From the glittering streets of the Crown City to the scarred avenues and shattered pavements of Caerleon, celebration swept across the realm like wildfire. The monster who had haunted their nights and darkened their days. The would-be tyrant who had bled their cities dry, was no more. His death was spoken of everywhere, from dim taverns to crowded marketplaces, his name carried on the breath of men over ale and roast. Some spoke it with laughter, some with venom, others with grim satisfaction. Yet all agreed that justice had been done, and that the Wizarding Council, long untouchable, would finally share in the reckoning. No longer could those gilded seats shield them from the weight of their own decisions.
Across Avalon, conversation flowed as freely as the drink. In taverns, restaurants, and bustling streets, people spoke of the new order. The rise of the Council of Kings, now sharing power alongside the once-sovereign Wizarding Council. Never before had such a decree been made, not since the fall of Sarkon and the end of the Calamity. For centuries, the Wizarding Council had stood as the final word in law and judgment. But now, balance had been restored, and though unease simmered in some corners, most welcomed the change. The wounds of Burgess' rule still bled beneath the surface. Even the cautious found solace in seeing power finally tempered by consequence.
In Excalibur, the school year drew to its end as students prepared for their journeys home beneath the burn of a summer sun. Warm winds swept through the city where reconstruction had begun in earnest. Stone upon stone, timber upon beam. Caerleon was stirring from its ruins, fragile but determined. Pierre's confectionery, though battered and half-collapsed, still stood as a small beacon of sweetness amid the rubble, the man himself handing out sugared bread to the children of displaced families. Quibble gathered those same children beneath the shade of broken archways, reading stories that made them forget, if only for an hour, the tents they now called home.
Not all wounds could be mended so easily. The remains of Pablo and Edda's restaurant lay blackened and silent, its walls collapsed, its windows melted from the heat of fire. Yet flowers covered the ruins, left by those who remembered the laughter, the food, and the warmth that once lived there. And among the petals, whispered prayers were offered for their son, young Elio. Alone now, but not forgotten.
The hush of night had settled over the castle, soft and deep, the kind that made the old stones seem to breathe. The corridors were quieter now, emptier than they had been in years. Most of the students had already departed, and more still would leave before the term was through. None could be blamed. Too much had happened. Too much had been lost.
Within the dormitories of Ignis, however, warmth lingered. Crystal lamps cast a mellow glow upon the chamber's stone walls, gilding the crimson drapes and banners that marked the House's proud colors. The scent of old parchment and cedarwood hung faintly in the air.
Salazar sat upright in the bed. The sheets gathered loosely about his bare waist. The newspaper in his hands crackled softly as his eyes. Sharp and green as cut glass, traced the bold headline. Lamar Burgess Executed. The corner of his mouth curved, a quiet satisfaction ghosting his features.
Beside him, the sheets shifted. Helena stirred, her arm sliding across his chest as she nestled closer, a sleepy murmur against his skin. "You know," she whispered with a faint smile, "for a man who claimed he'd never been with another, you're remarkably… adept."
A low chuckle escaped him. "My dear, it is only natural that a man of my talents should prove exceptional in all pursuits." He tilted his head, smirk deepening. "Still, I am rather pleased to have met your expectations."
Helena rolled her eyes and drew the blanket higher around her bare chest, though the warmth in her smile betrayed her. "Ever the modest one, aren't you?" She leaned in and brushed her cheek against his arm. "Perhaps that's why I fell for you."
Salazar's grin widened, wicked and playful. "It's not too late to admit you've made a dreadful mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake."
Helena swatted at him with mock indignation, laughter soft on her breath. "Oh, piss off, Slytherin."
She shifted against him, her arm tightening as she rested her head on his chest. "I managed to convince my parents to let me stay," she said, pausing for a beat. "They weren't happy about it, but… I didn't really give them much of a choice."
Salazar's gaze lingered on her, the faintest warmth softening the sharp lines of his face. He drew her a little closer. "I wish I could have been there for you," he murmured. "Truly."
She shook her head, smiling faintly. "Nah. It was something I had to do myself." Her eyes flicked up to his, teasing. "Besides, it would've been real awkward trying to explain why you were there in the first place." She gave a small shrug. "Don't get me wrong, I'd love for you to meet my parents someday. But… let's take it one step at a time, yeah?"
