The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

Chapter 2: A Tale Of Four Friends

Godric gazed up at the towering castle in the distance, its alabaster walls glowing faintly against the darkening, starlit sky. The waning light of the setting sun cast long shadows, but the grandeur of the castle seemed untouched, standing as a beacon of magnificence. A determined smile curved his lips as awe welled within him, growing stronger with each passing moment.

The charred, metallic tang of the city air filled his senses—a sharp contrast to the crisp, unspoiled breeze of the quiet town he had left behind. The sights, the sounds, the smells—everything here was new, overwhelming yet exhilarating.

"Blimey..." Godric murmured, his voice brimming with wonder. "It's even grander than I imagined."

"Well, well, what do we have here?" a voice interrupted from behind, smooth as silk yet carrying an unmistakable depth. "A new face amongst us Third-Years?"

Godric turned to see a young man, likely around his age, watching him with a sly smile. His jet-black hair was sleek and perfectly combed, and his emerald-green eyes gleamed with an amused curiosity, their focus shifting pointedly to the sword strapped across Godric's back.

The stranger's black robes were trimmed in vibrant green and white, adorned with a sigil unfamiliar to Godric, embroidered on both his chest and shoulders. Silver piercings glinted from his ears, and a delicate silver locket hung around his neck, catching the dim light as he spoke.

"And with such... interesting accessories," the young man added, his smile widening as his eyes lingered on the ornate hilt of the sword.

Godric straightened his posture, sensing the subtle challenge in the stranger's tone. This wasn't just idle curiosity—there was something sharper beneath those words.

"Aye, that I am," Godric confirmed, his tone cautious yet steady. "The name's Godric Gryffindor... and this 'accessory' happens to be a treasured gift from my uncle."

"Salazar Slytherin. Charmed, I'm sure," the other boy replied, his emerald eyes narrowing ever so slightly, the faintest trace of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. "Though, I must admit, it's rather... unconventional for a wizard to rely on mundane weaponry."

Godric's jaw tightened imperceptibly, his hand instinctively gripping the belt that secured the scabbard of his sword.

"Magic isn't everything, mate," he said, his uneasy grin attempting to mask the tension. "Sometimes, the old ways prove just as effective. And besides," he added, his voice firming, "in the heat of battle, a wand can only get you so far."

Salazar tilted his head, the sly smile remaining but his gaze sharpening. "Perhaps," he conceded, his voice laced with intrigue. "Though I'd wager the 'heat of battle' you're imagining is a far cry from what you'll face here in Avalon."

Godric met his gaze without flinching, determination flickering in his crimson eyes. "Maybe so," he said evenly, "but I'd rather be prepared for anything, wouldn't you?"

For a moment, the two stood in silent appraisal, the bustling station fading into the background as the air between them seemed to hum with unspoken challenges. Salazar's smile widened ever so slightly, as though he'd found something he hadn't expected.

"Interesting," Salazar murmured. "Well, Godric Gryffindor, I suppose time will tell whether your philosophy holds merit. Welcome to Excalibur."

Before Godric could respond, two individuals approached—both girls, their robes resembling Salazar's in design but accented with distinct colors. One wore robes trimmed in blue and white, while the other's featured accents of amber and white. Each bore a unique crest embroidered on their chest and shoulders.