The intruder seemed very pleased with his one-blow breach of the door and was just about to open his mouth to declare victory or deliver a threat.
However, the moment he took his first step into the office, before he even had time to register what was inside, let alone speak a single word, a blinding green light struck him squarely in the chest.
The Death Eater's body went rigid. The light faded from the eyes behind his mask, and his entire frame collapsed backward as if all his bones had been removed, hitting the debris-strewn doorway with a dull thud. He did not move again.
"Wand, Accio." Snape murmured silently to himself.
Catching the summoned wand neatly in his left hand, he did not lower his guard. His wand remained raised, pointed steadily at the doorway.
He tilted his head slightly, listening for several seconds. Apart from what might have been a faint, suppressed groan somewhere in the distance, there was no sound.
Confirming there were no further signs of enemies approaching, he frowned and muttered under his breath, a trace of surprise and suspicion in his tone: "Just one?"
He lowered his wand slowly, turned sideways, and looked at the still-shaken Prime Minister and the others. "Your Excellency, we should leave this place at once."
Hack's eyes were still fixed on the motionless body in black robes lying at the doorway. His body trembled slightly. He swallowed hard and asked hoarsely, "He... that man... what happened to him?"
"He's dead." Snape glanced briefly at the corpse, then turned back to Hack. "Prime Minister, I presume there's no longer any need for me to demonstrate the power of magic, is there?"
When Hack numbly shook his head, Snape said to the three pale-faced men, "Come, hold on to me. We leave now."
With a faint pop, the four of them appeared in the shadows of a deserted alley, only a few steps from the entrance to the true magical safe house.
The sensation of Apparition was dreadful, especially for Muggles who had never experienced it before. Though the air here was fresh and cold, Hack, Humphrey, and Bernard were all deathly pale. Their stomachs churned violently; Hack even clutched a wall and retched.
Ignoring their discomfort, Snape swiftly used a levitating charm to pull all three inside a seemingly ordinary brick terrace house concealed between the neighboring buildings.
The interior was simple and comfortable, with an unmistakable hint of magic in the air.
With Snape's help, the three men staggered to the living-room sofa and collapsed, still looking as if their souls had been shaken loose from their bodies.
"Would you gentlemen like something to drink?" Snape asked, walking to a low cabinet in the corner. "Tea? Coffee? Something else? It'll help ease the nausea."
Only heavy breathing and dazed eyes answered him. Hack clutched his forehead, Humphrey kept his eyes shut as though fighting dizziness, and Bernard stared blankly at the portrait of a snoring old wizard on the wall.
Snape waited a few seconds; when no one replied, he decided on his own. "Coffee, then."
He tapped his wand toward the coffee grinder and cupboard behind the counter.
The sealed jar's lid twisted open silently, coffee beans flew into the grinder with a soft hum; the kettle filled itself, heated, and began to boil; the ground coffee poured neatly into the filter, and hot water cascaded down, releasing a rich, aromatic scent that filled the room.
Three white porcelain cups floated out of the cupboard and landed neatly on the table before the sofa. The coffee pot rose, pouring steaming dark-brown liquid into each cup.
Finally, the cups levitated again, hovering gently before Hack, Humphrey, and Bernard.
The miraculous display at last pulled the drifting gazes of the three imperial elites back into focus.
Sir Humphrey was the first to regain a little composure. He extended a slightly trembling hand to take the floating cup before him.
The warmth of the porcelain seemed to steady him. He inhaled the aroma deeply, then looked around the magically protected room with a complicated expression. A question that had troubled him for years slipped out before he could stop himself. "Why haven't you wizards ruled the world yet?"
Snape poured himself a cup of black coffee as well. Hearing the question, he merely curled his lips faintly.
"Rule the world?" He took a sip. "An amusing, but meaningless notion, Sir Humphrey. One could say it's because magic is not omnipotent, it always comes with a cost. One could also say our own internal strife is just as brutal.
"But the simplest, most practical reason is this: your population is enormous, while wizards are pitifully few."
"Now, back to business." He pointed to an old-fashioned rotary telephone at the far side of the room. "You're absolutely safe here. The telephone line is functional, unmonitored, and untraceable. You can maintain essential contact with the outside world."
"Telephone!" The word made Sir Humphrey's eyes light up. He immediately set down his cup and turned to Bernard, speaking rapidly. "Bernard, contact Whitehall Emergency Command at once. Report the Prime Minister's relocation and safety. Dispatch medical and support teams to the previous safehouse immediately, tend to the wounded and handle the aftermath."