Salazar's expression dimmed, a shadow crossing his features. "I cannot say the same for mine," he admitted quietly. "My father holds… certain convictions. Rigid ones. Some I've never quite agreed with."
Helena tilted her head, her tone light but edged with curiosity. "Speaking of which, were you ever planning on telling me you were betrothed to the Údar Culaan, or did that just sort of slipped your mind?"
Salazar stiffened, looking away as his hand rose awkwardly to the back of his neck. "I—I… well… you see—"
Helena laughed softly, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips. "Relax," she said, amusement glinting in her eyes. "I'm not about to rip your nuts off over it." She smirked. "Honestly, I kinda expected it. You being a Slytherin and all."
Salazar relaxed slightly, the faintest trace of amusement tugging at his lips. "Údar and I grew up together," he began, his tone wry. "And believe me when I say, she was every bit as insufferable then as she is now. Wild, loud, and possessed of an alarming fondness for her fists over her words." He exhaled, shaking his head at the memory. "As much as she vexed me, there were… moments when she could be surprisingly kind. Supportive, even."
He paused, a quiet laugh escaping him. "When our families announced the betrothal, neither of us took it seriously. We both knew it was little more than a political arrangement. I, because I'd sooner drown myself in the murkiest swamp than call her a wife." His smirk deepened. "And she… well, let us say her reasons were of a rather different nature."
Helena laughed, a soft sound that vibrated against his chest. "Oh, come on, she can't possibly be that bad." She nuzzled closer, taking in the faint scent of parchment and ink that always lingered on him.
"You know, back in the Congregation, every time I overheard her talking about you, it was nothing but praise. I'd even say there was a hint of admiration." Her tone softened, thoughtful. "Once, she mentioned that if you two ever fought for real, she doubted she'd walk away breathing. And after what I've seen you do, I'd say she was right." Her gaze flicked up to him, a hint of curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "Does she—"
"Know about my rather peculiar abilities?" Salazar interjected smoothly, shaking his head. "No. As I've said before, the only ones still living who are aware of that are you… and a certain officer within the Tower. One I trust with my life." He let a quiet pause linger between them before continuing. "However, she is well aware of the spear, and I imagine she suspects that I conceal more than I reveal. It all began the day we were ambushed by a company of Normans."
Helena's expression shifted, her eyes widening as she gestured toward her right eye. "You mean…"
Salazar inclined his head. "A sacrifice that troubles me still. A wound she suffered to spare my life." His eyes dimmed. "I did not take kindly to the Normans responsible… just as I will never show mercy to any soul who dares bring harm to those I hold dear. I reckon they still utter my name in terror amongst their kin."
Helena's eyes lingered on the paper for a moment before she sighed, tightening her hold around him. "Everything's changing so fast," she murmured. "Burgess gone, the Council brought low. It feels like Avalon itself is twisting into something we barely recognize." She shook her head slightly. "Even the High Table can't agree on what comes next. No one knows what the future holds. For the Congregation, for this school…" Her words dropped, fragile. "For us." She pressed her face into his chest. "I'm scared, Salazar."
Salazar set the paper aside and drew her closer, resting his chin atop her head. His hand found its way through her hair, gentle, reassuring. "I understand, Helena," he said softly. "The world feels uncertain, and the tides turn faster than any of us can follow." He tilted her chin upward, his emerald gaze meeting hers with quiet warmth. "But take heart in this, we are not alone. You have me, as I have you. Whatever awaits, we face it together."
Her lips curved into a tender smile before she leaned in, their mouths meeting in a slow, lingering kiss. Then, with a playful glint in her eyes, Helena shifted, pushing him gently onto his back and straddling him, her hands pinning his wrists to the bed. "You know," she teased, smirking, "you've been leading long enough tonight. My turn."
Salazar's grin widened. "Oh, my lady, you need only command it."
Helena laughed softly before bending down to kiss him again, the crystal light flickering as the sheets stirred and the night drew quietly around them.
