"So," after explaining their plan, McGonagall said to Aberforth, "we hope you'll leave with us. We're worried that the Dark Lord will target anyone connected to Albus."
Aberforth stood before Dumbledore's sickbed, his back to everyone.
After a long silence, he shook his head.
"No." His voice carried a tone of disgust. "I don't want to be stuck on a boat with that self-righteous man. Besides, I've got my pub to look after."
"Aberforth!" McGonagall's voice rose, something that rarely happened. "This concerns your safety!"
"I've lived in Hogsmeade for fifty years," Aberforth said stubbornly. "I'm not going anywhere." His eyes swept over Snape. "Anyway, with all you clever people around, you don't need me. And," he added, glancing at McGonagall, "since he's down, I'm withdrawing from that organization."
McGonagall opened her mouth as though to continue persuading him, but Aberforth waved a hand sharply, cutting her off.
"I'm leaving," he said, walking toward the door and recalling his goat Patronus. "Farewell, if fate allows." He gave one last glance at his brother lying motionless on the bed, then walked out without looking back.
"Stubborn old goat," McGonagall muttered under her breath. "After all these years..."
Professor Slughorn and Snape watched their exchange in silence.
After Aberforth left, they plucked several strands of silver hair from Dumbledore's head, clipped a few of his fingernails, and bid farewell to McGonagall.
They went down into the castle's dungeons and slipped into Professor Slughorn's potion storeroom.
The moment they opened the door, the air was thick with the mingled scent of countless potion ingredients.
Snape deftly set up three cauldrons, lighting blue flames beneath them. Together, he and Slughorn began brewing antidotes according to several possible formulas.
"You know," said Slughorn suddenly as he dripped belladonna extract into a clear solution, "your mother had quite a gift for Potions. Shame she didn't care much for dealing with people. That was her flaw."
He set the dropper aside and wiped his hands. "Ah, this tool is wonderful. Once you've all left, I really must destroy the lot of them."
"You should've met her by now," Snape said, watching the liquid before him shift from green to blue. "The Herbology assistant."
"Yes," Slughorn nodded. "She looks much happier than when she was a student, no longer so melancholy..."
Time slipped by in the hazy steam of potions. When the three cauldrons' contents finally reached perfect consistency, the hands of Slughorn's watch were pointing to dawn.
Carefully, Slughorn divided Dumbledore's fingernails into three portions and dropped one piece into each cauldron.
Each potion changed instantly. One turned deep purple, one shimmered with the luster of mother-of-pearl, and the last gleamed like molten gold.
"All successful," Snape murmured, looking up at Slughorn. "Shall we test all three?"
Slughorn nodded, then fetched a crystal bottle from a cupboard filled with Polyjuice Potion.
When a strand of Dumbledore's silver hair was added, the potion shifted to that same brilliant blue as his eyes.
By the time they left the underground storeroom and returned to the Headmaster's office, the first rays of morning light had already spilled through the castle's high windows.
McGonagall was sitting in Dumbledore's chair, quill scratching across parchment. Her Patronus leapt gracefully through the open window into the dawn.
"Is it ready?" she asked, looking up expectantly.
"Yes," said Slughorn, pulling three bottles from his robes. "I believe each will have some effect, and none should cause adverse reactions when mixed. Severus and I both confirmed it."
Snape handed her the other bottle of Polyjuice Potion.
...
That evening, in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the students were astonished to see Professor Dumbledore, missing for several days, back at the staff table.
He wore his star-and-moon patterned robes, his long silver beard glittering in the candlelight, and was cheerfully enjoying a dessert.
"Good evening, Abraxas."
When the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor arrived at the table with a newly enslaved Malfoy house-elf, "Dumbledore", McGonagall in disguise, greeted him warmly, imitating the old headmaster's voice as best she could.
Abraxas gave a curt nod, a flicker of suspicion in his grey eyes.
"Albus," he said slowly, "I heard you were unwell these past few days?"
