The door to the infirmary swung open again, and Gellert Grindelwald stepped out.
The complex emotions that had flickered across his face were gone, replaced by a mask reminiscent of a middle-aged Albus Dumbledore—short, dark brown hair and an expression of cool indifference.
Madam Rosier silently fell into step behind him, as though she had never left his side.
At the doorway, Gideon and Fabian Prewett snapped to attention, their postures stiffening as they regarded Grindelwald with wary eyes.
Professor McGonagall hurried forward, her gaze darting between Grindelwald and the closed infirmary door.
"Mr. Green," she said, addressing Grindelwald with the alias, her voice heavy with exhaustion but laced with hope, "thank you for lending your assistance. We'll arrange suitable quarters for you and Madam Rosier. And…" She hesitated, then pressed on with the question that weighed most heavily on her mind. "Regarding Albus's condition… do you… have any suggestions?"
"Your handling of the situation has been adequate," Grindelwald replied, adjusting the cuffs of his wizarding robes with a faint smile. "My advice? Be patient. Observe and wait. Let him rest for a while longer."
It wasn't the answer McGonagall had hoped for, but her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.
"I understand. Thank you, Mr. Green."
Grindelwald gave a slight nod before turning to Severus Snape, who stood nearby. "Gather everyone. Where's convenient?"
"The dining hall," Snape replied. "It's large enough." He glanced at McGonagall, who nodded in agreement.
"Very well, the dining hall it is," Grindelwald said, striding forward as though he owned the ship.
After a few steps, he seemed to remember the Prewett brothers at the door. Without turning, he flicked his wand lightly, and an invisible spell settled over them.
"You two, stay here. Don't move an inch. Ensure his safety. You're not needed at the meeting in the dining hall."
Fabian and Gideon exchanged a glance but voiced no objections. "No problem," they said in unison.
The group moved down the corridor, the air still heavy with the faint scent of smoke and blood. The smell grew sharper as they rounded a corner.
Pandora emerged from a cabin door ahead, her silver hair loosely tied back, a few strands falling across her cheeks. Her robes were streaked with dirt and strange green sap, and she carried a sturdy woven basket. Inside were several vibrant red, tightly furled Venomous Tentacula, their leaves closed as if in slumber.
"Severus!" Pandora's face lit up with joy at the sight of Snape leading the group. "You're back!"
"Pandora," Snape said, his eyes carefully scanning her from head to toe before settling on the basket. "You're not hurt, are you?"
"Not at all," Pandora replied, shaking her head, her silver hair swaying.
"You used them?" Snape asked, peering at the Venomous Tentacula in her basket. Their leaves gleamed with a lush green, their red hue vivid and plump.
"Yes," Pandora said, lifting the heavy basket slightly. The plants inside quivered faintly. "Look, their colors have all shifted like this."
Her movement caused McGonagall to instinctively step back, though she quickly caught herself, her cheeks flushing as she stepped forward again.
"Severus," Pandora said, her pale eyes tinged with lingering fear and confusion, "I have to tell you, they're a bit more dangerous than we expected."
Snape nodded gravely, eyeing the vivid red of the plants. "But effective, yes?"
"Very," McGonagall interjected softly. "The Death Eaters… they were bitten quite badly." She hesitated, staring at the eerie plants before speaking again. "Perhaps we should destroy them? They're too dangerous. If they get out of control…"
"Destroy them? Ha!" Grindelwald's low chuckle cut through McGonagall's words.
He stepped forward, his face alight with appreciation as he plucked the reddest, thickest Venomous Tentacula from Pandora's basket. The plant writhed in his hand, emitting a faint squeaking sound as it tried to unfurl its leaves, but it was held firmly in place.
"Such marvelous creations," Grindelwald said, turning the dangerous plant over as though admiring a work of art. He shot McGonagall a look of disapproval. "And you would destroy them? Unacceptable." He tossed the plant back into the basket and turned to Snape. "Keep them. From now on, this place answers to me."
"Mr. Green," McGonagall said sharply, "you can't act so high-handed here. Professor Dumbledore—"
"I believe I can," Grindelwald interrupted. "And I always have."
"Professor," Snape said, turning to McGonagall, "it's no trouble, is it? If Mr. Green is willing to step forward and take responsibility, why should we object?"
McGonagall nodded reluctantly.
Snape took the basket from Pandora. It was heavy, the plants inside exuding a faint scent of blood and earthy musk.
He looked at her. "No stragglers left in the cabins?"
"None," Pandora confirmed. "That was the last one."
"Good," Snape said. "Come with us to the dining hall."
Snape and McGonagall started to move, and Pandora instinctively followed. But Grindelwald paused, his gaze locking onto Pandora, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly.
"Wait," he said, his voice tinged with curiosity. "There's something… familiar about you." His magically disguised eyes studied her intently.
Pandora stopped, her expression puzzled. "Me?"
Snape immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her protectively. "Mr. Green, what makes you say that?"
Grindelwald didn't answer, his attention still fixed on Pandora.
At that moment, a small, emerald-green snake slithered silently from the collar of Pandora's robes. Nagini, sensing the tension and Grindelwald's piercing gaze, raised her head and hissed threateningly, her tongue flicking rapidly.
Grindelwald's eyes snapped to the snake. He stared at Nagini for a long moment, the confusion on his face giving way to dawning realization and an unreadable complexity.
His lips twitched, and he shook his head.
"Well, well," he murmured, as if to himself or perhaps to the snake. "It's you."
