People think I am quite a prude. Ever-celibate, old, stern McGonagall… They all think they know me.
But they don't.
I have a secret. I have a secret- a terrible secret, but one of which I am secretly a bit proud of. I know it is wrong. I often hate myself for it, but it's the truth and I have never been frightened of the truth.
I, Minerva McGonagall, am the only- I am sure of that- woman who has been, and, if I am not mistaken, still is in both the hearts of the two greatest wizards of this time.
Two wizards, equally powerful, equally strong, but with a very important difference.
One chose the dark side- the other decided to follow the goodness in his heart.
I loved them both.
But why do I use past tense?
I love them both.
I will always love them.
~*~
I have often compared my situation with that of Rowena Ravenclaw, one of those mighty Founders of so long ago. Perhaps she would be the only one capable to understand me. Maybe she would understand it. Maybe she would understand there are feelings to strong for a human heart.
She always intrigued me, that woman, the most beautiful witch of all times, as they say. But there are things more important than her beauty. That's the mistake many writers of all those books I have read about her mostly make.
She was a beauty, yes, but she was also a woman with a heart, a woman… torn between two lovers. Maybe she'd understand me. Maybe she actually would.
Goderic Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin.
Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle.
What is the difference?
~*~
There is no difference.
I have realized that.
There is no difference, and neither is there a solution. Except, perhaps, except to learn to live with it. To build a stern façade around your heart, to hide that ever-aching pain. I have done that. It doesn't solve anything, though. But it's at least a way to live.
A wall to hide behind.
Love hurts.
~*~
Love hurts, yes.
Because who will ever understand a woman who is, after all those past, terrible years, still desperately in love with the man who's murdered so many people whom she loved?
Lily and James, mom and dad, and oh… so many others.
They all stare at me, from wherever they may be, with silent, accusing eyes.
Why do you love him, they ask me, and I answer.
I do not know.
I love Tom Riddle- I have never wanted to call him "Voldemort", for that name was invented when it was already too late for him. When the real Tom had already left.
And I love his greatest enemy as well.
Albus Dumbledore.
~*~
Albus and Tom were… are… so different.
Being in Tom's arms was fire, wild, desperate, and complete. We knew we weren't meant to be forever. We knew we would never marry. We didn't care.
Albus… having Albus' arms around me felt like coming home a bit. So soft and so welcoming. So good. Perhaps we also weren't meant to be. Yet we married.
But that is a long story, the story of my life and loves.
I'll write it down.
But they don't.
I have a secret. I have a secret- a terrible secret, but one of which I am secretly a bit proud of. I know it is wrong. I often hate myself for it, but it's the truth and I have never been frightened of the truth.
I, Minerva McGonagall, am the only- I am sure of that- woman who has been, and, if I am not mistaken, still is in both the hearts of the two greatest wizards of this time.
Two wizards, equally powerful, equally strong, but with a very important difference.
One chose the dark side- the other decided to follow the goodness in his heart.
I loved them both.
But why do I use past tense?
I love them both.
I will always love them.
~*~
I have often compared my situation with that of Rowena Ravenclaw, one of those mighty Founders of so long ago. Perhaps she would be the only one capable to understand me. Maybe she would understand it. Maybe she would understand there are feelings to strong for a human heart.
She always intrigued me, that woman, the most beautiful witch of all times, as they say. But there are things more important than her beauty. That's the mistake many writers of all those books I have read about her mostly make.
She was a beauty, yes, but she was also a woman with a heart, a woman… torn between two lovers. Maybe she'd understand me. Maybe she actually would.
Goderic Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin.
Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle.
What is the difference?
~*~
There is no difference.
I have realized that.
There is no difference, and neither is there a solution. Except, perhaps, except to learn to live with it. To build a stern façade around your heart, to hide that ever-aching pain. I have done that. It doesn't solve anything, though. But it's at least a way to live.
A wall to hide behind.
Love hurts.
~*~
Love hurts, yes.
Because who will ever understand a woman who is, after all those past, terrible years, still desperately in love with the man who's murdered so many people whom she loved?
Lily and James, mom and dad, and oh… so many others.
They all stare at me, from wherever they may be, with silent, accusing eyes.
Why do you love him, they ask me, and I answer.
I do not know.
I love Tom Riddle- I have never wanted to call him "Voldemort", for that name was invented when it was already too late for him. When the real Tom had already left.
And I love his greatest enemy as well.
Albus Dumbledore.
~*~
Albus and Tom were… are… so different.
Being in Tom's arms was fire, wild, desperate, and complete. We knew we weren't meant to be forever. We knew we would never marry. We didn't care.
Albus… having Albus' arms around me felt like coming home a bit. So soft and so welcoming. So good. Perhaps we also weren't meant to be. Yet we married.
But that is a long story, the story of my life and loves.
I'll write it down.