****
The castle's corridors had grown hushed, lit only by the dim shimmer of crystal sconces that lined the walls. Their amber glow bathed the stone in a soft warmth, shadows stretching long and uneven across the floors, broken by scaffolding and ladders where craftsmen toiled to restore Excalibur to its former grace. Godric moved through the hall in silence, his crimson gaze tracing every scorch mark, every crack and scar upon the stone. Each one whispered of pain and loss, of battles fought and lives cut short.
He slid his hands into his pockets, the folds of his uniform robes flowing behind him, the weight of the sword and dagger at his back a familiar presence. His footsteps echoed faintly, steady against the still air. Though curfew had long since fallen, the prefects on patrol turned a blind eye. Few would dare to reprimand the Hero of Caerleon. Even Lucian, he suspected, would understand the quiet allowance.
The term was drawing to its close, and part of him yearned to return home. To Dark's Hollow, if only for a time. He imagined sitting before the fire again, recounting to his Uncle Gareth all that had transpired. The fall of Burgess, the battle that nearly tore the city apart, the haunting encounter with Damocles himself. He chuckled quietly at the thought, knowing full well his uncle would half-wish to dismiss it all as the fanciful rambling of a boy lost to dreams and shadows. Yet perhaps, for the first time in years, Godric found that he did not mind.
As Godric turned the corner, he stopped short. There, just ahead, stood Shana. The therian girl paused mid-step, one hand resting protectively on her pregnant belly. Her long rabbit ears twitched before perking upright, and her bright azure eyes widened in recognition. A smile bloomed across her face. Soft, surprised, and full of warmth.
"Godric!" she exclaimed, quickening her pace before throwing her arms around his waist. She held him tightly, trembling with a mix of relief and joy. "I've been hoping to run into you. With everything that's happened…" She hesitated, her ears lowering slightly as color rose to her cheeks. "Well, I just… wanted to see you."
Godric chuckled, returning the embrace with a small smile. "Hey, Shana. I'm just glad you're safe," he said gently. "Sorry I haven't stopped by. Between Camelot, the trial, and… everything else, the days have blurred together."
Shana stepped back, her hands tucked behind her. Her cottontail twitching slightly. "We're all fine," she said softly. "Sofea, Hikari, everyone. Thanks to all of you who fought to keep us safe." Her smile brightened faintly. "Especially you. I heard what you did. How everyone's calling you the Hero of Caerleon now."
A faint blush colored Godric's cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck. "That title's a bit much," he muttered with a sheepish grin. "I'll admit, though, it was one hell of a fight. Still surprises me I walked away from it in one piece."
Shana let out a small laugh, but it caught midway as she pressed a hand to her belly and drew in a sharp breath.
Godric's smile faded. "Are you alright?"
"It's nothing," Shana said quickly, shaking her head with a weak smile. "Just a kick." Her expression softened. "He's been restless lately. It won't be long now before…" Her gaze dropped to the floor. "Before he's born, and then they'll come for him."
Godric's eyes softened. "I know," he said quietly. "And I'm sorry."
She looked up at him then, her eyes shimmering with emotion. "You know, back then, I hated it. Hated the thought of him growing inside me." Her voice cracked. "But now… now I just feel sorry for him. For how he came into this world. His father dead. His mother a slave. And soon, he'll be taken away. Never knowing who I am, never knowing where he came from." Her shoulders sank. "And part of me is relieved, because he deserves better. Better than Cardin… than me."
Godric's chest tightened as he looked at her, at the quiet strength beneath her sorrow, the way her hand lingered protectively over the gentle swell of her stomach. He stepped closer, wordless at first, then took her trembling hands into his own. Shana's eyes widened, her breath catching as she met his gaze.
"Don't say that," he murmured. "They may call me the Hero of Caerleon, the Lion of Ignis. Brave, strong, unyielding." His words softened. "But from where I stand, you've shown more courage than I ever could. None of us can undo what's been done, but you faced it all. You endured it. And through it, you've given that child more strength, more love, than most could ever hope to offer." He gave a faint smile. "For what it's worth, I think you'll make a wonderful mother."
Tears welled in Shana's eyes as she returned his smile, fragile and aching. "If I had one wish… just one," she whispered. Her gaze dropped to his chest, where the faint outline of his locket pressed against his uniform. "It's that you were the father of this child… and my mate." Her voice broke at the last word.
