Moody's magical alchemical eye spun madly in its socket.
"No, Severus, the Death Eaters haven't gone that far off the rails yet," he said hoarsely, striking the floor heavily with his staff. "They wouldn't set an ambush in Azkaban. In that damned place, they can barely stay on their feet, much less organize a proper trap."
The old Auror's certainty temporarily eased everyone's doubts about a possible ambush. But the tension in the office did not fade.
Sitting beside Moody, Benjy Fenwick, a cautious member of the Order of the Phoenix, spoke hesitantly. "Alastor's right, Dementors don't distinguish between friend and foe."
"But Alastor, the greatest threat might not be the Dementors... or an ambush," he added, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. "If the Dark Lord himself is there, or happens to arrive..."
"Indeed. Benjy's right," Snape interjected, his gaze sweeping across the room before landing on Professor McGonagall. "The greatest variable is the Dark Lord himself.
"Unless we can precisely determine his location, or create a distraction large enough to draw his attention completely away from Azkaban, we can't eliminate that risk."
When he finished, he nodded slightly toward Professor McGonagall, his eyes carrying an unmistakable suggestion. It was time to call upon the one person capable of creating such a diversion.
Professor McGonagall immediately understood Snape's intention. She drew a deep breath and said decisively, "Mr. Grindelwald is currently in the infirmary, keeping watch over Albus. I'll go to him at once-"
Before she could finish, the office door swung open, and the tall figure of Gellert Grindelwald appeared in the doorway.
"I heard someone was looking for me?" he said, standing just outside, his pale-gray eyes sweeping over the grim faces in the room before settling on McGonagall.
"Mr. Grindelwald," Professor McGonagall quickly rose and gave a respectful nod. "We've just received word that two of our companions, Frank and Alice Longbottom, are currently imprisoned in Azkaban. We're urgently discussing a rescue plan.
"But the greatest obstacle is the Dark Lord. If he happens to be there, or arrives upon being alerted, the mission will be suicide. Therefore, we hope to gain your help, to lure him away from Azkaban. Only you can accomplish such a task."
Grindelwald raised an eyebrow, his face showing no further expression.
He didn't respond immediately, but instead walked leisurely into the office, taking a seat in an empty chair near the door. His posture was relaxed, as though he had merely been told what was on tonight's dinner menu.
A brief, awkward silence fell over the room.
"Mr. Grindelwald, Professor McGonagall speaks the truth," Snape's calm voice broke the stillness.
"No one here, including myself, has the ability to both engage and restrain the Dark Lord in direct combat and come out alive. His power is formidable and dangerous. Only you," Snape met Grindelwald's eyes directly, "possess strength and experience equal to, or even beyond, his."
"What's all this about 'Dark Lord' nonsense?" Grindelwald's detached demeanor flickered, replaced by faint disdain and amusement.
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sweeping across the others before letting out a quiet, derisive chuckle. "You don't even dare to speak his name, and yet you plan to oppose him?"
That name struck the air like an icy curse, plunging the office into a sudden chill.
Except for Snape, who remained impassive, Moody's grip on his staff tightened reflexively, and everyone else shuddered, drawing in sharp breaths, eyes filled with barely concealed fear.
Grindelwald took in their reactions, his lips curving in a sneer.
"Heh..." He stood up, the handsome lines of his face now etched with disdain and disappointment. "Look at you. Just a name, just a symbol, and it terrifies you like this?"
"Relax," he added mockingly, "on this ship, shielded by ancient magic, uttering his name won't trigger any detection charms."
"Mr. Grindelwald," Snape said quietly, meeting his gaze without flinching, "doesn't that only prove the courage of those gathered here?
"Even without your level of power, they still choose to stand against the most evil wizard alive, Voldemort, even knowing they might die for it.
"If we perish, then it's because we chose to face him, even as our bodies tremble."
As Snape spoke the name "Voldemort" again, the others visibly tensed but made no sound this time. The oppressive atmosphere carried a reckless resolve.
Grindelwald rose slowly to his feet.
He lifted a hand to smooth the sleeve of his robe, pressing out an almost invisible crease.
With that simple gesture, a quiet but immense pressure seemed to ripple from him, not aggressive, but heavy and awe-inspiring, like a lion stretching after a long slumber.
"Very well," Grindelwald said lazily. "I have nothing better to do anyway. Let's go meet him, then.
"I'd like to see for myself just how much this Voldemort, who made even Albus Dumbledore taste defeat, truly amounts to."
Snape's heart steadied, Grindelwald had agreed.
"Mr. Grindelwald," he quickly added, "the Dark Lord's followers, the Death Eaters, bear a distinct black mark on their left forearm: a skull with a serpent emerging from its mouth.
"The way they summon him is simple. Any Death Eater only needs to press the mark firmly, and Voldemort immediately senses where it was activated and decides whether to respond in person."
"The Summoning Mark?" Grindelwald nodded slightly, comprehension flashing in his eyes. "A convenient design, I'll admit. Saves me the trouble of hunting him down."
He said no more and turned toward the door. The ever-present Madam Rosier immediately followed.
"Vinda," Grindelwald said without looking back, "you stay here."
Madam Rosier paused, displeasure flickering across her face. "Sir, I-"
"That's an order," Grindelwald interrupted.
Rosier pressed her lips together, bowed her head, and took a step back. "Yes, sir." She remained by the door.
"Mr. Grindelwald," Professor McGonagall hurried forward, her tone quickening, "we plan to reach Azkaban at six o'clock tomorrow morning and begin the rescue. You don't need to leave immediately, you can take some time to prepare."
