The intruder seemed immensely pleased with himself for blasting the door open, his mouth already opening to unleash a triumphant proclamation or a menacing threat.
However, the moment he stepped through the doorway, before he could even take in the office or utter a single word, a blinding flash of green light struck him square in the chest.
The Death Eater's body stiffened instantly, the eyes behind his mask losing all spark. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he collapsed backward with a heavy thud onto the debris-strewn floor, silent and still.
"Accio wand!" Severus Snape thought silently.
Catching the wand that flew toward him with his left hand, he remained on high alert, maintaining his stance with the wand aimed at the doorway.
Snape tilted his head, listening intently for several seconds. Apart from a faint, suppressed groan of pain in the distance, there was no other sound.
Confirming no further enemies were approaching, he muttered under his breath, his tone laced with surprise and wariness, "Just one?"
He slowly lowered his wand and turned to face the shaken Prime Minister and his companions. "Prime Minister, we need to leave. Now."
Jim Hacker's gaze was still fixed on the motionless black-robed figure at the door, his body trembling slightly. Swallowing hard, he asked in a hoarse voice, "That… that man… what happened to him?"
"Dead," Snape replied, glancing briefly at the body before turning back to Hacker. "Prime Minister, I trust I don't need to demonstrate the power of magic to you again?"
Hacker shook his head numbly, and Snape addressed the rattled trio. "Come on, grab hold of me. We're leaving now!"
With a soft pop, the four appeared in the shadows of a quiet alley, just steps away from the true entrance to the magical safehouse.
The sensation of Apparition was deeply unpleasant, especially for Muggles unaccustomed to it. The cold, fresh air filled their lungs, but Hacker, Humphrey, and Bernard were pale as paper, their stomachs churning violently. Hacker even leaned against a wall, dry-heaving.
Snape ignored their discomfort, swiftly using magic to usher them into an unremarkable brick terraced house hidden between the buildings on either side.
The interior was simple yet cozy, infused with a faint magical aura.
With Snape's assistance, the three staggered to the living room and collapsed onto the sofa, still looking as though their souls had been yanked out of their bodies.
"Something to drink, gentlemen?" Snape asked, standing by a low cabinet in the corner. "Tea? Coffee? Or perhaps something else? It'll help with the discomfort."
He was met only with heavy breathing and vacant stares. Hacker clutched his forehead, Humphrey squeezed his eyes shut as if fighting dizziness, and Bernard stared blankly at a portrait of a snoring old wizard on the wall.
After a few seconds of silence, Snape decided for them. "Coffee it is, then."
He flicked his wand at the coffee grinder and cabinet behind the counter.
The lid of a sealed canister twisted open silently, and coffee beans floated into the grinder, which hummed softly. A kettle filled itself with water, heated, and boiled. Ground coffee poured into a filter, and hot water cascaded over it, filling the room with the rich aroma of brewing coffee.
Three pristine white porcelain cups floated out of the cabinet, landing neatly on the coffee table in front of the sofa. The coffee pot levitated, its spout aligning with each cup, pouring steaming dark liquid in a steady stream.
Finally, the three cups of coffee floated up, hovering in front of Hacker, Humphrey, and Bernard.
This mesmerizing display finally snapped the three shell-shocked men out of their daze, their scattered gazes focusing on the scene.
Sir Humphrey was the first to regain a sliver of composure. With a trembling hand, he reached out and took the floating coffee cup in front of him.
The warmth of the cup seemed to ground him slightly. He inhaled the coffee's aroma deeply, then glanced around the magically protected space, his expression complex. A question that had long plagued him slipped out: "Why haven't you wizards taken over the world?"
Snape prepared a cup of black coffee for himself, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly at the question.
"Rule the world?" He took a sip and continued, "An amusing but pointless notion, Sir Humphrey. You could say magic isn't all-powerful—it always comes with a cost. Or that our internal conflicts are just as brutal as yours.
"But the simplest, most practical reason? Your population is simply too vast, while wizards are pitifully few in number."
"Back to the matter at hand." He gestured toward an old-fashioned rotary phone at the far end of the room. "You're absolutely safe here. The phone line is secure, untraceable, and untappable. You can maintain necessary contact with the outside world."
