Hogwarts: I am Snape

Chapter 142 What is Hogwarts?

“So,” Professor McGonagall said to Aberforth after explaining their plan, “we hope you can come with us. We’re worried that the Mystic might affect anyone connected to Albus.”

Aberforth stood in front of Dumbledore's bedside, his back to the others.

After a long silence, he shook his head.

“No,” he said with some disgust. “I don’t want to be on the same boat as this always self-righteous man, and besides, I have my bar to look after.”

“Aberforth!” Professor McGonagall’s voice rose unusually. “This concerns your safety!”

“I’ve lived in Hogsmeade for fifty years,” Aberforth said stubbornly. “I’m not going anywhere.” His gaze swept over Snape. “Besides, with all of you smart people around, there’s no need for me. And,” he glanced at Professor McGonagall, “now that he’s fallen, I’m leaving the organization.”

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, seemingly wanting to continue persuading him, but Aberforth waved her hand to interrupt her.

“I’m leaving,” he said, walking toward the door and retrieving his goat guardian spirit. “See you again if fate allows.” He took one last look at his brother lying on the hospital bed and left without looking back.

“The stubborn old goat,” Professor McGonagall muttered under her breath, “all these years…”

Professor Slughorn and Snape watched their conversation in silence.

After Aberforth left, they took a few strands of Dumbledore's long, silvery hair and trimmed some of his fingernails before bidding farewell to Professor McGonagall.

They went down into the castle’s basement and crawled into Professor Slughorn’s potion storage room.

Upon entering, a strong, pungent aroma of various magical potion ingredients hits you.

Snape skillfully set up three cauldrons, lit the blue flames, and began to concoct potions with Professor Slughorn, following various possible antidotes.

“You know,” Professor Slughorn suddenly spoke, dripping belladonna juice into the clear potion, “your mother was quite talented in potions, but she didn’t like interacting with people, which wasn’t good.”

“This thing is really useful,” he said, putting down the dropper and wiping his hands. “Oh, I’m going to destroy them all once you’re gone.”

“You should have seen her by now,” Snape said, the liquid in front of him turning from green to blue. “Herbalism teaching assistant.”

“Yes,” Professor Slughorn nodded, “she seems much happier than when she was in school, and not so melancholy anymore…”

Time passed amidst the rising steam of the potion, and by the time the potions in the three cauldrons had reached their perfect state, the hands of the watch had already pointed to dawn.

Professor Slughorn carefully divided the principal's fingernail into three parts and placed each part into the nail.

The liquids immediately changed. One turned deep purple, another shimmered like mother-of-pearl, and the last one sparkled like molten gold.

“All of them worked,” Snape said softly, looking up at Professor Slughorn. “Should we try all three?”

Professor Slughorn nodded, turned around, and took out a crystal bottle containing the compound decoction from the cabinet.

When Professor Dumbledore's silver hair was soaked in, the potion took on the same deep blue color as the headmaster's eyes.

As they left the underground storage room and returned to the principal's office, the first rays of dawn were already streaming through the castle's high windows.

Professor McGonagall was sitting in Professor Dumbledore's seat, scribbling something on a piece of paper with a quill, while her Patronus leaped into the morning light through the open window.

"Is it done?" she asked, looking up expectantly.

“Yes,” Professor Slughorn said, pulling three vials from his pocket. “I think they should all be effective and won’t cause any adverse reactions from mixing. Severus and I have confirmed this.” Snape then handed her another vial containing Polyjuice Potion.

……

That evening, in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the students were surprised to find Professor Dumbledore, who had disappeared for several days, reappearing on the faculty table.

He was wearing a long robe with star and moon patterns, and his long, silvery-white beard shimmered in the candlelight as he happily enjoyed a sweet treat.

Good evening, Abraxas.

When the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher brought the Malfoys' newly enslaved house-elves to the long table, Professor Albus McGonagall greeted them kindly in the most amiable tone she could muster to imitate Dumbledore.

Abraxas nodded indifferently, a hint of doubt flashing in his gray eyes.

“Albus,” he said slowly, “I heard you haven’t been feeling well these past few days?”

“Oh, just some minor ailments of old age,” Dumbledore replied with a smile.

In the following days, Professor McGonagall actually suspended her Transfiguration classes due to "physical discomfort".

