"That voice…"
Moody's good eye narrowed, fury rising within him.
He slammed his staff into the ground, his trademark rough, gravelly voice roaring toward the door:
"Savage! You spineless coward! Are you sure you want to take on me, Alastor Moody? Want to see if this wooden leg can put a dent in your skull?"
The shouting from outside stopped abruptly.
Then, another voice, younger and tinged with hesitation, rang out. Its owner tried to maintain an air of authority, but the tension in his tone betrayed his lack of confidence:
"Alastor, listen, old friend, we… we're just following protocol, checking on the alarm! We don't want to be enemies, really, but…"
"No buts!" Moody's bellow cut through the excuse like a blade. "Bring it on!"
A brief, awkward silence fell over the corridor.
At that moment, Frank Longbottom stepped forward, lightly touching Moody's arm. When Moody glanced at him, Frank gave a subtle shake of his head.
"Proudfoot," Frank called out toward the iron door, "if you and Savage are set on coming after me and Alice, go right ahead.
"But you know why we—and everyone else in this prison—were locked up. As former colleagues, it doesn't have to come to this."
Silence fell outside again, broken only by the faint sound of hushed, urgent conversation between the two men.
A moment later, Proudfoot's voice rose again, deliberately louder, as if speaking to his companion but ensuring those inside could hear.
"Bloody hell, Savage!" Proudfoot muttered under his breath. "I thought this would be the easy job. We didn't go with the boss to London, and now look at this mess… What do we do? Frank, Alice, and Moody, who's on our wanted list!"
"If it comes to a fight…" Savage's voice replied, "think about it, Proudfoot. They're tough nuts to crack. For a few Galleons, you really think we'd make it back to write a report?
"The two of us against them? Losing wouldn't be shameful. It's perfectly reasonable. The higher-ups would understand—we tried our best."
"Well… I suppose you're right!" Proudfoot's voice wavered with hesitation, but he seemed convinced. "So, how do we write the report? Hmm… 'Encountered overwhelming enemy resistance, fought valiantly, but were forced to retreat to preserve our forces'? Sounds good…"
Then, raising his voice, he called toward the door:
"Alastor, Frank, Alice, and everyone else! Here's the deal—we're backing off! Way off! Come on out!
"We swear… we won't stop you! For old times' sake?"
Inside, Snape exchanged quick glances with Moody and Frank.
The "discussion" outside was painfully staged. Could they trust two Aurors who were clearly throwing the fight? Still, it was seven wands against two. Snape gave a decisive nod, speaking in a low voice to the group:
"Stay sharp. Prepare Protego. Once we're out, we move straight for the shore."
The group assumed a defensive formation, with Snape, Moody, Emmeline, and others at the front, their wands aglow with the shimmering light of Protego shields.
They pushed open the heavy iron door, and the dim, gray morning light spilled in.
In the distance, under the faint glow, two figures in black robes stood behind a rock some fifty yards from the shore.
When the large group emerged, the two figures visibly shrank back further behind the rock, as if afraid of being caught in a stray spell. One of them, noticing Snape's group in their guarded stances, even raised a hand and waved with exaggerated friendliness, making no move to interfere.
"Quick!" Snape hissed, his eyes locked on the rock.
Under the protection of the group's wands, the rescued prisoners supported one another, stumbling down the stone steps toward the small dock on the coast.
At the shore, Snape pointed his wand at the small wooden raft they'd arrived on, muttering a complex series of Transfiguration and Engorgement Charms.
Streams of magic shot from his wand, and the raft expanded rapidly, inflating like a balloon. In moments, it transformed into a rough but sturdy ship large enough to carry them all.
The freed prisoners, with Emmeline's help, hurriedly boarded, supporting one another.
As the last rescued prisoner stepped onto the raft, Snape's gaze swept back to the shore.
Another smaller boat, likely the one the Aurors had used, sat at the dock.
"Diffindo!" Snape flicked his wand casually behind him, slicing cleanly through the bow of the small boat.
With a loud crack, wood splintered, and the boat disintegrated, its fragments scattering across the dark water, some sinking into the depths.
On the shore, Proudfoot and Savage yelped in surprise at the sudden explosion, instinctively ducking and covering their heads. When they looked up, the large ship was already pulling away.
At the stern, Snape slowly lowered his wand. His dark hair fluttered in the sea breeze as he gave a brief wave to the stunned figures on the shore, a farewell gesture.
The ship, carrying the rescued prisoners, cut through the waves, leaving behind the suffocating shadow of Azkaban.
The icy sea wind bit at their skin, but the atmosphere on the deck was warmed by the thrill of survival and a spark of hope.
After a brief silence, the freed prisoners' suppressed emotions found an outlet, and they began speaking in low voices, their words laced with bitterness and confusion.
"All these years, and they still call us Mudbloods," a gray-haired man rasped. "They say our magic is stolen—how is that even possible?"
"Our magic is innate!" a younger woman added passionately. "I could bend spoons with my mind as a child. But the Ministry interrogated us, demanding proof of our magic's 'source,' as if we needed a wizard ancestor to justify it!"
"It's nothing like what The Daily Prophet promised," another voice said, heavy with exhaustion. "They said registration was for our safety, but…" He shivered. "Where were we supposed to find proof? Just for that, they called us thieves and locked us in Azkaban."
"They came to our home and took us," Ted said, holding his wife and daughter tightly, his voice bitter. "Compared to us, you had it easy." A sardonic smile crossed his face. "They locked up my whole family. My wife's a pure-blood, my daughter's half-blood, and still they found an excuse—said we were 'tainting' the noble purity of wizardkind…"
"You lot," Snape cut into their conversation, "actually believed the Ministry's propaganda? Went to register willingly?" His gaze swept over the newly freed prisoners. "When Hogwarts' Headmaster, Deputy Headmistress, half the professors, and every Muggle-born student chose exile, you still thought the Ministry would protect you?"
