Godric's crimson eyes fluttered open, his vision hazy as the first streams of sunlight broke through the narrow crack in the blackened curtains. He groaned, his head throbbing with a pain so sharp it felt like nails driving into his skull, the bitter consequence of last night's whiskey-fueled escapade. His memory was a muddled fog, disjointed flashes of fists meeting flesh, the sting of bruises blooming across his body, and the unmistakable clatter of steel against cobblestone. The fight—he remembered that much.
The guards. The girl. And then… a man.
The strong scent of coffee filled the dimly lit room, cutting through the stale remnants of alcohol lingering in his system. The air was crisp, cool but not cold enough to make him shiver. In the distance, the muffled sound of water cascading against tile hinted at the running shower behind the closed bathroom door.
"Look who finally decided to wake up and smell the coffee."
Godric's attention snapped to the right, muscles tensing as his gaze locked onto the man lounging in an armchair near the window. He sat at ease, legs stretched out, a steaming mug in one hand while his other drummed idly against the armrest. His dark eyes, sharp and unreadable, fixed on Godric with an amused glint.
"I gotta say, kid, you look mighty spry for someone who just got his ass handed to him."
Godric clenched his jaw. "Who the hell are you?" he growled. "How the hell did I get here?"
The man took another slow sip of his coffee, unfazed by the attitude. "That's gratitude for you," he muttered, setting the mug down on the nearby table with a soft clink. "Dragged your sorry ass out of that alley after you damn near got yourself killed. Figured leaving you lying there in a puddle of your own bad decisions, surrounded by a bunch of corpses, wouldn't exactly do you any favors."
Godric's fists tightened, irritation flaring through his already aching body. "I didn't need your help. I was doing just fine before you showed up."
The man gave a short, unimpressed scoff. "Oh, really?" He leaned forward slightly, tilting his head. "Would that be before or after you were flat on your back with a wand aimed at your skull?"
Godric opened his mouth to argue but found himself hesitating. He hated that the bastard had a point.
"Look, kid, I'm not gonna knock you for stepping in and helping someone who needed it." The man ran his fingers through his black hair. "You ain't the first hero type I've met, and you sure as hell won't be the last. But…"
His posture shifted, elbows resting on his thighs as his expression darkened just slightly, a knowing edge in his gaze. "I can tell the difference between a man who wants to do the right thing and a man who just doesn't give a damn whether he lives or dies."
"You don't know the first thing about me," Godric snapped.
The man let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "I know the type," he murmured, lifting his coffee again. "The ones walking around with a hole in their chest big enough to swallow them whole, mistaking recklessness for courage, convincing themselves they got nothing left to lose." He took a slow sip, his eyes flickering back to Godric's. "Like I said, kid—you ain't the first, and you sure as hell won't be the last.
The man exhaled sharply before reaching for the curtains behind him, gripping the fabric in one hand and yanking them apart. The sudden flood of light was blinding, searing through Godric's vision like molten gold. He winced, baring his teeth as he raised a hand to shield himself from the sun's unforgiving glare. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, he finally took in his surroundings. The rustic décor, the dull beige wallpaper, the frosted glass, and the carpeted floors—it was all oddly familiar.
Realization struck.
This was The Continental.
"Lucky for you, kid, you and I happen to be staying in the same hotel," the man said with an amused chuckle, crossing one leg over the other. "Small world, full of odd coincidences." He turned his gaze back to Godric. "By the way, Concierge let me know your friends have been running all over town looking for you. Bit of a dick move, disappearing on them just to go crawl into a bottle. But don't worry—I made sure they know where you are now."
Godric's body stiffened, the weight of those words settling in his chest. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. Of course. Of course Helga, Rowena, and Salazar had been looking for him. He had left them behind without a word, knowing exactly what it would do to them. And yet, he had done it anyway. Because forgetting—no, avoiding—was easier than facing them. Facing Bran. Facing the truth. He had needed an escape, and the bottom of a whiskey bottle had been the closest thing to an answer.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he kept his gaze on the man. "I suppose I do owe you a thank you," he muttered. "So… thank you."