In the corridor, students chatted amongst themselves about the good news. Snape and "Dumbledore" happened to pass by at that moment.

"Professor McGonagall is sick! Transfiguration class is canceled!" the students cheered.

Hearing the students' discussion, Dumbledore suddenly stopped and turned to walk towards the group of students.

His—or rather, her—eyes gleamed with Professor McGonagall's characteristic stern light behind his half-moon spectacles.

“Young people, Transfiguration is a fundamental subject of magic,” she said in a serious tone that was unusual for Dumbledore’s usual gentle manner. “Canceling the course does not mean you can slack off. I… served as Hogwarts’ Transfiguration professor for many years, and I can tell you definitively that every student who neglected the course regretted it.”

The students were stunned, exchanging bewildered glances, clearly shocked by the headmaster's sudden reprimand. This reaction was so unlike Dumbledore's.

Snape quickly stepped forward, pretending to have something to report, and took the opportunity to get close to "Dumbledore".

“Professor, mind your manners,” he said in a low voice. “Be careful not to give yourself away. Professor Dumbledore would never reprimand a student in such a tone.”

Dumbledore seemed to realize his mistake then, coughed hastily, and said to the students, "Every subject is important. You may leave now."

After the students left, Dumbledore took out a small bottle from his sleeve and, under the cover of his wide robe, drank a sip of Polyjuice Potion.

When they finally arrived at the Headmaster's office, Snape immediately took out a newly concocted potion and began to heal the real Dumbledore, who was lying on the sickbed. The old man's face was still pale, but his breathing seemed to have become more steady.

"He seems to be feeling better," Professor McGonagall said hopefully.

“There has been some improvement.” Snape carefully lifted the headmaster’s head. “We can only proceed slowly.” He gently pried open Dumbledore’s lips with a silver spoon and slowly poured in several potions. “Professor Slughorn has given me enough materials to help the headmaster recover.”

After confirming that the principal was temporarily stable, they began to discuss the evacuation plan.

“Felius is still repairing and testing the ship at the dock.” Professor McGonagall sat down in an armchair. “The house-elves have prepared plenty of food; Pomona is also trying to build a few small greenhouses on the top of the cabin and transplant some magical plants there.”

"Did you bring the mandrake?" Snape asked.

“Of course. But,” McGonagall frowned in confusion, “would mandrake help Albus’s treatment?” “Not sure,” Snape admitted, “it might be useful.” He paused, “but I think the reason I want to bring them along is more because of the house-elf Dobby. I plan to bring Dobby on board as well.”

"That petrified little elf who stayed in the school hospital?"

“Yes,” Snape nodded. “If the Death Eaters take over the castle, they will not treat house-elves well, especially a ‘useless’ house-elf.”

“You’re right.” Professor McGonagall’s expression softened. “We should take him with us.”

She picked up the parchment on the table and examined it carefully: "We also took a lot of books without telling Ms. Pince. By the time the copying spell wore off, we should have already left the castle."

"So, we've got pretty much everything that's useful and needed to be brought along. What do you think, Severus?"

Snape's gaze swept across the headmaster's office, finally settling on the gleaming Gryffindor sword in its glass case. "That sword," he said, "we should take it with us."

"Why?" Professor McGonagall asked instinctively, but she had already begun to consider the suggestion. "These are precious relics of the school's founders; we cannot leave them to them."

Snape did not directly state his concern that Voldemort would turn the sword into a Horcrux, but vaguely agreed, saying, "Yes, in case the Death Eaters defile it."

“Take the Sorting Hat with you too.” Professor McGonagall turned to look at the Sorting Hat next to the sword. “Although it may affect the school’s sorting process, it is also a relic of Gryffindor.”

“Although it’s not very useful, it’s still good to have it,” Snape agreed. “If that really comes to that, Hogwarts will probably only keep Slytherin House, and this hat will probably be burned if it’s left here.”

However, the process of retrieving the sword did not go smoothly.

The two tried various methods, from unlocking spells to brute force, but the seemingly ordinary glass box remained unmoved, and the sword lay quietly inside.

Snape frowned and thought for a moment, then suddenly walked towards the Sorting Hat. He stared at the worn hat for a long time, then said softly, "You should help me this time, or we'll leave you here."