Godric's breath caught, his eyes widening, but before he could speak, she rose onto her toes and kissed him. It was sudden, desperate, filled with everything she couldn't say. When she pulled away, her body trembled. "I love you, Godric Gryffindor… but you're not mine."
She released his hands, stepping past him. He turned, reaching out, but stopped halfway, his arm falling uselessly to his side. Shana kept walking, her steps quickening as tears streaked her cheeks.
"And you never will be," she whispered, wiping the tears from her eyes. Her words echoing faintly down the corridor as her footsteps faded into silence.
****
The dawn broke gently over Caerleon, sunlight spilling across rooftops and running down cobbled streets, driving the night's chill back into shadow. The city stirred to life once more. On the outskirts, where the hills met the edge of the woods, stretched a field of gravestones. Rows upon rows of polished marble and weathered gray stone that caught the rising light, each bearing names etched in gold. A quiet place, dignified and still, where time seemed to move slower than anywhere else in the realm.
Vikki made her way up the winding red-brick path that led through the cemetery, the elven woman's heels clicking softly on the stone. The climb was long, the view breathtaking. The city shimmering in the distance, the lake below catching the first glints of morning sun. Dressed neatly in a black skirt and white blouse, her jacket pulled tight against the cool breeze, she carried a small bouquet of white lilies tied with an alabaster ribbon. Blonde hair fluttered about her shoulders as she lifted her gaze, spotting two familiar figures standing by a pair of graves. The sight brought a faint smile to her lips.
"You two are early for once," Vikki called out with a teasing grin. "That's a miracle in itself. When you were at Excalibur, I could have sworn Professor Duchannes was two minutes away from turning you both into pocket watches."
Bran turned toward her, the corner of his mouth curling in quiet amusement. "I'll have you know, punctuality was never my failing," he said smoothly. He tipped his head toward the taller, broad-shouldered young man beside him. "If not for this cave troll, who even now cannot fathom the concept of a clock."
"Hey, not my fault I'm allergic to mornings," Laxus muttered, folding his arms, his suit straining against his build. "A man's got to have his beauty sleep."
Vikki rolled her eyes, her smile widening. "Some things never change."
Bran gave a soft huff of laughter, but his gaze lingered on the gravestones before him, the gold lettering glinting faintly in the light. The air was quiet again, heavy with memory and meaning, the kind of silence that neither jest nor time could easily break.
Vikki's gaze drifted down to the names carved into the stone. One headstone gleamed with polished white marble, Tala Seh'Lai. While beside it, the other stood dark and dignified, carved from obsidian, Asriel Valerian. Her chest tightened as she stepped forward, lowering the bouquet of lilies onto Tala's grave with slow, deliberate care. The breeze stirred the ribbon, carrying with it the faint scent of the flowers.
She took a step back, her eyes falling upon the black stone next to it. "It's beautiful," she said softly. She turned her gaze toward Laxus, her eyes glistening. "You really outdid yourself."
Laxus rubbed at the back of his neck, a faint, rueful smile tugging at his lips. "Well, black was kind of Asriel's thing," he said quietly. "Me and Bran used to rib him for it all the time." He let out a slow breath, the air leaving him almost as a sigh. "But… I think he would've liked this. Feels right."
Vikki nodded faintly before looking back toward Tala's resting place. "To see them side by side again, it should bring me peace, but…" Her words faltered, her throat tightening as she blinked back tears. "Knowing where he is, I can't help but feel it still isn't fair."
Bran stepped closer, his expression solemn but calm. He laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "I know," he said softly. "We all do. But it isn't wrong to hope, Vikki. Even now… especially now."
Laxus shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched against the morning breeze. "There's nothing left for us to do for them now, except pray," he rumbled. "Pray the Gods are merciful, and that every soul Burgess and his dogs ruined finds some peace." He ground his jaw. For a heartbeat the air around him crackled faintly, the very tips of his hair lifting with a soft, electric hum. "And wherever those bastards are, they're getting what they deserve."
