A few days of high-altitude travel were enough to make even the most anxious soul grow accustomed to life above the clouds.
The Founders' Ark was like a floating paradise detached from the world below.
Morning sunlight streamed through the portholes into the dining hall on the first deck; looking out the windows, one could see nothing but endless seas of cotton-like clouds and boundless blue sky. Occasionally, a bird would sweep past, drawing curious gazes from many students.
The entire ship had been enchanted with the Undetectable Extension Charm. The dining hall was spacious enough to accommodate every student and teacher, filled with the crisp clinking of cutlery and the low hum of excited conversation.
Severus Snape sat alone at a small wooden table, slowly slicing a piece of cured ham. His eyes fell to his plate: cured ham, smoked salmon, sardines in oil, pickled radish, accompanied by a small dish of freshly mixed salad and a dewy peach, the only thing on the plate that seemed truly fresh.
He frowned almost imperceptibly, then lifted his gaze. Around the room, house-elves bustled in and out through a side door, carrying trays and steaming bowls of soup, their small feet pattering rapidly between the tables.
Unlike in Hogwarts Castle, the food did not simply appear magically on the tables. The elves no longer popped in and out of sight, instead, they walked, ferrying meals by hand.
At that moment, one house-elf carrying a basket of fresh fruit hurried past, head lowered.
"Wait," Snape said quietly, setting down his knife and fork.
The elf froze so abruptly she nearly collided with a chair.
When she looked up and saw who it was, her wrinkled face lit up with sudden joy. Her huge, lamp-like eyes went wide, and her long, pointed ears trembled with excitement.
"Mr. Snape! Honored Mr. Snape!" the elf cried in a shrill, emotional voice. She lifted her arms, and the apples in the basket shook with her trembling. "Would Mr. Snape like an apple?"
Snape blinked, studying the small elf in her frayed tea-towel apron.
"Meeper?" he said, trying to recall. After a few seconds, he remembered, yes, Meeper, the elf who had once known Dobby. She had prepared him all kinds of delicacies and even brewed her own wine, which, naturally, Professor Dumbledore had ended up drinking.
"Yes, Meeper." Snape nodded slightly. "I just wanted to ask, why aren't you delivering meals the old way? The way it was in the castle, it would be much faster and easier. Now you're running yourselves ragged."
"We can't, Mr. Snape!" Meeper said thickly, wiping away tears with a trembling hand. "Professor McGonagall told Meeper that on this noble ship, house-elves cannot Apparate!
"The magic is different now. Meeper tried, she tried with all her strength to Apparate from here to the kitchen door! But it failed! Boom!" She made a dramatic motion, as if falling flat on her face.
So that was it. Snape understood. Apparently, once Professor McGonagall realized how unique house-elf magic was, she had adjusted the ship's protective wards to account for it.
"I see. Thank you for your hard work, Meeper." Snape softened his voice. "It just means more effort for you. Thank you, for preparing our meals."
At those words, Meeper burst into uncontrollable tears. "Mr. Snape..." she sobbed, her whole body shaking as tears streamed down her face in pearls.
Her crying quickly drew the attention of other elves nearby. Three or four rushed over, gently patting her shoulders and back, trying to soothe her.
One of them, with a wrinkled nose and a slightly newer pillowcase tunic, looked at Snape with reverent awe.
"Mr. Snape," he said in his high, squeaky voice, "please forgive Meeper's behavior. We... we thank you for Dobby!"
"We all know," another elf piped up, "it was Mr. Snape who insisted on bringing Dobby along! Dobby's been petrified for so long, but you didn't abandon a useless elf! No wizard has ever treated elves like that!" His own voice broke as he spoke.
Snape finally understood why Meeper had been so overcome, and why the elves looked at him with such deep respect and affection.
"All right," he said. "It's nothing special. Meeper just needs rest, she's too emotional. Take her below deck, give her some hot tea."
The elves obeyed at once, crowding around the weeping Meeper, guiding her gently yet firmly out of the dining hall.
The brief commotion subsided. Students who had witnessed the scene now looked at Snape with a newfound respect, whispering among themselves about how their Head Boy could command such reverence even from house-elves.
Even Lily paused in her conversation with Pandora, her clear green eyes glinting with quiet thought as she watched him.
At the far end of the dining hall, however, came a derisive snort.
"Well, that's something new, lads," James Potter said, stabbing at a piece of ham on his plate. "Didn't think I'd ever see the day when a wizard could move those filthy servants to tears. Say a few 'thank yous' and they start bawling? What a performance."
Sirius Black shook his head lightly. Peter Pettigrew glanced around nervously. Remus Lupin frowned, as if considering a rebuke.
Snape's gaze drifted briefly across them, but he paid James's words no mind.
"At a time like this?" he thought, taking one of the apples Meeper had left behind and biting into it. The fruit's scent was bright and sharp.
But not every creature in the hall remained indifferent.
An elderly, frail-looking elf with a bald head and bat-like ears paused mid-step. Tufts of white hair sprouted from the folds of his ears.
Dragging his feet, he shuffled toward the Marauders' table.
Without a word or even a glance at them, he extended his thin, bony hands, slow-looking but surprisingly swift, and in one sweep, he seized James's half-eaten ham, snatched Sirius's half-drunk pumpkin juice, grabbed Peter's chicken leg, and took the butter dish from in front of Lupin.
"Hey! What are you doing?!" James shouted, startled.
"Stop! We're still eating!" Sirius barked angrily, glaring at the strange elf.
The old elf ignored them. His cloudy gray eyes flicked over them as he deliberately stacked the plates together with loud, clattering noises.