The man smirked, shaking his head. "Not the best show of gratitude, but I'll take it."
"I'm not gonna pry into whatever demons are kicking around in that head of yours. Frankly, it's none of my business. But I've seen more men than I can count go down that dark, lonely path. Most of them don't make it back."
He patted his chest, right over his heart. "The pain you feel, right here? Ain't nothing compared to the pain the people who care about you will feel—knowing they couldn't save you."
Godric's gaze drifted to the nearby table, settling on the weapon—if it could even be called that. Its sleek, carbon-black finish glistened in the morning sun, dark and ominous as the night before. It was the same device the man had used to cut the guards down in an instant, each of them dropping like they'd been struck by the Killing Curse. And yet, what happened last night wasn't magic.
The man followed Godric's line of sight and smirked. "In case you're wondering," he gestured with a nod toward the weapon, "where I come from, that's what you call a gun. Think of it as a wand that only fires the Killing Curse."
Godric's brow furrowed, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and disgust. "Why in the Gods would you need something like that?"
"Tools of the trade, kid." The man leaned back in his chair, exhaling as he ran a hand through his hair. "You got your sword; I got my gun. Speaking of which," he tilted his chin toward the wall, where Godric's blade rested, "couldn't leave that behind. Gotta say, that's a fine piece of steel you've got there."
Godric ignored the compliment, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "You didn't have to kill them," he said, his voice edged with something between accusation and challenge. "You could've just used magic. A Stupefy or Depulso would've taken them down just as easily."
The man let out a low chuckle, part amusement, part something else. "Cute," he said, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, I lost the genetic lottery coming into this world." He smirked, but there was no humor behind it. "Back home, they call people like me a squib. A term you might be more familiar with is pasquil."
"A pas—what?" Godric tilted his head, clearly thrown by the term.
The man rolled his eyes. "Born to a wizarding family, but no magic to show for it. It ain't uncommon, but it sure as hell ain't fun. In the wizarding world, you're basically disabled." He shrugged, reaching for his coffee again.
The man then took a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving Godric's. "But what I lack in magic," he continued, "I more than make up for with a particular set of skills." His voice was smooth, deliberate, carrying an edge that felt honed over years of experience. "Skills that make me a nightmare for magical folk like you."
Godric's jaw tensed slightly, but he didn't look away.
"Especially," the man went on, tilting his head ever so slightly, "for the ones who get a little too cozy with the Dark Arts. The ones who think they can wave their wands and throw around a few Avada Kedavras without any real consequences." He smirked, though there was nothing friendly about it.
Godric swallowed, the weight of the words settling in his chest, but his gaze remained steady. "What exactly is it that you do?"
The man exhaled slowly, savoring the last remnants of his coffee before licking his lips. "Let's just say," he murmured, setting his cup aside yet again, "that I'm one of the reasons dark wizards check under their beds at night before they go to sleep."
Before Godric could ask further, the soft creak of a door opening pulled his attention. He turned just in time to see the bathroom door swing open, releasing a veil of steam as the girl from the night before stepped out, her slender frame wrapped in a towel. She froze mid-step, her sapphire-blue eyes widening the moment they met his. Godric stared back, momentarily stunned—not by embarrassment, nor by the situation itself, but by her.
She was beautiful.
From the sharp contrast of her fair skin against the damp strands of golden hair cascading down to her knees, to the effortless grace with which she held herself, she was the kind of beauty that might have once made him stammer, made his pulse quicken. But now? Now, there was only an empty flicker of recognition, a dull, hollow indifference where awe might have once lived.
"Oh, you're awake," she said, adjusting her grip on the towel, pulling it closer against her frame. "I never had the chance to thank you for last night. What you did… it was brave." She stepped forward, her expression earnest. "My name is Jeanne… Jeanne d'Arc. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Godric hesitated before nodding. "Godric," he said. "Godric Gryffindor. And… I'm glad you're alright." He pushed himself to his feet, brushing his hands down his uniform, ignoring the stiffness in his muscles from the previous night's fight. "Anyway, I should get going. My friends are probably losing their minds looking for me. We need to be on the next airship back to Caerleon."