Bran pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the corners of his mouth set like a line of flint. "That won't be enough," he said. "My father's established a new division inside Internal Affairs. He's offered me command." His eyes narrowed. "My remit is simple. Locate Burgess's remaining sympathizers, expose them, incarcerate them, and if needed, eliminate them. No trial. No deliberation. No theatre. Only cold, hard judgement."
Vikki brows climbed in genuine surprise. "You… you mean that?" she asked, looking from Bran to Laxus. "Don't get me wrong. I want the guilty punished as much as anyone, but doesn't that invite controversy? There's a difference between justice and vengeance. How do you stop this from becoming the latter?"
Laxus snorted. "Controversy?" he said, like the idea tasted absurd. "Do you honestly think Avalon's going to weep for them? Those rats have been gorging on Burgess's scraps for years. Trust me, when the law comes knocking, no one will be lining the streets with roses." He tipped his chin toward the city below. "If anything, I'd be surprised if anyone even bothered to whisper a protest on their behalf."
Vikki stepped closer. "Bran, I'm not worried about them. I'm worried about you," she said, softer than before, "I see what this has done to you. I see what it's doing now." She followed his gaze to Asriel's stone. "If you make this a purge, you may not find your way back from it."
Bran did not answer at once. He stood unmoving, glasses catching the morning light, the engraved letters on the stone blurring into a wash of memory. For a long, terrible beat the past unreeled: Asriel's last look, Raine limp in his arms. Anger had been a hot, simple thing then. Clean, righteous. He swallowed it down as if it were bile.
"When I first accepted the mantle of Adjudicator, I swelled with pride. A Ravenclaw in the line of my forebears," he began, the memory folding into his tone like a well-worn page. "Grandfather, father, cousins from distant branches of the family all sang my praises. They spoke as if I were already carved in the marble of our name. I let their faith become the measure by which I judged myself, and in that vanity I convinced myself I was some unerring arbiter of justice."
He drew breath and the confession cut deeper. "How grievously mistaken I was. In my foolish certainty I listened to the devil's whisper, and in doing so I cast a friend into the abyss and wrenched two lovers apart." His knuckles blanched upon the fabric of his sleeve. "When the truth unspooled before me, it gutted me. To learn that I was no hero but the very architect of the atrocity I loathed. That realization has been a punishment surpassing any sentence a court could hand down."
He turned then, eyes narrowed as if the city itself were on trial. The sun caught the lenses of his glasses and turned them into twin, merciless mirrors. "I am done pretending," he declared. "Done being duped and done tolerating the filth that has fouled the institutions I swore to protect. Burgess forged a world that demanded monsters to keep it 'safe.' Fine. If the Tower breeds monsters, I will become the monster they fear. I will root them out until every corrupt hand that fed that reign is withered. Until each arbiter of cruelty draws their last breath alone, unpitied, and afraid."
Vikki's hand went to his arm. "Bran—"
He met her, and for a moment the hard resolve wavered so faintly she might have missed it. "Mercy," he said, "is a currency they never spent on the people they ruined." Then, colder, steadier, the promise returned. "For Asriel, for Tala, for Raine. This is not vengeance for its own sake. It is a duty I owe them, and to myself, to ensure their suffering was not in vain."
His gaze hardened with an intensity that made the air between the three of them taut. "The magistrates, the Aurors, the soldiers, the guards. They have treated the law as a leash for the decent and a velvet cloak for the wicked. They laughed at the law. But by the gods, they will not laugh at me." His jaw set, the scholar's cadence hardening into something judicial and inexorable. "You called it a purge," he said softly, shaking his head. "No. This will be an inquisition."
Bran walked past the elven girl and down the sunlit path, his shoulders a rigid silhouette against the waking city. His footsteps tapped against the red bricks with the single-minded certainty of a man on a mission. Vikki reached for him, but Laxus checked her with a short, almost apologetic look and a gentle hand to her shoulder.
Laxus watched him go, jaw tight, then turned back to Vikki. "Let him go," he said. "Bran's… he's carrying more than he lets on. This is something he'll have to fight through himself."
Vikki's mouth trembled. "But you heard him. That wasn't the Bran I know. He sounded…angry, broken."
