Severus Snape's wand hand froze in midair. A bone-deep chill swept through him, as if his very soul had been laid bare, though his body remained unscathed.
Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and everyone else in the dining hall felt the same dreadful cold in the instant the flames passed through them.
The panicked screams abruptly ceased, replaced by uncertain, gasping breaths.
But the brief moment of relief was shattered by sounds rising from the depths of the ship. From what seemed to be the lower storage hold or the makeshift prisoner cells, a series of chilling, distorted wails echoed faintly.
The sound was laden with indescribable pain and despair, piercing through the layers of deck and resonating clearly in the newly silenced dining hall.
Those who had just recovered from the illusory flames went pale with fear, their faces drained of color as they instinctively glanced down at the floor beneath their feet.
Mundungus Fletcher gave a violent start, toppling backward with his wobbly chair and crashing to the ground in a heap. "Merlin's tattered socks!" he muttered under his breath, scrambling to his feet. Trembling, he fumbled in his pocket with a grimy hand, pulling out a filthy black pipe. Without looking, he shoved it into his mouth, his other hand shaking as he reached for his wand to light it.
But before he could aim his wand at the pipe, his eyes met Gellert Grindelwald's casual glance. The pipe clattered from his bloodless lips, rolling across the cold floor before coming to a stop. Mundungus froze as if petrified.
Thankfully, the agonizing screams didn't last long.
A mere few seconds later, the sound cut off as if strangled, fading into silence. Only the faint crackling of something burning softly lingered from the ship's depths.
"Professor McGonagall!" Hagrid cried out, his voice breaking. "That's where they're keepin' the captured Death Eaters!"
"It's not just that…" McGonagall's face grew grim. She had been so focused on the students and Order members that she'd completely forgotten about the disarmed and bound prisoners held in the lower hold.
"And other places…" she continued, her voice faltering as she and the other Order members gripped their wands tightly, their faces ashen. "Sturgis Podmore—he's still down there…"
Grindelwald seemed utterly unperturbed by their panic or McGonagall's words. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips.
With an elegant flick of his wand, the icy blue flames that had spread outward retreated like a receding tide, surging back into the dining hall with startling speed. They were denser now, more ferocious, their hue deepening to an almost black indigo. The sprawling sea of fire coalesced into a vivid, powerful blue dragon, brimming with energy.
"You mean him?" Grindelwald's voice finally broke the silence.
The crowd's attention snapped to the dragon's gleaming claws, which clutched a limp human figure. The man's eyes were closed, his face deathly pale, but his chest rose and fell faintly—he was still alive. It was Sturgis Podmore, a member of the Order of the Phoenix.
"Sturgis!" McGonagall and several other Order members gasped, a mix of shock and relief washing over them. They had been steeped in grief and anger, believing they'd lost a comrade, only to see Grindelwald bring him back unharmed.
"So many people in this dining hall, and all of them are your allies? Quite the feat," Grindelwald remarked lightly. "But," his gaze swept over McGonagall and the others, "not only do you keep your enemies alive, you didn't even notice someone hiding on this ship? And you locked your own people up with that filth?"
"He might've been under the Imperius Curse," McGonagall explained, her voice tinged with relief. "It was Sturgis who threw the smoke bombs in the corridor to cause chaos. We thought he'd betrayed us."
"The Imperius Curse?" Grindelwald scoffed. "Perhaps you should teach him how to resist such amateur tricks." With another wave of his wand, the dragon's claw released Sturgis, letting his body fall toward the ground.
McGonagall rushed forward, catching him carefully and checking his condition.
Grindelwald, seemingly satisfied, prepared to reabsorb the coiling blue dragon. But in the instant his will commanded it, something unexpected happened.
The dragon didn't obey. Instead, it spun sharply in the air, its head of cold blue flames turning toward Snape. Its hollow yet willful eyes locked onto him.
With a silent roar, it opened its fanged maw, brandishing its sharp, fiery claws, and lunged at Snape.
"Severus!"
The cry erupted again.
Lily and those nearest to Snape reacted without hesitation, firing red Stunning Spells at Grindelwald. Pandora, quick to respond, reached for her waist and hurled a tightly closed Venomous Tentacula with force, aiming straight for Grindelwald.
Facing the barrage of spells and the dangerous plant, Grindelwald merely raised an eyebrow. His wand traced a half-circle in front of him, conjuring an invisible barrier that dissipated the Stunning Spells on impact.
At the same time, his other hand shot out, catching the flying Venomous Tentacula. The plant thrashed violently in his grip, its leaves snapping open to reveal jagged teeth that sank into the sleeve of his robe.
Meanwhile, the blue dragon reached Snape, engulfing him entirely in its icy flames.
As before, Snape's body wasn't burned.
But the moment the blue Fiendfyre enveloped him, his expression changed. Inside his robe, where he kept Riddle's diary, a sudden, searing heat erupted.
A horrific, prolonged scream—laced with malice and despair—pierced through the dining hall, emanating from Snape's chest. The sound was so shrill it seemed to tear at the soul.
The sudden scream halted everyone in their tracks, their eyes turning to Snape, who stood shrouded in blue flames.
Even the Venomous Tentacula, still clamped onto Grindelwald's sleeve, seemed stunned by the scream's agony. It released its grip, falling to the floor with a thud, its leaves snapping shut.
