melt away, leaving only the promise of a brighter future.
****
The morning sunlight filtered through the frosted glass, casting a golden glow across the room. The winter chill seeped faintly into the air, countered by the dry warmth radiating from the vents above. Helena stirred beneath the thick blankets, groaning softly as her hand moved to her temple. A dull, pounding headache greeted her, making her feel as though her skull were caught in a vice. She blinked against the light, fragments of the previous night flitting through her mind—snatching an unopened bottle of wine from the teacher's table, the warm, heady taste of the drink, and a blur of laughter and music. Everything beyond that was hazy, a jigsaw puzzle with too many missing pieces.
Helena yawned and stretched, only to freeze as her hand brushed against something—or rather, someone. Her heart skipped a beat. Slowly, she glanced down at herself and realized she was completely bare beneath the blanket. Her eyes widened in shock. She felt the warmth of an arm draped around her waist, holding her close.
Turning her head with agonizing slowness, Helena came face to face with none other than Salazar Slytherin. His emerald eyes fluttered open lazily, a smirk spreading across his face as he looked at her.
"Well, good morning to you too, Helena," he drawled.
Her scream shattered the morning silence, echoing through the room like a siren. With a swift and panicked motion, she drove her elbow into his face, earning a groan as he clutched his nose. Helena scrambled out of the bed, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it tightly around her body as if it were armor against the sheer mortification of the moment.
"By the Old Gods, woman!" Salazar groaned, clutching his head with one hand and his nose with the other as he sat up. "You hit harder than Helga!"
"Salazar!" Helena shouted, her voice an octave higher than usual. "What in the name of Hecate are you doing here? Why are you naked? Why am I naked? What… What happened?!"
Salazar rubbed his temples, still clearly waking up. "I was hoping you could tell me," he muttered. "I decided to carry you back here after your little wine escapade, and, well…" He bobbed his eyebrows. "You were quite… insistent."
Helena's face turned a shade of crimson that would rival a phoenix's plumage. "No, no, no! This cannot be happening!" Her words cracking as she paced the room, clutching the blanket like a lifeline. "I don't remember anything after—oh, Gods. Did we—?"
Salazar leaned back against the headboard, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Let's just say you showed me a side of you I'd never have imagined."
"Oh no, oh by the stars… I slept with Salazar Slytherin," Helena groaned, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she buried her face in her hands. "This has to be a nightmare."
"For you, perhaps," Salazar quipped, his smirk widening. "For me? Quite entertaining, actually. If it's any consolation, I didn't particularly hate it." He stretched, a series of cracks echoing from his back. "Although, by Scáthach, I'm surprised the bed survived. My spine? Less so."
"Salazar…" Helena hissed, her eyes narrowing, her face somehow growing redder.
"And the screaming," Salazar continued, unabated. "Oh, the screaming. I'm fairly certain the entire castle—"
Helena leapt back onto the bed, pinning him down by his shoulders as she straddled him, her fiery glare boring into his amused emerald eyes.
"Oh, Helena," Salazar said with mock innocence, raising an eyebrow. "If you wanted to go again, you only had to ask."
"You listen here, Slytherin, and you listen well," Helena growled. "No one—and I mean NO ONE—can ever find out about this. Do you understand me?"
Her glare dared him to defy her, but Salazar's smirk remained, though he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Your secret's safe with me, milady."
"I'm serious! If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone—your friends included—I won't just hex you into oblivion," Helena snarled, her eyes blazing. "I'll chop you into tiny pieces and use you to fertilize Professor Lagduf's garden. Am I clear?"
"Crystal," Salazar replied, utterly unfazed.
Helena froze suddenly, her face flushing as she shifted uncomfortably. "Please tell me that's your leg."
Salazar glanced down briefly, then back up, his smirk now infuriatingly smug.
Her glare could have turned him to stone. "Get out. Now."
"As you wish." Salazar stood, pausing with exaggerated deliberation. "Do you mind?" he gestured toward her, still clutching the blanket.
Helena huffed and got off him, allowing him space to gather his robes. With infuriating nonchalance, he pulled on his trousers and adjusted them with deliberate slowness.
"Oh, and you're welcome, by the way, for carrying you back here," he said casually, buttoning his shirt. "A simple thank you wouldn't kill you."
"Out!" Helena snapped, her face now resembling a tomato.
With a bow that was far too theatrical, Salazar headed for the door, pausing just before stepping out. He glanced over his shoulder, emerald eyes twinkling mischievously. "And for the record, I never would've guessed you were a virgin."
Helena's gasp was followed by a sharp whoosh as she hurled a pillow at him, but the door clicked shut just in time.
From the other side of the door, his voice rang out, laced with amusement. "Call me!"