"Oh, nothing but the little aches that come with age," "Dumbledore" replied with a genial smile.
But in the days that followed, McGonagall truly did have to suspend her Transfiguration classes due to "illness."
In the corridors, students gathered in clusters, delightedly gossiping about the news.
Snape and "Dumbledore" happened to walk past just then.
"McGonagall's sick! Transfiguration's cancelled!" the students cheered.
Hearing their chatter, "Dumbledore" suddenly stopped and turned toward them.
His, or rather her, eyes gleamed with McGonagall's unmistakable sternness behind the half-moon spectacles.
"Young people," she said in a firm, uncharacteristically severe tone for Dumbledore, "Transfiguration is a foundational branch of magic. The suspension of classes does not mean you may neglect your studies. I... once served as the Transfiguration professor here for many years, and I can assure you, every student who disregarded this subject regretted it."
The students froze, exchanging bewildered looks, clearly startled by this un-Dumbledore-like scolding.
Snape quickly stepped forward, pretending to have an urgent report, using the opportunity to draw close to "Dumbledore."
"Professor," he whispered, "mind your image. You'll give yourself away. Dumbledore would never scold students like that."
"Dumbledore" seemed to realize her mistake, coughed awkwardly, and said to the students, "Every subject is important. Off you go now."
After they had left, "Dumbledore" slipped a small bottle from her sleeve and took a sip of Polyjuice Potion under the cover of her robes.
Once they reached the Headmaster's office, Snape immediately took out the new potions and began treating the real Dumbledore, still lying on the bed. The old man's complexion was still pale, but his breathing seemed steadier.
"He seems a bit better," McGonagall said hopefully.
"There's been some improvement," Snape replied, gently lifting Dumbledore's head. "We can only proceed slowly." Using a silver spoon, he pried open the old wizard's lips and carefully poured in the potions. "Professor Slughorn provided enough materials. I believe they'll be sufficient for his recovery."
After ensuring that Dumbledore's condition was stable for the moment, they turned to discussing their evacuation plans.
"Filius is still down at the docks repairing and testing the ships," McGonagall said, sitting in the armchair. "The house-elves have prepared a great deal of food; Pomona's been working on small greenhouses on the upper deck and transplanting magical plants there."
"Did you bring the Mandrakes?" Snape asked.
"Of course. But," McGonagall, disguised as Dumbledore, frowned in puzzlement, "will Mandrakes help Albus recover?"
"Not certain," Snape admitted. "Perhaps. But I suspect the real reason for bringing them is Dobby. I intend to take him aboard as well."
"That little house-elf who was petrified in the infirmary?"
"Yes," Snape nodded. "If the Death Eaters take the castle, they won't show mercy to the house-elves, especially one deemed 'useless.'"
"You're right," McGonagall said softly. "We should bring him."
She picked up the parchment on the desk and studied it carefully. "We've also managed to sneak out many books from the library without Madam Pince's knowledge. By the time the duplication spell wears off, we'll already be gone."
"In that case, we've got nearly everything useful packed and ready. Wouldn't you agree, Severus?"
Snape's gaze drifted around the office and settled on the glass case that held the glittering Sword of Gryffindor. "That sword," he said. "We should take it."
"Why?" McGonagall asked reflexively, though she was already considering it. "It's a priceless relic of the founders. We can't leave it behind."
Snape didn't reveal that he feared Voldemort might try to make it a Horcrux. He merely replied vaguely, "Yes. Better to take it than let the Death Eaters defile it."
"The Sorting Hat as well," McGonagall added, looking at the hat beside the sword. "Though it might interfere with Sorting, it too is a relic of Gryffindor."
"It may not serve much purpose, but it wouldn't hurt to take it," Snape agreed. "If it came to that, Hogwarts would likely be reduced to only Slytherin House. That hat would be burned."
But retrieving the sword wasn't easy.
