As Lily lifted her gaze, a long breath slipped from her lips. The kind that carried exhaustion, relief, and something softer still. Her shoulders eased, and with them, the tension in the room seemed to dissolve. A gentle smile formed, mirrored faintly by the others. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though they were adventurers at last returned from some great, perilous quest through Avalon itself. Weary, battered, yet whole again.
The boys exchanged glances, the unspoken language of comrades who had shared in every hardship. Weariness lingered in their eyes, but so did quiet pride, the kind earned only through endurance.
"Well," Sirius said, leaning back with his hands laced behind his head. "I'd say that was one hell of an adventure, wouldn't you agree?"
Remus chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "At least it's one that didn't end with any of us bawling our eyes out for once."
"Still," Peter added, tossing the empty crisp packet onto the carpet, "the Marauders, finally! I thought they'd never step into the Congregation under that banner. But Merlin's beard… that was something else."
James grinned, pushing himself upright and bracing a hand against the floor. "It was incredible. Every battle, every spell, every moment. It was like we were right there with them." His eyes glimmered with excitement. "Unbelievable."
Myrtle smiled from her corner, the ghostly edges of her form flickering faintly in the dim light. "I'm just glad they survived it all," she said softly. "That they grew from it, became something greater than what they were." She shook her head, amused. "Makes our school year seem positively ordinary, doesn't it?"
Sirius let out a low laugh. "Ordinary suits me just fine. If I ever returned to Hogwarts in the middle of a war, I'd be first on the train back home. I've no desire to play the hero, thank you very much."
"You don't have to confess to that, Sirius." All eyes turned to Severus, who had remained quiet until now, seated slightly apart from the rest. His dark eyes held that familiar sharpness, though his tone carried an almost teasing composure. "We're all quite aware," he added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Sirius huffed through a laugh, grinning despite himself. "Glad to know you're keeping tabs, Severus."
"Raine's final message to Godric," Narcissa began, her voice quiet but steady enough to draw every gaze in the room. "It was… hauntingly beautiful." She paused, her eyes lowering slightly as though recalling the words themselves. "Deep down, she knew the world would never accept them. That it would never allow them to be together. She wrote it in the one book she cherished most, the story of King Uther's only love." A sorrowful smile curved her lips. "Tragic… yet poetic."
Lily nodded softly. "I'm just glad Godric found the strength to move on. To let go of the darkness and become the man he was meant to be again."
Peter's expression hardened. "I'm not about to shed a bloody tear for Burgess or his cronies," he said sharply. "As far as I'm concerned, they got exactly what they deserved."
Severus tilted his head slightly, a faint, knowing smirk forming. "An eternity in Tartarus, then," he said. "A fitting end, I'd say. Monsters deserve what monsters get, particularly those so utterly bereft of guilt… or accountability."
Remus folded his arms, his tone more contemplative. "Still, doesn't it bother you, about Bran? Sounds like he's walking straight into his own villain arc."
"It is rather unsettling when you think about it," James said with a sigh. "But honestly… I can't blame him. Like the book said, he's had his whole life torn apart. After everything, wanting Burgess's followers to pay. It's only human."
Lily closed the book gently and set it beside her. "It reminds me of a line I once read," she said thoughtfully. "You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain." Her eyes softened with concern. "I wouldn't wish that on Bran. Not after everything. He's one of the good ones."
"Good," Narcissa replied smoothly, "is merely a matter of perspective, Evans. One man's insurgent is another's freedom fighter."
Sirius shot her a sharp look. "Oh, you'd know plenty about that, wouldn't you?"
Narcissa's smirk widened, her shoulders lifting in a delicate shrug. "I try."
"I have to say," Myrtle cut in with a mischievous grin, "I rather enjoyed watching Macon bring the hammer down on the Council. A collection of pompous, self-righteous old men who thought themselves untouchable."
Peter chuckled darkly. "Still picturing their faces when they cut themselves for that pound," he said, his grin crooked. "Not quite as satisfying as what happened to Burgess, but I'll take it."
For a moment, the conversation lingered in low laughter, until Severus lifted a hand to his chin. "Something has been bothering me."
The others turned toward him, curiosity replacing amusement.