Laxus snorted, a humorless little sound that softened into something rueful. "You don't get to be dragged through the muck he's been through and come out smelling like rosewater. The man spent his life believing in the system. Then it collapsed beneath him. You shove a moral compass into someone whose bearings are shattered and what do you expect?"
He exhaled, watching Bran's retreating figure as if it were a physical thing he could hold. "And now, he's been handed a license to burn everything down that looks like Burgess and his kind. A man with an axe to grind at an all-you-can-kill buffet, and honestly, that scares me, Vikk."
She stared back at the gravestones of Tala and Asriel. "You really think he'll keep going after that? Even when there's nothing left to hunt?"
Laxus's face went softer, haunted by a memory he kept tucked under his ribs. "Months back my dumbass little brother robbed us blind, got challenged to a duel, and done near killed himself with Shimmer. Point is, we don't know people as much as we'd like to. They break. They snap, and they keep going because it's all they have left."
"That's what worries me about Bran. Give him the power to act without oversight and he'll find a way to punish the world for what it did to him." He met her eyes squarely. "But I promise you. If he crosses that line. If he becomes something he swore to destroy, I'll make him answer for it. I'll beat whatever's left of him senseless if I have to, and then I'll drag him back to whatever scraps of decency he's got left."
Vikki blinked, half incredulous, half touched. "That sounds like the sort of dumb oath you boys swore as kids."
"Yeah," Laxus grinned, the edge of it all knife-sharp for a heartbeat. "Because it is. Me, Bran, Asriel. That's why Bran and I went to Stornoway that night. Thought we were fixing things. Turns out we only kicked the hornet's nest." His grin faded. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm not letting him fall alone. I promise, Vikk. I'll keep an eye on him."
She let the promise sit between them like a small, fragile shield. For a long moment they both watched the city beyond the cemetery. Roofs catching the gold, smoke curling from bakeries, while the church bells marked the hour and a soft wind tangled the ribbons on the lilies. Vikki's fingers slicked her hair back behind her ear.
"I hope you mean it," she said finally. "Because if Bran turns, there's no telling who'll be left to pick up the pieces."
****
Morning unfurled over Excalibur like a gilded curtain. Sunlight pooled in the Great Hall and turned the long wooden tables to plates of burnished gold. Conversation rose and fell around them. Laughter, the clinks of cutlery, the endless chatter of Burgess's end and the new balance of power. Yet at the usual table the six friends found a pocket of calm. Plates heaved with eggs of every persuasion, steaming loaves and a riot of roasted vegetables. A heady, comforting clatter that managed, for now, to keep darker thoughts at bay.
Helga, unconcerned with decorum, spread jam with the zeal of a woman conducting a small revolution, laid a poached egg on top and regarded the creation as if it were an offering to the gods. She bit in with a blissful sound. Jam and yolk braided together, a small, ridiculous triumph. Salazar watched her from beneath a cultivated brow, nose wrinkling in theatrical disgust.
"My dear Helga," Salazar said, "there are certain culinary conventions one does not. How shall I put it… violate. I confess, the sight of that is positively nauseating."
Helga tossed him a grin. "Don't knock it 'til you try it, Sal."
Rowena sipped her tea and peered over the rim with a faint, reproving smile. "Honestly, Helga's idea of 'exotic' is chocolate sauce and marshmallows on a medium-rare steak."
"Oh, that sounds divine," Helga murmured, already lost in appetite. The rest of the table laughed. Salazar's expression souring only made the joke better.
Jeanne, softer and practical as ever, broke the mood gently. "Helga, do you know what's become of Elio?" she asked. "Who's looking after him now?"
The laughter died. Helga's smile faltered. She wrapped her hands around her toast as if to anchor herself.
"Pablo and Edda weren't from here," Helga began. "They came from our world. Just not our time." She paused, as if the words themselves felt foreign. "So there's no family we can reach out to. No one to take him in. One of Pablo's old friends agreed to house him for now, but it's temporary. They already have five children of their own."
Godric set his fork down, the faint clink breaking the quiet. The steadiness that usually anchored him faltered, revealing a flicker of uncertainty beneath. "And if that doesn't last?" he asked.
Helena met his gaze. "Then he'll go into foster care," she said. "My aunt's a social worker. Worst case, it's the orphanage. And if there aren't any spaces left…" her words trailed, "he might have to leave Caerleon altogether."
