"So," Professor McGonagall said to Aberforth, after outlining their plan, "we hope you'll come with us. We're worried the Dark Lord will target anyone connected to Albus."
Aberforth stood by Dumbledore's sickbed, his back to everyone.
After a long silence, he shook his head.
"No," he said with some distaste. "I don't want to be on the same boat as that self-important man, and besides, I have my pub to look after."
"Aberforth!" Professor McGonagall's voice rarely rose, "This concerns your safety!"
"I've lived in Hogsmeade for fifty years," Aberforth said stubbornly, "and I'm not going anywhere." His gaze swept over Snape. "Besides, with all you clever folk, you won't need me. And," he glanced at Professor McGonagall, "since he's fallen, I'm quitting that organisation."
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, seemingly wanting to continue persuading him, but Aberforth waved her off directly.
"I'm leaving," he said, walking towards the door, recalling his goat Patronus. "Perhaps we'll meet again." He took one last look at his brother lying on the sickbed, then left without looking back.
"Stubborn old goat," Professor McGonagall muttered under her breath. "All these years —"
Professor Slughorn and Snape silently witnessed their conversation.
After Aberforth left, they took a few strands of hair from Dumbledore's silver-white mane and trimmed some nails from his fingers, then bid farewell to Professor McGonagall.
They went down into the castle's dungeons and entered Professor Slughorn's Potions storeroom.
Pushing open the door, they were met with the strong, mingled scent of various Potions ingredients.
Snape skilfully set up three cauldrons, ignited blue flames, and, together with Professor Slughorn, began to brew potions according to various possible antidote recipes.
"You know," Professor Slughorn suddenly began, dripping belladonna juice into the transparent liquid, "your mother had some talent in Potions back then, but she wasn't very good at dealing with people, and that's not ideal."
"This stuff really is useful," he said, setting down the dropper and wiping his hands. "Oh, when you leave, I must destroy all of it."
"You must have met her by now," the liquid in front of Snape was turning from green to blue. "The Herbology assistant."
"Yes," Professor Slughorn nodded. "She looks much happier than she did when she was at school, no longer so melancholy."
Time slipped away amidst the rising steam of the brewing potions. When the liquids in all three cauldrons reached perfect consistency, the hands on the watch already pointed to early morning.
Professor Slughorn carefully divided the Headmaster's fingernails into three portions and dropped them into the cauldrons respectively.
The liquids immediately changed. One turned deep purple, another took on a mother-of-pearl sheen, and the last glowed like molten gold.
"All successful," Snape murmured, looking up at Professor Slughorn. "Shall we try all three?"
Professor Slughorn nodded, turned, and took a crystal phial containing Polyjuice Potion from the cupboard.
When Professor Dumbledore's silver hair was steeped in it, the potion took on the deep blue colour of the Headmaster's eyes.
They left the underground storeroom and returned to the Headmaster's office just as the first rays of dawn pierced through the castle's high windows.
Professor McGonagall was sitting in Professor Dumbledore's chair, scratching away at parchment with a quill, her Patronus having leaped out of the open window into the morning light.
"Is it ready?" she looked up, asking expectantly.
"Yes," Professor Slughorn said, pulling three small phials from his robes. "I believe they should all have some effect, and there will be no adverse reactions when mixed. Severus and I have confirmed this." Snape, meanwhile, handed her another phial containing Polyjuice Potion.
That evening, in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, students were surprised to find Professor Dumbledore, after being absent for several days, back at the staff table.
He wore robes patterned with stars and moons, his long silver beard gleaming in the candlelight, and was cheerfully enjoying sweets. "Good evening, Abraxas."
As the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher approached the long table with the Malfoy family's newly enslaved house-elf, Professor Albus McGonagall greeted him kindly in the closest imitation of Dumbledore's voice she could manage.
Abraxas nodded coolly, a flicker of confusion in his grey eyes.
"Albus," he said slowly, "I heard you've been unwell these past few days?"
"Oh, just a few minor complaints of old age," 'Dumbledore' replied with a smile.
Over the next few days, however, Professor McGonagall genuinely suspended Transfiguration lessons due to "illness."
