As soon as the question was asked, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and the others who had been whispering among themselves fell silent. The faint clinking of cutlery at the staff table stopped. All eyes turned to Grindelwald, burning with barely contained anticipation.
Returning to Hogwarts, ending their wandering—this was their deepest desire at that moment.
Grindelwald, unhurried, set down his napkin and picked up his goblet of deep red wine. He swirled it gently, letting the liquid trace elegant arcs along the glass. Under the flickering candlelight and the weight of tense gazes, he finally looked up, meeting Snape's eyes.
"Severus," Grindelwald said calmly, taking a sip, "those who try to grasp both the sky and the earth often lose both. The key to life is knowing when to be content."
A flicker of disappointment crossed Snape's face, but he quickly accepted it. Expecting a man who'd spent decades confined in a tower to emerge and defeat the reigning Dark Lord was, perhaps, asking too much of the old wizard.
"I see," Snape replied, his tone laced with concern. "So, did you meet Voldemort in person? Who came out on top?"
"An interesting question," Grindelwald said, setting down his goblet and looking at Snape with a hint of encouragement. "It seems you've grown quite comfortable saying 'Voldemort.' Well done, Severus. With that kind of nerve, you're ready to face him yourself."
Snape understood immediately. Grindelwald's mission hadn't been a complete victory—perhaps he'd even taken a slight loss. Yet, his composed return, though later than expected, was the best outcome they could hope for. Whatever Grindelwald's motives, he'd bought them precious time and opportunity, ensuring the safety of the Founders' Ark.
"Courage is valuable, Mr. Grindelwald," Snape said with a nod and a small smile. "But when facing a viper's fangs, a more strategic approach is wise."
Setting down his knife and fork, Snape stood. He cleared his throat, tapped his wand to it, and cast, "*Sonorus!*" His voice boomed, filling the brightly lit dining hall, drowning out whispers and clinking dishes.
"Students, professors, friends—Happy Hallowe'en!" Snape's gaze swept the room as silence fell, all eyes on him.
He paused, then turned toward Grindelwald. "On this special night, let us raise a glass to Mr. Grindelwald!"
His eyes scanned the crowd. Nymphadora Tonks sat nestled between Ted and Andromeda, her hair restored to vibrant violet from its prison-dulled gray, though her face was still pale. Nearby, Roxy Polk sat close to her aunt, Lady Kate. Across the room, the Longbottoms sat among Order of the Phoenix members, looking weary but relieved.
"Especially to our new friends," Snape continued, "whose safe arrival tonight was secured by Mr. Grindelwald's actions."
Glasses rose across the room. The Tonkses and Lady Kate stood, their faces alight with gratitude, as did the Longbottoms. The students, less certain of the toast's weight but seeing the adults' solemnity, obediently lifted their pumpkin juice.
The raised arms were uneven, a bit scattered compared to the standing adults. "To Mr. Grindelwald!" Snape called, raising his glass.
"To Mr. Grindelwald!" came the staggered response.
Grindelwald remained seated, barely glancing up. He took a shallow sip from his goblet.
As the toast ended, the Tonkses and others sat. Snape didn't signal for dinner to resume. Setting down his glass, he continued, voice still amplified, "Today, under Mr. Grindelwald's protection, we went to Azkaban." He paused, noting the shocked gasps from students. "We rescued people. Many of you have noticed the new faces at our table tonight. They are Azkaban's survivors."
He gestured to the newcomers. "They are, in large part, the 'masterpiece' of the Ministry's 'Wizards of Muggle Origin Registration Committee.' For centuries, Azkaban has held the most wicked dark wizards and vilest criminals. Yet, when we arrived at that chilling prison, we found a mockery of its purpose. Its cells held not sinners, but innocents."
"Their crime? Being born with magic in non-magical families. Muggle-borns. Like most of you here," Snape said, his tone biting. "If you're curious, ask Roxy's aunt, Lady Kate, later. She escaped that nightmare today. She trusted the Ministry, registered as ordered, and was branded a thief, accused of stealing magic from pure-bloods. That was their promised 'safety.'"
Students who knew Roxy exchanged shocked, sympathetic glances, their eyes turning to Lady Kate. Her lips were pressed tight, gripping Roxy's hand as she nodded gravely, silently confirming Snape's words.
