The next issue of The Daily Prophet featured a follow-up report on the appearance of the Dark Mark at Hogwarts.
The article fiercely denounced the barbaric actions of the Dark Lord's forces, condemning the Death Eaters' deeds with strong words and expressing the Ministry of Magic's profound shock and resolve.
It concluded by stating that the Ministry had urgently convened to devise countermeasures and would take decisive action.
"What does it say?" Professor Flitwick asked.
Snape pushed the newspaper toward him.
Professor Flitwick immediately stood on tiptoe, eagerly scanning the text. A look of confusion crossed his face. "They say the Ministry will take measures. What measures?"
Professor McGonagall let out a suppressed huff through her nose and stepped forward. From the stack of newspapers she had brought, she pulled out one from the bottom—its pages still crisp, the faint scent of fresh ink lingering. It was the latest edition of The Daily Prophet, printed that very day.
She unfolded the paper, spreading it across the entire table.
When Professor Flitwick saw the large front-page photo and headline, he gasped.
Dominating the center of the page was a meticulously enhanced photograph, its background the familiar silhouette of Hogwarts Castle.
The man in the photo had neatly combed, pale blond hair and a strikingly handsome face, pale and flawless, with an affable smile. He blinked elegantly at the camera, one slow wink at a time.
Above the photo, a bolded, blackened magical font caught the trio's eyes: Ministry Seeks Educational Reform: Abraxas Septimus Malfoy Appointed as New Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Professor Flitwick practically scrambled onto a nearby chair, desperate to get a clearer view of the newspaper.
With trembling hands, he grabbed the paper, his voice rising to a near-shriek as he read aloud:
"In a late-night emergency motion, the Ministry of Magic passed the groundbreaking Hogwarts Emergency Management Act and related amendments, enabling it to ensure the smooth operation of this ancient institution under exceptional circumstances and to safeguard the interests of all students, staff, and the broader wizarding community.
"The Daily Prophet has learned that, for some time, the wizarding world has grown increasingly uneasy about Hogwarts' current state—its teaching direction, management practices, student demographics, and safety measures. In response to the deep concerns voiced by parents, the Ministry has acted swiftly and decisively to address this widespread unease.
"It is under these urgent circumstances, to restore order, ensure safety, and reclaim Hogwarts' rightful glory, that Mr. Malfoy has been formally appointed as the new Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, following careful nomination and approval by a special committee of senior Ministry officials.
"Mr. Malfoy is a highly respected figure in the wizarding world, a successful philanthropist with profound expertise in magical theory and educational philosophy.
"In an interview with reporters, he displayed his characteristic humility: 'To be honest, I had no personal desire to take on this role,' he said with a gentle smile, his eyes earnest. 'It runs counter to my wish for a quiet life.
"'However, as a current teacher at the school, upon learning of its struggles and the concerns of its students and staff, I felt a profound sense of duty—a duty to the future of our children and the foundation of the wizarding world.'
"Mr. Malfoy also acknowledged the challenges ahead: 'Hogwarts faces a monumental task of rebuilding, one that no single person can accomplish alone. In particular, the critical position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, due to my limited capacity, cannot be filled by me personally, as originally planned.
"'Hogwarts is now opening applications to the entire British wizarding community, inviting all outstanding witches and wizards dedicated to educational reform to apply for this vital role and contribute to purifying the school and reshaping elite education.'…"
Professor Flitwick could read no further. His entire body trembled.
"Rubbish! Malfoy? Headmaster?! What does he know about Hogwarts? What does he know about education?" His voice, sharp with disbelief, rose to a piercing pitch. "Albus is still alive! They… the Ministry—how dare they?!" He jerked his head up, staring at Professor McGonagall. "They're tearing apart centuries of principles and tradition! This is usurpation! It's—"
"They dare, of course," Snape interrupted, his tone blunt. "This report itself is the clearest proclamation." He spoke without hesitation. "The Ministry has effectively fallen. The struggle between school and Ministry authority is, for now, over."
His cold assertion plunged the cabin into silence, broken only by the rumble of thunder outside.
Professor Flitwick set the newspaper back on the table, sliding off the chair in a daze. His small frame curled into the armchair, as if he had aged decades in moments.
"What do we do now?" he murmured after a long pause, his voice laced with unprecedented uncertainty.
"We press on," Snape said calmly. "We protect the students. We find allies. We bide our time."
"Of course, given the Dark Lord's overwhelming personal power," he continued, his gaze sweeping over Professor McGonagall's tightly pressed lips and Professor Flitwick's vacant expression, "we need a fulcrum, Professors.
"We must find someone capable of standing against the Dark Lord. This ship," he gestured to the floor beneath them, "no matter how ancient or powerful its magic, is essentially a floating island. If he—or one of his trusted lieutenants—discovers the trail of the Founders' Vessel, this ship and everyone aboard it…"
Snape trailed off, but the implication was clear. Without Dumbledore's protection, a ship soaring through the skies, even with Hogwarts' most elite wizards, was like a lamb awaiting slaughter in the face of absolute power.
Professor McGonagall leaned wearily against the edge of the wooden table, sighing. Her gaze, complex and conflicted, rested on the young man before her, who now seemed almost a stranger.
"Severus," she said, "if a few more years pass, with your talent, I believe you could approach that level. But the wizarding world as it stands now?" She shook her head heavily. "Aside from Albus, who lies in slumber, there isn't another wizard in all of Europe with the power to face the Dark Lord head-on.
