The moment Fudge departed, Dumbledore turned to face the small group remaining before him.
"Minerva," Dumbledore said, his piercing blue eyes settling on Professor McGonagall.
"I want to see Hagrid in my office in half an hour. And—Madame Maxime—if she's willing to come as well."
Professor McGonagall gave a curt nod and swept away without a word, her emerald robes billowing behind her.
"Filius," Dumbledore turned to Professor Flitwick, his voice gentle but urgent:
"Please ask Molly and Bill Weasley to meet me in the hospital wing on the third floor. I need them to relay what's happened with the Ministry to Arthur."
"Of course, Albus. Leave it to me," Flitwick replied, his usually cheerful voice subdued. He reached up with considerable effort to pat Harry's shoulder before hurrying into the castle, his short legs carrying him with surprising speed.
"Sirius," Dumbledore continued, his tone becoming more paternal, "take Harry to the hospital wing—he needs proper rest now. After that, go to Lupin and contact Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher, and the other old guard."
"Right—come on, Harry, let's get you upstairs," Sirius said softly, placing a protective hand on his godson's shoulder as they disappeared through the castle doors.
Now only Dumbledore, Snape, and Orli remained on the moonlit grounds, the ancient castle looming behind them like a silent sentinel.
"Severus," Dumbledore said quietly, turning to face the Potions Master.
"You know what I must ask of you. If you have no objection... if you're ready..."
Orli felt as though an ice-cold blade had pierced straight through her chest, freezing every drop of blood in her veins. Her breath caught in her throat.
"I am ready," she heard Snape's voice say, steady and resolute.
"Then—I'll go check on Harry first." Dumbledore's worried gaze flickered between Snape and Orli for a moment before he turned and melted into the black shadows of the castle entrance.
"Waters." Snape's voice cut through the night air like a blade. He looked down at Orli, his black eyes intense, speaking in rapid, clipped tones:
"I must leave immediately. Listen carefully—Wormtail saw you. I can't guarantee what he might tell them. The moment term ends, go home at once. You know how to protect your house—I taught you. Tell me the procedures!"
"Confundus Charms, Repelling Charms, Disillusionment Charms..." Orli's voice was steady despite the chaos in her chest. "Set traps and poison mechanisms around the perimeter, seal the Floo network."
Her heart felt as though it was being slowly torn apart by a rusty saw, the agony making her want to scream, to throw her arms around him, to break down completely. But she knew she couldn't—not now. She couldn't show even the slightest crack in her armor.
"Good. Do exactly that. Don't contact strangers, and avoid all correspondence if possible. If you ever feel the house has been compromised, go straight to the Weasleys'—have Dobby Apparate you there. Do you understand?"
Snape's right hand—the one unmarked by the Dark Lord's brand—gripped her wrist with desperate intensity. His coal-black eyes bore into hers:
"Perfect your Occlumency. Never let anyone discover what you've done."
Orli nodded once, sharply.
"...I have to go." But Snape's grip didn't loosen. His cold fingers clutched her arm as though he were trying to memorize the warmth of her skin, to carry it with him into whatever darkness awaited.
"Professor!" Orli's voice cracked slightly, betraying the emotion she'd fought so hard to contain:
"You'll come back for me, won't you? I'll be waiting at Waters Manor. You promised—August, we were going to France together..."
Snape said nothing.
His hand slowly released her arm, fingertips trailing across the back of her hand like a whispered goodbye. Then, with one final, searing look that seemed to burn itself into her memory, he turned and vanished into the night.
Orli stood frozen on the empty grounds, watching his dark figure grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely into the shadows. She didn't cry. She didn't make a sound. When the last trace of him had been swallowed by darkness, she spun around and ran—bolting through the castle doors, taking the stairs three at a time, racing through corridors until she reached the eighth floor and threw herself into the Room of Requirement.
She had to do something—anything—to keep herself from falling apart completely.
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