The curiosity seemed to drain from him. He waved a hand dismissively. "Never mind. Let's go." Without another word, he turned and continued toward the dining hall.
Snape let out a quiet breath, gently stroking Nagini's head and whispering a few words in Parseltongue. Pandora patted the snake hidden in her robes, and Nagini gradually calmed, retreating back into the folds of her clothing.
The dining hall was abuzz with tension, the air thick with the uneasy murmurs of students who had survived the recent ordeal. When the group appeared at the entrance, all eyes turned to them. Gasps rippled through the room as they spotted the basket of vivid Venomous Tentacula in Snape's hands.
Realizing the impression the plants were making, Snape tapped the basket twice with his wand, attempting to erase the marks on them. But the bright red leaves remained stubbornly vivid. With no other choice, he stowed the dangerous plants in a small charmed bag.
The tension in the room eased slightly.
"This way, Mr. Green," McGonagall said, guiding Grindelwald toward the teachers' table at the far end of the hall.
Grindelwald seated himself unceremoniously in the central chair, clearly the place of honor. Madam Rosier stood behind him like a loyal sentinel, her face expressionless, hands clasped elegantly before her.
His gaze swept the noisy hall, lingering on the faces at each wooden table as though assessing them.
He turned to McGonagall, who had just taken her seat. "Is everyone here?"
"Most of the students and staff are present," McGonagall replied, then added, "There are a few senior students and professors on deck keeping watch, as well as some stationed at key points."
"Call them back," Grindelwald said with a soft huff, leaning back in his chair with an air of effortless arrogance. "With me here, there's no need for extra sentinels baking in the sun. Bring them all to the dining hall. I have important instructions, and everyone should hear them."
McGonagall hesitated, but Grindelwald's unwavering gaze silenced any protest. She raised her wand, and several silver tabby cat Patronuses leaped from its tip, darting swiftly through the dining hall doors to deliver her summons.
The hum of voices in the hall grew louder as students whispered to one another, speculating about the mysterious, powerful stranger and what he might do next.
Soon, footsteps echoed at the entrance. Professor Flitwick's small figure bounded in first, followed by three or four senior students. Behind them came a handful of dusty, travel-worn Order of the Phoenix members, among them a particularly scruffy figure with shifty eyes—Mundungus Fletcher.
Mundungus's small eyes darted around the room as he entered. Spotting Snape at the head table, he waved dramatically. "Oi, Severus! Heard from Minerva you were off on some special mission. Back already? How'd it go?"
"I'm back, Dung," Snape said, eyeing him. "But I didn't see you on deck earlier."
"Me?" Mundungus let out a dry chuckle, brushing off his stained robes with an air of shameless confidence. "I was in the kitchen, mate. The big one down below. That's the real fortress, you know. Didn't budge an inch!" He rubbed his hands together, puffing out his chest. "In a place like this, food's the key strategic resource. More important than all them fancy lookout posts. Gotta guard it from the clever ones, don't I?"
His grand pronouncement drew a sharp glare from McGonagall.
Mundungus quickly toned it down, flashing her a cheeky salute. "Right, right, Professor. Duty calls!" He slunk to a seat in the back row, leaning back and rocking his chair with a carefree grin.
Grindelwald's gaze swept the room again, and he turned to McGonagall. "Are you certain everyone is here?"
McGonagall surveyed the crowded hall, about to nod when Snape spoke up. "Wait," he said, glancing at her and Grindelwald. "Some house-elves aren't here. Should we summon them as well, Mr. Green?"
McGonagall looked to Grindelwald, who shrugged indifferently. "Do as you like. But if we're addressing everyone, they might as well come."
"Understood," McGonagall said, nodding. Her eyes landed on Mundungus, still teetering on his chair. "Mr. Fletcher!"
"Eh? What?" Mundungus nearly toppled over, startled.
"Please go outside and gather all the house-elves on the ship. Mr. Green wishes to address everyone," McGonagall said, her tone brooking no argument. "Now."
"What? Me again?" Mundungus grumbled. "What's the point of seeing those elves…"
But under McGonagall's stern glare, he muttered incomprehensible complaints, hauled himself out of his precariously tilted chair, and shuffled out of the hall under the watchful eyes of the students.
After some time, Mundungus returned, leading a group of nervous house-elves, their large ears twitching. He plopped back into his seat, resuming his chair-balancing act, while the elves huddled cautiously near the walls.
Grindelwald rose slowly. The faint buzz of conversation in the hall vanished, replaced by a silence so deep you could hear a pin drop.
All eyes fixed on him, every face—young and old—etched with confusion, anticipation, or tension.
Grindelwald stepped to the center of the hall, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his steady voice carrying clearly to every ear, "you are living through a dark age. Fear, betrayal, and death are your constant companions. And trust…" He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembly. "…is the most luxurious and dangerous commodity of all."
Without warning, he pointed his wand forward.
A surge of cold, pure flame—brilliant as liquid sapphire—erupted from the tip of his wand.
The fire, breathtaking in its chilling beauty, swirled like a living tidal wave under Grindelwald's command, spinning in a circle before flooding the entire hall in an instant.
"No—!"
"What's he doing?!"
Screams and shouts erupted.
Wizards and witches paled, drawing their wands to defend or counterattack.
But it was too fast. They were too close.
The icy blue Fiendfyre passed through their bodies.
Yet it burned nothing tangible. Like a spectral phantom, it flowed through bodies, tables, chairs, and even walls.
The flames spilled out through doors, windows, floorboards, and ceiling cracks, surging with terrifying speed to every corner of the Founders' Ship.
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