On the deck shrouded in thin mist high above the clouds, Snape carefully rolled up a sheet of parchment and placed it into a small pouch sewn from thick canvas.
Inside were also several used wands he had selected for their remaining, though limited, functionality.
He tied the pouch securely and let out a low whistle.
A few seconds later, a beautiful Horned Owl glided down soundlessly from the top of the mast, landing steadily on his outstretched arm.
It let out a low, throaty hoot, its yellow-green eyes fixed on its master. Its wings fluttered slightly, as if impatient to stretch them and soar once again through the cold, cloud-swept sky.
After fastening the pouch tightly to Nocturna's talons, Snape gently stroked her soft head.
"Go," he said. "Be careful, avoid contact with other owls."
Nocturna brushed her beak against his fingers, gave a short, confident call, then spread her broad wings. With a strong push of her talons against Snape's arm, she shot upward into the bright but icy air.
She circled once overhead to find her bearings, then dove straight into the endless sea of clouds below, her brown-and-white silhouette rising and falling among the mist.
Snape stood motionless, watching her vanish into the distance. In the letter, he had told Rika that Hogwarts had fallen into the hands of the Death Eaters, that the castle was no longer safe, and that she should not believe the Ministry's promises, she was to take her people deep into the Forbidden Forest, far from any trace of civilization.
When Nocturna finally disappeared from sight, Snape turned back toward the warmth of the ship's interior.
In the central corridor of the ship, a spacious cabin had been converted into a staff office. Behind a large oak desk sat Professor McGonagall, spectacles perched on her nose, brow furrowed as she read the latest edition of the Daily Prophet.
The other professors were also present, enjoying a few rare moments of peace before classes began.
Most striking among them was Gellert Grindelwald, seated lazily on a comfortable sofa at the center of the room. He held a steaming porcelain teacup in one hand, his gaze distant as he watched the clouds drift past the window.
Beside him, Madam Rosier sat silently, a silver teapot before her, ready to refill his cup at any time.
As Snape pushed the door open and entered, his eyes swept across the room before settling on Madam Rosier. Without breaking stride, he walked toward Professor McGonagall's desk, but couldn't resist asking,
"Madam Rosier, since Mr. Grindelwald appears to have abandoned his former grand ideals and ambitions, what meaning is there in your continued devotion to him?"
After refilling Grindelwald's cup, Rosier turned her head toward Snape.
"If he truly hadn't abandoned those ambitions, Mr. Snape," she replied calmly, her slightly husky voice clear and poised, "then I suspect you would be the one feeling quite displeased right now."
"Fair point," Snape answered with a quiet chuckle. He didn't press further, instead spreading out several copies of the Daily Prophet from the past few days on McGonagall's desk.
"Look here," he said. "'Rebel Professors Flee Hogwarts with Students, Ministry Urges Return to the Right Path.' According to this, we've kidnapped innocent students, Muggle-borns, pure-bloods, half-bloods alike, and escaped aboard a mysterious vessel.
"Your bounty, Professor, has already reached two thousand five hundred Galleons. Five hundred of those are personally offered by Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He says he will not bow to rebels, even for his son's sake."
At this, McGonagall placed the issue she had been reading in front of Snape. The headline was impossible to miss, news of Gellert Grindelwald's escape from Nurmengard, warnings that the wizarding world faced unprecedented danger, and an international warrant issued by the International Confederation of Wizards.
"Severus," she said with visible concern, "must we really let the students read all of this? Especially this one." She pointed to Grindelwald's wanted poster.
"Of course not," Snape replied immediately. Drawing his wand, he added, "I've no intention of letting them see every truth exactly as printed."
With a flick of his wand and a muttered incantation, the photograph and text of Grindelwald's wanted notice vanished from the page as if erased by an invisible hand. In its place appeared a garish headline: "Scandal! Madame Puddifoot's Love Triangle, Quidditch Star Entangled in Tea Shop Affair?"
He proceeded to alter several other sensitive articles, transforming them into harmless features like "A Look Back at the 1964 Quidditch World Cup Final," "Cornish Pixies: Mischief Behind the Cute Faces," and "Ministry Official Urges: Protect Endangered Magical Flora."
"Can't have them reading everything, can we?" Snape said dryly as he worked. "What if someone actually noticed something they shouldn't?"
He turned a few pages further in, leaving untouched the Ministry's propaganda pieces such as "Abraxas Malfoy Appointed New Headmaster of Hogwarts, Vows to Establish 'New Order'" and "Ministry to Establish Wizard Heritage Registration Commission to Ensure Equality for All Wizards."
He also left in the wanted notices for McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and several "defected" Aurors.
Then Snape pulled out several sheets of blank parchment, dipped a quill in ink, and quickly wrote down his own commentary, critical analyses of those same articles.
He explained how both the Ministry and the Daily Prophet had become mouthpieces of the Death Eaters, that Malfoy's promises of reform were hollow, and that the so-called "Heritage Registration Commission" was in truth a preparatory tool for persecution and control.
When he finished, he called over a house-elf who had been waiting quietly nearby.
"Take these," Snape instructed, handing over the stack of modified newspapers and his written notes. "Give them to Abbott and Little Barty. Tell them to find a few sharp and trustworthy students, and when others are reading the papers, have them 'casually' steer the discussion in these directions."
