Severus Snape sifted through the remaining miscellaneous items—a Golden Snitch, a Black family crest ring, Chocolate Frog cards, candies, and the like. After a quick inspection to ensure nothing posed a threat, he returned everything except the mirror to Regulus.
With the safety check complete for now, Snape pulled out two high-performance Comet broomsticks.
"Here, take this," he said, shoving one into the hands of Regulus, who was still visibly shaken from the recent events.
Regulus instinctively caught the broom handle, the cold, smooth wood pressing against his palm. He looked down at the familiar tool, his expression flickering with a moment of disorientation.
Then, something remarkable happened.
The moment he habitually parted his legs and swung onto the broom, the fear, cowardice, and anxious uncertainty that had clung to him vanished. In their place came a straightened spine, a slightly raised chin, and a spark of focus and confidence reigniting in his blue eyes.
In that instant, he was no longer the boy cowering beneath the curtains at Grimmauld Place but the spirited Slytherin Seeker soaring across the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts.
"Hold on to me, Kreacher," Regulus said, his voice now steady and composed.
At the command, Kreacher eyed the broom hovering just off the ground, scrambled onto the back, and wrapped his thin arms cautiously around Regulus's waist.
"Follow me," Snape said with a curt nod, kicking off the ground as his broom rose gracefully into the air.
Regulus took a deep breath, pushing down the unease and worry in his chest, and with a firm kick, he shot upward, trailing close behind.
The two brooms soared into a sky painted with the hues of sunset, cutting through wispy clouds. The high-altitude wind whipped through their hair and robes. Regulus, relishing the long-forgotten sensation of freedom and speed, squinted slightly, his tense nerves easing at last.
As they broke through a thick layer of clouds, emerging above a sea of white, the sky exploded in shades of purple and orange, the setting sun casting its final glow. Below them churned a turbulent sea of clouds; above, the heavens burned.
Snape slowed slightly, glancing back to ensure they were still following, then adjusted his broom's direction. "Keep up!" his voice called faintly through the roaring wind.
Their figures accelerated once more.
After about twenty minutes, a massive, hazy silhouette emerged from the clouds ahead. As they drew closer, the grandeur of a majestic magical ship came into view, floating silently at the edge of the sky.
This was their destination—the last bastion of Hogwarts' exiled teachers and students. The evening breeze fluttered the Hogwarts banners hanging from the deck, and the enormous magical sails billowed in the air currents, emitting a low, resonant hum.
Snape reduced his speed, flying side by side with Regulus, guiding him and Kreacher steadily through the barrier. The tail of their brooms brushed lightly against the ship's railing as they landed on the wide deck of the Founders' Ship.
Regulus dismounted with agile ease, reaching out to steady Kreacher, who nearly tumbled to the ground.
"Welcome home," Snape said flatly, taking the broom back from Regulus.
The simple words caught both Regulus, newly arrived on the unfamiliar deck, and Kreacher, clinging tightly to his master's robe, off guard.
"Home? Will this be our new home?" A warmth mixed with trepidation surged within Regulus. Before he could fully process the sentiment, a familiar, energetic voice rang out.
"Severus, you're back! No trouble on the way—wait!" The diminutive Professor Flitwick came running over, stopping short when he spotted the figure beside Snape. "Merlin's oversized bloomers!" he squeaked in delight. "Regulus Black? Oh, it's really you! It's wonderful to see you, lad!"
He started to rush forward for a hug but halted abruptly, his joy giving way to caution. His eyes scanned Regulus's pale, youthful face, and his voice lowered. "But… lad, you…"
"Professor Flitwick," Snape interjected, stepping forward. "Regulus has just escaped the Death Eaters' clutches and chosen to stand with us, on the side of justice. Though, for now, it seems we're the underdogs."
Flitwick's gaze remained wary, fixed on Regulus.
Understanding his hesitation, Snape reached out and pulled up Regulus's arm. Regulus flinched instinctively but forced himself to stay still as Snape rolled up his black sleeve, revealing pale, unmarred skin.
Flitwick leaned closer, his small eyes narrowing as he inspected the area where the Dark Mark might have been. He touched it lightly with his fingers, his brow gradually relaxing.
"Impressive spellwork!" he said, looking up at Snape with admiration.
"Regulus, my boy, welcome home," Flitwick said, his expression softening as he turned to Regulus. "Come with me. I'll take you to see Professor McGonagall. We'll need to discuss a few things." He extended a small hand, gesturing for Regulus to follow.
"You too, Severus," Flitwick added, glancing at Snape. "After all, you're the one who brought him."
In the spacious, warm captain's cabin, Professor McGonagall sat behind a desk, her expression stern, hands clasped tightly. Snape leaned silently against the doorframe while Flitwick sat in an armchair, watching with concern.
With Kreacher's halting additions, Regulus recounted the hellish months he'd endured. He described being forced to witness the Death Eaters' "hunts" of Muggle for sport, scenes that haunted his mind like nightmares.
Worse still was his cousin Bellatrix, who, in a frenzy of sadistic glee, had once screamed at him to join in torturing a captured elderly Muggle. He couldn't do it. He shrank back, cowardly avoiding her command.
But his refusal only earned Bellatrix's wrath and humiliating insults, branding him a "weak disgrace to the Black name," followed by the searing pain of the Cruciatus Curse.
In his fear and crumbling faith, his other cousin, Narcissa, had offered him a lifeline: escape to the exiled Hogwarts, the true Hogwarts.
"I… I couldn't take it anymore… the screams… their eyes…" Regulus's voice was hoarse, his hands clenched into fists on his knees, eyes shut as his body trembled.