"You too?" Jeanne's brows lifted in surprise. "So am I. Mister Nobody and I will be on the same flight."
Godric turned to the man still lounging in the chair, his expression unreadable. "Nobody?"
"You'll understand why in time, kid," the man said with an easy smirk. "But yeah. I've got some business there, and depending on how things shake out, it might be a long-term arrangement." He sighed dramatically. "Can't say I'm thrilled about the massive downgrade from my world, but a job's a job."
Godric narrowed his eyes. "I figured you were a vagabond."
"Ever the detective. What gave it away?" the man said with a chuckled. "Oh, let me guess—it's the accent, isn't it?"
Godric rolled his eyes, already reaching for his sword, slinging it over his back as he strode toward the door. His fingers curled around the knob, but before he could turn it, Nobody's voice cut through the air, calm but firm.
"By the way, kid," the man said, "I'd appreciate it if you kept what happened last night under wraps." His brown eyes flicked toward the boy. "Badges are gonna start asking questions. The ones in cahoots? They'll want answers. And when they get those answers, they'll want blood." He tilted his head slightly. "So if I were you, I'd keep my lips sealed."
Godric didn't look at him. He didn't need to. He understood the unspoken warning, the weight behind those words. Instead, his gaze drifted toward Jeanne, lingering just long enough to catch the uncertainty in her sapphire eyes.
"It was nice meeting you," he said, his tone casual, but distant. "Maybe we'll run into each other again. Maybe not." He gave a half-hearted shrug. "Either way… take care of yourself."
She opened her mouth as if to respond, but before she could, he pushed open the door, stepping out without another word.
"Be seeing you, kid," Nobody called after him. "Try to lighten up a little, will you?"
Godric scoffed under his breath, letting the door click shut behind him.
****
The long, dreary journey back to Caerleon saw the four friends returning to the familiar halls of Castle Excalibur, though the silence between them was heavier than usual. Rowena spent the better part of the trip lecturing Godric, her sharp words a mix of exasperation and genuine worry, while Helga tried—mostly in vain—to calm her down.
Godric, for his part, remained silent, his crimson gaze distant, barely acknowledging her words. Salazar, for once, didn't add fuel to the fire. He sat in quiet frustration, arms folded, his anger dulled by sheer exhaustion. The day had been long, their patience even shorter, and none of them had the will to argue further.
By the time they reached the Great Hall, the air had shifted, yet the tension still lingered like an unspoken weight among them. Around them, students congregated at the long tables, indulging in hearty meals of roasted meats, stewed vegetables, and steaming hot soup, their voices a lively hum against the grand stone walls. It was the same as any other evening, yet to the four of them, everything felt different.
At their usual corner of the long table, the plates before them were full, yet the appetite to enjoy them was lacking.
"Helga, I can't believe you ran up a hundred Aurums on the mini-bar alone," Rowena groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Gold coins don't grow on trees, you know."
"Hey, how was I supposed to know they weren't free?" Helga said through a mouthful of salmon, unfazed. "But those cookies were to die for."
"A drop in the bucket compared to what a certain someone racked up on top-shelf liquor," Salazar muttered, his emerald gaze flicking to Godric, who barely reacted. "If you're going to drown yourself in spirits, might I suggest a more cost-effective method? Like, I don't know, visiting an actual store instead of raiding the bar cabinet of a top of the line hotel?"
Godric remained impassive, barely acknowledging the jab.
Rowena, determined to shift the subject, took a sip of her tea before sighing. "Well, at least the beds at The Continental were amazing. Plush pillows, soft mattresses—I wouldn't mind having the same in my room. Helena's recommendation was spot on."
"Of course it was," Salazar said, swirling the raspberry juice in his goblet with an amused smirk. "The Continental is one of the many arms of The Congregation, after all."
Helga, mid-sip, choked on her drink, spluttering onto her plate. Rowena's sapphire eyes snapped wide.