"Yes, Sir Humphrey." Bernard, still pale, forced himself upright and rushed to the phone, dialing quickly.
Seeing Humphrey already moving efficiently to coordinate follow-up actions, Hack seemed to regain some composure as well. His voice was weak as he asked, "Mr. Snape, when can we leave here?"
"Perhaps soon," Snape replied, though without giving a definite answer. "But I can't guarantee that. It depends on the Death Eaters' movements and the outcome of our operations." He glanced at Humphrey and Hack. "To hasten the restoration of normal order, I previously mentioned to Sir Humphrey the prospect of cooperation.
"Specifically, we hope to acquire a batch of your newer weapons, firearms, light artillery, and arrange for some of our people to receive the necessary training in their use and maintenance."
"Weapons?!" Hack blurted in shock, instinctively leaning back, his voice rising in protest. "That's impossible! Mr. Snape, weapons are strictly regulated, especially high-powered ones! Those are matters of national law and security policy. We absolutely cannot-"
"Mr. Snape," Sir Humphrey interjected smoothly, cutting off the Prime Minister. "Please excuse His Excellency's excitement. We understand your urgency to seek every means to counter your enemies. But may I ask, what exactly do you intend to do with these Muggle weapons?
"After all, as we just witnessed, magic seems far more direct and effective. Our elite guards and their equipment proved of little use against it."
"They are meant to eliminate Death Eaters more efficiently and end this chaos, one that now spans both worlds, as swiftly as possible," Snape answered calmly. "And I don't mind admitting, at present, in terms of absolute magical strength, our side is at a slight disadvantage.
"So we're considering additional, non-magical measures to compensate for the gap, increase our odds, and reduce casualties.
"Muggle weapons, when wielded by those who also command magic, may serve as a powerful supplement, perhaps even an unexpected advantage. In this way, gentlemen, you may all return to your normal duties sooner."
"Even so," Hack said, frowning deeply, "we can't provide you with the newest high-power weapons. That's a matter of national security."
Sir Humphrey sighed almost imperceptibly. He stood and gave Hack a pointed look. "Prime Minister, may I have a word with you?" He discreetly gestured toward the far corner of the room.
Hack blinked. "Ah? Oh... yes, go ahead, Humphrey."
With a silent sigh, Sir Humphrey signaled again with his eyes and a subtle hand motion. Only then did Hack awkwardly rise and follow him to the corner, out of Snape's earshot.
"Prime Minister," Humphrey said in a low voice, "helping them holds immense potential benefit for us. First, it's obvious they don't need our weapons to fight us, their own power is sufficient. Supplying them arms is merely to help them strike more effectively at our mutual enemy, those maniacs in black robes."
"Second, if they win and restore order to the wizarding world, those attacks on us, the so-called 'terror incidents', will finally stop."
"Third," he leaned in even closer, nearly whispering, "by helping them, we're essentially giving 'them' weapons to fight 'other parts of them.' You could even call it using their internal conflict to weaken their overall threat to us."
"But, Humphrey," Hack said uneasily, "we can't give them the latest weapons. That's a matter of principle. And they clearly don't want scrap metal."
"We can give them some..." Humphrey bit the words out through his teeth, "'decommissioned,' 'retired' new weapons."
"Humphrey," Hack's eyes widened, "that's corruption!"
"It's strategy, Prime Minister!" Humphrey shot back. "Extraordinary measures for extraordinary times. Your safety, and that of the nation you represent, must come first.
"Think of that figure at the door, the one with the silver mask. Think of that green light. It matches the reports we've seen before! Do you want to live every day under that kind of fear?"
Hack flinched at the memory, the image of the black-robed figure collapsing flashing in his mind. He fell silent, expression shifting through conflict and fear.
"You're right, Humphrey," he said at last. "I suppose we do have a responsibility to aid our allies in distress."
"Yes, Prime Minister." Humphrey gave a slight bow.
Having reached an understanding, the two returned to the sitting area.
"Mr. Snape," Humphrey said composedly, "after careful consideration, we believe your proposal is most constructive.
"Especially in this unprecedented time, transcending traditional boundaries and pursuing cross-domain cooperation is a necessary measure to preserve the stability and order we both seek.
"The interests and security of Great Britain come above all, and right now, aiding our allies serves precisely those interests."