"Even Albus' old friend, Nicolas Flamel," she shook her head again, her voice dry, "his greatness lies in alchemy, in longevity, not in combat. Time has dulled his edge. He's too old."
"Wait!" Professor Flitwick suddenly bolted upright in his armchair. He stared at Snape, his voice shrill. "You… you weren't referring to him, were you? You weren't joking before?!"
He recalled a moment from days ago, when they were at a loss, and Snape, standing by the comatose Dumbledore's bedside, had seemingly offhandedly mentioned a figure who once made the entire European wizarding world tremble, forcing the International Confederation of Wizards to unite against him.
"Why not him, Professor?" Snape met his gaze steadily. "Aside from him, I truly cannot think of another living person who meets our requirements."
"Absolutely not!" Professor McGonagall stood bolt upright, her exhaustion replaced by fierce opposition and concern. "Gellert Grindelwald is another immense threat, a dark wizard no less dangerous than the Dark Lord."
"His ideals would drive the wizarding world to the brink of destruction. To seek his help?" She was almost interrogating Snape. "That's no different from selling our souls to the devil for survival—or leaping from one inferno into another, hotter, more uncontrollable blaze! Releasing him could unleash consequences far worse and more unpredictable than the Dark Lord's reign!"
"Minerva's right. It's too reckless," Professor Flitwick nodded slightly. "Grindelwald's ideals are too dangerous. We can't risk unleashing another dark wizard, Severus. It won't do."
Snape listened quietly to their objections, his expression unchanging.
When their impassioned voices paused, he spoke in a calm tone:
"Fear is clouding your judgment, Professors. Let me ask you a simple question: do you truly believe that the cold, towering walls of Nurmengard can hold Gellert Grindelwald?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pressed on. "Or do you believe that the Dementors of Azkaban, acting on instinct, could truly contain our Professor Dumbledore?"
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, then hesitated.
"The answer is obvious, isn't it?" Snape gave a slight shrug. "Both possess the power and intellect to leave their prisons. The only difference is whether they choose to—and how much time it would take." He stepped forward, hands braced on the table, leaning slightly. "And you seem to be missing a key point:
"We shouldn't equate Grindelwald—a political leader with a clear agenda to reshape the world order—with the Dark Lord, an extremist who relies on deception and slaughter to seize power. Their goals, methods, and beliefs are fundamentally different."
"Step back, Professor," he said, looking at McGonagall. "Can you tell me if you've ever heard of any specific, powerful magical measures in Nurmengard—beyond its stone walls and iron bars—designed to prevent Grindelwald's escape? Something like the Dementors at Azkaban? Or perhaps a powerful magical contract?"
Professor McGonagall furrowed her brow, searching her memory. Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, a complex emotion passing through them.
"There don't seem to be any specific records," Professor Flitwick said, shaking his head in confusion. "Though it seems illogical…"
"Let me jog your memory," Snape's voice lowered, carrying the weight of hidden knowledge. "According to reliable accounts in Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of Dark Magic, and especially Significant Magical Events of the Twentieth Century…
"Beyond the cold, sturdy, but ultimately mundane stone and steel, the cell at the top of Nurmengard's highest tower—where Grindelwald is held—has no additional powerful magical protections."
"Yes, Professors, aside from despair itself, there is nothing else," he said, pausing for emphasis. "And the latest edition of Significant Magical Events of the Twentieth Century includes a little-known anecdote in its appendix.
"In the twentieth year of Grindelwald's imprisonment, a witch named Vinda Rosier—one of his most loyal and core followers—escaped from a high-security French Ministry prison through sheer strength and determination."
"You've read those history books that closely?" Professor Flitwick let out a low gasp.
Snape rolled his eyes and continued. "Her goal was clear. After her escape, Madam Rosier endured countless hardships, crossing borders and evading capture, until she reached the snowy mountains of Austria and climbed Nurmengard's towering prison. With the simplest unlocking charm she knew—"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the professors' rapt faces.
"And then?" Professor Flitwick couldn't help but ask, his voice urgent.
"And then, the door opened. What did she see?" Snape's voice slowed. "In that small, frigid cell, the only furniture was a narrow, hard bed. And on that bed sat a figure.
"A man far older and frailer than Grindelwald in his prime.
"No joyous reunion, no heartfelt words from a leader. It was as if the years of imprisonment had drained every ounce of his vitality, leaving only a gaunt frame and profound weariness.
"Madam Rosier rushed into the cell, her face alight with joy. She called out to him, telling him of the world outside, of followers still awaiting his call, of freedom within reach.
"But the man merely raised his eyelids."
Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, as if mimicking those sunken eyes. "With eyes that once blazed with fervent fire, now still as stagnant pools, he gazed at her silently.
"There was no light in the room, only moonlight filtering through the window. In that dimness, a faint smile crossed Grindelwald's face. He said, 'Leave, Vinda. I'm not going.'"
"According to the records, that powerful witch, who would have faced any peril for him, seemed in that moment as if all her strength had been sapped. No pleading, no arguing, not even a question.
"She sank slowly, silently, to the cold floor. No tears, no screams, only a hollow silence.
"She sat there, listening to the wind howl outside the tower.
"After some time—minutes, perhaps hours—when French and German Aurors, alerted to her presence, stormed the tower like hunters closing in on prey, Madam Rosier offered no resistance.
"She stood calmly, brushed the dust from her robes, and took one last look at the man sitting on the bed like a statue. She let the Aurors relock the iron door she had fought so hard to open and allowed them to take her away.
"And Grindelwald, from beginning to end, never left that bed."
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