"I beg your pardon?" she asked.
Salazar merely shrugged, twirling his fork lazily through his pasta. "I didn't stutter, did I? The Congregation isn't just an 'after-school activity,' Rowena. It's a network. A conglomerate, if you will. Leadership may shift with the changing seats of the High Table, but the organization itself maintains influence across multiple industries and businesses throughout Avalon."
"You're pulling my leg," Helga said, gaping. "There's just no way."
"Oh, but there is, my dear Helga," Salazar said, his smirk widening slightly. "You think The Congregation is just a place where students bash each other's skulls in for sport? It's far more than that. It's a marketplace. A hub where thousands upon thousands of Platas exchange hands every single day. And members—especially those with power—reap the benefits."
He leaned back, watching their expressions carefully. "The more influential your clan, the more 'perks' you enjoy. Why do you think people are so desperate to take a seat at the Table?"
Rowena's hands clenched into fists against the table. "The more I hear you speak of The Congregation, the more I'm convinced I should stay as far away as possible."
Salazar's smirk didn't waver, but his eyes darkened. "Oh, Rowena," he said. "Is it really so different from The Clock Tower and its preferential treatment of its own?"
Rowena's gaze snapped to him, fire burning behind her eyes. "It's not like that, Salazar, and you know it!"
Salazar's smirk faded. He met her glare without hesitation.
"Tell that to Asriel Valerian."
Rowena was just about to fire back when the low murmur of the Great Hall was cut short by the sound of a chair scraping against stone. Headmaster Blaise had risen from his seat at the teacher's table, his arms raised in a wordless gesture for silence. The students turned their attention to the older man, their whispers dying down as the flickering candlelight cast sharp shadows across his face.
"Good evening, students and faculty alike," Blaise's voice carried through the hall, calm yet commanding. "As we embark on yet another week of school, I would like to take this fine Sunday evening to deliver news—some of it good, some of it troubling."
A brief pause lingered, anticipation hanging thick in the air.
"But first, the good news," he continued. "Let us extend a warm welcome to our newest addition to the faculty—our new Mundane Studies professor, Mister Ryan Ashford."
A man rose from his seat at the teacher's table, giving a slight nod to the students. Clad in a crisp, well-tailored three-piece suit, he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket.
Godric's breath hitched, his crimson eyes widening. "Mister Nobody?"
"...Nobody?" Rowena and Helga echoed in confusion.
"It's him," Godric said, his grip tightening around his fork. "The man from last night. The one who—" He caught himself, swallowing the rest of his words. The less they knew about the alleyway incident, the better. "He told me he had business in Caerleon. I never expected him to be a professor."
Salazar scoffed, looking completely unimpressed. "Mundane Studies?" He wrinkled his nose, leaning back with a look of disdain. "And what in bloody hell is that supposed to be?"
"It's an optional class," Rowena answered, though she was still eyeing Godric with suspicion. "It covers the standard curriculum of non-magical societies—math, geography, history, even modern sciences. Basically, an overview of how mundane civilizations function, both in Avalon and beyond."
Salazar scoffed again. "Oh, well, that certainly sounds like a colossal waste of time. It's bad enough I have to suffer through Transfiguration, but now they expect us to cram our heads full of useless knowledge about the non-magical folk? I'll pass."
Godric barely registered their conversation, his gaze locked on Professor Ashford. The man's eyes briefly flicked toward him, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. With an easy, almost lazy salute, Ryan tipped his silver goblet in Godric's direction. Godric rolled his eyes and turned away.
Headmaster Blaise continued. "Professor Ashford, like Professor Rasputin, is a vagabond from another world and another time. As such, I bid you respect his privacy, as he too is bound by the Code of Silence and the laws that govern it."
Another murmur rippled through the hall, students exchanging curious glances. Vagabonds were rare enough and having two of them teaching within Excalibur Academy was practically unheard of.