In the corridors, students were discussing this good news in twos and threes. Snape and 'Dumbledore' happened to pass by at that moment.
"Professor McGonagall's ill! Transfiguration's cancelled!" the students cheered.
Hearing the students' chatter, 'Dumbledore' suddenly stopped, turning to walk towards the group of students.
His — or rather, her — eyes behind the half-moon spectacles shone with Professor McGonagall's characteristic sternness.
"Youngsters, Transfiguration is a fundamental branch of magic," she said in a stern voice, unlike Dumbledore's usual gentle tone. "Cancelling lessons does not mean you can be complacent. I — I have also taught Transfiguration at Hogwarts for many years, and I can tell you unequivocally that students who neglect this subject have, without exception, regretted it."
The students were stunned, exchanging bewildered glances, clearly shocked by the Headmaster's sudden reprimand. This reaction was entirely unlike Dumbledore.
Snape quickly stepped forward, pretending to have something to report, seizing the opportunity to get close to 'Dumbledore.'
"Professor, mind your image," he whispered. "Be careful not to give yourself away. Professor Dumbledore wouldn't scold students in such a tone."
'Dumbledore' seemed to realise her mistake then, hastily coughed, and told the students, "Every subject is very important. You may go now."
Once the students had left, 'Dumbledore' pulled a small phial from her sleeve and, under the cover of her wide robes, took a gulp of Polyjuice Potion.
When they finally reached the Headmaster's office, Snape immediately took out the newly brewed potions and began to treat the real Dumbledore, who lay on the sickbed. The old man's face was still pale, but his breathing seemed steadier.
"He seems better," Professor McGonagall said hopefully.
"There's been some improvement," Snape said, carefully supporting the Headmaster's head. "We can only take it slowly." He gently pried open Dumbledore's lips with a silver spoon and slowly poured in several potions. "Professor Slughorn has given me enough ingredients, enough to allow the Headmaster to recover."
After confirming the Headmaster was temporarily stable, they began discussing the evacuation plan.
"Filius is still down at the docks, repairing and calibrating the vessel," Professor McGonagall said, sitting in an armchair. "The house-elves have prepared plenty of various foods; Pomona is also trying to build a few small greenhouses on the ship's deck and transplant some magical plants there."
"Did you bring Mandrakes?" Snape asked.
"Of course. However," Minerva frowned in confusion, "are Mandrakes helpful for Albus's treatment?"
"Not certain yet," Snape admitted. "Potentially useful." He paused. "But I wanted to bring them more because of Dobby the house-elf. I plan to bring Dobby aboard as well."
"That petrified house-elf in the hospital wing?"
"Yes," Snape nodded. "If Death Eaters occupy the castle, they won't treat house-elves kindly, especially a 'useless' one."
"You're right," Professor McGonagall's expression softened. "We should bring him."
She picked up the parchment on the table and examined it carefully: "We also secretly took many books from Madam Pince; by the time the Doubling Charm wears off, we should have left the castle. This way, everything useful and necessary to bring is pretty much covered. What do you think, Severus?"
Snape's gaze drifted around the Headmaster's office, finally resting on the gleaming Sword of Gryffindor in its glass case. "That sword," he said. "We should take it."
"Why?" Professor McGonagall asked instinctively, but she was already considering the suggestion. "It's a precious relic of the school's founder, we can't leave it to them."
Snape didn't directly say he feared Voldemort might turn the sword into a Horcrux, merely vaguely agreeing: "Yes, to prevent the Death Eaters from defiling it."
"Bring the Sorting Hat too," Professor McGonagall turned to look at the Sorting Hat next to the sword. "Although this might affect the school's sorting, it's also a Gryffindor relic."
"While not very useful, it wouldn't hurt to bring it along," Snape agreed. "If it truly comes to that, Hogwarts will likely only retain the Slytherin House, and this hat, left here, might very well be burned."
But taking the sword was not a smooth process.
The two tried various methods, from unlocking charms to forceful dismantling, but the seemingly ordinary glass case remained unmoving. The sword still lay quietly inside.
