Leaving his seat, Severus Snape strode swiftly to Professor McGonagall's side, leaning slightly to confer with her in hushed tones.
"I agree, Severus," Professor McGonagall said gravely, nodding as her furrowed brow softened just a touch. "This task is better suited to you. Compared to us old folks, they need to hear your voice—a fellow student's voice."
"Also, Professor," Snape lowered his voice further, "how exactly did the Death Eaters locate the Founder's Ark?"
"Most likely through Sturgis," McGonagall replied. "After falling under the Imperius Curse, he relayed our position to the outside."
"Could it have anything to do with the Trace?" Snape pressed, his voice cautious. "The Trace on the underage students aboard the ship—could it…?"
"Absolutely impossible, Severus," McGonagall interrupted, shaking her head with unwavering certainty. "After the 1875 Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery Act was passed, the Headmistress at the time, Eupraxia Mole—Phineas Black's predecessor—foresaw the potential risks.
"She assembled a group of the finest wizards of her era and secretly wove an exceptionally powerful isolation charm into the core protections of the Founder's Ark, specifically designed to block the Trace's detection."
"And," she added, her eyes glinting with the pride of a seasoned Hogwarts professor as she glanced at Snape, "before we set sail, Filius and I personally re-examined those charms. They're still functioning perfectly."
"Of course," McGonagall continued, a rare hint of humor tugging at her lips, "Professor Mole thought it best not to advertise these measures. You won't find them in Hogwarts: A History. If you like, you could call it Hogwarts: A Carefully Edited History—that might be more accurate."
"I understand, Professor," Snape said, nodding with a faint smile before turning to pace back to his seat.
In the dining hall, the house-elves—Mipple and Hokey among them—were cautiously clearing the barely touched, exquisitely prepared dishes. The delicate clinking of plates gradually faded, replaced by a low, oppressive hum of voices. Snape rose again, slowly, his silent movement commanding the room's attention like a spell. Save for the adult wizards and a handful of non-members, most of the young faces in the hall belonged to the Order of the Heart. They, too, were desperate to understand what had befallen Hogwarts.
A heavy silence settled, thick with the weight of the brutal attack, the fierce battle, and the terror of Gellert Grindelwald's return—his all-consuming, horrifying blue fiendfyre and the diary's dreadful screams as it burned to ash and ink. The dread pressed on every heart, as dark and unknowable as the black night beyond the portholes.
Snape's gaze swept the hall, lingering briefly on his friends—Patrick Abbott, Pandora, Anna, Lyka Luppa, and others—before settling on the faces of the Hogwarts survivors staring up at him. Their expressions carried confusion, fear, exhaustion, and the lingering shock of recent horrors.
"Despite the house-elves' consistently reliable culinary skills," Snape began, clearing his throat and speaking in a measured tone, "I suspect no one here ate with much enthusiasm today." He paused, meeting the eyes below him with unflinching honesty. "And it's not because the food was lacking in flavor. These past days, we've endured far too much."
Dozens of eyes locked onto him, unblinking.
"Tonight," Snape continued, "I won't bore you with empty platitudes or paint rosy pictures of the future. I'm here to share what we know—key information that needs to be understood."
"Many of you have likely already guessed," he said, raising his voice slightly, "that Hogwarts has undergone a cataclysmic change. Our departure from the castle, soaring through the skies aboard the Founder's Ark, was not some special trip arranged for Muggle-born students, nor a leisurely academic excursion." He took a steadying breath and delivered the brutal truth: "This is a flight for survival."
A ripple of stifled whispers and sharp intakes of breath swept through the crowd. Even those who had suspected as much felt their hearts sink at the stark confirmation.
"We chose to leave," Snape said, his voice steady, "not because fear broke our courage. On the contrary, staying would have meant senseless, worthless sacrifice. We left to protect you all."
His eyes scanned the room, catching sight of bowed heads lifting, a faint spark kindling in their gazes.
"Specifically," Snape's tone grew heavier, "today's incident may have led some of you to another realization—about Professor Dumbledore."
The moment the words left his lips, the hall erupted. Students gasped in high-pitched shock; several Order of the Phoenix members rose to their feet, visibly shaken; Mundungus Fletcher gaped, shrinking back; Hagrid let out a low, wounded growl, his massive fist slamming the table with a resounding thud.
Snape didn't intervene, standing silently as the initial wave of shock and chaos ebbed. Only when the clamor began to subside did he speak again.
"Professor Dumbledore has encountered an… accident," Snape said, raising his voice to quell the lingering unrest. "But there's no need for excessive worry. He is injured but steadily recovering."
The news stirred a complex mix of emotions—worry still hung heavy, but now laced with hope.
"You might be wondering," Snape continued, shifting to the sharpest question of all, "what happens next? The Death Eaters found us once. They can find us again. And if next time it's not a small group but… You-Know-Who himself, how will we stand against him?"
His gaze turned to the figure beside him, a man who seemed out of place yet radiated an overwhelming presence.
"Fortunately," Snape said, gesturing toward the man with a lazy posture but undeniable aura, "we are not alone. Professor Dumbledore's old friend, Mr. Green, has answered his call and stands with us now."
