Snape quickly inspected the remaining miscellaneous items—things like the Golden Snitch, the Black family crest ring, Chocolate Frog cards, and some sweets. After ensuring they posed no threat, he returned everything to Regulus, except for the mirror.
With the safety check complete for now, Snape pulled out two well-crafted Comet-series broomsticks.
"Here," he said, shoving one into the hands of Regulus, who was clearly still reeling from the whirlwind of recent events.
Regulus instinctively caught the broom, the cool, smooth wood grounding him as it pressed against his palm. He glanced down at the familiar tool, his expression flickering with a moment of disorientation.
Then, something shifted.
The moment he swung his leg over the broom, muscle memory kicking in, the fear, uncertainty, and timidity that had clung to him vanished. His back straightened, his chin lifted slightly, and a spark of focus and confidence reignited in his blue eyes.
In that instant, he wasn't the boy cowering behind curtains at Grimmauld Place. He was the spirited Slytherin Seeker, commanding the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts.
"Hold on to me, Kreacher," Regulus said, his voice steadier now.
At the command, Kreacher eyed the hovering broom and scrambled onto the back, his bony arms wrapping cautiously around Regulus's waist.
"Follow me," Snape said with a curt nod, kicking off the ground as his broom rose effortlessly into the air.
Regulus took a deep breath, pushing down the knot of anxiety in his chest, and launched after him with a sharp push off the ground.
The two brooms soared into a sky painted with the glow of sunset, slicing through wispy clouds. The wind whipped through their hair and robes, and Regulus, feeling the rush of freedom and speed he hadn't known in ages, squinted slightly, his tense nerves finally easing.
As they broke through a thick layer of clouds, emerging above a sea of rolling white, the sky exploded into hues of purple and orange. The setting sun cast its final rays, gilding the heavens. Below them churned the clouds; above, the sky burned.
Snape slowed slightly, glancing back to ensure they were still behind him, then adjusted his broom's direction. "Keep up!" his voice called faintly over the roaring wind.
Their silhouettes sped up again.
After about twenty minutes, a massive, hazy shape loomed through the clouds ahead. As they drew closer, the outline sharpened into a majestic magical ship, floating serenely at the edge of the sky.
This was their destination—the last bastion of Hogwarts' exiled staff and students. The evening breeze tugged at the Hogwarts banners draped across the deck, and the ship's enormous magical sails billowed in the currents, humming deeply.
Snape slowed, flying side by side with Regulus, guiding him and Kreacher through the protective barrier. The brooms' tails brushed the ship as they touched down smoothly on the wide deck of the Founders' Ark.
Regulus dismounted with practiced ease, steadying Kreacher, who nearly tumbled off. Snape took the broom Regulus handed back and said flatly, "Welcome home."
The simple words caught Regulus off guard, and even Kreacher, clinging to his master's robe, froze. Home? Could this place become a new home? A warmth mixed with trepidation surged through Regulus, but before he could process it, a familiar, energetic voice cut through.
"Severus, you're back! No trouble on the—Merlin's pants!" It was tiny Professor Flitwick, who let out a delighted squeak upon spotting the figure beside Snape. "Regulus Black? Oh, it is you! It's so good to see you, my boy!"
Flitwick started to rush forward for a hug but stopped short, his joy giving way to wariness. His eyes scanned Regulus's pale, youthful face, and his voice lowered. "But… my boy, you—"
"Professor Flitwick," Snape stepped forward, cutting in. "Regulus has just escaped the Death Eaters' clutches and chosen to stand with us—with justice. Though, for now, it seems we're the underdogs."
Flitwick's gaze remained skeptical, fixed on Regulus.
Understanding his caution, Snape reached out and firmly pulled up Regulus's sleeve, revealing a patch of pale skin. Regulus flinched instinctively but held still as Snape exposed the area.
Flitwick leaned in, his small eyes narrowing as he examined the skin, almost blending seamlessly with its surroundings. He touched it lightly, and his furrowed brow relaxed.
"Impressive spellwork!" Flitwick said, looking up at Snape with admiration.
"Regulus, my boy, welcome home," he said, his tone softening as he turned to Regulus. "Come with me, I'll take you to Professor McGonagall. We need to hear more." He gestured for Regulus to follow, then glanced at Snape. "You too, Severus. You brought him here, after all."
In the warm, spacious captain's cabin, Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk, her expression stern, hands clasped tightly. Snape leaned silently against the doorframe, while Flitwick perched in an armchair, watching with concern.
With Kreacher's halting additions, Regulus recounted the hellish months he'd endured. He'd been forced to witness Death Eaters "hunting" Muggles for sport, the images seared into his mind like a nightmare. Worse still, his cousin Bellatrix, during one of her frenzied "celebrations," had shrieked at him to join in torturing a captured elderly Muggle.
He couldn't do it. He'd shrunk back, weak and horrified.
That only earned Bellatrix's wrath and humiliating insults, branding him a "pathetic Black disgrace," followed by a Cruciatus Curse to match his supposed cowardice.
In the midst of his fear and crumbling beliefs, his other cousin, Narcissa, had thrown him a lifeline: flee to the exiled Hogwarts, the true Hogwarts.
"I—I couldn't stand their screams… their eyes…" Regulus's voice was hoarse, his fists clenched on his knees, eyes shut as his body trembled.