Snape frowned in thought for a moment, then suddenly walked towards the Sorting Hat. He stared at the battered hat for a long time, quietly saying, "You'll help this time, won't you? Otherwise, we'll leave you here."
To Professor McGonagall's astonishment, he reached his hand into the hat and fumbled around.
Finally, his fingers touched something metallic.
As he slowly pulled it out, the sword in the glass case gradually vanished, and he retrieved the Sword of Gryffindor completely intact from the Sorting Hat.
"How is that possible?" Professor McGonagall exclaimed. "Isn't that just a legend? Only a true Gryffindor can — but my attempts back then never succeeded —"
"You tried something like that back then? I never would have guessed, Professor," Snape said with a wry smile, holding the gleaming hilt in his hand.
"Perhaps you can try now, Professor." He offered the sword to Professor McGonagall. "I'm sure you can do it now."
Then, he reached for the Sorting Hat, looking at it and saying, "So, you finally admit that I am worthy of being a Gryffindor too?"
The creases on the hat twisted into something resembling a smile, and it answered in a loud voice, "I've never seen a Gryffindor braver than you."
After handing the hat to Professor McGonagall as well, Snape looked around and continued to ask, "Professor, where are the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance?" He hadn't seen these two legendary precious items here.
"They're not here," Professor McGonagall said, looking at him in surprise. "You want to take them with you?"
"Yes," Snape said firmly. "We cannot let them fall into the Death Eaters' hands."
"In that case, how will the school identify magically talented children and invite them to attend?"
"We precisely should not let the Death Eaters know which Muggle-born children have magical talent," Snape said. "As for children from pure-blood and half-blood families, let them decide for themselves whether they want to come to a Hogwarts controlled by Death Eaters."
"We can't be perfect," Professor McGonagall said worriedly. "Even if that might allow unsuitable people into the school."
"At least," Snape said, "that's better than sending innocent children into the Death Eaters' hands."
"Come with me, Severus," Professor McGonagall nodded heavily.
Leaving the Headmaster's office, she led Snape through several hidden corridors until they found a secret passage entrance he had never noticed before.
They climbed a spiral staircase, finally arriving at a locked small tower.
"No student has ever been here," Professor McGonagall said, tapping the lock with her wand.
"I am honoured," Snape said, looking curiously into the doorway.
The door opened, revealing a small, circular room.
In the centre of the room stood an ancient wooden table, upon which lay a huge open book, with an empty silver inkwell beside it, holding a seemingly unremarkable quill.
Outside the narrow window, a few owls glided across the twilight sky.
"The Book of Admittance," Professor McGonagall's voice was filled with nostalgia. "For decades, I've come here every year to check this book." Her fingers gently brushed the pages. "This is the first time I've touched it."
Snape leaned closer, noticing at the very bottom of the page, some names and birthdates of wizarding children born this year were recorded: Cassius Warrington, Cedric Diggory, Angelina Johnson. "It tells us who will enter Hogwarts and when," Professor McGonagall continued. "And I, in turn, send acceptance letters by owl to those children who are about to turn eleven, inviting them to attend Hogwarts."
"And this is the Quill of Acceptance, made from a Augurey feather," her gaze shifted to the quill. "They haven't moved from here since the four founders placed them in the castle."
Just then, the Quill of Acceptance suddenly flew out of the inkwell, hovering above the Book of Admittance, trying to write something. But the quill tip scraped across the parchment without leaving any ink.
"What's happening?" Snape asked curiously.
"Oh, the Quill of Acceptance's criteria are more lenient than the Book of Admittance's," Professor McGonagall explained. "When a child first shows magical talent, even a hint of magical sign is enough to move the Quill of Acceptance. But the Book of Admittance is different. Unless there is irrefutable proof, it will not allow the Quill of Acceptance to write a name on it. This prevents Hogwarts from accidentally admitting Squibs."
She looked at the two treasures reluctantly, finally raising her wand and carefully enchanting them to be put away.
The atmosphere grew exceptionally heavy, as if they were personally closing the gates of Hogwarts.
"Professor," Snape said softly, watching Professor McGonagall's trembling hand, "Hogwarts has never been this castle."
Professor McGonagall looked up at him.
"Where we are, that is Hogwarts."
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