At Snape's gesture, Grindelwald merely raised his eyes slightly, acknowledging the room with the barest nod, utterly indifferent to the mix of awe and curiosity directed at him.
"Mr. Green possesses extraordinary magical power," Snape said, glancing at Grindelwald before turning back to the crowd, "rivaling even Professor Dumbledore's. I believe his… demonstration earlier was proof enough of his strength."
The hall fell into a reverent silence.
"With him here," Snape said firmly, "there's no need to fear You-Know-Who's direct threat. He will provide a powerful shield for Professor Dumbledore and our safety."
"But," he paused, his voice turning grim and pragmatic, "I won't deceive you with false promises of smooth sailing ahead. From this moment, our journey will be far from comfortable. It will be fraught with unknown dangers and ever-looming crises."
"The Death Eaters are hunting us," he continued, his tone sharp with irony as he emphasized, "and the Ministry—yes, the Ministry—may well become You-Know-Who's accomplice. Some of you," his gaze swept over the older students, "may soon need to raise your wands—not just for classroom exercises but to face real challenges far beyond what you've been taught."
He looked at the younger students, their eyes still clouded with innocence and confusion.
"For many of you, this may be hard to grasp or bear," he said gently. "That's alright. The professors and your older peers will do everything in our power to protect you. But I also hope you'll use this time to apply your intelligence—to learn, not just from books, but to think, to analyze, and to grow in these extraordinary times."
"Starting tomorrow," Snape announced, "the library corner by the hall will provide the latest issues of The Daily Prophet. Read it, but with a critical eye, to understand what's happening in the outside world and the Ministry's 'official' stance."
"Additionally," he added, "we're considering creating our own information channel—a newspaper or perhaps a secret radio broadcast. If any of you are interested in contributing ideas or efforts, speak directly with Professor McGonagall." He glanced at her, and she gave a slight nod to the crowd.
His tone grew stern with warning. "Be forewarned: The Daily Prophet is unlikely to report the truth favorably. It may slander and distort us, branding us as rebels or urging you to 'return' to the 'safety' of a castle now controlled by Death Eaters."
"And let me be clear," Snape continued, his eyes sweeping over the seventh-years, "we respect free will. For those of you who are of age—seventeen or older—if, after careful thought, you choose to entrust your fate to the mercy or lies of others and wish to leave the Founder's Ark, we will allow you to pursue your freedom."
"But for all underage witches and wizards," he shook his head, "forgive our somewhat paternalistic approach. Your choices will be held in reserve. For your safety, to minimize unnecessary loss, we will make those decisions for you until you're old enough to fully understand and bear the consequences of your choices."
"That's all I have to say."
A heavy silence descended once more.
Seconds later, a slow, deliberate clap echoed from the staff table. Grindelwald raised his hands, applauding lazily. Scattered, hesitant claps followed, tinged with awkwardness.
The house-elves, draped in their tea towels, were the most enthusiastic, flapping their large ears and letting out tiny cheers, tears glistening as they gazed at Snape.
Most students, however, dissolved into fervent whispers, the buzz filling the hall.
Snape waited a few seconds, making no effort to hush the discussions.
"Alright," he said, his voice cutting through the chatter. "You may return to your cabins to rest or to your assigned duties. Tomorrow, everything proceeds as normal. Classes will continue." He paused, adding, "Oh, and don't forget—next Monday, we'll have the Halloween feast, right here."
Under the coordination of Filch, Patrick Abbott, and others, the crowd began to disperse in an orderly fashion. They murmured among themselves, discussing Snape's words, the mysterious "Mr. Green," the future, and even the upcoming Halloween feast.
Grindelwald let out an exaggerated yawn, stretching with a look of boredom and fatigue. "What a thrilling day," he drawled, glancing at Snape and McGonagall. "I could use some rest. Minerva, my room?"
McGonagall nodded promptly, beckoning a relatively calm house-elf. "Take Mr. Green and Ms. Rosier to the prepared guest cabins."
Grindelwald rose, Rosier following closely. Guided by the house-elf, they turned toward the cabin entrance and vanished up the gangway to the upper living quarters.
"Professor McGonagall," Snape said quietly once they were out of earshot, "I didn't see Moody or the Longbottoms?"
Her face clouded with deep worry. "They… didn't make it to the rendezvous point with the others," she said, her voice taut. "The last we heard, they were holding off pursuers. After that, we lost contact."
"I've tried several emergency communication methods, but so far, nothing," she admitted, rubbing her brow wearily. "I'll keep trying. Merlin willing, they're safe…"
Snape nodded silently.
McGonagall took a breath, forcing the weight aside and adopting a tone that bordered on a complaint. "Also, Severus," she said, "about the Potions classes—could you take them over? Eileen tells me your talent for Potions is exceptional. I've been covering them for a while, but I'm struggling to keep up."
"Of course," Snape replied without hesitation, noting her exhaustion. "I'll handle it."
McGonagall exhaled in relief, patting his arm. "Thank you, Severus."
Snape said nothing more. Turning, his gaze fell on the departing students. Spotting Lily and Pandora waiting for him, he walked toward them.
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