Helena groaned, flopping back onto the bed and burying her face in her hands. "By the Gods, what have I done?"
****
As breakfast was served in the Grand Hall, the tantalizing aroma of hearty dishes wafting through the air. Students ate with gusto, their chatter punctuated by laughter as they anticipated the journey home for the holidays. Outside, the courtyard bustled with those wheeling their trunks, waiting for the carriages and busses to take them to the train station. Around them, the Yuletide decorations were being taken down by staff and slaves alike. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was a lightness to the air—smiles, laughter, and even a spring in the steps of the slaves.
At one of the long tables, Godric, Raine, Rowena, Helga, and Salazar sat together, savoring a warm breakfast. Their conversation flitted between their plans for the holidays and the journeys that awaited them. Godric's gaze lingered on the slaves, noting their uncharacteristic cheerfulness.
"It's Anton," Raine explained when she caught Godric's expression, her tail swishing happily behind her. "He's already reversed most of Creedy's awful practices. Started refurbishing the Slave Quarters—new beds, proper meals, clean clothes, you name it. They're finally being treated like people."
"No wonder," Godric said, his expression softening. "That bastard Creedy was probably lining his pockets with the funds meant for their care." Crossing his arms, he shook his head. "We've all seen the Slave Quarters—crumbling walls, threadbare clothes, barely enough food to keep them standing. I used to think the academy didn't care, but it turns out it was just him."
"That's an understatement," Rowena chimed in. "I heard he rationed their supplies and sold the surplus for profit. The man had no shame."
"And the slaves didn't take kindly to it when they found out," Helga added, biting into her smoked salmon sandwich. "Word is, they cornered him in the cellar and gave him a beating he'll never forget."
Godric raised an eyebrow. "I thought I noticed some fresh bruises on him yesterday."
"You did," Helga confirmed, grinning around her next bite. "Saw him out in the courtyard, black eye and all, fertilizing the flower beds. Not that I feel even a shred of sympathy for him."
"Who does?" Salazar smirked, buttering a piece of toast. "Even the flowers probably detest him."
Helga chuckled. "Anyway, I'm all packed and ready to head home. I can't wait to see everyone, and most of all, I can't wait to taste Mum's cooking. Her pies, oh, I can almost smell them."
"Helga, my dear, you might be the only person I know who can wax poetic about food while already eating," Salazar quipped, shaking his head. "As for me, the holidays aren't exactly thrilling. Slytherin Hall gets rather lonely this time of year."
Rowena glanced over her book. "Where has your father gotten to now? Surely, he can't have gone far."
Salazar leaned back, his smirk fading. "Who knows? I've long given up on tracking his nautical wanderings. If I had to guess, he's off somewhere in the Balkans. Honestly, I wouldn't be too troubled if he got buried in an avalanche."
Godric frowned, lowering his goblet. "That's a terrible thing to say."
Salazar gave him a steady, unreadable look. "Believe me, dear friend, if you knew my father, you'd wish the same. Not all of us are as fortunate. The man isn't exactly father-of-the-year material—unlike your Uncle Gareth."
The table fell quiet for a moment before Helga spoke. "Well, my mum always says the holidays are what you make of them. Maybe this year will surprise you, Salazar." She popped the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth, grinning as she chewed.
Salazar huffed a laugh. "Ever the optimist, Helga. Let's hope you're right."
Godric's gaze shifted toward the large doors of the Great Hall, and for a moment, it felt as though time itself slowed. His eyes locked on the figures of Laxus and Volg passing by. The elder brother walked with purpose, his towering frame steady, while Volg moved beside him, his hood pulled low to obscure his disfigured face and the absence of his arm. They were heading toward the courtyard, their steps echoing faintly in the outside hall.
Raine and the others followed Godric's gaze. Laxus turned his head, meeting their eyes. His nod was solemn, one of acknowledgement. Godric returned the gesture, his chest tightening.
Volg turned next, his gaze meeting Godric's. For a fleeting moment, the two locked eyes. Godric's breath hitched as he took in Volg's scarred face and hollow expression. The man who once embodied arrogance and cruelty now seemed crushed under the weight of his deeds—a shadow of the person he had been. His shoulders sagged and his gaze heavy with regret.
Raine turned her head away, unable to look at Volg any longer. As the boy eyes scanned the group, they caught Salazar's smirk. Salazar offered a mock salute, his grin sharp. Volg's lips tightened, but he said nothing, turning away as he and Laxus disappeared beyond the door.
The silence at the table was palpable. Godric drew a sharp breath, leaning back in his chair, lost in thought. Raine leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as her fingers intertwined with his.
"It's finally over," Godric muttered. "And yet… I can't shake this feeling." His words heavy with introspection. "Like… something's unfinished."