Under Professor McGonagall's surprised gaze, he reached into his hat and rummaged around.

Finally, his fingers touched something metallic.

As he slowly pulled it out, the sword in the glass case disappeared piece by piece, and he retrieved the Gryffindor sword intact from the Sorting Hat.

“How is this possible?” Professor McGonagall exclaimed. “Isn’t this just a legend? Real Gryffindors can… but I didn’t succeed when I tried back then…”

"You did something like that back in the day? I didn't realize, Professor." Snape said with a smile, gripping the gleaming hilt of his sword.

“Perhaps you can try now, Professor.” He handed the sword to Professor McGonagall. “You can definitely do it now.”

Then he reached for the Sorting Hat, looked at it, and said, "So now you finally admit that I'm good enough to be a Gryffindor?"

The wrinkles on the hat twisted into a smile-like shape, and a loud voice replied, "I've never seen a Gryffindor as brave as you."

After handing the hat to Professor McGonagall as well, Snape looked around and continued, “Professor, where are the Pen of Acceptance and the Book of Admission?” He did not see these two legendary treasures here.

“They’re not here.” Professor McGonagall looked at him in surprise. “You want to take them with you?”

“Yes,” Snape said firmly, “we cannot let them fall into the hands of the Death Eaters.”

"In that case, how can the school identify children with magical talent and invite them to enroll?"

“We should not let the Death Eaters know which Muggle-born children have magical talent,” Snape said. “As for the children from pure-blood and half-blood families, let them decide for themselves whether they want to come to Hogwarts, which is controlled by the Death Eaters.”

“We can’t be perfect,” Professor McGonagall said with concern, “even though that might allow unsuitable people to enter the school.”

“At least,” Snape said, “that’s better than sending innocent children into the hands of Death Eaters.”

“Come with me, Severus.” Professor McGonagall nodded heavily.

After leaving the headmaster's office, she led Snape through several hidden corridors to a secret passage entrance he had never noticed before.

They climbed a spiral staircase and finally arrived at a small, locked tower.

“No student has ever been here before,” Professor McGonagall said, tapping the door lock with her wand.

"It would be an honor." Snape peered curiously into the room through the door.

The door opened, revealing a small, round room.

In the center of the room stood an old wooden table with a huge book spread out on it. Next to it was an empty silver inkwell with an unremarkable quill pen inserted inside.

Outside the narrow window, several owls swept across the twilight sky.

“The Book of Admission,” Professor McGonagall’s voice was filled with nostalgia. “For decades, I’ve come here every year to check this book.” Her fingers lightly traced the pages. “This is the first time I’ve touched it.”

Snape leaned closer and noticed at the very bottom of the page a list of names and birth dates of wizarding children born this year: Cassius Warrington, Cedric Diggory, Angelina Johnson…

“It will tell us who will be attending Hogwarts and when,” Professor McGonagall continued. “And I will send acceptance letters by owl to children who are about to turn eleven, inviting them to attend Hogwarts.”

“This is the Reception Pen made from the feathers of the quill bird.” Her gaze shifted to the quill pen. “It hasn’t moved since the four founders placed it here when the castle was completed.”

Just then, the Pen of Acceptance suddenly flew out of the inkwell, hovering above the Book of Admission, attempting to write something. But the pen tip grazed the parchment without leaving any ink.

"What's going on?" Snape asked curiously.

“Oh, the Pen of Acceptance’s criteria are more lenient than the Book of Admission,” Professor McGonagall explained. “When a child first shows signs of magical talent, even the slightest hint of magic is enough to impress the Pen of Acceptance.”

"But the Book of Admission is different. Unless there is solid evidence, it will not allow the pen of acceptance to write a name on it. This prevents Hogwarts from accidentally admitting a Squib..."

She looked at the two treasures with reluctance, and finally raised her wand, using magic to carefully put them away.

The atmosphere became unusually heavy, as if they were closing the doors of Hogwarts with their own hands.

“Professor,” Snape said softly, looking at Professor McGonagall’s trembling hands, “Hogwarts was never this castle.”

Professor McGonagall looked up at him.

"Wherever we are, that is Hogwarts."

　Thanks to Brother Don't Mind, Si'an, Pigs Can Fly, and Don't Take Reading Seriously for your monthly votes.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)