Jeanne's hand flew to her mouth. The possibility tightened the air at the table. "Oh no," she whispered.
Helga's expression was solemn, her hands resting quietly on the table's edge.
Godric spoke without hesitation. "Honestly, I don't think so. This city's been torn apart, yes, but that also means its people know what it is to lose. They understand what it means to care for one another now in ways they never did before." He pushed his chair back, the soft scrape of wood filling the pause. "If no family steps forward, I'll go myself. I'll ask every innkeeper, every vendor, anyone who'll listen. I'll find someone to take him in. That's a promise."
Rowena arched an elegant brow, skepticism tempered by the faintest curve of a smile. "And you're certain you can manage that?"
Godric's lips curved, a spark of warmth in his eyes. "Believe me, Rowena, it's going to be hard saying no to the Hero of Caerleon."
Salazar gave a quiet, refined scoff, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Abusing your prestige already, are we?" he murmured. Then, softer, as if conceding a rare approval, "Good. A title's worth nothing if it doesn't serve a purpose. The world could use fewer cynics, and more men willing to dirty their hands for the right cause."
"Oh, for the love of…" Rowena let out a sigh, rolling her sapphire eyes skyward. "The two of you are impossible."
"So, school lets out in three days," Helena said, tearing off a piece of her roll before taking a bite. "Any plans?" Her hazel eyes moved down the table, catching each of them in turn.
"A week or two back home," Godric replied, folding his arms with a quiet sigh. "Honestly, some time with my Uncle Gareth would do me good. Put all this behind me for a while."
"Same here," Helga said brightly, her smile almost contagious. "My family's going to lose their minds when they hear what happened in Caerleon. I'm sure Pop-Pop will be thrilled to hear every detail."
"I'd rather keep such stories from my parents," Jeanne admitted, a sheepish laugh escaping her. "They were hesitant enough about me coming here as it is. If they knew what really happened, I'd never be allowed back at Excalibur."
Helena rolled her eyes. "Ugh, tell me about it." Her expression softened as she turned toward the end of the table. "What about you, Sal?"
Salazar leaned back slightly, exhaling sharply. "Nothing much for me," he said. "Just another quiet journey back to Slytherin Manor. A master of an empty home while my father gallivants across the known world." His emerald eyes flicked upward with a wry twist of his lips. "You know how it is."
Rowena's gaze lingered on him, sympathy faint in her expression. "I…" she began, drawing the table's attention. "My family has a great deal to discuss, given all that's happened. With my father now appointed Director of the Clock Tower, we're still reeling from the shadow Burgess left behind."
Helga's expression softened, concern shadowing her amber eyes.
"I've heard word that the entire family will be gathering at Ravenclaw Manor," Rowena continued. "Everyone from across Avalon. We'll be deciding where to go from here. What we'll do, and perhaps more importantly, who we intend to become."
Godric's lips curved into a reassuring smile. "That, I've no doubt," he said. "Whatever comes of it, you know we'll be here. Always on your side." He gestured toward the others, earning a small chorus of nods and smiles.
Rowena returned the gesture, a quiet warmth passing through her features.
"Anyway," Helena said, breaking the moment's stillness, "I doubt any of us will be gone for long. I plan to come back mid-summer to catch up before the new term starts."
Helga raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Helena blinked, surprised. "Didn't you know? Because of the occupation and the siege, the school's making us repeat the last term."
A collective groan rolled through the table, everyone but Rowena.
"By Scáthach," Salazar muttered, rubbing his temple. "We're to endure it all again? How utterly abhorrent."
Helga dropped forward, face-first into the table. "And here I thought I'd never have to brew another Calming Draught again."
"In all fairness," Rowena interjected, lifting her teacup for a sip, "we did miss quite a bit of our studies, given… everything. It's only right we make it up."
"Speak for yourself," Godric said, though a smile softened his mouth. "But this time will be different. For me…" His gaze swept the faces around the table. "For all of us."