"Peverell," he said, the name rolling off his tongue with careful precision. "I know it. The name is irritatingly familiar, yet I cannot recall from where. Still, I suspect it carries weight. Something deeply intertwined with our world."
Remus furrowed his brow. "Now that you mention it, it does sound familiar," he said slowly. "Perhaps someone of note. Definitely worth a bit of digging."
Severus inclined his head slightly, the faintest flicker of intrigue lighting his expression. "Indeed. I believe it would be… enlightening."
As the conversation carried on around her, Narcissa's attention drifted toward the book lying beside her. She reached for it, resting it on her lap before carefully flipping it open to where they had last left off. To her surprise, there were still several chapters untouched. Pages waiting to reveal the rest of the tale.
Her brow lifted slightly as she turned the next page. There, etched in faded black ink, was a sigil. A shield adorned with seven roses entwined by curling thorns. The sketch was old, lines sharp despite the wear of time. Her eyes scanned the passage beneath, and as she read, her expression shifted. Curiosity first, then something closer to alarm. Slowly, she looked up.
"Hey," she said, cutting cleanly through the chatter. The others turned toward her. "Listen to this."
She glanced down again, her fingers tightening on the page as she began to read aloud. Her words carrying them once more into the heart of Avalon, where the story was far from over.
****
The warm summer air of the city limits mingled with the metallic tang of blood, caking Santiago's nostrils with a gritty mixture of sand and gore. With each agonizing movement, he dragged his battered body across the unforgiving ground, his desperate crawl leaving a trail of crimson in the wake of his tattered red jacket. The stumps where his right arm and left leg had once been throbbed with searing pain, the wounds gaping and raw.
His gaze swept across the desolate expanse of the abandoned amphitheater, the fear etched into the faces of every gang member present, each bearing the colors of their respective affiliations. They had all been summoned to this meeting, drawn to the neutral ground on the outskirts of Caerleon by a call they couldn't ignore. But what awaited them was beyond anything they could have imagined.
Another cry of anguish split the air, sharp and raw. Santiago turned, breath catching in his throat. His bloodshot eyes widened as horror rooted him in place. Through the haze of smoke and chaos, seven figures stood. Motionless amid the ruin. Each was draped in finery that clashed against the carnage, sleek suits and dresses of tailored precision. Four men, three women. The men wore ashen gray, deep emerald, navy blue, and obsidian black; the women, vivid scarlet, pure white, and sunlit gold, their gowns adorned with gothic frills and southern belle lace.
Pinned to each chest, and in the women's hair, bloomed a single rose-shaped corsage, each hue mirroring the color they wore. They stood in eerie unity, silent and unflinching, their faces hidden behind gleaming masquerade masks that caught the flickering halogen lights overhead in fractured glints.
In that still moment, the world seemed to draw breath and hold it. Seven strangers, elegant, terrible, and utterly other, watching as the battlefield trembled before them. Some faces were cold and unreadable, others curved with faint smirks, while a few remained utterly expressionless. In their hands gleamed an assortment of weapons. Swords and daggers, a bow drawn taut, and among them, the long silhouettes of a spear and a halberd poised for blood.
Turning his gaze across the blood-soaked field, Santiago's heart sank at the sight of his fellow leaders and their lieutenants, their once-powerful forms now reduced to lifeless husks strewn across the sand. Each one bore the gruesome marks of violence, their bodies mangled and torn, their blood seeping into the parched earth below.
"It would seem we have missed one, Mister Black" Santiago's gaze fixed on the figure, the man in the navy-blue suit with a silver sword gripped in his gloved hand, as he singled him out. "Can't have that, can we?"
The man in the black suit exhaled softly, lowering his spear until its haft rested against his shoulder. The air shimmered faintly with the heat of battle, dust curling around his polished shoes.
"Please help yourself, Mister Blue," he said,, unhurried. A faint tilt of his head accompanied the words. "I fear I may have… overexerted myself."
Mister Blue inclined his head in turn, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. "Always a pleasure, Mister Black."
Then, with a sharp step and a swirl of azure fabric, he surged forward, the air splitting in his wake. Closing in on his target, he twirled his sword, its blade aglow with a dim, ominous blue hue. Santiago's cry of terror filled the air as he scrambled desperately toward the exit. But before the lethal strike could land, it was intercepted by a larger man, his red jacket drenched in blood, wielding a hefty metal pipe. The clash of metal against metal reverberated through the amphitheater, the pipe sparking against the blade's sharp edge.