McGonagall stood, walked around the desk, and approached him. Her usually stern face softened with compassion. Hesitating briefly, she placed a gentle hand on his tense shoulder.
"Don't be afraid, child. Don't dwell on those horrors anymore," she said. "You're safe here. No one will hurt you, and no one will force you to do anything against your will. You've done well, choosing the right path. That takes immense courage."
Her gaze, however, drifted past Regulus to Snape, carrying a questioning look.
Snape nodded firmly. "Professor," he said quietly, "Narcissa is, as you know, something of an ally. This time, my trip was to meet with her."
"Regulus," Snape continued, stepping closer to the desk as Regulus's emotions settled, "Hogwarts—the castle, I mean—what's it like now?"
The question drew McGonagall and Flitwick's attention back to Regulus.
Wiping his tears, Regulus exhaled shakily. "It's… it's mostly normal, I suppose," he said, his gaze unsteady. "At least, classes are still happening. Since you took all the Muggle-bor—"
Snape's cold stare cut him off mid-sentence.
Regulus flinched, realizing his mistake, panic flashing across his face. "Sorry! Muggle-born students!" he corrected hastily. "Since they're gone, the remaining students—pure-bloods and half-bloods—haven't faced much trouble."
"Well… not entirely trouble-free," he added, licking his lips nervously. "We've been reorganized. Pure-bloods live together now, in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers, and eat at the same table. Half-bloods are in Hufflepuff's dorms. The Slytherin dungeons have been sealed off, supposedly to protect 'valuable artifacts.'"
"And there's only one house now…" He glanced at McGonagall, his voice dropping. "Slytherin. The other houses' banners have been removed. The curriculum's changed, too. Defense Against the Dark Arts is now called 'Practical Magical Applications,' taught by rotating Death Eaters. The lessons are… terrifying."
Snape snorted, breaking the silence. "That's not the worst of it. At least it proves we were right to act. If we'd left Muggle-born students in that castle, they'd probably be crammed in the kitchens with the house-elves, sipping broth from a cupboard—if they were lucky enough to get any."
McGonagall nodded gravely, agreeing with Snape's assessment.
"Alright," she said, ringing a small bell on her desk. "Get some rest, Regulus."
Moments later, a neatly dressed house-elf in a tea towel knocked on the door. "Professor McGonagall?" the elf said, bowing respectfully, then turning to bow to Snape, who acknowledged her with a slight nod.
"Mipple," McGonagall said, gesturing to Regulus and Kreacher, "take Mr. Black and his house-elf to the vacant C-7 cabin and help them settle in. Make sure they're familiar with the ship's rules and living areas."
"And," she added, glancing at Kreacher, "this is Kreacher, Mr. Black's house-elf. Inform Hokey in the kitchens that Kreacher is skilled at making French onion soup, stews, and pies. He can assist there."
"Yes, Professor," Mipple replied brightly, gesturing to Regulus and Kreacher. "This way, sir."
Regulus gave a grateful nod to the group before following Mipple out of the captain's cabin, Kreacher trailing close behind, still clutching his robe.
Once the door closed, McGonagall turned to Snape, her tone serious. "I'll have the house-elves keep an eye on Regulus's condition. That boy…" She frowned. "You handled this well, Severus, but we must remain vigilant."
"I understand," Snape replied. "Everyone's safety comes first."
Time passed swiftly.
In the days that followed, "Mr. Green" took over Professor Flitwick's Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons, much to the relief of the overworked Flitwick, who was juggling multiple roles.
However, Gellert Grindelwald's first lesson hit a snag. While demonstrating a flamboyant casting technique on the move, he misjudged the cabin floor's traction and nearly fell. Though he caught himself, the former dark wizard was clearly irked by his "blunder."
Suspiciously, he inspected the floor and scrutinized every student in the room before grimly announcing a temporary suspension of his classes.
After Flitwick filled in for another week, Grindelwald returned to the classroom, exuding unusual confidence and a barely concealed eagerness to show off his preparations. Whatever he'd been working on during that week remained a mystery, but his lessons became noticeably more "thrilling."
By late November, the exiles' long-planned secret radio station, Hogwarts Watchpost, finally launched. Its broadcasts pierced the clouds, reaching across the British Isles.
The station's content directly condemned the Death Eaters' regime, exposing their systematic persecution and slaughter of Muggle and non-pure-blood communities. Presenters, with voices heavy with grief and anger, reported chilling accounts of atrocities, revealing how, under the new regime, Muggle killings had escalated from covert operations to near-public displays of depraved "entertainment."
Notably, thanks to the efforts of Dirk Cresswell—a Muggle-born wizard, former Slug Club member, and key figure in the resistance—the Hogwarts Watchpost began broadcasting in Goblin, Giant, and even Troll languages.
Though Cresswell privately grumbled to Snape that broadcasting to "dim-witted" trolls was a waste of time and magic—"A ton of muscle with brains the size of bogeys; they can't even understand it!"—Snape reassured him: "If we don't claim the airwaves, the enemy will. Even influencing one giant makes it worthwhile."
In truth, Snape knew Cresswell's reluctance stemmed partly from the embarrassment of grunting Trollish "hrrk hrrk" sounds under others' scrutiny.
But results mattered most.
Surprisingly, despite the Death Eaters' tight grip on Gringotts, the station's staff discovered that their audience included a number of dissatisfied Goblin employees. Clearly, these Gringotts workers, disgruntled by the Ministry's takeover of the bank, were quietly tuning in to the outside world's storm.
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