"Furthermore," Blaise went on, "as unorthodox as it may be, Excalibur Academy has made a rare exception this year to enroll a new student." He gestured toward the end of the Ignis table. "Join me in welcoming Miss Jeanne d'Arc."
Heads turned in unison, all eyes landing on the girl as she stood. Jeanne flushed under the attention but managed a polite bow, tucking a golden strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes instinctively sought out Godric's, bright with familiarity. When she caught his gaze, she smiled, offering a small wave.
Godric, however, merely looked away.
A flicker of disappointment passed over Jeanne's face before she quickly masked it, lowering herself back into her seat.
"Miss d'Arc has been sorted into House Ignis," Blaise continued. "Her placement was determined earlier today, and I trust that all of you will extend to her the same guidance and warmth that each of you once received when you first arrived."
For a brief moment, the mood in the Great Hall was one of polite intrigue. But then, Blaise's expression darkened, his hands pressing together at the table before him.
"Now, onto more pressing matters."
The atmosphere shifted immediately. The murmurs returned, but they were hushed, cautious. Some of the older students straightened in their seats, sensing the gravity of the headmaster's tone.
"For those of you who keep an ear to the world outside these walls, you may already know what I am about to say," Blaise began. "For those who do not—there have been a series of… incidents affecting the upper echelons of The Clock Tower. This is no mere internal conflict. The very organization responsible for upholding peace across Avalon and the wider magical world has come under attack."
A ripple of unease spread through the students. Whispers broke out once again, some filled with curiosity, others with genuine alarm.
Blaise's gaze swept over the hall. "As you all know, Caerleon has served as a stronghold for centuries, since the days of its founding. And as per the decision of The Wizarding Council, until further notice, the Clock Tower will be relocating its command to Caerleon."
Helga tensed, her fork hovering over her plate. "That explains the increased security…" she murmured.
Salazar, though quiet, narrowed his eyes, his fingers tapping lightly against the table.
"Because of this, you will notice a significant rise in AEGIS presence," Blaise went on. "Guards, Guardians, and Aurors alike will be stationed throughout the city, particularly in key locations—including the entrances to Excalibur Academy."
The hall filled with hushed conversation. This was unprecedented.
Blaise let them murmur for a moment before speaking again. "I have been assured that their presence will not interfere with your daily lives, nor with the operations of the school. However, I must stress this to each and every one of you—do not give them a reason to bring harm upon you. In any shape or form."
The tension in the air thickened. Some students shifted uncomfortably, while others clenched their jaws.
Then, after a brief pause, Blaise's next words fell heavier than the last.
"There have also been rumors," he said slowly, "about the identity of the one behind these attacks… and more precisely, the weapon he wields."
A sharp silence overtook the hall.
"I am aware," he continued, "of the name being whispered through these corridors. But I must reiterate that, as of now, these are still rumors." His expression hardened, his blue-grey eyes locking onto the students like steel.
"And no one—no one—should take it upon themselves to verify them. I do not care how noble or how self-centered your reasons may be. You are not to seek out this enemy. This is for your own safety."
His gaze lingered, sweeping across the hall as if daring someone to challenge him.
Godric's fingers curled into a fist beneath the table.
He didn't have to say it.
Everyone already knew the name.
****
The Ignis Common Room hummed with activity. Its vast volcanic stone walls bathed in the warm glow of enchanted sconces. Students of all years and races were scattered across the large space, engaged in quiet conversations, games of wizard's chess, or last-minute study sessions. The scent of parchment, firewood, and freshly brewed tea lingered in the air, mingling with the occasional burst of laughter.
Godric strode through the room, rolling his shoulders to adjust the weight of his sword resting within its royal blue scabbard.
By now, the students had grown accustomed to the sight of him armed at all times, though some still cast uncertain glances his way, their concern evident in their hushed whispers. They had all heard the rumors, seen the change in him. The endless hours spent in the Ignis training room from sunrise to sunset. The bruises, the exhaustion, the restless energy that never seemed to wane. They knew of his pain, and more than that, they knew of his loss. Yet none dared to approach him about it, hesitant to offer sympathy to a boy who seemed determined to drown in his own grief.