The elf bowed deeply, clutching the papers. "Yes, Mr. Snape, sir!" it squeaked, then scurried off at once.
"Severus, you truly are..." McGonagall shook her head, giving him a look both exasperated and appreciative. Then she glanced at the magical clock on the wall. "You'd best get to your Potions class. First and second years this morning, remember."
Snape nodded, pocketed his wand, straightened the cuffs of his robes, and left the office.
The Potions classroom occupied a large, specially modified room on the upper deck. Several long tables stood in neat rows, each equipped with a brass cauldron stand.
To prevent accidents, the ventilation was excellent, large exhaust fans hummed along both walls. The stone-tiled floor was sturdy enough to resist even corrosive spills.
When Snape, clad in black robes, strode into the room, the first-year students fell silent at once.
Students from all four Houses were seated together, their young faces showing a mix of awe and curiosity toward the famous upperclassman who was now their new professor.
Snape took his place behind the lectern and swept his calm gaze across the room. His voice, when he began to speak, was soft, barely louder than a whisper, yet every word carried clearly.
"Potions," he said, "is a deep and wondrous magical art."
"I believe that all of you here," his eyes moved slowly across the eager or anxious faces, "through diligent study and practice, will come to appreciate the subtle beauty that rises from a simmering cauldron, the faint scent of magic born from patience and precision."
"Under my guidance," Snape continued, his tone taking on a subtle, almost hypnotic lilt, "you will learn how liquids that flow through the veins can stir the soul and cloud the mind. Mastering such power can bring you prestige, forge glory, perhaps even forestall death itself."
When he paused, every student sat wide-eyed, hardly daring to breathe, captivated by the world he had conjured.
But Snape gave them no time to linger in awe.
"Now," he said briskly, "open your copies of Magical Drafts and Potions to the page on the Boil-Cure Potion. For your year level, the book's instructions are mostly reliable."
"However," he added, his tone sharpening, "when you advance to higher studies, remember, every word, every step in these books is not necessarily correct. You must learn to think critically, to experiment, to understand, not to follow blindly."
Without further preamble, he began explaining the preparation of the Boil-Cure Potion in clear, concise steps.
"Begin," Snape said, dividing the students into pairs. "Work together on your brewing."
The room soon filled with the clatter of scales, pestles, and cauldrons. Snape glided silently between rows, his black robes trailing behind him, watching as students weighed dried nettles, crushed snake fangs, and stirred bubbling mixtures.
When he noticed mistakes, he corrected them without scolding, adjusting a flame with a precise flick of his wand, or guiding a student's stirring hand.
However, when a young girl raised a quill of porcupine spikes and looked ready to drop it straight into a boiling cauldron, Snape's voice rose sharply.
"Stop!" he barked, striding forward to halt the motion with his wand.
"That," he said firmly, "was an extremely dangerous mistake. As much as potioneering can be rewarding, it is equally perilous if handled carelessly." His eyes swept the class. "Would anyone like to see what happens if one drops porcupine quills into a boiling potion?"
The students stared, wide-eyed.
"I see you're all curious," Snape said, raising his left hand. "Everyone, step back, stand on your stools if you must."
Then, before their eyes, he tossed the quills into the bubbling cauldron.
A cloud of acrid green smoke erupted violently upward.
A sharp, hissing sound followed as the brass cauldron twisted and corroded in seconds. The boiling liquid splashed across the stone floor, eating small pits into the surface and burning through the leg of a nearby desk.
The students gasped in alarm.
Snape remained perfectly calm. With a flick of his wand, he commanded, "Evanesco!"
A flash of light, and the corrosive potion vanished completely, leaving behind only the warped remains of the cauldron as a grim reminder.
"Now you see," Snape said gravely, his gaze sweeping the room of pale faces. "A single misplaced ingredient, one wrong moment, and this is the result.
"And this," he continued, "is only one of the simplest potions. For advanced brews, the consequences of failure can be a hundred times worse."
"Dissolved limbs, internal decay, permanent magical damage, even death." His voice slowed, each word sinking into their minds. "Potions-making is no child's game. Caution, that is your first and greatest lesson in my classroom."
The tension in the air eased slightly, though one trembling student still looked on the verge of tears.
"All right, Miss Polk," Snape said. "No need for guilt or worry. In fact, we should thank you, you've provided a valuable demonstration that will help everyone remember this lesson far better."
He reached into his robe pocket and drew out a Galleon. With a tap of his wand, glowing words appeared on its surface: 'Outstanding Potions Student'.
"There are no more House points now," Snape said. "Instead, each week, the two students who perform best in my class will receive one of these merit badges. As for this one, I'm awarding it early, to Miss Polk."
"Here you are," he said, handing the gleaming coin to the astonished girl.
Polk accepted it with wide eyes, clutching it tightly in both hands.
When the two long consecutive lessons finally ended, Snape watched as the students carefully cleaned their cauldrons and packed up ingredients. He exhaled softly.
"Teaching truly isn't easy," he thought. "Still, seeing that spark of real curiosity, and respect, for potions in their eyes... perhaps being a good teacher is more rewarding than being a harsh one after all."