"Phone!" The word lit a spark in Sir Humphrey's eyes. He set down his coffee cup and turned to Bernard, barking orders at a rapid clip. "Bernard, contact the Whitehall Emergency Command Center immediately. Report the Prime Minister's change of location and confirm his safety. Have them dispatch medical and support teams to the previous safehouse at once to treat the wounded and handle the aftermath."
"Yes, Sir Humphrey," Bernard replied, suppressing his discomfort as he lunged for the phone and began dialing.
Seeing Sir Humphrey spring into action, Hacker seemed to recover slightly, though his voice was still weak. "Mr. Snape, when can we leave this place?"
"Perhaps soon," Snape replied without committing to a timeline. "But I can't guarantee it. That depends on the Death Eaters' movements and the success of our operations." He looked at Humphrey and Hacker. "To restore normalcy sooner, I mentioned a potential collaboration to Sir Humphrey earlier.
"Specifically, we'd like access to some of your modern weapons—firearms, light artillery—and training for our people on their operation and maintenance."
"Weapons?!" Hacker exclaimed, leaning back instinctively, his voice laced with resistance. "Impossible! Mr. Snape, weapons are strictly regulated, especially high-powered ones. It's against our laws and security policies. We absolutely cannot—"
"Mr. Snape," Sir Humphrey interjected smoothly, cutting off the Prime Minister's outburst, "please forgive the Prime Minister's reaction. We understand your urgency to use every means to fight your enemies. But could you clarify what exactly you need these Muggle weapons for?
"After all, as we just witnessed, magic seems far more direct and effective. The elite guards we stationed there, along with their weapons, didn't seem to fare well against your magic."
"Naturally, they'd be used to eliminate Death Eaters more efficiently and end this chaos affecting both our worlds," Snape said candidly. "I won't deny that, in terms of raw magical power, we're currently at a slight disadvantage.
"Thus, we're considering additional, non-magical means to bridge the gap, increase our odds, and reduce casualties.
"Muggle weapons, when used at the right moment by those skilled in magic, could complement our efforts and produce unexpected results. This would also allow you all to resume normal lives sooner."
"Even so," Hacker said, his brow still furrowed, "we can't provide you with state-of-the-art, high-powered weapons. That's a matter of national security."
Sir Humphrey let out an almost imperceptible sigh. He stood and gave Hacker a subtle look. "Prime Minister, may I have a word?" He nodded toward a corner of the room.
Hacker blinked, confused. "Er, yes, of course, Humphrey."
Humphrey shot him another pointed glance, accompanied by a small gesture, urging him to follow. Realizing his mistake, Hacker stood awkwardly and followed Humphrey to the corner, out of Snape's earshot.
"Prime Minister," Humphrey whispered, "helping them is in our best interest. First, they clearly don't need our weapons to overpower us—their own power is more than sufficient. Providing weapons would help them defeat our shared enemies, those black-robed lunatics.
"Second, if they win and restore order to the wizarding world, these terrorist attacks against us will stop.
"Third," he leaned closer, his voice barely audible, "by helping them, we're essentially arming one faction of wizards to fight another. This could weaken their overall threat to us by exploiting their internal divisions."
"But, Humphrey," Hacker protested, his face conflicted, "we can't give them advanced weapons. It's a matter of principle. And they clearly don't want obsolete junk."
"We could provide…" Humphrey gritted his teeth, "…'decommissioned' 'retired' modern weapons."
"Humphrey," Hacker's eyes widened, "that's corruption!"
"It's strategy, Prime Minister!" Humphrey countered. "An extraordinary measure for extraordinary times. Your safety—and the nation's—is paramount.
"Think of that silver-masked figure at the door, that green light. Reports have mentioned that spell before! Do you want to live in fear of that every day?"
Hacker shuddered, the image of the black-robed figure collapsing flashing through his mind. His face flickered with emotions as he fell silent.
"You're right, Humphrey," he said at last. "We have a duty to help our allies in their time of need."
"Yes, Prime Minister," Humphrey replied with a slight bow.
The two returned to the sofa area, having reached an agreement.
"Mr. Snape," Humphrey said, his composure restored, "after careful consideration, we find your proposal highly constructive.
"In these unprecedented times, transcending traditional boundaries and pursuing cross-disciplinary collaboration is essential to maintaining the stability and order we both seek.
