The sound of the storm outside seemed to blur into a distant hum.
On the table,Malfoy's smile in the Daily Prophet now felt utterly inconsequential.
Professor Flitwick sat in stunned silence, his mouth slightly agape, his small eyes wide and round, lost in the legendary yet tragic scene—towers in the night, an open cell door, a silent leader, and followers slumped in defeat…
This image clashed irreconcilably with the wild, unstoppable dark wizard he knew, the one who had once swept through Europe.
Severus Snape glanced at the two professors and continued, "For someone like Grindelwald, for a politician and visionary who long ago saw through life and death, things like death or imprisonment—terrors that haunt ordinary people—could not intimidate him.
"The only thing capable of breaking him, of making him willingly confine himself, was the complete collapse of his envisioned utopia, the irrevocable ruin of the path he believed would lead to a greater good.
"When the majority of the wizarding world stood against him, his defeat in that duel of 1945 didn't just crush his power—it fundamentally invalidated his entire philosophy."
"Professors, in that tower, it's not a dangerous prisoner who's locked away, but a man with no desire to escape.
"His war ended over thirty years ago. All that remains is a self-imposed exile in that tower and a history the world has either forgotten or cursed.
"A powerful dark wizard who has lost his ambition might just be a card we can play in our fight against the Dark Lord. The risk is undeniable, but compared to sitting idly by, isn't it worth considering?
"I propose, for Professor Dumbledore's sake, that we make contact with him."
At Snape's final words, Professor McGonagall's arms, crossed tightly over her chest, trembled slightly. For the first time, a faint, reluctant flicker of doubt appeared in her gaze as she looked at him.
She closed her eyes, her expression wavering. Images of the Grindelwald era flashed vividly before her—the wizarding world in Europe gripped by fear, the Muggle world teetering on the brink.
But who else was there, besides the failure imprisoned in Nurmengard's tower?
Two choices lay on the scales: unleash a known shadow to confront the immediate, ruthless tyranny of the Dark Lord, or huddle in the drifting ark, praying for Dumbledore's recovery.
After a long pause, McGonagall slowly opened her eyes and met Snape's gaze.
"Severus," her voice was hoarse, "you've… convinced me. In these circumstances, we may truly have no other choice. We cannot afford to dismiss any potential source of strength. We must go to Nurmengard."
Professor Flitwick was no longer staunchly opposed. His small frame fidgeted uneasily in his chair, his eyes darting between Snape and McGonagall.
McGonagall waved her hand, summoning a magical map from the bookshelf. Her fingers swiftly traced across the table.
"We must plan our route carefully. Nurmengard lies deep in the Austrian Alps, which means crossing half of Europe—a long and perilous journey.
"Given the current situation, the International Floo Network and all known magical transport systems are likely under surveillance by Death Eaters or the Ministry. We need a way for the Founders' Ark to avoid detection…"
"No," Snape interrupted her planning. "Not 'we,' Professor. You cannot take a ship full of students into such a dangerous venture. The target is too large, the risk too great." His eyes swept over the map on the table. "Instead of gambling with an entire ship, it's better to send just one person."
McGonagall and Flitwick both turned to him.
"Then who is suitable for this task?" McGonagall pressed, her gaze piercing.
"I'll go," Snape replied without hesitation, as if stating an indisputable fact. "I'll go alone. You two must stay here, protect Hogwarts' last hope, protect the students—and protect Professor Dumbledore."
"No!" Flitwick's voice rose sharply, nearly leaping from his chair. "It's too dangerous! Sending a student alone to face Grindelwald? Absolutely not, Severus. We know your abilities far exceed your peers, but this—"
"Filius is right," McGonagall cut in sternly. "This is beyond what any student should undertake. Filius and I are better suited for this."
"I am the best option," Snape countered, shaking his head, his eyes burning into theirs. "You two are needed here to maintain order. Professor McGonagall, in Professor Dumbledore's absence, you are the anchor of this ship, the pillar for everyone. Professor Flitwick, your knowledge of charms is critical to keeping this ship concealed and defended." He paused. "More than that, I want to see this legendary dark wizard for myself.
"As for the danger?" He tilted his chin slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "At this point, do you still see me as some ordinary student who needs sheltering in a greenhouse?"
McGonagall fell silent. She studied Snape, forced to acknowledge that this young man, so deeply trusted by Dumbledore, was far beyond the realm of an "ordinary student." His sharp gaze held hers, and she let out a heavy sigh.
She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them, though worry still lingered, her fierce opposition had softened.
"Very well." McGonagall stepped toward an ancient cabinet adorned with the crests of Hogwarts' four houses. She tapped it several times with her wand, revealing a hidden compartment.
From it, she retrieved a small silver badge, intricately engraved with the symbols of the four houses: lion, snake, badger, and eagle, vividly encircling a central shield.
"Take this," she said, handing the badge to Snape. "This is one of the core relics of the Founders' Ark. It will act like a compass, guiding you to the ship's location no matter where you are, whether we're in flight or hiding. Activate it, and it will show you the way home." She offered a faint smile. "Don't lose it."
Snape accepted the badge solemnly, nodding, and tucked it carefully into the inner pocket of his robes.