His words left them speechless, their faces flushed with shame and realization.
At that moment, a quiet woman in her forties, who had been silent until now, suddenly looked up, her eyes blazing with joy.
"The exiled Hogwarts!" she cried. "Roxy! Roxy Polk! Is she with you?" The woman, Kate Prendergast, leaned forward eagerly, pushing past the others. "Sir, Roxy Polk! She's my sister's daughter—my niece!"
Snape immediately recalled the careless young girl who'd earned his first Outstanding badge.
"Yes," he nodded. "Miss Polk is living and studying at the true Hogwarts. She's adapting well."
"Oh, thank God! Thank you!" Kate let out a long breath, tears streaming down her face. "When I saw in The Daily Prophet that Professor Dumbledore and the others were branded traitors and madmen, fleeing with the students, I was terrified for Roxy. I didn't dare tell my sister…"
"And yet," she wiped her tears, letting out a choked, self-mocking laugh, "the one I should've worried about was myself! I was so foolish.
"I thought the Ministry represented authority, legitimacy. I never imagined they could sink so low… And to think I doubted a man like Albus Dumbledore would 'kidnap' students. I was such an idiot!"
"Ms. Prendergast," Emmeline said, looking at the woman with curiosity, "so your family produced two witches? That's quite rare for a Muggle family."
"Exactly," Kate replied, her smile a mix of pride and sorrow. "After me, the 'freak,' we had Roxy, our little witch. Everyone was thrilled, thought she was a gift from God."
"Who could've guessed that in just a few years, everything would change? Being Muggle-born… became a sin." She wiped her tears again and looked at Snape, Moody, and Emmeline with gratitude. "Knowing Roxy is safe and cared for means everything. Thank you…"
As the gray coastline came into view, the ship slowed and docked.
The journey had felt shorter amidst their conversations.
The group stepped onto solid ground, wading through cold seawater and gravel, the sea breeze tugging at their thin prison robes.
Emmeline looked at the weary, ragged group of survivors, her heart aching. She turned to Snape and Moody.
"Can we take them with us?" she asked. "They're victims of the Ministry's cruelty, with nowhere to go. Can we bring them to the Founders' Ark?"
Moody, arms crossed, scanned the group with his lone eye, his scarred face tense. He didn't speak, but his tight lips and wary stance made his opinion clear.
"No," Snape said firmly, addressing Emmeline and the group. "I'm sorry, Emmeline. I'm sorry, everyone. I understand your plight, but we must be cautious.
"The Founders' Ark houses Hogwarts' students. Its safety is our top priority, and we can't take risks.
"While we chose to rescue you, we don't know your backgrounds or what's in your minds."
Surprisingly, the rejection didn't spark anger or pleading. Instead, the survivors nodded in understanding.
"You're right, sir," the gray-haired man said first. "Saving us was already more than we could ask for. We can't burden you further or put you at risk."
"Thank you for your kindness, miss," Kate said to Emmeline. "We understand your caution. It's the right call."
"Yeah, we don't need to come along."
"Thank you—this is more than enough!"
Others chimed in, their voices full of sincere gratitude and acceptance.
"Alright," Snape said, his tone softening. "Without wands, you'll struggle in this world.
"Since the Wizarding Registration Committee 'temporarily' holds your wands, we'll leave you a few spares when we go."
A sudden thought struck him, and he turned to Kate. "Ms. Prendergast, would you like to see your niece, Roxy, in person?"
Kate's eyes lit up instantly.
"Are you serious, sir? Can I?" She could hardly believe it. "Yes! Of course! Oh, my God, really?"
"Yes," Snape nodded. "Your identity and relation to Miss Polk are clear.
"When we get there, you can share your experiences with the students, show them the real consequences of the Ministry's 'registration system' and expose their lies."
The other survivors, though slightly envious, were mostly happy for Kate, offering quiet congratulations.
As the group relaxed, basking in the joy of Kate's upcoming reunion, Moody suddenly raised a hand, pointing to the distant, gray sky.
"On guard!" he barked, drawing his wand in one swift motion.
Snape's wand was up in an instant.
Looking up, they saw a tiny black dot rapidly approaching the coastline.
Seconds later, as it drew closer, the dot's shape became clear—a frantically flapping owl.
Snape remained vigilant, his wand tracking the owl's path.
The owl, however, had a clear target. It dove straight toward him, circled twice, and landed, extending a leg with a letter tied to it.
Snape frowned slightly, bending to untie the letter.
The envelope bore no signature, but the distinctive, elegant script revealed the sender—Narcissa Malfoy.
He didn't open it immediately, instead slipping it into the inner pocket of his robe.
As he did, he noticed the owl hadn't flown off. It stared at him with round, expectant eyes, letting out an impatient, plaintive "hoot" and lightly pecking his sleeve.
"Eat," Snape said, pulling a small oilpaper packet from his robe. He opened it and offered a piece of dried fish.
The owl eagerly snatched it, swallowing it in a few quick gulps, then looked up again, hooting more insistently and flapping its wings.
With a sigh, Snape placed the remaining fish on a nearby rock.
The owl happily pecked at the meal.
"Alright," Snape said, turning from the greedy messenger to the group. "Time to go." He pulled three wands from his bag and set them gently on a flat stone. "Take these after we leave, then get as far from this coast as you can."
"From now on, stay cautious, protect yourselves, and don't trust the Ministry's official line unless we reclaim Hogwarts' castle," he said with a faint smile, adding, "and perhaps the Ministry itself."
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