With a sigh and a curt shake of her head, the dark-haired witch with the radiant green eyes closed the leather-covered book that had been her diary for many years now. One look on the clock proved what she had feared- still thirty minutes to go, thirty minutes of- almost- literally biting her nails and of suppressing upcoming headaches, of feeling ugly and knowing that that feeling was justified. One look in the mirror proved that thought- she looked pale, depressed and utterly, terribly exhausted. Her robes hung around her body like some emerald-coloured, cotton bag- and her hair in its bun suddenly looked nothing less than ridiculous as one of the usual hairpins fell on the floor, producing a metallic sound in the process. A lock of hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and she bit her lips. Would she- could she ever- but already had her hand raised her wand and there the hairpins went.

A thick mass of raven black hair fell down, reaching her lower back- and she couldn't keep a grin off her still pale face as she slightly inclined her head. It was such a long time ago since she had last seen herself that way. Of course she combed her hair every morning and night- but never did she look at her own reflection in the mirror then. She had once heard a friend of hers call her hair "that spider's web" behind her back- and somehow, self-confident and strong Minerva McGonagall had always been easily hurt by remarks about her looks. It was strange, but it was her weakness, which she had through the years managed to hide as well as possible.

She knew a lot of people thought her ugly- or at least, pretended to think so. She was not stupid, she knew that jealousy had through the years incited many of the poisonous remarks, but still. Jealousy or not, the bitter words of many people had slowly found its way to her mind- and she had started to really believe in her own unattractiveness. After all, would he love her back if she were really pretty? Wouldn't he? Minerva had never been much liked by boys- and they, unconsciously, had managed to destroy a part of her natural self-confidence in the end.

But now she was, with a strangely confident gesture, brushing her long, thick manes- and for some reason she really smiled as she put on a new pair of robes. Not emerald, this time, but a deep, dark red. Normally, she only wore these on special occasions but, as Ro had almost hissed in her ear at lunchtime, "this could be a very special occasion"! Of course she didn't believe that for a moment- but one never knew.

When she stood up, she felt ridiculous, but in a funny way. For some reason, she knew that it was now or never. If he would refuse her now, if he would by either moves or words make clear that he did not and would never want her- then she had decided to disappear from his life. Wholly. After all, another Transfiguration teacher would sooner or later arrive at Hogwarts- a teacher just as capable as she was- and he, Albus, would forget about her. She'd be forgotten by all, except, perhaps, in the archives of the school- where she would be remembered as the old spinster she had been.

She did not even feel sad anymore at the prospect of ending her life on her own, in some abandoned old house on the countryside. After all, nothing could be worse than living the rest of her life in his company, his friendship, knowing that there would never be anything more.

And when she got up from her vanity table, Minerva knew that indeed she was taking the right decision. Slightly stretching her back some more, she finally remembered that she was a Gryffindor- and the colours of Red and Gold run through her veins as they had ran through those of her family for many, many years. Her late parents would turn around in their graves if they ever, ever found out that their Min, their Rós na h-Alba, their Rose of Scotland, refused to see what was so very obvious, and that just- just out of cowardice… For cowardice it was.

The clock struck quarter to seven as Minerva closed the heavy, ebony wooden door behind her back, more determinedly than she had felt in a long time. Her knock on that other ebony door- the one guarded by the gargoyle, which gladly opened at the words "Ni nom, ni âge". She had never really wondered about their meaning. A muggle sweet, perhaps- or some kind of dish. She knew the words were French, but though she knew Latin, Gaelic, English and a bit of Flemish, even, she had never learnt French, even though she'd always thought it a pretty language. Albus spoke it fluently- and apparently he enjoyed using passwords no-one but him understood. She smiled. Another proof of that so obvious eccentricity of his- another bit of him that she loved.

And suddenly she found herself standing in front of him- looking straight into those radiant blue eyes of his. When her knees went weak, she knew that this was going to be a whole lot more difficult than she had thought it would be. As he extended his arm, for some reason looking just as insecure as she was, though it was he who had proposed the date, she nodded and gratefully got hold of it.

"Hello, Albus."

Her own voice sounded ridiculous.

Some men just looked too good.