A shared smile passed among the five of them, easy and bright, until the heavy doors at the far end of the Great Hall groaned open. Conversation pooled and fell away. Heads turned. Professor Serfence stepped through like a storm blown into sunlight. His once-immaculate robes were ruined. Dank with muck, flecked with sand, crusted with leaves and tiny splinters of wood. A sour, animal stench followed him, thick enough that several nearby students made small, offended noises and pushed their plates back as if to keep breakfast from escaping.
Serfence's eyes were narrowed, the black of his irises hard as coal. When he trained that look on the teachers' table, it carried something close to lethal intent.
For a long, stunned beat the six friends simply stared. Then, as if drawn by the same current, they turned their gazes to the other end of the hall where the staff sat. Professor Eridan, Lotho, Lagduf and Rasputin looked up, brows lifted.
Professor Duchannes wore a thin, knowing smile. The expression of someone who had witnessed this scene play out more times than she cared to count. Beside her, Professor Hohenheim merely shrugged, shaking his head in quiet resignation, while Professor Kyar's fuzzy cheeks puffed as she struggled, and failed, to suppress a laugh.
Then, one by one, every gaze followed the sharp line of Serfence's glare, straight to Professor Ryan Ashford. The man went utterly still. Color drained from his face. His fork hung suspended, a dripping wedge of egg trembling before it slipped and thudded against his plate.
"Ashford," Serfence said, the name like a blade, precise and cold as he advanced.
Ryan bolted upright, hands half-raised in a reflexive, ridiculous surrender. "Now, now, hold up, I know you're pissed," he blurted. "But Workner and I looked everywhere for you. Cut me some slack. I mean, how was I supposed to know you'd—what, lose your damn mind after one… two… twelve shots of tequila?"
"Apparently, I did a rendition of the Camelot ballet stark naked, in the middle of town," Serfence replied, the words clipped but with a thread of dry amusement as if reciting an absurdity rather than confessing humiliation. He drew his wand from the inner seam of his robe. "All while singing Frère Jacques at considerable volume and in an extraordinarily poor key."
Ryan's mouth twitched into a grin. "Okay, now that's some funny shit," he said, pointing a conspiratorial finger as if the two of them had shared the joke. "Now—whoa, easy there. Think about what you're doing." His smile froze as Serfence's hand tightened on his wand.
"Then I woke, hours later, rolling in the muck with the pigs the next town over. Only to be thrown into a cell where I've had the pleasure of calling home for the past several days for indecent exposure." Serfence spat. "This travesty, this humiliation, is your doing, and I shall have your head." He flourished the wand with the kind of precise, effortless motion that promised consequences.
"Come on now Serfy, I'm sure this is all just a big misunderstand—DING!" Ryan shrieked as a bolt of magic screamed past his shoulder and detonated against the stone behind him with a white-hot crack.
Serfence's eyes were small coals. "You… are a dead man!" Another spell leapt like a living thing toward Ryan.
He ducked, every muscle taut. The spell scorched a black crescent across the wall. Ryan shoved his chair back and made for the exit, feet thudding over the flagstones.
"Come back here, coward!" Serfence called, and then, to the students' wide eyes, he was running. Spells tearing the air aside as he chased. "Face your well-deserved demise like a man!"
"Help! Help me!" Ryan shouted as he sprinted out of the hall. "Someone get this psycho off my tail!" His voice carried that half-laugh, half-plea that made people want to either help or roll their eyes.
"I'll kill you!" Serfence thundered, sliding across the floor in pursuit, his direction almost theatrical. "Then bury you. Then dig you up and resurrect you, only to kill you again!"
"Aiyeee!" Ryan shrieked.
Professor Workner regarded the chase with a look of bemused resignation, and then returned to his porridge as if this were merely Tuesday. At the teachers' table, the others exchanged looks. Some incredulous, some faintly amused.
Around the friends, laughter threatened like a tide. They had the sense to look away from the spectacle only long enough to keep their composure, then looked at one another with restrained grins. Godric pressed his fingers to his lips for a fraction of a second before he, too, let a soft laugh slip out. The sound was quick and human, the perfect small release after the absurdity and tension braided together.
Beyond the doors Serfence's shouts echoed, a strange, terrible music, and for a heartbeat the Great Hall felt both whole and strangely new. Raw from its wounds, stubbornly alive, and impossibly loud with possibility.