McGonagall rose and walked around her desk to stand before him. Her usually severe face softened with compassion. Hesitating briefly, she placed a gentle hand on his tense shoulder.
"Don't be afraid, child. Don't dwell on those horrors," she said. "You're safe here. No one will harm you or force you to do anything against your will. You've done well, choosing the right path. That took immense courage."
Her gaze, however, flicked to Snape over Regulus's shoulder, questioning.
Snape nodded slightly. "Professor," he said quietly, "Narcissa is, as you know, something of an ally. I left to meet her this time."
Once Regulus's emotions settled a bit, Snape stepped closer to the desk. "Regulus," he asked, "what's the state of Hogwarts—the castle, I mean?"
The question drew McGonagall and Flitwick's attention back to Regulus.
Regulus wiped his eyes and exhaled shakily. "It's… mostly normal, I suppose," he said, his gaze drifting. "Classes are still happening. Since you took all the Muggle-b—"
He froze under Snape's icy stare, realizing his mistake. Panic flashed across his face.
This kid, Snape thought, may be shaken by those lunatics' cruelty, but that pure-blood superiority nonsense is still ingrained. The Black family's influence runs deep. Sirius was the real outlier.
"Sorry! Muggle-born students!" Regulus corrected hastily. "With them gone, the remaining students—pure-bloods and half-bloods—haven't faced too much trouble."
"Well… it's not entirely fine," he added, licking his lips nervously. "They've reorganized us. Pure-bloods live together now, taking over Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers, and we eat at the same table. Half-bloods are in Hufflepuff's dorms. Slytherin's old basement rooms are sealed off, supposedly to 'protect valuable artifacts.'"
"And there's only one house now," he said, glancing at McGonagall, his voice dropping. "Slytherin. The other houses' symbols are gone. The curriculum's changed too. Defense Against the Dark Arts is now called 'Practical Magical Applications,' taught by rotating Death Eaters. The lessons are… awful."
Snape let out a cold scoff, breaking the silence. "Could be worse. At least it proves we were right to act. If we'd left Muggle-born students in that castle, they'd probably be crammed in the kitchens with the house-elves, sipping soup from a cupboard—if they were lucky enough to get any."
McGonagall nodded gravely, agreeing with Snape's assessment.
"Alright," she said, ringing a small bell on her desk. "Get some rest, Regulus."
A neatly dressed house-elf knocked moments later. "Professor McGonagall?" she said, bowing respectfully, then nodding to Snape, who returned the gesture.
"Mippy," McGonagall said, pointing to Regulus and Kreacher, "take Mr. Black and his house-elf to the empty C-7 cabin and help them settle in. Make sure they're familiar with the ship's rules and living areas." She glanced at Kreacher. "This is Kreacher, Mr. Black's house-elf. Tell Hobby in the kitchens that Kreacher's skilled at making French onion soup, stews, and pies. He can lend a hand there."
"Yes, Professor!" Mippy replied brightly, gesturing to Regulus and Kreacher. "This way, sir."
Regulus nodded gratefully and followed Mippy out, Kreacher trailing close behind, still clutching his robe.
Once the door closed, McGonagall turned to Snape, her tone serious. "I'll have the elves keep an eye on Regulus. That boy…" She frowned. "You handled it well, Severus, but we must stay cautious."
"Understood," Snape said. "Everyone's safety comes first."
Time passed quickly.
In the days that followed, "Mr. Green" took over Flitwick's part-time Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, much to the relief of the overworked Flitwick. But Gellert Grindelwald's first lesson didn't go smoothly.
While demonstrating a flashy mobile-casting technique, he misjudged the cabin floor and nearly tripped. Though he caught himself, the former dark wizard was visibly irked by his "blunder." He obsessively inspected the floor, scrutinized every student, and abruptly canceled the class.
After Flitwick covered for him for a week, Grindelwald holed up in the ship, tinkering secretively. When he returned to teaching, he was brimming with confidence, almost eager to show off. No one knew what he'd done, but his lessons became noticeably more "thrilling."
By late November, the exiles' long-planned secret radio station, "Hogwarts Watch," finally launched. Its broadcasts pierced the clouds, reaching across the British Isles.
The programs exposed the Death Eaters' atrocities: their systematic persecution and slaughter of Muggles and non-pure-bloods. Hosts reported horrifying incidents with pained, angry voices, revealing how, under the new regime, Muggle killings had shifted from covert operations to near-public, depraved "entertainment."
Notably, thanks to Muggle-born wizard Dirk Cresswell—former Slug Club member and key Order of the Phoenix ally—"Hogwarts Watch" began broadcasting in Gobbledegook, Giant, and even Trollish. Though Cresswell privately grumbled to Snape that broadcasting to "dim-witted" trolls was a waste of time and magic, saying, "Trolls weigh a ton, but their brains are the size of a booger. They don't get radio!"
Snape simply reassured him: "If we don't claim the propaganda battlefield, the enemy will. Even swaying one giant is worth it."
In truth, Snape knew Cresswell's reluctance stemmed partly from the embarrassment of grunting Trollish "hrrk-hrrk" sounds in front of others.
Results mattered most, though.
Surprisingly, despite the Death Eaters' iron grip on Gringotts, the station's staff found feedback from goblin listeners. These Gringotts employees, clearly displeased with the Ministry's bank takeover, were quietly tuning in, keeping tabs on the outside world's turmoil.