"Professor... this isn't Azkaban, is it?"
Snape muttered as he rubbed his head, still feeling dizzy and nauseous from the effects of Side-Along Apparition. It took him quite a while to recover, and even then his mind was still spinning.
In front of them stretched an endless expanse of ocean. Waves roared as they crashed against the rocky cliffs along the shore, and behind them spread a vast meadow studded with large, smooth pebbles.
"No, Severus," Dumbledore replied calmly, his long silver hair and beard fluttering gently in the sea breeze. "This is the coast of Yorkshire. Direct Apparition into Azkaban is not permitted."
He raised his hand and pointed toward the distant sea. "The place we're headed to lies in the middle of the North Sea."
"How are we getting there?" Snape asked, squinting into the wind to look at Dumbledore. "Are you going to teach me how to fly?"
"Not yet," Dumbledore said with a soft chuckle. He gave his wand a casual flick. "We'll take a boat."
In an instant, a strange shimmer of light flashed before them, and a black wooden sailboat appeared out of thin air, falling into the sea with a loud boom, sending up a great splash of seawater.
Dumbledore flicked his wand again, and a thick rope slithered out like a living serpent, shooting forward with a whoosh and fastening itself securely between the ship and the shore.
He walked forward unhurriedly to inspect the mooring, gave a satisfied nod, and said, "We'll wait here for a while. Alastor will come tomorrow and travel with us. He knows Azkaban far better than we do, and with him along, our journey will go more smoothly."
"Then why are we leaving today?" Snape shouted over the wind, his brows furrowing into a tight "川." "Is Hogwarts so comfortable that you just wanted to get out for some fresh air?"
"Oh, Severus, this little breeze is nothing." Dumbledore smiled serenely and flicked his wand once more. With two sharp pops, a tent assembled itself in midair.
Its poles and pegs seemed alive, darting into place one after another before settling firmly into the ground.
"Let's go inside," said Dumbledore as he walked forward and pulled open the tent flap.
Snape bent down and entered, only to be taken aback by how plain it was inside.
He had assumed Dumbledore's tent would be like the one Harry used later for the Quidditch World Cup, spacious and magically enhanced, perhaps even with several rooms.
But no, this was just an ordinary tent, bare except for a single waterproof mat spread on the floor.
"Er..." Snape hesitated, backing out again. "Professor, this tent doesn't suit your... well, temperament. Why don't we use mine instead?"
He pulled a luxurious two-story tent from his bag and, muttering an incantation, set it up with a wave of his wand.
This tent was unmistakably enchanted, it even had a small, charming garden out front, blooming with over a dozen kinds of colorful flowers.
"Professor, come this way," Snape said earnestly, leading Dumbledore out of his own modest tent. "Even if we're roughing it, there's no reason for you to suffer, sir."
Though Snape knew that the tent lacked strong defensive enchantments, he was certain that as long as Dumbledore was inside, it was the safest place in the world.
Once Dumbledore had settled comfortably into a cushioned armchair, Snape took a small, compact Scrying Mirror from his bag and placed it on the table.
Then he pulled out a bottle of wine, several exquisite pastries and cuts of meat, and a complete set of tableware.
"Professor, allow me." Snape didn't use magic; instead, he personally uncorked the wine and poured a glass for both of them.
Lifting his glass with a hint of pride, he said, "A thirty-year-old vintage from Burgundy."
Dumbledore raised his glass gracefully, swirling the wine and closing his eyes to inhale its fragrance. "Excellent," he said with genuine delight. "A fine wine indeed."
"Of course," Snape grinned broadly, taking a long gulp before exhaling in satisfaction. "Sweet, isn't it?"
"Yes, Severus... the aroma is rather familiar, though," Dumbledore said lazily, swirling the wine again. His eyes gleamed mischievously. "Do you know which house-elf crushed the grapes for this with its feet?"
"Pfft-!"
Snape spat the wine straight out, eyes wide in disbelief as he gaped at Dumbledore. "Y-you said what, Professor? A house-elf, with its feet, ?"
"Yes," said Dumbledore, calm as ever, smiling faintly. "Hogwarts still follows the old medieval method, house-elves stomp the grapes by foot to make the wine.
"It's rather primitive, but it lends a certain... charm to the flavor, don't you think?"
"So the wine we drink at meals and banquets is all...?"
Snape stared at him, aghast, clearly hoping to hear denial.
But Dumbledore only smiled and nodded.
Under Snape's stunned gaze, he finally took a sip of the wine and said, "Are you quite sure you'll never drink again, Severus?"
Grinding his teeth, Snape glared at him resentfully. "I think water's the healthiest choice."
After that, they sat by the cozy fire, enjoying some of the house-elves' excellent cooking.
The warmth of the room and the fullness in his stomach soon made Snape drowsy. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until he could barely keep them open.
His body gradually relaxed, and sleep began to wash over him like a tide when suddenly, a series of deafening explosions echoed from outside the tent.
A piercing whistle followed, filling the space with a shrill, vibrating sound. The small Scrying Mirror on the table began spinning wildly, blazing with bright, flickering light.
Snape snapped awake instantly, eyes flying open. He leapt from his armchair, pulling his wand from his robes.
Outside, rough and excited voices shouted, growing closer by the second: "Drop your wands! Hands up! Come out, now!"
"Professor, something's wrong," Snape said quickly, turning toward Dumbledore. "What should we do?"
Dumbledore met his gaze, giving him a small nod, still wearing that same calm, unhurried expression.
"Severus," he said softly, "go and deal with them."
"Me?"
Snape pointed to himself in astonishment.