"Hogwarts students can eat whatever they wish," he said in a tone both deferential and strangely oily. "Great, noble students... the house-elves must serve them well, create the perfect dining environment..."
Then, without turning around, he croaked in a voice like a bullfrog's: "But students cannot dismiss Glitch from Hogwarts... oh no, only the Headmaster can do that."
"Ah yes, those self-important pure-blood wizards, they don't have such power. They..." Glitch sniffed deeply, his voice dripping with contempt. "They smell like sewers and criminals. Oh, poor old Glitch, forced to share a room with them..."
James's face turned the color of raw liver. He slammed a hand on the table and shot to his feet. "You filthy little, "
"Calm down, James!" Remus was quick, grabbing James's arm before he could draw his wand. Sirius also reached out and pulled him back into his seat.
Almost simultaneously, Snape drew his wand from his robe, watching the Marauders closely in case they dared attack the elf.
Only then did Glitch seem to notice the commotion, and the "self-important young wizards" in front of him.
"Achoo!"
A thunderous sneeze erupted. Droplets flew from Glitch's mouth and sprayed directly over the pile of plates stacked high with the Marauders' leftover food.
"Oh no!" Glitch cried, feigning shock, a little too obviously.
He fumbled dramatically, nearly throwing the stack of dishes, but managed to steady them at the last moment.
"Glitch did not see you there," he said with mock sincerity, blinking his cloudy eyes at the furious James. "Young, noble wizards, would you still like to eat these?" He held the plates up politely.
"Take them away!" James snapped, seething with rage.
Glitch turned slowly, hunched and dragging his feet toward the kitchen door at the far end of the hall.
"Oh, how shameful," he muttered just loudly enough for everyone to hear, "poor old Glitch, what else can he do?"
The hall fell into dead silence.
Then, from somewhere among the students, a stifled snicker broke out, "pfft", followed by several others trying, and failing, to suppress laughter.
James and Sirius's faces darkened like soot; their eyes burned with fury, but there was nothing they could do.
Snape lowered his wand. Watching Glitch's retreating figure, the corner of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly.
The afternoon skies began to shift. The once-fluffy white clouds below had thickened into a vast, roiling expanse of gray-black and steel-blue.
Now and then, a flash of white lightning silently split the darkness, briefly illuminating the turbulent air currents within. A few seconds later, the rumble of thunder rolled up to the deck.
Though the protective enchantments shielded most of the wind, the gusts still made the masts creak softly.
The students, entranced by the rare sight of a thunderstorm from above, flocked to the railings. Faces glowed with excitement and a touch of fear as they pointed at the dark sea of clouds churning below.
Then, suddenly, a figure on a broom burst through the storm from below, streaking upward toward them.
The protective barrier shimmered, rippling with soft light, and the figure passed cleanly through, landing firmly on the deck.
Gasps echoed among the students.
Professor McGonagall stood before them, drenched from head to toe. Her black robes clung tightly to her frame, rainwater dripping from the strands of hair plastered to her temples.
Her bun was in disarray, but she paid it no mind. With a swift flick of her wand, she and her broom dried instantly, steam rising briefly from her sleeves.
Her expression was sharp, her bearing severe, all traces of warmth or fatigue from the previous days replaced by an icy, controlled tension.
Without glancing at anyone, she strode purposefully through the crowd, which parted instinctively before her. She pushed open the wooden door to the ship's interior and disappeared inside.
Only when the door slammed shut behind her did the students exhale, the low hum of nervous conversation resuming under a palpable sense of unease.
Without hesitation, Snape followed her, stepping into the bright corridor. Thanks to Dumbledore's letter, he now held authority to participate in the ship's highest-level decisions.
He saw Professor McGonagall striding down the hall toward the staircase to the upper deck, stopping to knock on a door along the way.
Professor Flitwick opened it at once, his small face etched with the same worry.
McGonagall nodded to him briefly, and he hurried to follow on his short legs.
The three walked in silence up the winding stair.
Finally, McGonagall stopped before the topmost door, tapped it once with her wand, and entered.
This was the captain's cabin, the place with the widest view aboard the Founders' Ark. Through the great half-curved window stretched the infinite expanse of the sky.
McGonagall closed the door behind them, sealing it with multiple layers of Silencing and Protection Charms.
At the mahogany desk in the center, she reached into her robe with fingers still faintly steaming, pulling out a neatly folded but rain-dampened copy of the Daily Prophet.
Flitwick rose on tiptoe to see the date, from several days ago, the day after their departure.
Snape's eyes, however, locked on the image covering most of the front page: in the darkening sky above the Black Lake, a vast skull was rising, and from its mouth, a giant serpent slithered outward like a tongue.
Even as they watched the moving photograph, the skull climbed higher, glowing in a sickly green mist until it blazed like a new constellation against the night.
"The Dark Mark!" Professor Flitwick squeaked, slamming a tiny fist on the desk. "Hogwarts... Hogwarts Castle... has fallen!"
"Yes, Professor. The Death Eaters have taken the castle," Snape said evenly. "It was something we anticipated. Fortunately," he paused, "those who might have been harmed, we succeeded in getting them out."
Professor McGonagall had remained silent all this time, chest heaving visibly. At his words, the tension in her face eased just slightly. Her voice came out dry and rough: "I hope Horace and Pomona can look after the remaining students."
Flitwick clenched his little fists. "They will! Pomona and Horace have worked together for years, Slytherin and Hufflepuff both, they'll manage, I'm sure of it!"
Snape said nothing more. His eyes returned to the newspapers on the desk, flipping through the subsequent issues beneath, their dates growing more recent.