And they traveled- days and days. They hardly met any other people, as they slept deep in the woods by day and flew by night. It was a lonely journey- and not only because of that.
Because Albus was still angry with Minerva- or at least, he kept the appearance of angriness. And because Minerva still was convinced of her right and his wrong, her pride kept her from apologizing. So they were and they stayed, though together, two people, together but alone.
They slept under the same improvised "roof", they ate from the same plate, as they slept, they were even covered by the same blanket, and yet, a strange distance had come between them.
A distance they had never witnessed before.
They had always liked each other, Professor Dumbledore and young Miss McGonagall, they had liked each other since the day she, that rather small, frail-looking First Year with the two raven black plaits, had entered his classroom on that blissful September day, now seven years ago. Soon, she had proven to be a Transfigurations genius, and her interested questions and sometimes critical remarks had often amused him- and always, she herself had fascinated him.
He had witnessed her grow. She had grown taller, and over all those years, her two, long braids had transformed into one. Her pale, delicate face had lost the child and gained the young woman in it. She had grown more intelligent and more beautiful every single day, and they had grown to like each other better every single class.
And now, it all was over.
Because of her stubbornness, Minerva recalled, but also because of his stubbornness. She really saw no reason for his pointless wrath.
How could she have known that Albus himself did not see the reason as well?
Because he really didn't. As he flew there, on his broomstick, only separated from Minerva by a few inches' thin air, he really didn't now why he felt as if there was a massive stone wall between them. He really didn't know why he suddenly couldn't speak to her anymore the way he'd always spoken to her. He really didn't know why it suddenly was so- impossible to get along with Minerva McGonagall, formerly known as His Favorite Pupil.
He didn't know.
But perhaps there was a point nonetheless to these pointless feelings, for exactly those feelings had provoked the awkward silences between them, the silences which, one night, caused him to say
"You know, Minerva, it is a pity you are to young to be an Animagus."
She, sitting on her broom, her long plait fluttering behind her back, raised her eyebrows and asked
"Why?"
"Because that might be a useful ability- considering where we are going."
Minerva, who had meant something else, allowed herself a faint smile and shook her head.
"No. I meant- why am I too young?"
Albus chuckled softly, despite himself and his strange determinedness to keep a distance from her.
"Because Animagus-training is- it's a really advanced Transfiguration, Minerva. Of course you are talented, but the youngest Animagus I've ever heard of was twenty-six years old."
She shook her head and quietly smiled.
"Still remains the question- why can't I try? I have read about Animagi a lot, Professor, and I know it's difficult. But if that person could do it when he was twenty-six, why can't I try to do it seven years earlier?"
Albus was glad he wore a beard, because he knew he couldn't keep a fond smile off his lips now.
"You really don't think anything is impossible, do you, Miss McGonagall? But it is alright- I know the needed spells. The spells are not really hard to perform, you know. It's the will-power that's the problem with most people. Perseverance- that's what you need."
But Minerva answered, quickly, wittily.
"As you very well know, Professor." she commented dryly.
"Perseverance is not really my biggest problem."
And Albus Dumbledore quickly turned his head away from her to hide an even broader smile. And for some reason, three words leapt into his mind.
"That's my girl."
He didn't speak them, though, but Minerva noted his grin and smiled herself.
Perhaps it wasn't all over yet.
Because Albus was still angry with Minerva- or at least, he kept the appearance of angriness. And because Minerva still was convinced of her right and his wrong, her pride kept her from apologizing. So they were and they stayed, though together, two people, together but alone.
They slept under the same improvised "roof", they ate from the same plate, as they slept, they were even covered by the same blanket, and yet, a strange distance had come between them.
A distance they had never witnessed before.
They had always liked each other, Professor Dumbledore and young Miss McGonagall, they had liked each other since the day she, that rather small, frail-looking First Year with the two raven black plaits, had entered his classroom on that blissful September day, now seven years ago. Soon, she had proven to be a Transfigurations genius, and her interested questions and sometimes critical remarks had often amused him- and always, she herself had fascinated him.
He had witnessed her grow. She had grown taller, and over all those years, her two, long braids had transformed into one. Her pale, delicate face had lost the child and gained the young woman in it. She had grown more intelligent and more beautiful every single day, and they had grown to like each other better every single class.
And now, it all was over.
Because of her stubbornness, Minerva recalled, but also because of his stubbornness. She really saw no reason for his pointless wrath.
How could she have known that Albus himself did not see the reason as well?
Because he really didn't. As he flew there, on his broomstick, only separated from Minerva by a few inches' thin air, he really didn't now why he felt as if there was a massive stone wall between them. He really didn't know why he suddenly couldn't speak to her anymore the way he'd always spoken to her. He really didn't know why it suddenly was so- impossible to get along with Minerva McGonagall, formerly known as His Favorite Pupil.
He didn't know.
But perhaps there was a point nonetheless to these pointless feelings, for exactly those feelings had provoked the awkward silences between them, the silences which, one night, caused him to say
"You know, Minerva, it is a pity you are to young to be an Animagus."
She, sitting on her broom, her long plait fluttering behind her back, raised her eyebrows and asked
"Why?"
"Because that might be a useful ability- considering where we are going."
Minerva, who had meant something else, allowed herself a faint smile and shook her head.
"No. I meant- why am I too young?"
Albus chuckled softly, despite himself and his strange determinedness to keep a distance from her.
"Because Animagus-training is- it's a really advanced Transfiguration, Minerva. Of course you are talented, but the youngest Animagus I've ever heard of was twenty-six years old."
She shook her head and quietly smiled.
"Still remains the question- why can't I try? I have read about Animagi a lot, Professor, and I know it's difficult. But if that person could do it when he was twenty-six, why can't I try to do it seven years earlier?"
Albus was glad he wore a beard, because he knew he couldn't keep a fond smile off his lips now.
"You really don't think anything is impossible, do you, Miss McGonagall? But it is alright- I know the needed spells. The spells are not really hard to perform, you know. It's the will-power that's the problem with most people. Perseverance- that's what you need."
But Minerva answered, quickly, wittily.
"As you very well know, Professor." she commented dryly.
"Perseverance is not really my biggest problem."
And Albus Dumbledore quickly turned his head away from her to hide an even broader smile. And for some reason, three words leapt into his mind.
"That's my girl."
He didn't speak them, though, but Minerva noted his grin and smiled herself.
Perhaps it wasn't all over yet.