As the question was raised, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and others who had been whispering among themselves fell silent, holding their breath.
The faint clinking of cutlery against plates at the staff table ceased. Everyone froze, their gazes fixed intently on Gellert Grindelwald, faces brimming with barely suppressed anticipation.
To return to Hogwarts, to end their wandering—this was their deepest desire at that moment.
Unhurriedly, Grindelwald set down his napkin and lifted the goblet of deep red wine before him. He gently swirled the glass, letting the liquid trace elegant arcs along its inner walls.
In the flickering candlelight, under the weight of several tense stares, he finally raised his head and met Severus Snape's eyes.
"Severus," Grindelwald said after taking a sip, his tone calm and measured, "those who try to grasp both the sky and the earth often lose both. The key to life is knowing when to be content."
A flicker of disappointment crossed Snape's face, but he quickly accepted the reality. After all, expecting a man who had sat in a tower for decades to emerge and defeat the reigning Dark Lord in his prime was, perhaps, asking too much of the old wizard.
"Oh, I see," Snape replied, his voice tinged with concern. "So, did you meet Lord Voldemort in person? Who came out on top in your encounter?"
"An interesting question." Grindelwald set down his goblet and looked at Snape with an encouraging nod. "It seems you've grown quite comfortable using the name 'Voldemort.' Well done, Severus. With that kind of courage, I'd say you're ready to face him yourself."
Snape understood instantly. Grindelwald's mission hadn't been a complete success—perhaps he'd even suffered a minor setback. Yet, the fact that he had returned so composed, albeit later than expected, was already the best outcome possible.
Whatever Grindelwald's reasons for intervening, he had undoubtedly bought precious time and opportunity for Snape and his companions, while also ensuring the safety of the Founder's Ark.
"Courage is valuable, Mr. Grindelwald," Snape said with a slight nod, offering a faint smile. "But when facing a viper's fangs, we'd do well to adopt a more strategic approach."
Setting down his knife and fork, Snape stood. He cleared his throat and tapped his wand lightly against it. "Sonorus!"
His voice instantly amplified, resonating clearly throughout the dining hall, echoing within the brightly lit cabin and drowning out the murmurs and clinking of tableware.
"Ladies and gentlemen, students, professors, and friends—Happy Hallowe'en!" He surveyed the room as silence fell once more, all eyes turning to him.
"On this special evening," he continued after a brief pause, glancing toward Grindelwald, "let us raise our glasses in a toast to Mr. Grindelwald!"
His gaze swept the hall. Little Nymphadora Tonks nestled between Ted and Andromeda, her hair restored from the dull gray of Azkaban to a vibrant violet, though her small face remained pale. Nearby, Ressie Polk sat close to her aunt, Madam Kate. On the other side, the Longbottoms sat among the Order of the Phoenix members, their expressions weary but relaxed.
"And especially to our new friends among us today," Snape went on, "whose safe arrival was made possible by Mr. Grindelwald's actions."
The crowd raised their glasses. The Tonks family and Madam Kate, visibly moved, stood immediately, their faces radiating genuine gratitude, joined by Frank and Alice Longbottom.
The students, many still uncertain about the significance of the toast, saw the gravity on the faces of the professors and the newcomers. They obediently lifted their glasses of chilled pumpkin juice.
The raised arms were not entirely synchronized, some hesitant and scattered, especially compared to those standing.
"To Mr. Grindelwald!" Snape called, raising his goblet first.
"To Mr. Grindelwald!" came the uneven chorus from the hall.
Grindelwald remained seated, not even lifting an eyelid. He raised his goblet and took a shallow sip.
As the toast concluded, the Tonks family and others sat back down.
Snape, however, did not immediately signal for the meal to resume. Setting down his goblet, he remained standing and spoke again in his amplified voice.
"Today, under Mr. Grindelwald's protection, we ventured to Azkaban." He paused, pleased to see shocked expressions ripple across many students' faces.
"We rescued some people," he said, gesturing toward the newcomers. "Many of you may have noticed the unfamiliar faces joining us at the table tonight. They are survivors of Azkaban."
"They are, in large part, the 'masterpiece' of the Ministry's so-called 'Wizarding Heritage Registration Committee,'" he said with biting sarcasm. "For centuries, Azkaban has been a fortress for imprisoning the most wicked Dark wizards and vile criminals.
"Yet when we arrived at that chilling prison, what we found was a mockery of its purpose. Its cells held not sinners, but innocents.
"And what was their crime? Simply being born with magical ability to non-magical parents. Yes—Muggle-borns. Just like many of you here."
"If you're curious about the details," Snape paused, his gaze shifting to Ressie and her aunt, "you might later ask Madam Kate, Ressie's aunt. She has just escaped that nightmare. She trusted the Ministry, complied with their laws, and registered herself with the Committee.
"And in return for her obedience, she was branded a thief, accused of stealing magical power from pure-blood wizards. That was the 'safety' they promised her."
Among the seats, young witches and wizards who knew Ressie exchanged looks of shock and sympathy. Their eyes turned to Madam Kate.
Madam Kate's lips were pressed tightly together. Clutching Ressie's hand, she met the crowd's gazes and gave a heavy nod, silently confirming Snape's words.
"There were others in that prison," Snape's voice rose again, this time turning to the Tonks family. Andromeda sat close to her daughter, while Ted gripped his wife's hand tightly. "The Tonks family was imprisoned for the crime of 'tainting' pure-blood lineage.
"Madam Andromeda Tonks, born of the ancient Black family, found no favor in that. Her only crime was choosing to love and marry Ted Tonks, a remarkable man who happens to be Muggle-born.
