"That voice..."
Moody's good eye narrowed, rage rising within him.
He slammed his staff hard against the damp stone and roared toward the iron gate in his trademark, gravelly growl:
"Savage! You spineless bastard! You really want to take me on, me, Alastor Moody? You want to see if this wooden leg of mine can carve you a new hole in that thick skull of yours?"
The shouting from outside stopped dead.
Then, another younger, somewhat hesitant voice spoke up. Its owner was clearly trying to sound authoritative, but the strain in his tone betrayed his lack of confidence:
"Alastor, listen, old pal, we... we're just responding to the alarm for a routine inspection! We don't want to fight you, honestly, but..."
"No buts!" Moody bellowed, cutting him off before he could finish. "Let's fight, then!"
An awkward silence filled the corridor.
Frank Longbottom stepped forward half a pace and lightly touched Moody's arm. When Moody turned to look, Frank gave a small shake of his head.
"Proudfoot," Frank called toward the gate, "if you and Savage truly intend to attack me and Alice, then by all means, come ahead.
"But you know as well as I do why we and the others in this prison were locked away. We were colleagues once. There's no need for this."
Silence again. The faint sound of hurried, muffled arguing came from the other side.
A few moments later, Proudfoot's voice rang out again, deliberately louder this time, as if to let both his companion and those inside hear.
"Bloody hell, Savage!" Proudfoot muttered lowly. "We thought this would be the easy end of the patrol, that's the only reason we didn't go with the Chief to London! But now, Merlin's beard, what do we do? Frank and Alice Longbottom, and Alastor Moody, who's currently wanted by the Ministry!"
"If it really comes to a fight... just the two of us?" Savage's voice responded. "Think, Proudfoot, they're all hard cases. For a few Galleons, are you sure we'll even live to file our report?
"Getting beaten by them is perfectly reasonable, right? That's not shameful. The higher-ups will understand. We did our best."
"But... but... fine, you're right!" Proudfoot's voice trembled with hesitation and resignation.
"So the report will say: 'We encountered a large enemy force and met fierce resistance. We fought valiantly but were ultimately outmatched and had to retreat to preserve what forces remained'? Sounds good..."
He raised his voice now, shouting for all to hear:
"Alastor, Frank, Alice, and everyone else! Listen! We're backing off, far away! You can come out!
"We swear... we won't stop you! For old times' sake, yeah?"
Inside, Snape exchanged a quick glance with Moody and Frank.
The "negotiation" outside was clearly a staged performance. Two Aurors pretending to give them an easy pass, how much trust could that really deserve? Still, even so, seven wands against two wasn't a fair fight.
Snape nodded decisively and spoke lowly:
"Stay alert. Shields up. Once we're outside, we move straight for the coast."
The group raised their wands. Snape, Moody, Emmeline, and the others at the front had Protego shields glowing before them.
They pushed open the heavy iron doors. Gray morning light filtered in through the mist.
In the distance, under the dim sky, two black-robed figures were indeed visible about fifty yards away, hiding partly behind a rocky outcrop near the shore.
When they saw the group pour out, both men instinctively ducked back a bit further behind the rock, as though afraid of catching a stray curse. One of them, perhaps Proudfoot, lifted his hand in an exaggerated wave, half friendly, making no move to block their way.
"Go!" Snape barked quietly, his eyes fixed on the rocks.
Under the protection of the vanguard's wands, the freed prisoners stumbled forward, supporting one another down the worn stone steps toward the small dock.
At the water's edge, Snape flicked his wand toward the small raft they had come on, murmuring a string of complex Transfiguration and Engorgement spells.
Bolts of light shot out, and the raft swelled rapidly, growing longer, wider, its planks expanding and hardening, until it became a rough but sturdy boat large enough to hold everyone.
The rescued prisoners, helped by Emmeline, clambered aboard one after another.
When the last person had stepped onto the deck, Snape glanced toward the shore.
Moored nearby was a smaller skiff, the one the two Aurors had used to get there.
"Diffindo!" Snape muttered, flicking his wand casually backward.
There was a sharp crack. Wood splintered. The little boat exploded apart in a shower of debris, its pieces scattering across the black waves, some fragments sinking beneath the surface immediately.
On the shore, Proudfoot and Savage yelped in surprise and ducked behind the rock, shielding their heads. When they dared to look again, the larger vessel was already well out to sea.
At its stern, Snape lowered his wand. His black hair whipped in the wind as he turned back and raised a hand in a brief, almost casual farewell toward the two stunned figures on the rocks.
The boat plowed through the waves, carrying its weary passengers away from Azkaban's suffocating shadow.
The air was still freezing, but on deck there was something new in the atmosphere, a fragile warmth, the tremor of hope after long despair.
After a few minutes of quiet, the freed prisoners began to talk in hushed voices, letting their bitterness and confusion spill out.
"All these years, and they still call us Mudbloods," croaked a gray-haired man. "They say our magic was stolen. How could that even make sense?"
"Our magic is born with us!" a younger woman insisted. "When I was a kid, I could bend spoons just by staring at them. But those Ministry officials, they demanded we prove our magical ancestry, that we find wizard relatives going back eighteen generations!"
"Exactly! It's nothing like what The Daily Prophet claimed. They promised registration was just for safety," another voice said bitterly. "But how are we supposed to prove something like that? And because we couldn't, they called us thieves and threw us into Azkaban." He shuddered as he spoke.
"And we were taken from our home," said Ted Tonks grimly, holding his wife and daughter close. "You lot got off easy compared to that."
