The next morning brought no comfort- not that Minerva had but for one moment expected it to. The second night in a row she had spent sleepless- lying awake, tossing and turning until sheer irritation had caused her to get up prematurely at 4 o'clock. There she'd sat, her long, white cotton nightgown chastely covered by her dark red peignoir, head resting on one hand, eyes trying to decipher a handwriting she was sure she didn't want to decipher. And after all- as if it mattered now!
So, with a bang, echoing hollowly through the seemingly quiet night, the to-correct drawer was closed and Minerva found herself once more awake, worried and bored in the middle of the night.
Her eyes wandered through the room, from the large four-poster bed for two she'd just left, to the terribly- empty chair of her husband… from the book-shelves above it to the moving picture right before her, standing atop of her desk as it had stood there years and years. The couple on it waved at Minerva, and she couldn't hold back a fond smile to enfold on her lips. It was a small picture, true, and yet it was so big at the same time. The two, small figures formed a handsome couple.
The shortest of them- a woman- had beautiful; dark green eyes, a deep creamy-white skin and a mass of wavy, raven-black hair tumbling down her back. Her slender figure was accentuated by the simple dress she wore- light and white, with a tight, embroidered bodice and a very wide skirt, falling down in many layers around her obviously long legs. She was held close by the other figure, a man, clearly older than his bride, but still very handsome indeed. He had deep-auburn hair and a short beard, the same colour. He was thin and yet in a way muscular, his dark purple robes falling down straight to his leather-booted feet. The most remarkable thing, though, were his eyes- large, ever-smiling, twinkling blue eyes, the colour of sapphires, the sky and so many more things.
Both figures were smiling broadly, happily, and though they appeared to look at Minerva, the witch knew very well their eyes were, in fact, fixed on the other's, wanting to lock forever and never let go.
Only with a discontented sigh Minerva took, reluctantly, a step back, returning out of the fairytale world a much younger Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore had created for themselves, so many years before.
It was over now. Or no- it wasn't over yet, but it was all so frail, so easily destructible, that Minerva knew she couldn't allow herself to hope. Hope was a false friend, long year has taught her, and now wasn't the time for false friends. God no- it wasn't.
Minerva shook her head as she replaced the photograph to its usual place, biting her lower lip so as not to even blink. Sentimental rubbish, she kept on reminding herself as she, peignoir clenched tightly round her still frail shoulders, stumbled back towards the bed.
And there was no time for feelings, she muttered almost out loud as her raven head hit her pillow. Afterwards, perhaps, yes. Her eyelids closed.
Now, no.
=======
The sunlight already brightened up the room as Minerva McGonagall opened her eyes again. Half past seven. She had, finally, slept some hours- the deep, dreamless sleep she'd longed for. And yet it had not brought her comfort, or peace with the situation as it was. It certainly hadn't- and that, she knew, was out of worry, but not out of the kind of worry a wife felt for her husband.
Oh yes- surely she thought about Albus's fate- surely she wished with all her heart that he wouldn't hurt. But she was used to that. She'd experienced that through years and years, from time to time. For that was what her, their, marriage had always been, after all- a risk, taken together.
And that it would stay- until the blissful day when Tom Riddle and the prophecy that had always overshadowed their life together would finally be gone. If that day ever came, that was. She was- had always been- realistic enough to realize that it was a slim chance, the chance that both she and the man she loved- Albus- would survive.
But there was a chance, she kept reminding herself as she, at exactly 8 o'clock, entered the Great Hall and quietly sat down in the large chair- Albus's chair- which she always occupied while he was absent.
What bothered her the most, she summarized, stuffing eggs-and-bacon into her mouth, was the fact that Albus alone could never do it. Even with Harry beside him he couldn't. Because through all its vagueness, the legend- prophecy, as she had so correctly recognized it- had been clear enough on that point. Not solitude- even a well-meant, protective one like Albus's- was the solution.
Unity was.
And even "brave knights", like Albus, who wanted to shield their "damsel in distress" , which- she snorted!- she supposed she was, couldn't achieve unity on their own.
Plus; her role was perhaps the most important of all.
Like Hers had been before.
She sighed. Something had to be done.
The Great Hall was silent- something that had, truly, never happened before. Everyone's courage was slowly but certainly slipping away… and the worst thing of all was; it was only understandable. This was the youth of today, children who's grown up with both the memory and the threat of Voldemort.
Of course their courage was slipping away.
Minerva herself sighed once more at the many, empty spots at the Slytherin Table. Almost all students- the older ones, mostly- had left it, had left Hogwarts, to join their parents, to join Him whom they really believed in. Minerva slightly felt they had deceived Albus, abused the trust he'd put in them.
But she knew that was not fair. Because frankly, what else were these children than mere toys in their parents' hands, grown up to succeed them, almost breastfed with Voldemort's poison. Even Draco Malfoy- who was, honestly, the most irritating little prat in the world…
But it was possible to revolt. That was clearly shown in the lone, tall figure at the end of the table. Minerva felt a sudden, strange pride fill her heart as the dark, green eyes in the pale, serious face met hers and Blaise Zabini nodded with a faint smile.
Ha, there she sat, then, the daughter of a Death Eater, the girl who'd grown up between people who'd called Minerva "the whore of Dumbledore"… and yet she had stayed when all others went.
For a moment, Minerva felt truly happy- she knew this girl could serve as an excellent example to many, and she also knew that her presence was the only thing that kept Severus Snape- now occupying her usual place- from getting entirely depressed. But the empty places at Gryffindor Table and most of all, the thought of the man whose chair she was sitting in, made her frown again.
