The sound of wind and rain outside seemed to blur and grow distant.
On the table, the smiling face of Malfoy on the Daily Prophet now appeared utterly insignificant.
Professor Flitwick sat frozen, his mouth slightly agape, his small round eyes wide and glassy, as he remained lost in that tragic yet legendary image, the dark tower, the opened cell door, the silent leader, and the kneeling follower...
It clashed irreconcilably with the image he had always held of the fierce and world-shaking Dark wizard who once swept across Europe.
Snape glanced at the two professors and continued speaking. "For someone like Grindelwald, for a politician and a visionary who has long seen through life and death, things such as death or imprisonment cannot intimidate him.
"What truly crushed him, what made him willingly confine himself, could only be one thing: the total collapse of his envisioned ideal world, the irreversible destruction of the path he believed would lead to 'the greater good.'
"When most wizards stood against him, that duel in 1945 didn't merely defeat his strength, it fundamentally denied his very ideology."
"Professors, what is imprisoned in that tower is not a dangerous criminal, but a man with no will to escape.
"His war ended more than thirty years ago. What remains is only that tower of self-imposed exile, and a history either forgotten or cursed by the world.
"A powerful Dark wizard who has lost all ambition may, in fact, be the card we can play against the Dark Lord. There are risks, certainly, but compared to waiting for death, isn't it worth considering?
"I believe, for Professor Dumbledore's sake, we should at least try to make contact with him."
At Snape's last words, Professor McGonagall's arms trembled slightly where they were folded across her chest. For the first time, a flicker of hesitant uncertainty appeared in her sharp gaze.
She closed her eyes, her expression shifting. The memories of the Grindelwald era, the chaos in the European wizarding world, the Muggle world trembling on the brink of collapse, flashed vividly in her mind.
But aside from the defeated man imprisoned in the high tower of Nurmengard... who else was there?
It was a choice balanced on a razor's edge: to release a known shadow to combat the present, ruthless tyrant, or to remain huddled aboard a drifting ark, praying for Dumbledore's awakening.
After a long silence, McGonagall slowly opened her eyes, lifted her head, and met Snape's gaze.
"Severus," she said hoarsely, "you... have convinced me. Given the current situation, perhaps we truly have no other choice. We cannot afford to abandon any possible source of strength. We shall go to Nurmengard."
Professor Flitwick was no longer the steadfast opponent. His small body squirmed uneasily in his chair, his eyes darting between Snape and McGonagall.
Then McGonagall waved her wand, summoning a magical map from the bookshelf. Her finger traced rapidly across the table.
"We must plan our route carefully. Nurmengard lies deep in the Austrian Alps. That means we'll have to cross half the European continent, an immense and perilous journey.
"Given the current situation, any known magical transportation networks, such as the Floo Network, may already be monitored by Death Eaters or the Ministry. We must find a way for the Founders' Ark to move undetected through their surveillance..."
"No need." Snape interrupted her plan. "Not 'we,' Professor. You can't take a ship full of students and risk approaching that place. The target is too large; the danger is uncontrollable." His eyes flicked toward the map. "Instead of gambling with everyone's lives, it's better to send only one person."
McGonagall and Flitwick both turned to look at him.
"Then who," McGonagall pressed, her eyes sharp, "is suited for this task?"
"I'll go." Snape's reply carried no hesitation, it was spoken as though it had already been decided. "I'll go alone. You must stay here, protect what remains of Hogwarts, protect the students, and... protect Professor Dumbledore."
"No!" Flitwick shrieked, nearly leaping from his chair. "That's far too dangerous! Sending a student alone to face Grindelwald? Absolutely not, Severus. We know your ability surpasses others your age, but still-"
"Filius is right," McGonagall cut in sharply. "This is far beyond what a student should bear. It would be more fitting for Filius and me to go."
"I'm the best choice." Snape shook his head, his eyes burning with resolve. "You two hold this ship together, that's ten times more important than leaving it.
"The students need you. Professor McGonagall, with Professor Dumbledore incapacitated, you are the keel that steadies this vessel, the pillar everyone relies on. And Professor Flitwick, your mastery of charms is the key to maintaining the ship's invisibility and defense." He paused. "Besides... I want to see for myself what kind of man that legendary Dark wizard truly is."
"As for the danger?" He lifted his chin slightly, a faint smile curving his lips. "At this point, do you still see me as some fragile 'ordinary student' in need of protection?"
McGonagall fell silent. She stared at Snape, and could not deny that the young man before her, whom Dumbledore trusted so deeply, had long since outgrown the confines of that title. His gaze was sharp and unflinching, leaving her no choice but to sigh heavily.
She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, though worry still lingered there, her earlier resistance had faded.
"All right." McGonagall strode to an old cabinet in the captain's quarters, its door engraved with the crests of Hogwarts' four Houses. She tapped several times with her wand, unlocking a hidden compartment.
From it, she drew a small silver badge. It bore the four house emblems, lion, serpent, badger, and eagle, beautifully engraved and encircling a tiny shield in the center.
"Take this." She handed the badge to Snape. "It's one of the Founders' Ark's core tokens. It will act as a compass, pointing you toward the Ark's location no matter where you are. Whether we're flying or in hiding, once you activate it, it will guide you home." She gave a faint smile. "Try not to lose it."
Snape accepted it solemnly, nodded, and carefully tucked it into the inner pocket of his robes.