"They built a family and gave birth to their lovely daughter, Nymphadora. The Tonks family—including their daughter, barely four years old—were deemed worthy of the 'privilege' of close encounters with Dementors."
At that moment, little Nymphadora broke free from Andromeda's side. Scrambling onto her chair, she stood and waved her tiny fists, her childish voice filled with indignation. "That's right! They're all bad—really bad! They locked me and Mummy and Daddy in a dark, cold place with scary monsters!"
Andromeda gently patted her daughter's back, easing her back into her seat, her eyes still shadowed with lingering fear.
The hall fell silent again. Snape waited a few seconds, ensuring all attention returned to him.
"Our success today—our ability to bring these innocent people back from that hell—was thanks to Mr. Grindelwald." He pointed to Grindelwald once more. "He alone went to confront the one whose name must not be spoken—Lord Voldemort."
The moment the name left his lips, the hall erupted in stifled gasps and sharp intakes of breath. Many older students and adult wizards visibly flinched, their faces betraying instinctive fear.
Snape was unsurprised by the reaction. He stood tall, his gaze slowly sweeping the room, lingering on those showing terror.
Gradually, under his steady stare, the panicked murmurs subsided, leaving only the sound of suppressed breathing.
"On this Founder's Ark," he said, tapping his wand against the deck beneath his feet, "you need not fear Death Eaters sensing you speak the Dark Lord's name, nor worry about hidden spies reporting you for saying it.
"And if anyone is foolish enough to try," he shrugged, "we'd be delighted to escort them off this ship and deliver them personally to their master. I'm certain," he said, clearly enunciating the name again, "Lord Voldemort would warmly welcome his loyal servant and reward them with a cell overlooking the Dementors for a taste of their luxurious hospitality."
A few nervous, dry chuckles echoed in the hall.
"We should say Voldemort's name," Snape pressed on. "All this nonsense about 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' is utter rubbish. On the Founder's Ark, if we keep tiptoeing around our enemy's name, everything falls apart.
"He's not 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.' Fearing his name? That's an insult to Hogwarts and to Professor Dumbledore. There's no reason to be afraid of saying it. Who wants to start?"
A brief silence followed, then a resolute voice broke through.
"Voldemort!" Lily stood, her face blazing with defiance, her voice ringing out.
"Voldemort!" Pandora, Patrick Abbott, and young Barty followed, standing in quick succession.
"Voldemort!" Professor Flitwick's high-pitched voice joined in. He climbed onto his chair, standing on tiptoe so the students could see him.
Like a spark catching fire, most younger students mustered their courage and began shouting the name. Some voices trembled or wavered, but together they formed a small wave of sound.
Yet many adult wizards and older students hesitated, their faces clouded with lingering fear. Their lips remained sealed, their gazes complex as they watched the chanting crowd, their throats seemingly locked. Saying the name still demanded immense courage to overcome deep-rooted dread.
Snape's eyes slowly scanned the silent faces, finally resting on the staff table.
"It seems we still have some 'holdouts,'" he said, turning to Professor McGonagall with a teasing tone. "Professor, shall we…" He drew out the pause deliberately, "…toss those unwilling to say the Dark Lord's name overboard? It might cure their cowardice."
"Severus," McGonagall shot him a withering glare, "if I refuse to say Voldemort's name, are you planning to throw me off the ship yourself?"
The hall fell silent again at her words. Even the younger students, who had been shouting excitedly, froze in shock.
Before Snape could respond, a high-pitched, gleeful voice floated down from the crystal chandelier above.
"Professor!" Moaning Myrtle giggled. "But you did say his name! You just said 'Voldemort'—I heard you!"
"Miss Warren!" McGonagall glared up at Myrtle. The ghost stuck out her tongue and retreated into the chandelier, still peeking down.
"Alright, alright," Snape interjected, clearing his throat with a faint smile. "It seems our brave Gryffindor Head has already set an example for us."
"No matter how you look at it, one thing is undeniable," he said, refilling his goblet. "Let us raise our glasses once more to the wizard who dared to face the Dark Lord alone, to the champion who fought for our time and safety—Mr. Grindelwald! Cheers!"
"To Mr. Grindelwald!"
"Thank you, Mr. Grindelwald!"
This time, without prompting or hesitation, the hall resounded with voices.
Students who had shouted the name and adults still grappling with fear stood together, raising their glasses high, their eyes filled with gratitude toward Grindelwald at the center of the table and Snape standing tall.
Grindelwald remained seated, seemingly unmoved by the fervor around him. He picked up his knife and fork, elegantly cutting a small piece of perfectly roasted pork and chewing it slowly.
Yet, if one were close enough—like Snape, standing nearby—they might catch a fleeting glimmer of satisfaction and pleasure in Grindelwald's downcast eyes.
Though his expression remained impassive, the sharp edge of his demeanor seemed to soften ever so slightly, warmed by the moment.
The banquet finally drew to a close in a complex atmosphere. Under the professors' guidance, students left the dining hall in an orderly fashion to return to their common rooms, while house-elves began efficiently clearing the tables.
The few rescued from Azkaban—Madam Kate, the Tonks family, and the Longbottoms—lingered in the hall, their eyes fixed on Grindelwald as he wiped his mouth. The danger of his mission needed no explanation.
Little Nymphadora was the most eager. Breaking free from her mother's grasp, she toddled toward Grindelwald with her short legs. But in her haste, she didn't watch her step and tripped over a chair leg.
"Ouch!" she yelped.
The chair wobbled to one side. Nymphadora lost her balance and fell flat on her back with a thud.
"It's all this chair's fault!" she grumbled from the floor, rubbing her sore bottom. "This is the second time it's tripped me!"
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