"So," Professor McGonagall said to Aberforth after outlining their plan, "we hope you'll leave with us. We're worried that You-Know-Who will target anyone connected to Albus."
Aberforth stood by Dumbledore's bedside, his back to the group.
After a long silence, he shook his head.
"No," he said with a hint of disgust. "I don't want to be on the same ship as that self-righteous man. Besides, I've got my pub to look after."
"Aberforth!" Professor McGonagall's voice rose, a rare occurrence. "This is about your safety!"
"I've lived in Hogsmeade for fifty years," Aberforth said stubbornly. "I'm not going anywhere." His gaze flickered to Snape. "Besides, with all you clever folks around, you won't need me." He glanced at McGonagall. "And since he's down, I'm out of that organization."
McGonagall opened her mouth, seemingly to persuade him further, but Aberforth cut her off with a wave of his hand.
"I'm leaving," he said, heading for the door. He recalled his goat Patronus. "See you if fate allows." With a final glance at his brother lying in the bed, he left without looking back.
"Stubborn old goat," McGonagall muttered under her breath. "After all these years…"
Professor Slughorn and Snape silently observed the exchange.
After Aberforth's departure, they took a few strands of Dumbledore's silver-white hair and clipped some of his fingernails before bidding McGonagall farewell.
They descended to the castle's dungeons and slipped into Professor Slughorn's potion storeroom.
Pushing open the door, they were greeted by the heady aroma of mingled potion ingredients.
Snape deftly set up three cauldrons, igniting blue flames beneath them, and began preparing potions with Slughorn, following every possible antidote formula.
"You know," Slughorn said suddenly, dripping belladonna juice into a clear potion, "your mother had a knack for Potions back in the day, but she wasn't fond of socializing. That wasn't ideal."
"This stuff is quite useful," he added, setting down the dropper and wiping his hands. "Oh, I'll have to destroy it all once you leave."
"You've probably met her by now," Snape said, his potion shifting from green to blue. "The Herbology assistant."
"Yes," Slughorn nodded. "She seems much happier now than she did at school. Far less melancholic…"
Time passed in the haze of simmering potions. When the liquids in all three cauldrons reached perfection, the clock's hands pointed to dawn.
Slughorn carefully divided Dumbledore's fingernails into three portions, adding one to each cauldron.
The potions transformed instantly. One turned deep purple, another shimmered like mother-of-pearl, and the last gleamed like molten gold.
"All successful," Snape said quietly, looking up at Slughorn. "Shall we try all three?"
Slughorn nodded and retrieved a crystal vial of Polyjuice Potion from a cabinet.
When Dumbledore's silver hair was added, the potion took on the vivid blue of the headmaster's eyes.
They left the storeroom and returned to the headmaster's office as the first rays of morning light filtered through the castle's high windows.
McGonagall was seated at Dumbledore's desk, her quill scratching across parchment. Her Patronus leaped through an open window into the dawn.
"Is it ready?" she asked, looking up expectantly.
"Yes," Slughorn replied, pulling three vials from his robes. "I believe they'll all have some effect without adverse reactions. Severus and I have confirmed this." Snape handed her the vial of Polyjuice Potion.
That evening, in Hogwarts' Great Hall, students were astonished to see Professor Dumbledore, absent for days, reappear at the staff table.
Clad in robes adorned with stars and moons, his silver-white beard glinting in the candlelight, he cheerfully enjoyed his dessert.
"Good evening, Abraxas."
When the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher approached the table with the Malfoy family's newly enslaved house-elf, Professor McGonagall, in her best imitation of Dumbledore's kindly tone, greeted him.
Abraxas gave a curt nod, a flicker of doubt in his gray eyes.
"Albus," he said slowly, "I heard you've been unwell?"
"Oh, just minor ailments of old age," "Dumbledore" replied with a smile.
Over the next few days, McGonagall canceled Transfiguration classes, citing "illness."
In the corridors, students gathered in small groups, buzzing with the good news. Snape and "Dumbledore" happened to pass by at that moment.
"Professor McGonagall's sick! Transfiguration's canceled!" the students cheered.
Hearing this, "Dumbledore" stopped abruptly and turned toward the group.
Her—or rather, his—eyes flashed with McGonagall's characteristic severity behind half-moon spectacles.
"Young people, Transfiguration is a foundational magical discipline," she said in a stern tone far from Dumbledore's usual warmth. "Canceling classes doesn't mean you can slack off. I… once taught Transfiguration at Hogwarts for many years, and I can tell you unequivocally that those who neglect this subject always regret it."
The students froze, exchanging bewildered glances, clearly shocked by the headmaster's sudden reprimand. This was not very Dumbledore-like.
Snape quickly stepped forward, pretending to report something urgent, and leaned close to "Dumbledore."
"Professor, maintain your composure," he whispered. "Don't slip up. Dumbledore wouldn't scold students like that."
"Dumbledore" seemed to realize her mistake, coughing hastily. "Every subject is important," she said to the students. "Off you go."
Once the students dispersed, "Dumbledore" slipped a small vial from her sleeve, taking a sip of Polyjuice Potion under the cover of her voluminous robes.
When they finally reached the headmaster's office, Snape immediately retrieved the newly brewed potions and began treating the real Dumbledore, still lying in bed. The old man's face remained pale, but his breathing seemed steadier.
"He looks a bit better," McGonagall said hopefully.
"There's some improvement," Snape said, carefully lifting Dumbledore's head. "We'll have to take it slowly." He gently pried open Dumbledore's lips with a silver spoon, pouring in the potions. "Slughorn's given me enough materials to ensure the headmaster's recovery."