The large, Hogwarts crest that decorated the wall, accompanied by the grave expressions on the faces of all convinced her.
Today was the day.
So, with a bang, echoing hollowly through the seemingly quiet night, the to-correct drawer was closed and Minerva found herself once more awake, worried and bored in the middle of the night.
Her eyes wandered through the room, from the large four-poster bed for two she'd just left, to the terribly- empty chair of her husband… from the book-shelves above it to the moving picture right before her, standing atop of her desk as it had stood there years and years. The couple on it waved at Minerva, and she couldn't hold back a fond smile to enfold on her lips. It was a small picture, true, and yet it was so big at the same time. The two, small figures formed a handsome couple.
The shortest of them- a woman- had beautiful; dark green eyes, a deep creamy-white skin and a mass of wavy, raven-black hair tumbling down her back. Her slender figure was accentuated by the simple dress she wore- light and white, with a tight, embroidered bodice and a very wide skirt, falling down in many layers around her obviously long legs. She was held close by the other figure, a man, clearly older than his bride, but still very handsome indeed. He had deep-auburn hair and a short beard, the same colour. He was thin and yet in a way muscular, his dark purple robes falling down straight to his leather-booted feet. The most remarkable thing, though, were his eyes- large, ever-smiling, twinkling blue eyes, the colour of sapphires, the sky and so many more things.
Both figures were smiling broadly, happily, and though they appeared to look at Minerva, the witch knew very well their eyes were, in fact, fixed on the other's, wanting to lock forever and never let go.
Only with a discontented sigh Minerva took, reluctantly, a step back, returning out of the fairytale world a much younger Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore had created for themselves, so many years before.
It was over now. Or no- it wasn't over yet, but it was all so frail, so easily destructible, that Minerva knew she couldn't allow herself to hope. Hope was a false friend, long year has taught her, and now wasn't the time for false friends. God no- it wasn't.
Minerva shook her head as she replaced the photograph to its usual place, biting her lower lip so as not to even blink. Sentimental rubbish, she kept on reminding herself as she, peignoir clenched tightly round her still frail shoulders, stumbled back towards the bed.
And there was no time for feelings, she muttered almost out loud as her raven head hit her pillow. Afterwards, perhaps, yes. Her eyelids closed.
Now, no.
=======
The sunlight already brightened up the room as Minerva McGonagall opened her eyes again. Half past seven. She had, finally, slept some hours- the deep, dreamless sleep she'd longed for. And yet it had not brought her comfort, or peace with the situation as it was. It certainly hadn't- and that, she knew, was out of worry, but not out of the kind of worry a wife felt for her husband.
Oh yes- surely she thought about Albus's fate- surely she wished with all her heart that he wouldn't hurt. But she was used to that. She'd experienced that through years and years, from time to time. For that was what her, their, marriage had always been, after all- a risk, taken together.
And that it would stay- until the blissful day when Tom Riddle and the prophecy that had always overshadowed their life together would finally be gone. If that day ever came, that was. She was- had always been- realistic enough to realize that it was a slim chance, the chance that both she and the man she loved- Albus- would survive.
But there was a chance, she kept reminding herself as she, at exactly 8 o'clock, entered the Great Hall and quietly sat down in the large chair- Albus's chair- which she always occupied while he was absent.
What bothered her the most, she summarized, stuffing eggs-and-bacon into her mouth, was the fact that Albus alone could never do it. Even with Harry beside him he couldn't. Because through all its vagueness, the legend- prophecy, as she had so correctly recognized it- had been clear enough on that point. Not solitude- even a well-meant, protective one like Albus's- was the solution.
Unity was.
And even "brave knights", like Albus, who wanted to shield their "damsel in distress" , which- she snorted!- she supposed she was, couldn't achieve unity on their own.
Plus; her role was perhaps the most important of all.
Like Hers had been before.
She sighed. Something had to be done.
The Great Hall was silent- something that had, truly, never happened before. Everyone's courage was slowly but certainly slipping away… and the worst thing of all was; it was only understandable. This was the youth of today, children who's grown up with both the memory and the threat of Voldemort.
Of course their courage was slipping away.
Minerva herself sighed once more at the many, empty spots at the Slytherin Table. Almost all students- the older ones, mostly- had left it, had left Hogwarts, to join their parents, to join Him whom they really believed in. Minerva slightly felt they had deceived Albus, abused the trust he'd put in them.
But she knew that was not fair. Because frankly, what else were these children than mere toys in their parents' hands, grown up to succeed them, almost breastfed with Voldemort's poison. Even Draco Malfoy- who was, honestly, the most irritating little prat in the world…
But it was possible to revolt. That was clearly shown in the lone, tall figure at the end of the table. Minerva felt a sudden, strange pride fill her heart as the dark, green eyes in the pale, serious face met hers and Blaise Zabini nodded with a faint smile.
Ha, there she sat, then, the daughter of a Death Eater, the girl who'd grown up between people who'd called Minerva "the whore of Dumbledore"… and yet she had stayed when all others went.
For a moment, Minerva felt truly happy- she knew this girl could serve as an excellent example to many, and she also knew that her presence was the only thing that kept Severus Snape- now occupying her usual place- from getting entirely depressed. But the empty places at Gryffindor Table and most of all, the thought of the man whose chair she was sitting in, made her frown again.
The large, Hogwarts crest that decorated the wall, accompanied by the grave expressions on the faces of all convinced her.
Today was the day.