They tried every spell, from unlocking charms to brute force, but the seemingly ordinary glass case didn't budge. The sword lay still within, untouchable.
Snape frowned in thought, then suddenly turned to the Sorting Hat. He stared at the worn, patched hat for a long time and murmured, "You owe us this one, don't you? Otherwise, we'll leave you behind."
To McGonagall's astonishment, he reached into the hat and groped around.
At last, his fingers brushed something metallic.
As he slowly drew it out, the sword inside the glass case vanished piece by piece, and he pulled the Sword of Gryffindor cleanly from the hat.
"How is that possible?" McGonagall gasped. "That was just a legend! Only a true Gryffindor can... But I tried that myself years ago, it never worked!"
"You did?" Snape said with a faint, amused smile, the sword glinting in his hand. "Didn't see that coming, Professor."
"Perhaps you should try again now," he said, offering her the sword. "This time, you might succeed."
Then he picked up the Sorting Hat and said to it, "So, will you finally admit I qualify as a Gryffindor now?"
The hat's creases twisted into something like a grin.
"I've never seen a Gryffindor braver than you," it said loudly.
After handing the hat to McGonagall as well, Snape looked around and asked, "Professor, where are the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance? I don't see them here."
"They're not kept here," McGonagall said in surprise. "You intend to take them too?"
"Yes," Snape said firmly. "We can't let them fall into Death Eater hands."
"But then how will the school identify magically gifted children and invite them to enroll?"
"That's precisely why we shouldn't let the Death Eaters know which Muggle-borns have magic," Snape said. "As for the pure-blood and half-blood children, let them decide for themselves whether they wish to attend a Hogwarts under Death Eater control."
"We can't make it perfect," McGonagall said worriedly. "We might let the wrong ones in."
"At least," Snape said, "it's better than handing innocent children to the Death Eaters."
"Come with me, Severus," McGonagall said gravely, nodding.
They left the Headmaster's office, passed through several hidden corridors, and reached a concealed passageway entrance Snape had never noticed before.
They climbed a spiral staircase and arrived at a locked tower room.
"No student has ever been here," McGonagall said, tapping the lock with her wand.
"An honor," Snape murmured, peering curiously inside.
The door opened to reveal a round little chamber.
At its center stood an old wooden desk. On it lay a massive open book, beside a silver inkpot and a seemingly ordinary quill.
Outside the narrow window, a few owls glided across the twilight sky.
"The Book of Admittance," McGonagall said softly, her voice filled with nostalgia. "For decades, I came here every year to check this book." Her fingers brushed the parchment. "But this is the first time I've ever touched it."
Snape leaned in and saw at the bottom of the current page the names and birthdates of some recently born wizarding children: Cassius Warrington, Cedric Diggory, Angelina Johnson...
"It tells us who will one day attend Hogwarts," McGonagall continued. "Then I send owls to those turning eleven, inviting them to study here."
"That," she said, looking at the quill beside it, "is the Quill of Acceptance, made from the feather of a Jobberknoll. Since the four founders placed them here at the castle's completion, they've never been moved."
Just then, the Quill of Acceptance suddenly lifted from the inkpot, hovering over the Book of Admittance as though to write. But when the nib traced the parchment, no ink appeared.
"What's happening?" Snape asked curiously.
"Oh, the quill's standards are far more lenient than the book's," McGonagall explained. "When a child first shows signs of magic, however faint, the quill is eager to record them."
"But the book is stricter. It refuses to allow any name to be written unless there is irrefutable proof. That way, Hogwarts avoids admitting Squibs by mistake."
She gazed at the two relics with deep reluctance, then finally raised her wand and carefully sealed them away with magic.
The air felt heavy, as though they were personally closing the gates of Hogwarts itself.
"Professor," Snape said softly, watching her trembling hand, "Hogwarts was never just this castle."
McGonagall lifted her eyes to him.
"Wherever we are," he said, "that's where Hogwarts is."