"Britain's interests and security come first, and at this moment, aiding our allies is central to those interests."
He glanced at Hacker, who nodded solemnly in agreement.
Humphrey continued, "You can provide a list of specific requirements. We'll arrange a secure, confidential location where trusted personnel can train your selected individuals. As for equipment, we'll provide materials that meet 'training needs' and 'safety standards' based on the situation."
"Thank you," Snape said with a slight nod. "I appreciate your enlightened decision. We can arrange reliable wizard escorts to ensure your safety while allowing brief outings for essential duties or fresh air."
"But until it's fully safe," he added, looking at Hacker, "I strongly recommend you remain here, Prime Minister. It's the safest option." After a pause, he continued, "If any of you experience minor ailments or need specialized potions to manage stress, you can contact us through that portrait." He pointed to the still-dozing wizard's portrait on the wall.
The remaining details were settled quickly in an unspoken understanding, and Snape bid them farewell, returning to the Founders' Ship above the sea of clouds.
Time passed amid undercurrents of tension.
Soon, the biting winter wind couldn't dispel the festive atmosphere spreading across the Founders' Ship as Christmas approached.
The deck's cabins were adorned with handmade garlands and magical snowflakes crafted by the students, simple but heartfelt. A massive Christmas tree, brought by a Phoenix Order member on a mission, stood in the center of the dining hall, decorated with softly glowing magical stars.
The teachers prepared small gifts for each student—perhaps a vial of practical Pepperup Potion, a charmed notebook, or a set of delicate potion-making tools. Though modest compared to the mountains of gifts at Hogwarts in years past, these tokens were cherished deeply in these turbulent, exiled days.
To everyone's delight, on Christmas Eve, the Prewett brothers arrived, weary but bearing a massive package with a tag in Molly Weasley's handwriting: "To the Heroes of Hogwarts."
Inside were thick, colorful sweaters she had knitted by hand for everyone on the ship—students, staff, and even house-elves—each embroidered with the recipient's initials. Alongside each sweater was a small box of Molly's homemade fudge.
In addition to a dark green sweater with "S.S." embroidered on it, Snape received an unexpectedly larger box containing two elegantly wrapped boxes of fudge and a Christmas card. Molly's message read:
"…Thank you for the Calming Draught you made for me. In these days of worrying over my two troublesome brothers, your potion has given me a few hours of restful sleep each night…
"…And for the little girl in my belly (I hope!), thank you again… By the way, Arthur tried some of your Calming Draught recently, and it worked wonders… Merry Christmas, and may Merlin bless us all with safety…"
Life on the ship alternated between tense moments and bursts of laughter.
Core Phoenix Order members, along with carefully selected senior students from the One Heart Society, began leaving the Founders' Ship in small groups.
Through secure channels arranged by Sir Humphrey, they were taken to a remote coastal site in Britain, a decommissioned artillery range guarded by the Royal Army.
There, retired Special Air Service (SAS) instructors, skilled in "forgetting" sensitive details, trained them rigorously in Muggle weaponry.
For pureblood wizards like Pandora and Patrick Abbott, the experience was unforgettable. Their first live-fire exercise left their shoulders numb from recoil, but they were soon captivated by what they dubbed "Muggle explosive curses."
Even the typically arrogant Barty Crouch Jr. had to suppress his disdain after witnessing a large-caliber sniper rifle punch a hole through a thick steel target from a kilometer away—an attack his Shield Charm couldn't withstand.
When they were taken to an open field and saw a howitzer shell obliterate a simulated position, leaving a meters-wide crater and shredding dummy targets with its shockwave, everyone fell silent.
A shared thought arose: using such raw destructive power in wizarding combat, even against Death Eaters, might be… too cruel, too inhumane.
After the brief shock and discussions about this new power, life on the ship returned to its usual rhythm.
But the calm didn't last long.
On a dreary, snow-dusted afternoon, several Phoenix Order members breached the barrier, landing on the icy deck with three bound figures in tow.
The captives were individuals everyone assumed had parted ways long ago—or worse, met a grim fate:
James Potter, weathered and hollow-eyed; Sirius Black, clad in tattered clothes, his former bravado replaced by exhaustion and gloom; and Peter Pettigrew, trembling and cowering, his fearful eyes darting as if he'd been dragged off his broom.
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