As he stepped further into the room, his gaze landed on a familiar sight—Helena standing near the fireplace, speaking with Jeanne. The blonde girl listened intently; her hands folded neatly in front of her. Of course, as House Monitor, it was Helena's job to introduce new students to Ignis, to help them find their place just as she had done for him all those months ago.
A familiar prickle of memory stabbed at his chest. That first day in Excalibur. The day he met Raine. The day he saved her from Volg.
His jaw tightened. He shrugged off the thought.
"Oh, hi there, Godric." Jeanne's voice pulled him from his reverie. She turned to him with a bright smile. "From your uniform back then, I didn't realize you were Ignis too."
Helena's gaze flicked between them, eyebrows raising. "Wait, you two know each other?"
"Yes, we met in Camelot yesterday." Jeanne's smile remained warm, as if the memory was pleasant. "Godric, he—"
"Ran into her while she was asking for directions," Godric interrupted, his crimson eyes sharp. Jeanne caught his warning, swallowing hard as she realized her mistake. "She just needed directions to The Continental."
Helena tilted her head, eyeing them both. "Oh, that makes sense," she said slowly, though a flicker of curiosity betrayed her expression. "After all, you're new to Avalon, just like Godric here."
Godric's eyes snapped to Jeanne. "You're from my world too?" he asked.
Jeanne nodded. "Yes, I come from France," she said. "Albeit a different time, so I suppose I'm technically a Vagabond as well, just like Mister Nobody."
"Mister… Nobody?" Helena repeated, her confusion evident.
"Professor Ashford," Godric corrected, shooting Jeanne another warning glance. "Guy has an odd sense of humor."
Helena frowned, scratching her head. "Hold on, you know Professor Ashford too?"
Jeanne nodded. "He helped me when I first arrived in Camelot."
Godric crossed his arms. "Helped is one way to put it."
Helena exhaled sharply, shaking her head in disbelief. "Wow. Talk about strange coincidences."
The tension in the Ignis Common Room thickened as the sound of boots striking stone filled the space, each step reverberating like the steady beat of a war drum.
"Gryffindor!"
The name was spat with such venom that every conversation in the room ceased. Students turned toward the entrance, their curiosity quickly giving way to unease as a group of boys entered, their uniforms a patchwork of different houses. At the front stood a Ferrum Fourth-Year, broad-shouldered and seething, his blazing auburn hair spiked back, his hazel eyes locked onto Godric with unrestrained fury.
Godric turned, his expression unreadable as he met the boy's enraged glare. He recognized the type.
"You worthless sack of shit!" The boy snarled, marching toward him with fists clenched. "You did this!"
Godric tilted his head slightly, feigning disinterest. "You're going to have to be more specific. I've done a lot of things."
"Toby!" Helena swiftly stepped between them. "I already told you what would happen if you barged into my house looking for a fight again."
"Piss off, Helena," Toby snapped, shoving past her. "This doesn't concern you." His eyes burned as they settled back onto Godric. "This is between me and him, after what he did to Ted!"
A flicker of recognition crossed Godric's face, but it was fleeting. He blinked, expression blank. "I'm sorry… who?"
"Ted Melville! My goddamned brother!" Toby's face twisted with rage as he grabbed Godric by the collar, jerking him forward. "You shattered every bone in his body, busted his insides, and put him in a coma he still hasn't woken from. And you don't even remember his name?!"
The room grew colder. Students shuffled back, their hushed whispers barely audible over the crackling of the common room's grand fireplace.
Godric's crimson gaze darkened. "I don't make it a habit to remember the names of every fool who thinks it's a good idea to pick a fight with me in The Congregation." His eyes flicked down to Toby's grip on his collar before returning to meet his glare with deadly calm. "And judging by the fact that you're here, I assume your intention is to join him. If that's the case, I have no qualms indulging you."
"Godric, no!" Helena's wand was out in an instant, its tip glowing faintly as she leveled it at Toby. "Unhand him. Take your friends and leave. As of now, you are officially banned from the Ignis Common Room."