"There were others," Snape continued, turning to the Tonks family. Andromeda sat close to her daughter, Ted clasping his wife's hand. "The Tonkses were imprisoned for 'tainting pure-blood lineage.' Andromeda, from the ancient Black family, found no favor in that. Her crime? Marrying the talented Ted Tonks, a Muggle-born, and raising their lovely daughter, Nymphadora. The Tonkses—including their four-year-old—were deemed worthy of Dementors' company."
At that, little Nymphadora wriggled free, clambering onto her chair. "Yeah!" she shouted, waving a tiny fist, her voice indignant but childish. "They're bad! Really bad! Locked me and Mummy and Daddy in a dark, cold place with scary monsters!"
Andromeda gently pulled her daughter back, stroking her back, her eyes still shadowed with fear. The hall fell quiet. Snape waited, ensuring all attention was on him.
"Our success today, bringing these innocents back from that hell," he said, pointing to Grindelwald, "was because of Mr. Grindelwald. He alone confronted He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—Voldemort."
The name sparked gasps and stifled cries. Older students and adult wizards flinched, fear etched on their faces. Snape, unfazed, stood tall, his gaze sweeping the room, lingering on those showing panic. Slowly, the chaos settled into tense breathing.
"Here on the Founders' Ark," Snape said, pointing his wand at the deck, "you needn't fear Death Eaters sensing you say his name or worry about spies reporting it. If anyone's foolish enough to try," he shrugged, "we'd happily escort them off and deliver them to their master. I'm sure Voldemort would welcome his loyal servant with a cozy cell overlooking the Dementors."
Dry, nervous chuckles broke out.
"We should say Voldemort's name," Snape pressed on. "All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense is rubbish. On the Founders' Ark, if we keep whispering 'You-Know-Who,' we're letting fear win. His name isn't 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.' Fearing it insults Hogwarts and Dumbledore. There's no reason to be afraid. Who'll start?"
Silence hung briefly before a firm voice cut through. "Voldemort!" Lily stood, her face fierce with defiance.
"Voldemort!" Pandora, Abbott, and Barty Jr. rose, echoing her.
"Voldemort!" Flitwick's high-pitched voice joined in, standing on his chair to be seen.
Like a lit fuse, most younger students found their courage, shouting the name, some trembling or off-key, but their voices swelled into a small wave. Yet many older students and adults hesitated, lips sealed, eyes conflicted, fear still gripping them.
Snape's gaze swept the silent faces, landing on the staff table. "Seems we have some holdouts," he said, turning to McGonagall with a teasing tone. "Professor, shall we toss those too scared to say Voldemort's name overboard? Might cure their cowardice."
"Severus," McGonagall shot him a withering look, "if I refuse to say his name, are you planning to throw me off the ship?"
The hall fell silent, even the excited younger students stunned. Before Snape could respond, a gleeful, high-pitched voice floated from the chandelier above. "Professor!" Moaning Myrtle giggled. "You just said 'Voldemort'! I heard you!"
"Miss Warren!" McGonagall glared, but Myrtle stuck out her tongue and ducked back into the chandelier, still peeking down.
"Alright, alright," Snape interjected, smiling faintly. "Our brave Gryffindor Head has set the example."
He raised his goblet again. "Let us toast once more to the wizard who dared face the Dark Lord alone, to the champion who secured our time and safety—Mr. Grindelwald! Cheers!"
"To Mr. Grindelwald!"
"Thank you, Mr. Grindelwald!"
This time, no prompting was needed. The hall erupted, students and adults alike standing, raising glasses with heartfelt gratitude toward Grindelwald and Snape.
Grindelwald remained seated, seemingly indifferent. He picked up his knife and fork, slicing a perfectly roasted pork chop with elegance, chewing slowly. But to those close, like Snape, a faint flicker of satisfaction might have been glimpsed in his downcast eyes. Though his face stayed composed, the sharp edge of his presence softened slightly.
The banquet wound down in a complex atmosphere. Students filed out to their common rooms under professors' guidance, while house-elves efficiently cleared the mess. The rescued—Lady Kate, the Tonkses, and the Longbottoms—lingered, their eyes fixed on Grindelwald as he wiped his mouth. The danger of his mission needed no explanation.
Little Nymphadora was the most eager. She broke free from her mother, her short legs racing toward Grindelwald. But in her haste, she tripped over a chair leg. "Ouch!" she yelped as the chair tipped and she fell flat on her back.
"This stupid chair!" she huffed, rubbing her sore backside. "That's the second time it's tripped me!"