Then, thick, inky black liquid began seeping from the fabric of Snape's robe, spreading rapidly and dripping onto the wooden deck with a chilling patter.
As the ink flowed, the dragon encircling Snape seemed to have fulfilled its purpose. It gave a satisfied flap of its fiery wings, its cold eyes glancing at the growing pool of black stains before transforming into a streak of light and vanishing back into Grindelwald's wand.
Snape stood amidst the chaos, his robe stained, a small pool of faintly smoking black ink at his feet.
"Damn it," he thought, "Tom's diary… destroyed just like that… so unexpected…" Reflexively, he reached to check the diary's remains.
"Leave it there," Grindelwald's voice cut through, unusually stern, stopping him. He eyed the eerie ink at Snape's feet, waved his wand to clean the mess, and asked, "Severus, you carry such things with you?" He clearly recognized the source of the ink and the scream under the Fiendfyre.
"Er…" Snape felt the shocked, curious, and faintly fearful gazes around him. Choosing a deliberately casual tone, he said, "It's just a minor Dark Magic artifact. For personal research."
He accepted the diary's destruction, sighing inwardly: "Well, that's the third one. Consider it destroyed early."
Grindelwald said nothing more. With a light tap of his wand, the Venomous Tentacula that had bitten his sleeve floated up and drifted back to Pandora.
Pandora, her cheeks slightly flushed, silently took back her "weapon" and tucked it carefully into her robe.
"Keep it safe, little lady," Grindelwald said, his tone softening. "Throwing things around isn't wise—it might hit one of your own."
With that, he calmly stowed his wand, his face resuming its refined smile.
"Well, everyone," he said, clearing his throat, "the troublesome matters are resolved. Shall we start dinner?"
He glanced leisurely at the magical clock in the corner of the dining hall, then at the trembling house-elves huddled by the wall, adding in a reassuring tone, "Oh, and don't worry—the lower decks are clean. No extra work for you."
The atmosphere at dinner was predictably tense.
The house-elves brought out roasted chicken, stewed meat, and other fragrant dishes, but in the oppressive air, most found the food tasteless.
The clinking of knives and forks against plates sounded jarringly loud.
The students kept their heads down, their eyes flickering between their food and the adults. Eileen watched Snape with concern, Professor Flitwick poked at a potato with a worried expression, and only Mundungus, seemingly recovered from his fright, devoured his meal noisily.
At the staff table, Grindelwald seemed unaffected. He ate with impeccable elegance, his movements precise.
Watching Grindelwald's nonchalant demeanor, Snape finally leaned over, lowering his voice. "Mr. Grindelwald, that thing—it was still useful to me. Now it's gone."
Grindelwald swallowed his food unhurriedly, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and turned to Snape, his gray eyes probing. "What use did you have for it? If you want to know how to make one, you could just ask me."
Snape shook his head, his voice dropping further. "It's Nagini—her blood curse. The diary's fragmented soul could serve as a unique absorption source."
Grindelwald's eyes flashed with genuine surprise. He set down his knife and fork, studying Snape for a few seconds.
"Using a Horcrux to absorb a curse from a soul?" he said softly, his tone laced with admiration. "That's a unique, bold idea. But," his voice sharpened, "also dangerous. That's no excuse to carry such a volatile object. One misstep, and it could consume or control you."
Snape fell silent, offering no rebuttal. It was a concern he'd always had, which was why he'd slowed Nagini's treatment.
"Well then," Grindelwald shifted topics, "how exactly did your headmaster end up like this?" He nodded toward the infirmary.
"We don't know the full details," Snape admitted. "He left the school alone to search for objects like Riddle's. We suspect he stumbled into a trap set by Riddle—or rather, Riddle's domain."
"And the result is as you see," he said, spreading his hands. "If the house-elves hadn't led us to him, Professor Dumbledore might never have seen you again."
Grindelwald let out a cold laugh. "The great Albus Dumbledore, outwitted by a younger wizard's trap? Over a few worthless trinkets? He's regressing with age."
"That's the thing, Mr. Grindelwald," Snape said after a pause, his voice tinged with confusion and resignation. "I think Professor Dumbledore wasn't just trying to destroy those objects. He might have been searching for the Resurrection Stone—one of Riddle's vile creations."
"I don't understand what he'd want with it," he continued, shaking his head. "Even children know magic can't truly bring back the dead. Forcing life and death to bend only brings distortion and disaster. He, of all people, should know that."
When Snape mentioned the "Resurrection Stone," Grindelwald's hand, cutting his food, paused briefly.
The mocking expression on his face vanished. He didn't respond immediately or look at Snape.
Slowly, he set down his knife and fork, picked up his napkin, and meticulously wiped his mouth and fingers, his movements deliberate.
The dining hall remained quiet, save for the faint sounds of the students eating.
After a long moment, Grindelwald raised his eyes.
"Regarding the curse on that snake," he said, bypassing Dumbledore's actions entirely, his voice calm again, "it's difficult to remove, but I'll think of something."
Then, scanning the students in the dining hall, he suggested to Snape, "After all this chaos, the ship needs stability. I recommend you say something to them after dinner."
"Reassure them, inspire them—whatever it takes. They can't spend the night trembling under their blankets. They need direction, even if it's just a vague promise."
Snape followed Grindelwald's gaze, seeing the exhaustion, fear, and confusion in the students' eyes, their clumsy attempts to comfort one another.
"I know," he nodded. "It's time to tell them."
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