He glanced at Hack, who adopted a grave and approving expression and nodded.
Humphrey continued, "You may later provide us with a list and detailed specifications. We'll arrange a secure, confidential site where trustworthy personnel can train those you designate. As for the equipment, we'll provide materials consistent with 'training purposes' and 'safety standards,' according to practical needs."
"Thank you," Snape said with a slight nod. "Your decision is both wise and generous. We can also arrange for a few reliable wizard bodyguards to rotate here, ensuring your safety while allowing brief excursions for official duties or fresh air."
"But until final security is ensured," he looked to Hack, "I would still ask Your Excellency to remain here as much as possible. It's the safest option." He paused, adding, "Also, should any of you suffer minor ailments or require potions to ease the strain of recent events, you may contact us through that portrait." He indicated the painting of the still-snoring wizard on the wall.
After their subsequent arrangements were settled in a wordless but mutual understanding, Snape took his leave and returned to the Founders' Ark above the sea of clouds.
...
Time passed, rippling with undercurrents.
Before long, even the biting wind could not dispel the festive spirit spreading across the Founders' Ark. Christmas was near.
Students had decorated the cabins and halls with handmade garlands and magical snowflakes, simple yet full of heart. In the dining hall stood a huge Christmas tree, brought by a member of the Order of the Phoenix returning from a mission, its branches glittering with softly glowing enchanted stars.
The teachers had prepared a small gift for every student, a vial of invigorating potion, perhaps a note-bound spellbook, or a fine set of potion tools. Though far humbler than the mountain of presents once piled within Hogwarts Castle, in these storm-tossed years of exile, they were cherished more deeply than ever.
To everyone's delight, on Christmas Eve, the Prewett twins arrived travel-worn but grinning, hauling a massive parcel marked with a handwritten label from Mrs. Weasley herself, "For the Brave Hearts of Hogwarts."
Inside were her hand-knitted, brightly colored sweaters for everyone aboard, the students, the staff, even the house-elves, each embroidered with the wearer's initial. In addition, every person received a small box of her homemade butter fudge.
Aside from the deep-green sweater bearing the initials "S.S.," Snape found his package unexpectedly larger than the rest. Inside were two extra boxes of finely wrapped fudge and a Christmas card. On it were Molly Weasley's warm words:
"...Thank you for the Calming Draught you specially brewed for me. In these days of worry over two reckless sons, your potion allowed me a few precious hours of peaceful sleep each night...
"...And thank you again for my little girl (I hope so) growing inside me... Oh, and Arthur tried a bit of your draught too, it worked wonderfully... Merry Christmas, and may Merlin keep you all safe..."
Days passed in that rhythm of tension and laughter.
The core members of the Order of the Phoenix, along with carefully chosen senior students from the Order of One, departed the Ark in batches.
Through secure channels arranged by Sir Humphrey, they were taken to a remote stretch of Britain's coastline, to an abandoned Royal Artillery training range, now under army guard.
There, a handful of capable former instructors from the Special Air Service, men "skilled in forgetting things", put them through rigorous Muggle weapons training.
For Pandora, Abbott, and several other pure-blood wizards, the experience was unforgettable. Their shoulders went numb after their first live-fire session, yet they were fascinated by what they began calling "the Muggles' explosive spellcraft."
Even the proud young Barty could not conceal his awe after watching a large-caliber sniper rifle punch a hole clean through a thick steel target a kilometer away. Such destructive force, he realized, would shatter any Shield Charm he could cast.
And when they were taken to an open field to witness an artillery shell explode on a mock encampment, carving a blackened crater several meters wide and scattering dummies in fragments, silence fell upon them all.
The same thought crossed every mind: To unleash this pure, annihilating force in a battle between wizards, even against Death Eaters, might it not be too cruel, too inhuman?
After brief shock and heated discussion over this new kind of power, life aboard the Ark returned to its routine rhythm.
But peace did not last long.
On a bleak afternoon, fine snow drifting through the air, several members of the Order of the Phoenix crossed the barrier and landed on the frosty deck, dragging three bound figures behind them.
The captives were none other than those whom everyone had long assumed to be lost, or worse.
James Potter, gaunt and weather-worn; Sirius Black, in ragged clothes, his old fire dimmed by exhaustion and gloom; and the trembling, panic-stricken Peter Pettigrew, who looked as though he had been yanked from his broom mid-flight.