He gave a humorless laugh. "They locked up my whole family. Even though my wife's a pure-blood, and my daughter's at least half, they still called us traitors, said we'd 'tainted' wizarding blood."
"You lot," Snape cut in sharply, "actually believed the Ministry's propaganda? You lined up for registration?"
His cold gaze swept over the group. "When Hogwarts' Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, and half its staff, fled with every Muggle-born student, you still thought the Ministry would protect you?"
His words struck hard. Silence fell, faces turning pale with guilt and belated realization.
Then a woman in her forties suddenly raised her head, eyes bright with excitement.
"The exiled Hogwarts!" she cried. "Ressie, Ressie Polk! Is she there? Please, sir, Ressie Polk! She's my niece, my sister's daughter! I'm her aunt, Kate Prendergast!"
Snape instantly remembered the clumsy but earnest girl who had once earned his first "Excellent" badge.
"She is," he said with a brief nod. "Miss Polk is at the real Hogwarts, safe, and doing well."
"Oh, thank God! Thank you!" Kate let out a trembling breath, tears springing to her eyes.
"When I saw those horrible things the Daily Prophet printed, calling Professor Dumbledore and the others traitors, lunatics, kidnappers, I was terrified. I didn't dare tell my sister anything..."
"Turns out," she laughed weakly through tears, "the one I should've worried about was myself. How stupid of me, really.
"I thought the Ministry stood for order and justice... I never imagined it could sink so low. And the fact that I even doubted Albus Dumbledore of all people, that's unforgivable."
"Mrs. Prendergast," Emmeline said softly, curious, "so your family produced two witches? That's quite rare for a Muggle family."
"Yes," Kate said, managing a bittersweet smile. "After me, another witch appeared, Ressie. Everyone was thrilled. They called her a blessing from God."
"Who could've guessed," she went on bitterly, "that in just a few years, being born Muggle-born would become a sin."
She wiped her tears and looked at Snape, Moody, and Emmeline with deep gratitude. "Knowing Ressie's safe, looked after by you all, that's more than I could hope for. Thank you."
The voyage no longer felt so long.
When the gray coastline finally appeared again, the boat slowed and drifted toward shore.
One by one, they stepped off, their bare feet sinking into cold sand and seawater. The salty wind lashed their tattered prison robes.
Emmeline looked at the exhausted survivors with sympathy, then turned to Snape and Moody.
"Can we take them back with us?" she asked. "They're victims of the Ministry's cruelty. They have nowhere else to go. Couldn't we bring them aboard the Founders' Ark?"
Moody folded his arms, his single natural eye scanning the group. His scarred face was tight, his silence speaking volumes.
"No," Snape said flatly, meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry, Emmeline, and to all of you. I understand what you've been through, but we can't take risks.
"The Founders' Ark carries the students of Hogwarts. Its safety is absolute. We cannot jeopardize it for anything.
"We chose to free you, but we don't know who you all are, or what ideas you carry."
To his surprise, the refusal didn't spark outrage or begging. Instead, the freed prisoners nodded in understanding.
"You're right, sir," said the gray-haired man. "You've done more than enough already. We can't burden you further or put your people in danger."
"Thank you for your kindness, miss," Kate added, turning to Emmeline. "We understand. You're doing the right thing."
"Yes, we'll be fine on our own."
"Thank you. Truly."
Voices of gratitude murmured through the group.
"Here's what we'll do," Snape said, tone softening. "Living without wands is dangerous in times like these.
"Since yours were 'temporarily held' by the Wizard-born Registration Commission, we'll leave a few spares for you to use."
Then a thought struck him. He turned to Kate.
"Mrs. Prendergast," he said, "would you like to meet your niece in person?"
Kate's eyes went wide with disbelief.
"You mean it, sir? Truly? Can I?" Her voice quivered with joy. "Yes, of course! Oh, Merlin, yes!"
"You can," Snape confirmed. "Your family connection is clear and verifiable.
"When we arrive, you can also tell the students aboard about your experience, show them what the Ministry's 'registration system' really means, and tear apart its lies."
The others, though a little envious, smiled and congratulated her warmly.
Just as the group relaxed, Moody suddenly raised his hand sharply, pointing toward the pale sky.
"Alert!" he barked, whipping out his wand.
Snape followed instantly, his own wand rising.
Up above, a tiny dark speck was speeding toward them.
Within seconds, it grew clearer, a lone owl, beating its wings hard against the wind.
Snape's wand tracked its flight path cautiously.
But the owl had only one destination. It swooped down and circled twice before landing neatly at his feet, one leg extended. A letter was tied to it.
Snape frowned slightly and knelt to untie it.
There was no name on the envelope, but the elegant, looping handwriting told him at once who had sent it: Narcissa Malfoy.
He didn't open it. Instead, he tucked the envelope into the inner pocket of his cloak.
When he straightened, the owl was still there, staring up at him with large, expectant eyes. It gave a soft, pleading hoot and pecked lightly at his sleeve.
"Here," Snape murmured. From his pocket, he drew a small paper packet, unfolded it, and offered a dried fish.
The owl snatched it eagerly and swallowed it whole, then hooted again, wings flapping impatiently for more.
Snape sighed faintly and placed the rest of the fish on a nearby rock.
The owl gave a contented coo and began pecking at them.
"Come," Snape said, turning back to the others. "Time to go." He set three spare wands on the stone beside the owl. "Once we've left, take them, and leave this place. Go as far as you can."
He glanced at them one last time. "Be careful. Trust nothing the Ministry says, nothing, until the day we reclaim Hogwarts." He paused, then added quietly, "And perhaps... the Ministry itself."