"It's natural to feel that way, Godric," Rowena said. "It's human to look back and wonder if things could've gone differently—if we could've made better choices. But the past is immutable. All we can do is move forward, carrying the knowledge that we acted with conviction and no regrets."
"And if it's any consolation," Salazar said, setting his goblet down with a faint clink, "you accomplished what you set out to do."
Godric looked at him, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"
Helga chimed in. "You wanted to change things, didn't you? Around here?" She gestured subtly to the slaves bustling around the hall, humming, laughing, and chatting amongst themselves—a stark contrast to the sullen, beaten figures they once were.
"Helga's right," Raine said softly, her golden eyes meeting his. "You did. You changed everything. For them. For us. And for me." She smiled warmly, her grip on his hand tightening.
Godric's shoulders relaxed slightly as he exhaled. "I suppose so," he said. He glanced at Raine and his friends, their encouragement grounding him. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to breathe.
Salazar's sharp eyes then fell on the little sketchbook lying beside Helga, its cuffed pencil worn and riddled with teeth marks. A piece of paper peeked out from between the pages, revealing a partially sketched sigil. His curiosity piqued, Salazar reached out and snatched it before Helga could react.
"Salazar! No, it's not finished!" she cried, reaching for it, her amber eyes wide with alarm.
"Oh, I never knew you had an eye for art," Salazar teased, holding the sketch just out of her reach as he examined it. "Now, let's see what we have here."
The drawing depicted a crest—a traditional coat of arms with a shield at its center. Four animals adorned the shield: a lion, a snake, a badger, and a raven, each positioned clockwise and accompanied by vibrant colors—ruby red, emerald green, amber yellow, and sapphire blue. In the center, a bold letter "M" was emblazoned, and beneath the shield, a long banner bore the phrase Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus.
Godric, Rowena, and Raine leaned in, their curiosity mirroring Salazar's as Helga blushed furiously.
"What's this supposed to be?" Godric asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well…" Helga fidgeted in her seat, her amber eyes darting between her friends. "Since we're, you know, sort of part of The Congregation now," she began hesitantly, "I thought… why not have a crest of our own? You know, like a real Clan?" Her cheeks flushed as she spoke, and she glanced down at her lap before continuing. "And, um… I remembered the names Anton gave us—The Lion, the Serpent, the Badger, and the Raven—and I guess I got inspired."
She looked up, her expression a mixture of excitement and embarrassment. "It just seemed fitting; you know? Something to represent all of us."
Rowena let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Helga, we're not an official Clan. I've said it before—this was a one-time thing. I want no further involvement with The Congregation."
"But, Row," Helga began.
"No buts," Rowena said firmly. "I'm a Ravenclaw. We don't meddle in Congregation affairs. I've already crossed that line once, and I won't do it again."
Godric pointed at the banner, tilting his head. "What does this mean? Draco Dormiens…"
"Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus," Salazar finished. "It's Latin. It means Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon." He turned to Helga with a raised brow. "Really, Helga?"
"What? I thought it sounded catchy!" Helga said, her sheepish grin doing little to hide her embarrassment. "I read it in a book somewhere."
Salazar smirked, rolling his eyes. "Catchy? Perhaps. Appropriate? Debatable."
"Well, I think it's brilliant," Godric said, his grin widening. "I mean, if we were a Clan—which Rowena insists we aren't—it's a decent motto."
"It's ridiculous," Rowena muttered.
"Ridiculous or not," Helga said, reclaiming her sketch with a determined huff, "one day, people will look at this and think it's the best idea I've ever had."
"We'll hold you to that," Salazar quipped, his smirk as sharp as ever.
"What's this stand for?" Raine asked, her golden eyes fixed on the letter M emblazoned in the center of the crest. "Does it mean something?"
Helga grinned as she looked at each of them. "It's a name I thought up for our Clan," she said, brimming with excitement. "The Marauders."
Rowena's expression shifted into one of incredulous surprise. "The Marauders? What are we, ten?" she scoffed.
Salazar smirk grew wider as he steepled his fingers. "The Marauders," he mused. "Dark, mysterious, rebellious… a certain disregard for the rules. Yes, I like it."
Godric chuckled. "I have to say, it does have a certain ring to it. After all, we did get here by defying the odds—and the rules. All in favor?" He raised his hand.
Salazar's hand went up without hesitation, followed by Helga's enthusiastic wave. Raine, caught up in the moment, raised hers as well, her tail swishing behind her.
Rowena pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Four ayes and one abstention," Godric declared with a triumphant grin. "The Marauders it is!"
Rowena groaned softly but couldn't help the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Fine. But don't expect me to embroider that name onto anything."
Helga laughed. "Oh, don't worry, I've got that covered!"