That night, the cold of the high altitude descended quietly, and the temperature inside and outside the ship's cabins dropped sharply.
Snape had to get up in the middle of the night, put his robes back on, and stride toward the Herbology Greenhouse at the stern.
It was a magically expanded space built in the sunniest section of the stern, maintained daily by Eileen and used both for cultivation and for student lessons.
As he pushed open the door, a wave of warm, humid air rushed out from the crack, sharply contrasting with the freezing air outside.
Moonlight spilled through the transparent glass ceiling of the greenhouse, casting a gentle glow. Snape immediately saw Eileen yawning as she pulled out a pair of earmuffs and gloves.
Beside her, the translucent figure of Moaning Myrtle floated in the corner, watching with keen interest.
"You're here too, Mandrake?" Snape asked as he closed the door and walked over quickly. His gaze swept across the rows of huge flowerpots, each containing a young Mandrake, and he gave Myrtle a polite nod.
The deep-green leaves trembled slightly in the still air, releasing faint but piercing whimpers.
"Oh, Severus," said Eileen, lifting her head with a trace of fatigue on her face. "The temperature dropped too fast. They'll need some extra insulation." She gestured to a nearby table, where a pile of tiny, thickly knitted socks and scarves lay. "I couldn't trust anyone else with it. This kind of work needs to be done very carefully."
"Perfect timing," she added, pulling out another set of earmuffs and handing them to him. "Come help. If we hurry, we can still get back to bed for a bit of rest."
Snape nodded, putting on the dragonhide gloves and soundproof earmuffs. Eileen did the same.
Now, ensuring the safe and rapid growth of these fragile yet dangerous young Mandrakes was crucial, perhaps their only hope of saving Dobby's petrified life.
Together, they carefully approached the constantly whimpering seedlings, gently pulling each Mandrake from its pot, wrapping its roots in thick, warm socks, then loosely tying miniature scarves around their stems to help them resist the sudden cold.
The two worked in perfect sync. Only Myrtle could hear the shrill, unbearable screaming that accompanied their task. Soon, the "warming operation" for the Mandrake seedlings was complete.
Once they removed their heavy earmuffs, the greenhouse was filled only with the faint rustle of leaves rubbing contentedly together and the low hum of the ventilation charms.
Eileen looked at Snape as he took off his gloves, deep worry written across her face.
"Severus," she hesitated, then finally spoke, "we're... both half-bloods. Maybe going back and registering with the Ministry, accepting their 'supervision', wouldn't be so bad?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "At least it wouldn't be dangerous..."
Snape froze mid-motion. He looked at Eileen, his black eyes showing neither anger nor reproach, only a flicker of apology and understanding.
"I'm sorry to make you worry, Mother," he said softly. "But I can't just think about myself. Many of the students on this ship followed us because they trusted me. If I ran away now, all for the sake of 'safety,' and abandoned them to face unknown dangers... what kind of man would that make me?"
"Putting one's safety in their bloodline," Snape shook his head, "or in the Death Eaters' and the Ministry's so-called 'mercy' and 'promises,' is never reliable."
"Besides," he continued, "there are things I can't tell you. But ever since I urged you to take the post at Hogwarts, reconciliation with the Death Eaters ceased to be an option. On this ship," he gave her a faint, reassuring smile, "I'm one of the two people they would never spare."
Eileen looked into his eyes and saw the absolute conviction there. Persuasion would be useless.
She sighed deeply, tears glimmering in her eyes, and reached up to straighten the strands of his hair mussed by the earmuffs. "You're grown now... just promise me you'll be careful."
Snape squeezed her cold hand lightly. "Let's not talk about such unhappy things."
"Think about it, we're together, we have warm beds, good food, and many kind friends." He tried to lighten his tone. "That's not so bad, is it?"
Eileen forced a smile and nodded. Her gaze turned to Myrtle, floating nearby. "Myrtle, how have you been on the ship? Getting used to things?"
Myrtle's face glimmered in the moonlight, brighter and more cheerful than usual.
"Oh, quite well, really," she said happily, drifting closer. "The students here just call me 'Myrtle,' or even 'Happy Myrtle,' not 'Moaning Myrtle' anymore." She twirled in the air. "They treat me like a friend! And there's no Peeves to bother me here!"
"Except..." Myrtle sighed wistfully. "This year's Halloween marks Sir Nicholas's, oh, that's 'Nearly Headless Nick's', four hundred and eighty-fifth deathday."
"Every five years he hosts a Deathday Party, and during that time he loves being called 'Sir.'"
"He's always invited me in the past," she said, pouting a little. "Though it's never very fun... still, it's something to do. But I can't go this year."
"Are Sir Nicholas's deathday parties any fun?" Eileen asked curiously.
"Not at all!" Myrtle huffed. "Cold, damp, the food's rotten, the music dreadful, ghosts have terrible taste!" She complained, though her voice carried a hint of fondness. "Still, I suppose I don't have anywhere else to go."
"That's perfect, then," Snape said with a warm smile. "Next Monday evening, we'll be holding a Halloween feast. Why don't you come? You've gone so long without that nickname, be like the other ghosts, and join the celebration with the students."
"Oh, wonderful!" Myrtle's eyes brightened instantly. "I was just hoping someone would invite me!" She flipped joyfully in the air, her translucent body passing through a bubbling bean pod.
While they talked, the bundled Mandrake seedlings quieted completely, their whimpers softening into the gentle murmurs of sleeping infants.
"Shh..." Eileen gestured for silence. "They're asleep now. Let's not disturb them. Come on, let's go."
