So less than an hour later, Minerva was already lying in the small tent.
Sharing a tent with your teacher, she ironically thought. How romantic.
Not.
She bit her lips in frustration as she pressed her pillow closer to her ears.
The man snored.
The bloody man snored.
And how.
A chain saw cutting down a wood of ancient oaks.
No, worse. Way, way worse.
But she would not complain. Never. After all, this had been her choice, and if she already complained because of her teacher's snoring, what would she then do when they really were in the fight?
A certain feeling of coldness covered her heart as she felt her last words echo through her mind. A fight. A fight. It was ridiculous, of course, she scolded herself. She had known all the time they were heading for a fight. A battle. A battle, where people would be killed and where she'd have to prove herself, to prove that she really was something else than a seventeen year old, giggly, thoroughly silly and utterly stubborn girl. But was she?
She sighed, yet with a suddenly proud gesture straightened her back and nodded.
Yes she was. She was something else and she would prove it as well. For her father's sake.
And for her sake as well.
And, as if to acknowledge her silent statement, the chain saw snoring all of a sudden stopped, as Minerva McGonagall gratefully closed her eyes once more and nuzzled into the carefully folded up cloak which she used as a pillow.
And she drifted off to sleep.
~*~
Albus Dumbledore opened his eyes as the first ray of sunlight peered through the leaves. With a soft yawn, he wanted to sit up, but just in time remembered the person next to him.
He groaned as he fell down again on his improvised mattress.
Minerva, oh, Minerva, why couldn't you just stay safely at Hogwarts? Everything would be fine if she'd just controlled that infamous stubbornness of hers and stayed at safe old Hogwarts. Then, he would have written her, many letters, and she would have written him back, yes, but at least he would have known that she was safe. Now…
Now she was with him, and though that thought was not unpleasant to him- she was very dear to him, and had always been- he felt worried. Did she understand the seriousness of all this? Did she understand that this fight was not going to be the heroic kind about which you could read in books, but a real war and a critical one on top of it?
Did she understand all that?
Could a girl of seventeen ever understand all that?
Time would tell.
Only time could tell.
Yet, despite himself, he smiled as she turned on her other side and he could see her face. She was one of the few girls who combined inner beauty with physical beauty, who combined beauty with brains. He'd always thought she was beautiful, though her nose perhaps was a wee bit hooked, and though perhaps her eyes were a bit too big for her delicate, Scottish features. But her thin, reddish lips, now slightly parted in the casualness of sleep, and the deep dark blue color of her eyes, surrounded by the dark waves of black, thick hair, had always been a pleasure for Albus' eyes to meet. As well as her ever-witty, ever-critical brain had always been a pleasure for him to teach.
He had always liked her, and, though he really had been angry, he felt he could not stay mad at her.
But he had to.
It was his duty, as her teacher, and even though what had happened to her father was horrible, she still shouldn't have done this.
So, with a somewhat brusque gesture, he took her shoulder and shook it.
He felt bad because of it- she had looked so peaceful- but it was his duty… wasn't it?
"Minerva? Come on, Minerva, up you go! You wanted to follow me, you're going to do as I do!"
As she did not move, he frowned and punched her shoulder once more and briskly spoke
"Up, Minerva!"
Sharing a tent with your teacher, she ironically thought. How romantic.
Not.
She bit her lips in frustration as she pressed her pillow closer to her ears.
The man snored.
The bloody man snored.
And how.
A chain saw cutting down a wood of ancient oaks.
No, worse. Way, way worse.
But she would not complain. Never. After all, this had been her choice, and if she already complained because of her teacher's snoring, what would she then do when they really were in the fight?
A certain feeling of coldness covered her heart as she felt her last words echo through her mind. A fight. A fight. It was ridiculous, of course, she scolded herself. She had known all the time they were heading for a fight. A battle. A battle, where people would be killed and where she'd have to prove herself, to prove that she really was something else than a seventeen year old, giggly, thoroughly silly and utterly stubborn girl. But was she?
She sighed, yet with a suddenly proud gesture straightened her back and nodded.
Yes she was. She was something else and she would prove it as well. For her father's sake.
And for her sake as well.
And, as if to acknowledge her silent statement, the chain saw snoring all of a sudden stopped, as Minerva McGonagall gratefully closed her eyes once more and nuzzled into the carefully folded up cloak which she used as a pillow.
And she drifted off to sleep.
~*~
Albus Dumbledore opened his eyes as the first ray of sunlight peered through the leaves. With a soft yawn, he wanted to sit up, but just in time remembered the person next to him.
He groaned as he fell down again on his improvised mattress.
Minerva, oh, Minerva, why couldn't you just stay safely at Hogwarts? Everything would be fine if she'd just controlled that infamous stubbornness of hers and stayed at safe old Hogwarts. Then, he would have written her, many letters, and she would have written him back, yes, but at least he would have known that she was safe. Now…
Now she was with him, and though that thought was not unpleasant to him- she was very dear to him, and had always been- he felt worried. Did she understand the seriousness of all this? Did she understand that this fight was not going to be the heroic kind about which you could read in books, but a real war and a critical one on top of it?
Did she understand all that?
Could a girl of seventeen ever understand all that?
Time would tell.
Only time could tell.
Yet, despite himself, he smiled as she turned on her other side and he could see her face. She was one of the few girls who combined inner beauty with physical beauty, who combined beauty with brains. He'd always thought she was beautiful, though her nose perhaps was a wee bit hooked, and though perhaps her eyes were a bit too big for her delicate, Scottish features. But her thin, reddish lips, now slightly parted in the casualness of sleep, and the deep dark blue color of her eyes, surrounded by the dark waves of black, thick hair, had always been a pleasure for Albus' eyes to meet. As well as her ever-witty, ever-critical brain had always been a pleasure for him to teach.
He had always liked her, and, though he really had been angry, he felt he could not stay mad at her.
But he had to.
It was his duty, as her teacher, and even though what had happened to her father was horrible, she still shouldn't have done this.
So, with a somewhat brusque gesture, he took her shoulder and shook it.
He felt bad because of it- she had looked so peaceful- but it was his duty… wasn't it?
"Minerva? Come on, Minerva, up you go! You wanted to follow me, you're going to do as I do!"
As she did not move, he frowned and punched her shoulder once more and briskly spoke
"Up, Minerva!"