The Marauders: A Hogwarts Tale

Chapter 6: A Tale of Five Houses

As Professor Duchannes concluded her speech, she directed the students toward the Great Hall. The crowd began to shuffle forward, but before Godric could follow, the elven woman's sharp voice caught his attention.

"Mister Gryffindor, a word if you please," she called, her piercing gaze meeting his.

Godric hesitated, then stepped toward her. She lowered her voice slightly, addressing him with a tone both formal and direct. "I've been briefed by Headmaster Windsor regarding your... unique circumstance. As such, despite your placement as a Third Year, you will need to join the First Years for the Sorting Ceremony."

Godric blinked, surprised by the revelation, but quickly nodded. "Of course, Professor," he said, his tone respectful.

Turning back to his friends, he managed a sheepish grin. "I suppose I'll see you lot later, then?"

Rowena offered him an encouraging smile. "Good luck, Godric. Remember, no matter which house you're sorted into, we'll be cheering for you."

"Exactly!" Helga chimed in; her face bright with optimism. "It's just a bit of pomp and ceremony. You could be sorted into a jar of dirt, and we'd still be your friends!"

Godric chuckled, their words easing his nerves. "Thanks, truly," he said, giving them a wave before heading toward the cluster of nervous First Years assembling at the edge of the hall.

As he joined the group, the apprehension in the air was palpable. The younger students exchanged hushed whispers, their wide eyes darting around the grand space. Godric couldn't help but feel his own heart pounding in his chest, their nerves contagious.

Before he could fully settle into the moment, Salazar's teasing voice rang out from behind him. "Try not to get sorted into Aecor, Gryffindor!" he called with a sly smirk. "I'd hate for that fancy sword of yours to rust in all the water!"

Godric glanced back, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress a grin. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Slytherin!" he shot back, the banter lifting his spirits as he stepped forward with the First Years, ready to face whatever awaited him.

As the doors to the Great Hall creaked open, the First Years shuffled in, their collective intake of breath echoing softly through the vast chamber. Godric couldn't help but join in their awe. The term Great Hall seemed almost an understatement—it was colossal, grand enough to comfortably seat nearly a thousand students. Long tables of polished dark wood stretched from the entrance to the raised dais at the far end, where the Academy's staff sat in stately rows.

Godric's gaze traveled upward, catching sight of an enchanted ceiling shimmering with the illusion of a star-strewn night sky, the constellations twinkling as if in real-time. He blinked, momentarily wondering if it was an actual view of the heavens before quickly concluding it was some kind of powerful magic. His attention drifted to the teacher's table, a grand structure of ornate craftsmanship, where nearly two dozen figures sat in resplendent robes, each exuding an air of authority. These, Godric guessed, were the professors of Excalibur.

The group of First Years halted just before the two small steps leading up to the dais. Professor Duchannes stood poised at the edge of the staircase, her commanding presence bringing instant quiet to the crowd.

"Before we proceed," she began, her voice carrying effortlessly across the hall, "Headmaster Windsor would like to offer a few words."

All eyes turned toward the center of the teacher's table, where an elderly man rose from his intricately carved chair, its frame gleaming with golden inlays. Godric recognized him immediately—Headmaster Blaise Windsor, the same man who had come to his town and extended the invitation to Excalibur. Time seemed to fold as their eyes met briefly, the headmaster offering him a small, knowing nod. His long, flowing beard and hair, silvery white, framed a face marked by both wisdom and warmth. His hazel eyes twinkled under the glow of the chandeliers as he began to speak.