The two of them, and the ghost, tiptoed out of the greenhouse, closing the door carefully behind them.
They had only walked a short distance down the cold corridor when hurried footsteps and labored breathing echoed from the other end.
Professor McGonagall, wrapped in her traveling cloak, appeared alongside Hagrid, both moving at a near run.
Hagrid's enormous frame looked especially tense, and he was carrying something, or rather, someone, bundled tightly in a thick cloak.
"Minerva! Hagrid!" Eileen rushed toward them. "What happened?"
McGonagall looked up, relief flashing through her anxious expression. "Eileen, there's a wounded man. Badly wounded!"
Hagrid was already striding toward the medical wing, careful but quick.
Snape and Eileen followed immediately.
"Who is it?" Snape demanded, dread rising in his chest as he watched Hagrid's massive back.
"Alastor," said McGonagall, her voice strained with both urgency and faint relief. "I finally managed to reach him through the Patronus. He was hiding in a safe house, but he's gravely injured."
"When I arrived, he'd already lost consciousness. Frank and Alice..." Her voice broke. "They tried to draw off the pursuers to protect Alastor. The Aurors captured them."
By the time she finished speaking, they had reached the infirmary door.
Gideon Prewett was dozing in a chair, while his brother Fabian stood guard.
When Fabian saw Hagrid approaching with the bundle, he tensed, then gasped when a shaft of light revealed the mangled face within.
"Merlin's beard, Alastor!" he choked out.
Gideon woke with a start at his brother's cry.
Hagrid shouldered open the infirmary door, but froze the moment it creaked open.
Peering past his enormous frame, Snape saw why.
At the far end of the room, beside Dumbledore's sickbed, Gellert Grindelwald sat quietly in an armchair, his back turned toward the door.
Holding his breath, Hagrid tiptoed forward and carefully laid Moody on an empty bed.
As Snape approached, the full extent of Moody's injuries came into view, and his stomach clenched.
Moody's face was nearly destroyed. His gray-white hair was matted with dried blood, his skin torn open in deep, bone-exposing gashes, like he'd been mauled by a beast.
His mouth was a twisted, gaping wound, and the bridge of his nose was gone, leaving only a bloody hollow.
Worst of all was his eye: one tightly shut, the other side just an empty, bleeding socket. The ragged tissue around it still twitched faintly.
"Alastor..." Gideon covered his mouth, pale as parchment.
Eileen rushed to the potion cabinet, her hands moving with expert speed, bottles clinking: Essence of Dittany, Skele-Gro, Blood-Replenishing Potion, Strong Pain-Relieving Draught.
She returned to the bedside and began treating the horrific wounds with a flurry of spells and salves, her motions both urgent and precise.
Cleansing, disinfecting, healing, bandaging, each step executed flawlessly.
When she finally straightened up, most of Moody's wounds were closed and smeared with a cooling ointment. His missing nose was covered with gauze soaked in regrowth elixir, but the empty socket remained.
Eileen's eyes dimmed with helplessness. "The injuries are clean. The flesh will heal, and the nose will regrow. But the eye..." she shook her head heavily. "There's nothing I can do. It was too damaged. If I hadn't removed what was left, it might have infected the other one."
A heavy silence filled the infirmary. McGonagall closed her eyes in despair. Gideon and Fabian clenched their fists.
"Is there any way someone could craft an alche-"
Before Snape could finish, a voice interrupted him.
"The eyeball, as a highly specialized sensory organ, when severely injured, triggers an intense inflammatory response," Grindelwald said calmly, as if analyzing a curious phenomenon. "In essence, it is a unique immune rejection and repair process, an attempt to purge irreparable tissue."
Everyone turned, startled. Grindelwald had silently risen and was now standing beside the bed, examining Moody's ruined eye socket with cool curiosity.
"Mr. Grindelwald," McGonagall said quickly, hope flaring in her eyes, "can you help him? Do you have a way, ?"
Grindelwald seemed briefly uncomfortable beneath her desperate gaze.
"Those books," he said, gesturing toward a few open volumes on Dumbledore's bedside table, "I found them in the ship's reading corner."
"They're Muggle medical texts. They describe some ways to treat ocular trauma," he shrugged lightly, "but I'm afraid even Muggle medicine can't restore a lost eye. And magic... has its limits, too."
The light in McGonagall's eyes faded. She looked sorrowfully at the unconscious Moody, whose brow was still furrowed in pain.
"However..." Grindelwald paused, his tone shifting, touched with old memory. "Many years ago, Albus and I once discussed the theoretical use of alchemical constructs, to replace lost or damaged organs."
"In theory," his gaze lingered on Moody's face, "it may be possible to craft an alchemical eye. But it would not be easy."
"Truly?" McGonagall's voice trembled with renewed hope. "If there's anything you need, anything at all, just say it."
"I will consider it," Grindelwald said simply. He neither promised nor refused. Turning away, he returned to Dumbledore's bedside, sat down, and picked up his book again.
Over the next two days, under Eileen's care and the effects of strong potions, Moody's condition stabilized, and he finally regained consciousness.
Despite losing an eye, the old Auror's will was ironclad. He dismissed his injury as a mere inconvenience. If not for Eileen's strict orders, he likely would have torn the bandages off himself already, "It's not like they're doing me any good," as he put it.
Meanwhile, Snape's carefully "edited" Daily Prophet issues and those analytical notes began circulating throughout the ship.
Students gathered in corners of the dining hall, whispering animatedly as they debated the news.