"What preparations do you need to make?" McGonagall asked.
"Before I leave, I'd like to see Professor Dumbledore," Snape said, offering no further explanation as he turned toward the door. McGonagall and Flitwick exchanged a look, puzzled but followed him nonetheless.
The three of them left the captain's cabin and made their way to the quieter medical bay below.
The ward was filled with the faint scent of potions. The old man still slept, his face pale, silver beard and hair spread across the pillow. His expression was serene as a child's, betraying no trace of the man who had once awed an entire era.
Snape stepped to the bedside and leaned down, gently clipping a lock of Dumbledore's silvery hair, which he then tucked into his pocket.
"It seems," McGonagall said thoughtfully, "that you intend to take on Albus's appearance when meeting Grindelwald. That may indeed help."
"Yes," Snape nodded.
"Then perhaps you should take his wand as well," McGonagall suggested.
At that, Snape leaned down again and, quite naturally, reached into the side pocket of Dumbledore's robe, the place where he always kept his wand.
"Bzzzz-"
The moment his fingers closed around it, a strange vibration shot through him, surging from his bones straight into his mind.
It was neither hot nor cold, but a sensation impossible to describe, a feeling of fit. It was as if something long missing inside him had suddenly clicked into place. A current of ancient, steady, yet devastating power flowed through him, harmonizing perfectly with his own magic.
There was no rejection, no distance, only the natural ease of breathing. The feeling was similar to when he had first held the wand Ollivander chose for him, but this was stronger, fiercer, more absolute, brooking no resistance.
It was no longer a mere tool; it felt like an extension of his body, an effortless, seamless connection between will and action.
"Damn..." Snape's hand froze, horror dawning in his eyes. "The Elder Wand... has changed ownership!"
The legend of the Deathly Hallows surged through his mind with perfect clarity.
The eldest of the Peverell brothers, after obtaining the Elder Wand, was murdered in his sleep by another wizard who stole the wand from his bedside, thus losing its allegiance.
And what had he just done? Without Dumbledore's consent, while the man was unconscious, he had taken the Elder Wand from his pocket.
His intentions were different, yes, but his action fulfilled the Hallows' cruel logic all the same.
Snape stared down at the wand that fit so perfectly in his grasp. The feeling, the living pulse of power within it, told him wordlessly that the wand now recognized him as its master.
He didn't even need to cast a spell to know that it would unleash power beyond anything he had ever wielded.
Fate had acted in such an absurd yet inevitable way.
He was now the master of the Elder Wand.
He glanced toward the sleeping old man, uncertain what Dumbledore would think when he awoke to find that the wand he once claimed through conquest had somehow changed hands again.
All the more reason, then, this mission could not fail. He had to bring Grindelwald to the ship.
"Severus?" McGonagall's concerned voice sounded behind him. "What's wrong? You only needed the Headmaster's wand, take it, it's fine."
She looked at the wand in Snape's hand, unaware of its true identity.
"It's fine," Snape said, his tone slightly strained. "Professor, I'll bring it back safely." Since she didn't recognize the wand's nature, he saw no reason, or perhaps no wisdom, in explaining.
McGonagall noted his tension and assumed it was out of respect for the Headmaster, a cautious reluctance to "borrow" the man's wand.
"Keep it, then," she said gently. "Albus won't need it for a while yet. Using it to complete your mission will be the best way to honor him." She frowned thoughtfully. "Oh, and you'll need a broom. Come with me."
Snape nodded silently, stowing the Elder Wand carefully alongside the badge.
...
After receiving from McGonagall a Nimbus 1001, a broom prized for both its speed and stability, Snape said to her,
"Professor, please tell my friends I've gone to handle something important and will be away for a few days. Make sure they don't worry." He hesitated, then added, "Take care of them."
"I will." McGonagall's expression was grave. "Be careful, Severus."
Snape said no more. Taking the broom, he strode down the corridor toward the deck.
Outside, the storm had lessened somewhat, though thick gray clouds still churned heavily beneath the ship's hull.
Many students were still on deck. They peered curiously toward him, Pandora, Lily... several familiar faces among them.
Snape swung a leg over his broom, his eyes sweeping across the crowd, pausing briefly on the worried faces of Pandora and Lily.
Then he smiled brilliantly at the young witches and wizards, as well as the two professors watching him, and raised a hand in farewell.
"Wait for me to come back!"
Before his voice had even faded, he kicked off from the deck. The Nimbus 1001 shot forth like an arrow loosed from a bowstring, piercing the ship's flexible magical barrier and vanishing into the churning gray clouds.
He sped through dense sheets of rain and mist, the cold wind biting at his face, the roar of air and thunder mixing in his ears, yet what he felt was a strange exhilaration, a sense of freedom.
After about a minute of high-speed flight, he found a thinner patch of clouds and dove sharply downward.
The view opened up.
Below stretched vast mountains and valleys.
Forests blanketed the rolling hills, and winding rivers shimmered with gray-blue light under scattered rays breaking through the clouds.
He couldn't be sure exactly where he had landed, but it didn't matter.
Descending rapidly, Snape found a clearing near a riverbank where the trees grew thick and the land was isolated from any road.
The sound of running water filled the air. He scanned the surroundings carefully, no sign of Muggles, no trace of magical surveillance.
Then he drew his acacia wood wand.
His figure blurred quickly, becoming transparent, merging seamlessly into the evening mist and the shifting play of light by the riverside.