With Dumbledore temporarily stabilized, they turned to the evacuation plan.
"Filius is still at the dock, repairing and testing the ships," McGonagall said, settling into an armchair. "The house-elves have prepared plenty of food, and Pomona's trying to build small greenhouses on the ship's deck, transplanting some magical plants."
"Did you bring the Mandrakes?" Snape asked.
"Of course," McGonagall replied, frowning. "But would Mandrakes help Albus?"
"It's uncertain," Snape admitted. "They might." He paused. "But I want to bring them mostly for Dobby, the house-elf. I plan to take him on the ship."
"That petrified elf in the hospital wing?"
"Yes," Snape nodded. "If the Death Eaters take the castle, they won't be kind to house-elves, especially a 'useless' one."
"You're right," McGonagall said, her expression softening. "We should bring him."
She picked up a parchment from the desk, scanning it. "We've also smuggled out plenty of books without Madam Pince's knowledge. By the time the Duplication Charm wears off, we'll be long gone from the castle."
"So, we've got most of what we need," she continued. "What do you think, Severus?"
Snape's gaze roamed the headmaster's office, landing on the silver-gleaming Sword of Gryffindor in its glass case. "That sword," he said. "We should take it."
"Why?" McGonagall asked instinctively, though she was already considering the idea. "It's a precious relic of the school's founder. We can't leave it for them."
Snape didn't voice his fear that Voldemort might turn the sword into a Horcrux, only murmuring agreement. "Yes, to prevent the Death Eaters from defiling it."
"The Sorting Hat, too," McGonagall said, glancing at the hat beside the sword. "It may disrupt the Sorting, but it's also Gryffindor's relic."
"It's not much use, but it's worth bringing," Snape agreed. "If things come to that, Hogwarts will likely only keep Slytherin House. Left here, that hat would probably be burned."
Retrieving the sword, however, proved difficult.
They tried everything—Unlocking Charms, brute force—but the seemingly ordinary glass case wouldn't budge, the sword resting serenely inside.
Snape frowned, then approached the Sorting Hat. He stared at the tattered hat for a long moment before saying softly, "You'll help us this time, won't you? Or we'll leave you here."
Under McGonagall's astonished gaze, he reached into the hat.
His fingers brushed something metallic.
As he slowly pulled, the sword in the glass case vanished bit by bit, and he drew the Sword of Gryffindor fully from the Sorting Hat.
"How is this possible?" McGonagall exclaimed. "Isn't that just a legend? Only a true Gryffindor… I tried it back then and failed…"
"You did something like this back in the day?" Snape said, gripping the shining hilt with a faint smile. "Didn't expect that, Professor."
"Perhaps you should try now," he said, offering her the sword. "You'd surely succeed today."
Then he picked up the Sorting Hat, looking at it. "So, you finally admit I'm worthy of Gryffindor?"
The hat's folds twisted into something like a smile, its voice ringing out. "I've never seen a Gryffindor braver than you."
After handing the hat to McGonagall, Snape scanned the room. "Professor, what about the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance?" He didn't see the legendary items anywhere.
"They're not here," McGonagall said, surprised. "You want to take them?"
"Yes," Snape said firmly. "We can't let them fall into Death Eater hands."
"But how will the school identify and invite children with magical talent?"
"We shouldn't let the Death Eaters know which Muggle-born children have magic," Snape countered. "As for pure-bloods and half-bloods, let their families decide if they want to send their children to a Death Eater-controlled Hogwarts."
"We can't do everything perfectly," McGonagall said, her voice heavy with concern. "That might let unsuitable people into the school."
"At least," Snape replied, "it's better than sending innocent children into Death Eater hands."
"Come with me, Severus," McGonagall said with a heavy nod.
Leaving the headmaster's office, she led Snape through hidden corridors to a secret passage he'd never noticed.
They climbed a spiral staircase, arriving at a locked tower room.
"No student has ever been here," McGonagall said, tapping the lock with her wand.
"Honored," Snape replied, peering curiously inside as the door opened.
The small, circular room held an ancient wooden table. On it lay an enormous open book, beside a silver inkwell with a seemingly ordinary quill.
Outside the narrow window, owls glided across the dusk sky.
"The Book of Admittance," McGonagall said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "For decades, I've come here every year to check this book." Her fingers brushed the pages. "This is the first time I've touched it."
Snape leaned closer, noting the latest entries at the bottom of the page: names and birthdates of wizarding children born this year—Cassius Warrington, Cedric Diggory, Angelina Johnson…
"It tells us who will enter Hogwarts and when," McGonagall continued. "And I send owls with acceptance letters to those turning eleven, inviting them to study here."
"This is the Quill of Acceptance, made from an Augurey feather," she said, her gaze shifting to the quill. "Since the four founders placed them here when the castle was completed, they've never been moved."
At that moment, the Quill of Acceptance lifted from the inkwell, hovering over the Book of Admittance, attempting to write. But its tip scratched the parchment without leaving a mark.
"What's happening?" Snape asked, intrigued.
"The Quill of Acceptance is more lenient than the Book," McGonagall explained. "When a child shows the slightest sign of magic, the Quill is eager to record them. But the Book is stricter. It won't allow a name to be written without undeniable proof, preventing squibs from being admitted to Hogwarts by mistake."
She gazed reluctantly at the two treasures before raising her wand, carefully storing them with magic.
The atmosphere grew heavy, as if they were closing Hogwarts' gates with their own hands.
"Professor," Snape said softly, noticing McGonagall's trembling hands, "Hogwarts was never just this castle."
McGonagall looked up at him.
"Wherever we are, that is Hogwarts."
————
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