"What preparations do you need?" McGonagall asked.
"Before I leave, I'd like to see Professor Dumbledore," Snape said without further explanation, turning toward the door. McGonagall and Flitwick exchanged a glance, puzzled but quick to follow.
The three left the captain's cabin and headed to the quieter medical ward below.
The room was filled with the faint scent of potions. The elderly wizard lay in a deep sleep, his face pale, silver beard and hair spilling across the pillow. His serene expression, almost childlike, bore no trace of the wizard who had once dominated an era.
Snape approached the bedside and leaned down. With gentle precision, he snipped a small lock of silver hair from Dumbledore's temple and tucked it into his robes.
"It seems you plan to disguise yourself as Albus to meet Grindelwald," McGonagall observed thoughtfully. "That might help."
"Yes," Snape confirmed with a nod.
"Then perhaps you should take his wand," McGonagall suggested.
At her words, Snape leaned forward again, reaching naturally into the wide pocket of Dumbledore's robes where he always kept his wand, as if retrieving something that belonged to him.
Buzz—
The moment his fingers closed around the wand, a strange hum surged from his fingertips straight to his mind.
It wasn't cold or burning but an indescribable connection. It was as if a missing piece of himself had clicked into place. An ancient, steady, yet destructive power coursed through him, resonating perfectly with his own magic.
There was no resistance, no barrier—only a natural, seamless flow, like breathing. It mirrored the sensation of holding his own acacia wand for the first time, but this was stronger, fiercer, undeniable.
It was no longer a mere tool but an extension of his body, a connection so intuitive it felt like moving his own arm.
"Oh no…" Snape's hand froze around the wand as a dreadful realization hit him. "The Elder Wand has changed hands!"
The lore of the Deathly Hallows, the legend of the Elder Wand, flooded his mind with crystal clarity:
The eldest Peverell brother, after receiving the Elder Wand, had drunkenly boasted in an inn, only to have it stolen from his bedside by another wizard, losing its allegiance.
What had Snape just done? Without Dumbledore's permission, while the wizard lay unconscious, he had "taken" the Elder Wand from his pocket.
Though his intentions differed, his actions fulfilled the logic of the Deathly Hallows' transfer.
Snape stared at the wand in his hand, its texture and the power flowing through it silently confirming: this wand of destiny now recognized him as its master.
He didn't even need to wave it to know it would unleash unprecedented power for him.
Fate had unfolded in an absurd yet inevitable way. He was now the master of the Elder Wand.
He glanced instinctively at the sleeping wizard, wondering what Dumbledore would think when he awoke to find the wand he had once taken from another had inexplicably changed hands.
This mission could only end in success. He had to bring Grindelwald to the ship.
"Severus?" McGonagall's voice, tinged with concern, broke through from behind. "What's wrong? You need the Headmaster's wand—take it."
She gazed at the Elder Wand in Snape's hand, unaware of its true significance.
"I think it's fine," Snape said, his voice slightly strained. "Professor, I'll bring this wand back." Since McGonagall didn't know the wand's true nature, he wasn't sure how—or if—he should explain.
McGonagall, mistaking his hesitation for reverence toward borrowing Dumbledore's wand, offered reassurance. "Take it for now," she said. "Albus won't need it for a while. Using it to complete your mission is the best way to honor him." She frowned, thinking for a moment. "Oh, and you'll need a broom. Follow me."
Snape nodded silently, carefully stowing the Elder Wand alongside the badge.
McGonagall handed him a Comet 1001, a broom renowned for its speed and stability. Snape took it and said, "Professor, please explain to my friends that I have something to take care of and will be gone for a few days. Tell them not to worry." He paused, then added, "Look after them."
"I will," McGonagall said gravely. "Be careful, Severus."
Snape said nothing more. He took the broom and strode toward the deck.
The storm outside had lessened slightly, but thick clouds still churned darkly beneath the ship.
Students milled about on the deck, some peering curiously at him. Among them were familiar faces—Pandora, Lily…
Snape mounted the broom, his gaze lingering briefly on Pandora and Lily's worried expressions.
Then, with a brilliant smile, he waved enthusiastically to the young witches and wizards and the two professors. "I'll be back!"
With that, he kicked off the deck. The Comet 1001 shot forward like an arrow, piercing the ship's flexible magical barrier and vanishing into the roiling gray-black clouds.
Speeding through the heavy storm, he faced swirling gray-white mists, icy rain, and fierce winds. Yet, amidst it all, he felt an odd sense of freedom.
After about a minute, Snape spotted a thinner patch in the clouds and dove sharply downward. His vision cleared.
Below, the churning clouds gave way to vast mountains and rivers.
Lush forests blanketed rolling hills, and winding rivers glinted gray-blue under shafts of light.
He couldn't pinpoint exactly where he had emerged, but that didn't matter.
Descending quickly, Snape landed on an open riverbank near a dense forest, far from any roads, where the river's flow roared steadily.
He scanned his surroundings, ensuring no Muggle or magical traces were nearby.
Then, he drew his acacia wand.
His form blurred, becoming transparent, melding into the shifting light and mist of the evening riverbank.
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