Minerva McGonagall bit her lips and with quite a bang closed the book she had been reading. Or- reading? "The book she'd been staring at" was more like it. But how could she possibly concentrate, when in Albus' office…
She snorted in frustration as she placed the book back in her large bookcase. For heaven's sake. She had always liked- loved- reading, but what was the bloody use of it now? Harry Potter was about to do something which was equal to committing suicide, and she just could not do a thing to stop him. It gave her a feeling of helplessness, and Minerva McGonagall had never been a helpless woman. And she didn't want to become one either.
Especially not now.
Because, despite Albus' famous eloquence, she still was convinced that it was nothing less than her duty to leave the castle, to face Voldemort.
For it was the truth- he wanted her and no-one but her. Lord Voldemort wanted her- because of the still considerable large part of him that formed the boy he'd once been.
Tom Riddle.
Yet, she shook her head and in a sudden desperate gesture hid it in the pillow it had been resting on. She couldn't go. That she realized, more than ever, and yet more than ever she felt a strong longing to leave. Because she wanted to go. And that Albus perhaps didn't understand, but she herself very well did. It wasn't unnatural, not even strange. She had always wanted to face peril straight away instead of hiding for it, and now was no exception.
Even though this perhaps was the greatest peril she would ever have to face.
She did not know why Voldemort wanted her.
She just knew he did.
And someone, of course, would have to fight him.
But would that really be her task?
As she suddenly sat up straight, Minerva realized that it couldn't be her task- it simply couldn't, because of a fact which she very well was aware of. Something was missing in her blood that did flow through the blood of someone else.
And yet she'd rather give her life herself, than to let- him- sacrifice himself. Because he would. In fact, he already was on his way to do it. At this very moment, in that office there, at the end of the corridor. And Albus had always had a certain lack of common sense.
He didn't know everything she knew.
Or perhaps he did, but he didn't feel everything she had felt.
But she was powerless now.
~*~
Or no, she was not!
In a sudden wave of determinedness, Minerva threw the pillow down on her bed and straightened her robes.
She was never powerless, unless she wanted to be! And she certainly didn't want it.
With a new stubbornness in her movements, Minerva McGonagall threw open her window and deeply inhaled the fresh, spring air. Her eyes for once managed to ignore the tents and barriers there below- no, instead she focused on Hagrid's house, which, though now literally located right amidst the Death Eaters, still breathed an air of casualness, of tranquility. Of freedom.
Its inhabitant was "safely" in the castle now, but the house still was there, and for some reason the Death Eaters had not used it a lodgment or a storehouse.
Perhaps even to them the air of goodness of its owner was still too pronouncedly present.
Perhaps.
She snorted in frustration as she placed the book back in her large bookcase. For heaven's sake. She had always liked- loved- reading, but what was the bloody use of it now? Harry Potter was about to do something which was equal to committing suicide, and she just could not do a thing to stop him. It gave her a feeling of helplessness, and Minerva McGonagall had never been a helpless woman. And she didn't want to become one either.
Especially not now.
Because, despite Albus' famous eloquence, she still was convinced that it was nothing less than her duty to leave the castle, to face Voldemort.
For it was the truth- he wanted her and no-one but her. Lord Voldemort wanted her- because of the still considerable large part of him that formed the boy he'd once been.
Tom Riddle.
Yet, she shook her head and in a sudden desperate gesture hid it in the pillow it had been resting on. She couldn't go. That she realized, more than ever, and yet more than ever she felt a strong longing to leave. Because she wanted to go. And that Albus perhaps didn't understand, but she herself very well did. It wasn't unnatural, not even strange. She had always wanted to face peril straight away instead of hiding for it, and now was no exception.
Even though this perhaps was the greatest peril she would ever have to face.
She did not know why Voldemort wanted her.
She just knew he did.
And someone, of course, would have to fight him.
But would that really be her task?
As she suddenly sat up straight, Minerva realized that it couldn't be her task- it simply couldn't, because of a fact which she very well was aware of. Something was missing in her blood that did flow through the blood of someone else.
And yet she'd rather give her life herself, than to let- him- sacrifice himself. Because he would. In fact, he already was on his way to do it. At this very moment, in that office there, at the end of the corridor. And Albus had always had a certain lack of common sense.
He didn't know everything she knew.
Or perhaps he did, but he didn't feel everything she had felt.
But she was powerless now.
~*~
Or no, she was not!
In a sudden wave of determinedness, Minerva threw the pillow down on her bed and straightened her robes.
She was never powerless, unless she wanted to be! And she certainly didn't want it.
With a new stubbornness in her movements, Minerva McGonagall threw open her window and deeply inhaled the fresh, spring air. Her eyes for once managed to ignore the tents and barriers there below- no, instead she focused on Hagrid's house, which, though now literally located right amidst the Death Eaters, still breathed an air of casualness, of tranquility. Of freedom.
Its inhabitant was "safely" in the castle now, but the house still was there, and for some reason the Death Eaters had not used it a lodgment or a storehouse.
Perhaps even to them the air of goodness of its owner was still too pronouncedly present.
Perhaps.