"Anando!" Santiago's voice echoed in panic as he watched his lieutenant intervene.
"Get out of here!" Anando roared, pushing back against the relentless force behind the sword. "I'll hold them off."
"How quaint," the young man sneered, swiftly withdrawing the blade before delivering a merciless slash. In a single brutal motion, he cleaved Anando in two straight down the middle, a geyser of blood erupting from the grievous wound as the man's agonized cry filled the air.
He loomed over Santiago, brushing a few dark strands of hair back from his face as he stepped closer. His sapphire eyes caught the light. Cold, sharp, and glinting with a predatory cruelty, the look of a wolf savoring the moment before the kill.
"You know, I do feel genuine sorrow for you and your kin," Mister Blue's words carried a weight of pity as he squatted down to Santiago's level, his blade leaning against the ground. "You run around playing these foolish little games with one another, devoid of dreams and purpose."
Santiago's teeth chattered as fear gripped him. "Who the Hell are you? What the Hell do you want?"
"Oh, how utterly rude of me," he replied with a smirk. "They call me Mister Blue, and my colleagues and I bring not only change, but purpose." With a fluid motion, he rose to his feet. "Sadly, though, you won't be around to see it."
"No, wait, wait!" Santiago's desperate plea was cut short as Mister Blue swung his blade, severing his head. The man's lifeless eyes stared blankly as his head rolled across the sands, thudding softly upon the ground.
Turning to the stunned onlookers in the stadium seats, he declared, "Your leaders are dead. Your lieutenants slain. The Colors throne now belongs to us. Is there anyone amongst you who would dispute our right?"
An ominous silence hung over the crowd as they exchanged wary glances. One by one, individuals of every race and creed removed their bandanas, casting them onto the field in a symbolic gesture of surrender. Mister Blue drew a victorious breath, his gaze shifting to the distant cityscape visible through the ruined hole in the amphitheater's walls.
"You know," said the girl in white as she stepped forward, sliding her daggers neatly into their sheaths, "had you told me your plan was to unite the Colors Gangs beneath one banner, I would have called you mad." A faint smile tugged at her lips. "And yet, looking back now… I daresay there was a certain genius to it."
"Obviously, Miss Snow," replied the young man in green, adjusting his mask with an absent, practiced motion. "Credit where it's due, of course. Though I imagine we owe a measure of gratitude to Lamar Burgess for setting the first domino in motion."
"That may be true, Mister Green," said the woman in red, her halberd striking the ground with a resonant thud. "But with the Tower crippled, the city in ruins, and Mayor Ramonda finally abdicating her seat, the balance of power is shifting faster than any of us can foresee."
"I concur, Miss Scarlet," murmured the man in black, his tone measured yet steeped in dark delight. "And I must confess, I find that thought rather… exhilarating."
"Ooh, I simply can't wait!" cried the girl in yellow, her frilled gown flaring as she spun, the excitement in her words just shy of madness. "First the people, then the city, and after that…" A wicked grin curved her lips. "The High Table itself." She turned, eyes gleaming toward the man in grey. "Isn't that your goal, Mister Grey?"
"I suppose I could share in that sentiment, Miss Sunshine," Mister Blue interjected with a low, amused grin.
The man in grey stood apart from them all. Tall, silent, his silver blade glinting in the pallid light. His gaze lifted toward the moonlit sky.
"Prepare yourself, Caerleon," he declared. His outstretched hand caught the glow of distant lights. "The battle for the city is over." A pause. "Now begins the war for its soul."
The others stood behind him, their colors gleaming like fractured jewels in the darkness. Seven shades united in ambition, in vengeance, in ruin.
"And as they say," Mister Grey said softly, his tone the edge of a blade. "Let the games begin."
****
When Narcissa finally looked up from the book, every face around her was frozen. Wide eyes. Slack jaws. The only sound in the room was the low, steady crackle of the fire beside them. Shadows danced across their expressions. Disbelief, shock, and something else none of them could yet name.
The boys exchanged uneasy glances; Lily and Myrtle did the same. Severus alone remained still, his expression drawn tight, unreadable in the shifting light.
"Bloody hell…" Peter breathed at last, breaking the silence like glass.