The air crackled with magic.
I stood at the edge of the battlefield—if you could even call the open grounds outside Hogwarts that—my wand raised, eyes glowing faintly as I tracked every movement, every surge of magic.
Another spell came at me.
I didn't even flinch.
A shield snapped into place in front of me, precise and effortless. The impact scattered like sparks against glass. In the same breath, I retaliated—lightning arcing from my wand, splitting through the air with a deafening crack.
The opposing wizard barely dodged, stumbling back.
Too slow.
I flicked my wand downward. The ground beneath him liquefied instantly, turning into thick mud. He lost his footing, slipping—panic flashing across his face.
Predictable.
Before I could finish him, a sharp twang cut through the chaos.
A bolt—fast, silent, deadly—shot past me.
It shattered the barrier the wizard tried to conjure mid-fall like glass.
And then—
Stillness.
Salazar.
Of course.
I didn't even look back as the body hit the ground behind me.
"That's a dirty trick," I said flatly, already turning to face the next attacker.
"Effective," Salazar replied calmly from somewhere behind me.
I allowed myself the faintest smirk.
Another wizard charged, fury etched across his face. Older. Experienced. Strong.
Good.
I raised my wand again, weaving ice this time—sharp, jagged shards forming in the air before launching forward. He countered quickly, blasting them apart, but that hesitation was all I needed.
Magic flowed around me like a second sense. Every movement calculated. Every action efficient.
This wasn't a duel.
This was control.
"They're getting desperate," Salazar noted, reloading his crossbow with practiced ease.
"Of course they are," I replied, sidestepping another spell and countering with a precise curse that sent my opponent crashing backward. "We're breaking their system."
That was the real reason they were here.
Not hatred. Not fear.
Control.
Before Hogwarts, magic belonged to families. Power stayed where it was born. Knowledge was hoarded, passed down in whispers and bloodlines.
Now?
We were teaching everyone.
Talent mattered more than birth. Effort more than lineage.
And they hated that.
"They think killing us will stop it," Salazar said, almost amused.
"It won't," I replied simply.
Another attacker fell—this time to Godric, who cut through the battlefield like a force of nature, his sword gleaming with every strike.
For a moment, I paused, watching the fight unfold.
Three founders.
Three different styles.
Godric—raw power and overwhelming presence.Salazar—precision, cunning, and ruthless efficiency.And me—control. Adaptation. Superiority through understanding.
The remaining attackers hesitated.
Good.
"Run," I said coldly, my voice carrying across the battlefield. "Or die."
A few chose wisely. They fled.
The rest didn't.
They fell quickly.
Silence settled over the grounds, broken only by the faint crackle of dissipating magic.
I lowered my wand slowly, exhaling.
Salazar stepped beside me, adjusting his cloak. "That makes… what? The fifth group this month?"
"Sixth," I corrected.
He hummed. "Persistent."
"Desperate," I replied.
Godric approached, sword resting on his shoulder. "They'll keep coming."
"I know," I said.
And I did.
Because what we were building here…
Wasn't just a school.
It was a threat to the entire structure of magical society.
I glanced back at the castle, standing tall behind us.
Unfinished. Imperfect.
But growing stronger every day.
"Then we keep killing them," Salazar said simply.
I didn't answer immediately.
My grip tightened slightly on my wand.
"…No," I said finally.
Both of them looked at me.
"We defend," I continued. "We protect the school. But if we turn this into nothing but slaughter…"
I paused.
"…we become exactly what they already think we are."
Godric nodded slowly.
Salazar said nothing—but he didn't argue.
That was enough.
I turned back toward the castle.
"Come on," I said. "We've got a school to run."