Grindelwald was already stepping through the doorway. Without turning, he replied lightly, "I know. I understand what needs to be done," and his figure vanished from sight.
"Mr. Grindelwald, wait!" McGonagall called out, striding after him and pulling from her robes a medallion engraved with the Hogwarts crest. "Take this, it'll help you find your way back."
From the corridor came only his receding voice: "No need."
Silence fell once more as McGonagall quietly closed the office door.
A murmur of renewed discussion filled the room.
"Mr. Grindelwald's actions..." McGonagall said worriedly, her gaze lingering on the door, "with his temperament and methods, he'll cause an uproar across the wizarding world. His identity-"
"There's no helping it, Professor. Perhaps it's the inevitable price," Snape said softly beside her, lowering his voice so the others couldn't hear. "Unless he intends to stay invisible aboard this ship forever, his power is bound to attract attention sooner or later.
"And besides, the world doesn't deal in coincidences. There are very few wizards of his level in existence. It's not as if someone disappears in Switzerland, and suddenly we have a mysterious, unbelievably powerful stranger appearing here by chance, is it?
"As long as we refuse to acknowledge his true identity, apart from an enraged British Ministry, no other magical authority will risk intervening over a mere 'suspected' escapee.
"As long as Mr. Grindelwald doesn't resume his old ambitions or pose an open challenge, they won't want to provoke us, and earn themselves an unimaginable enemy."
Professor McGonagall's furrowed brow eased slightly. After a moment's thought, she nodded heavily. "You're right, Severus."
"Now then," she said aloud, turning to address the room, "we must decide who will go to Azkaban for the rescue.
"When facing Dementors, the Patronus Charm is the only effective defense. Everyone going must be capable of summoning a strong corporeal Patronus. If you would?"
Several silver lights flared to life across the office.
Professor Flitwick's tiny silver hummingbird fluttered swiftly about; Emmeline's Patronus, a graceful swan, spread its wings; Moody's was a sleek, agile leopard pacing around the room; Benjy Fenwick's took the form of a somewhat indistinct silver Chow Chow.
But the one that commanded all attention belonged to Snape. He chose to use Dumbledore's former wand, the Elder Wand.
With a clear, resonant Expecto Patronum, a massive, luminous silver serpent burst from the wand tip. Its glow filled the room, reflecting in every astonished eye.
The serpent raised its head high, its coiled body taking up nearly a quarter of the space, forcing the other Patronuses to retreat into the corners.
Professor McGonagall's eyes lingered briefly on Snape and the wand in his hand. Her expression was complex, but she said nothing.
"Excellent," she finally said, pulling her gaze away. "Too many will make infiltration impossible. Severus, Emmeline, your Patronuses are the strongest. If you're willing, you two will go.
"Alastor knows Azkaban's structure best, but your body..." She looked to Moody.
"They're fine!" Moody barked, tapping his bandaged nose. "This thing's just for show, 'doctor's orders,' they said. Doesn't stop me from wielding a wand. Besides, Frank and Alice were captured protecting me. I'm going!"
"Very well," McGonagall said, not pressing further. "Then you'll lead the mission, Alastor. Severus, Emmeline, be careful."
Time slipped away in tense preparation. By two in the morning, the deck was lashed by cold wind.
Three figures in dark cloaks stood at the ship's edge.
Not far away, under the combined power of Professor Flitwick's Obliviate, Sleeping Charm, and strongest Confundus Charm, Pettigrew, James, and Sirius, along with their luggage, were neatly "arranged" in one corner of the deck, waiting for later transport.
Meanwhile, Snape, Moody, and Emmeline were fully armed and standing at the railing.
Eileen strode up to Snape, silently pressed a large, finely wrapped block of chocolate into his hand, and stepped back. Snape nodded and tucked it away without a word.
"Final broom check!" Moody rasped, scanning the darkness with wary eyes.
After confirming all was in order, the three exchanged a glance.
"Move out!" Moody barked.
They swung astride their brooms, cloaks snapping in the wind.
Snape kicked off first, shooting into the star-flecked night sky. Moody and Emmeline followed close behind, vanishing into the vast, shadowed expanse as they dove toward the cloud-covered sea below.
They pierced the clouds, descending rapidly until they landed on a barren, rocky plateau. Around them stretched only ancient starlight above and cold stone below.
"Grab hold of me!" Moody growled, stowing his broom and thrusting out his calloused hand. Snape and Emmeline each seized an arm. With a sharp crack, they vanished.
When they reappeared, the air was filled with the biting scent of salt and the crash of waves.
Before them stretched the endless, black expanse of the North Sea, rolling violently under the faint light of stars and moon. Huge waves slammed against the cliffs below, booming again and again. Behind them, the coastal grasslands faded into the darkness.
They were near the Yorkshire shoreline, where Snape had once stood beside Dumbledore.
Without a word, Moody drew a small, rough wooden raft from his pack and enlarged it with a flick of his wand.
Emmeline deftly guided it into the surging sea with a Floating Charm.
The raft rocked violently, looking as though it could be swallowed at any moment.
All three climbed aboard swiftly.
Snape flicked his wand. A thick, spell-woven tarp appeared, shimmering faintly, then dropped over the raft, its corners anchoring themselves tightly.
Under enchantment, the fabric merged seamlessly with the waves and faint starlight, rendering the raft invisible upon the restless sea.
"Go!" Moody barked.
Snape and Emmeline raised their wands toward the water.
"Celeris Unda!"
Invisible force surged beneath them.
The raft cut through the dark waves, swift and silent, heading toward the fortress that loomed in the middle of the North Sea, Azkaban.