Jeanne watched the exchange, frozen in place, her hands trembling as she instinctively stepped back.
Toby, however, merely sneered. "I'm not leaving until I break this little shit in two," he growled, his grip tightening. Then he turned his gaze to Helena, his lip curling in disgust. "And if you stand in my way, I'll break you too. I don't care if you're a girl."
A sharp intake of breath swept through the common room. Even some of Toby's friends seemed hesitant now, their postures stiff.
"Final warning, Toby," Helena said coldly, her wand igniting in a small but dangerous blaze. "Let him—"
The slap came without warning. A sickening crack echoed through the room as Toby's backhand struck Helena across the face, snapping her head to the side. She stumbled, crashing to the floor with a gasp.
Jeanne rushed to her side, panic flashing across her face.
"That's what you get, you dumb—"
Toby never finished the sentence.
Godric's fist connected with his jaw with a brutal force, sending blood and teeth flying as he collapsed onto the floor. The impact silenced the room entirely. A low growl rumbled in Godric's throat as he stepped forward, his sword ringing free from its scabbard.
"You bastard," Toby sputtered, spitting a thick glob of blood onto the stone floor. His hand shot to his belt, ripping out his wand as his friends did the same.
Godric gripped his hilt tighter. "Forget the Hospital Wing, Melville," he hissed. "I'll put you in the damned ground for that."
Before he could move, a silver flash cut through the air.
The world seemed to slow. One by one, Toby's friends collapsed, their eyes rolling back as they crumpled to the ground unconscious. A figure in Ignis robes now stood between Godric and Toby, but it was the cloak that caught his attention. A flowing mantle, identical to one he had seen before. The girl before him had a slender but strong frame, her shoulder-length blonde hair tied back into a neat bun. In her hand, a silver longsword glistened under the dim light of the common room, its hilt blood-crimson, its blade engraved with ancient runes.
It bore an uncanny resemblance to Godric's own sword.
Toby stumbled backward, his bravado shattering as sweat trickled down his brow.
"My, my, what do we have here?"
Another voice, smooth and composed, came from beside Toby. A young man in an Ignis uniform stepped forward, dressed in the same flowing cloak. His midnight-blue wand, polished and regal, lightly tapped Toby's cheek as he smiled—a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You leave for a few months, and suddenly the place is overrun with vermin," he sighed. "Is nothing sacred anymore?"
Toby let out a shaky breath at the boy crouched beside him, his wand still resting against his skin.
"Now, I'm willing to overlook this blatant display of disrespect," the boy continued. "I understand the circumstances that led to it. But consider this both a warning…" His words dipped lower, colder, his gaze sharpening. "And a mercy. The ban stands. Do not let us catch you here again. Are we understood?"
Toby swallowed hard and nodded, scrambling to pull himself upright.
"Good," the boy said pleasantly. Then he turned to the rest of the common room. "Someone, please help our dear guest remove the refuse."
A few students hesitated before stepping forward to drag Toby's unconscious friends toward the door.
The girl with the longsword sheathed her weapon at her hip before turning to Godric. Her green eyes, as sharp as a blade, swept over him in quiet assessment.
Helena groaned as she pushed herself to her feet, rubbing her cheek. The boy turned to her with a concerned frown. "Helena, dear, are you alright?" he asked, gently cupping her face. "That brute."
"I'm fine," she muttered, though the redness on her cheek said otherwise. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming back today? I could have greeted you myself."
"Oh, don't be such a stiff, Helena," the boy chuckled. "We're just students coming back to school. No need to make a fuss."
His attention then shifted to Godric, his expression warm. "And you must be Godric Gryffindor," he mused. "The famed Lion of Ignis I've heard so much about."
The girl beside him remained silent, arms folded, her gaze unwavering.
Godric raised an eyebrow. "Have we… met?"
"Ah, right," Helena cleared her throat, stepping beside him. "Godric, meet the Ignis Visionaries…" She gestured to the pair before them.
"Arthur and Artoria Pendragon."