As the class had left the room, Albus Dumbledore fell down on his chair. An enormous sigh escaped from his lips, as he realized that Minerva had surely inherited her father's temper. She disliked him, and she was not too shy to show it. That she had made perfectly clear. The only thing that remained a mystery, was one very simple word. Why? Why, why, why did Minerva McGonagall, Henry's daughter, the daughter of Henry, whom he'd liked and appreciated, dislike him? Hate him?
He was not angry with her, which was strange, for he had seldom witnessed such a brutality. Yet, the fact that she was a living memory of Henry was enough for him to forgive her. It was wrong, he knew, but he could not help it.
"Never argue with a Scotsman", Henry had once told him. He could as well have said
"Never argue with a Scotswoman", for it was just as true.
But why- why, why, why? Why could this girl, a Transfigurations wonder- oh, he'd seen that!- dislike him like this? Though he'd known her father, he had never known her and she had absolutely no reason at all to….
He shook his head. Never argue with a Scotswoman…
What was it again she had said… "if you had stopped staring at me"…
He leaned his head on his hand as he realized that she had been right. He had been staring at her, though he did not know why. Or did he? Maybe he did know it. Minerva was, though she was not a real exceptional beauty, a beautiful girl. But it was mainly the look in her eyes, the way she walked, that gracious, cat-like gestures she made, that intrigued him. She had Henry's eyes, he knew- and probably Henry's brains as well. But she had very much of the looks of her mother. The best of Henry and Priscilla melted into one fascinating creature.
Fascinating. That she surely was.
Albus sighed and shook his head. But he could not, he could certainly not accept her brutality. Maybe she was fascinating, maybe she was intriguing, but still, she had to be polite! He was her teacher, after all. He had been teaching for so many years in many different classes, but he had never before found it so hard to punish a student. To be angry with a student. To see a student as "a student". Minerva had stood before the class, not as a young girl, not unsure of herself, not hesitatingly, but as a grownup woman who knew very good what she was worth.
Yet, she was a student- he had to remember that!- and he had to punish her if she went out of line again.
He should have known she certainly would…
Review! Please???
He was not angry with her, which was strange, for he had seldom witnessed such a brutality. Yet, the fact that she was a living memory of Henry was enough for him to forgive her. It was wrong, he knew, but he could not help it.
"Never argue with a Scotsman", Henry had once told him. He could as well have said
"Never argue with a Scotswoman", for it was just as true.
But why- why, why, why? Why could this girl, a Transfigurations wonder- oh, he'd seen that!- dislike him like this? Though he'd known her father, he had never known her and she had absolutely no reason at all to….
He shook his head. Never argue with a Scotswoman…
What was it again she had said… "if you had stopped staring at me"…
He leaned his head on his hand as he realized that she had been right. He had been staring at her, though he did not know why. Or did he? Maybe he did know it. Minerva was, though she was not a real exceptional beauty, a beautiful girl. But it was mainly the look in her eyes, the way she walked, that gracious, cat-like gestures she made, that intrigued him. She had Henry's eyes, he knew- and probably Henry's brains as well. But she had very much of the looks of her mother. The best of Henry and Priscilla melted into one fascinating creature.
Fascinating. That she surely was.
Albus sighed and shook his head. But he could not, he could certainly not accept her brutality. Maybe she was fascinating, maybe she was intriguing, but still, she had to be polite! He was her teacher, after all. He had been teaching for so many years in many different classes, but he had never before found it so hard to punish a student. To be angry with a student. To see a student as "a student". Minerva had stood before the class, not as a young girl, not unsure of herself, not hesitatingly, but as a grownup woman who knew very good what she was worth.
Yet, she was a student- he had to remember that!- and he had to punish her if she went out of line again.
He should have known she certainly would…
Review! Please???