"And I tell you I am quitting!" Minerva shouted on top of her lungs, as she slammed the door shut in Alastor Moody's face.

"You won't stop me!"

With this, she ran away, cheeks burning but something of a satisfied smile on her lips. She *had* been convincing. Though Minerva McGonagall wasn't the person to brag, she did know when she did something well, and she realized she *had* played her part perfectly.

And she could act, of course. Not all acting talent in her family had gone to little Maggie (A/N: Little Maggie, who is, of course, the Fabulous, Eternal, Immortal Maggie Smith… *grin*)…

As she stood on the street once more, Minerva slowly inhaled and exhaled again. The air in London was polluted, and she knew it, yet suddenly, it tasted like the fresh countryside air of her birthplace in Scotland. Part one successfully finished, she mentally resumed, as if to keep up her spirits. Time for part two.

Alastor and Nicolas had given her detailed instructions, which she kept on inwardly repeating as her feet lead, dragged, her towards what probable was the most dangerous place in the wizarding world.

Knockturn Alley.

But she immediately scolded herself as she remembered she was trying to infiltrate in places that were by far more dangerous than just old Knockturn Alley.

Yet.

But not only her quest plagued her.

Albus.

Minerva, not caring about what people would think of her, leant her head against a bare, stone wall as she closed her eyes.

Albus, I am sorry.

Albus, I am not sorry.

Which one was true?

Both.

She was sorry, for she'd hurt him, and one did not hurt the ones one loves. She had hurt him- not physically, no, but she knew her words, her very own words, her lies, had been more painful to him than a slap in the face. Way more painful.

She was sorry, for she had lied and Minerva McGonagall- fair, honest Minerva McGonagall- did not lie. She just didn't. But it had been her duty to lie, hadn't it?

Hadn't it?

The fate of the entire world lay in her hands. She had to go.

But had she ever been able to do her duty, to go, if she had admitted to Albus that she loved him in return?

No.

He wouldn't have let her.

And yes she was stubborn, and yes she was strong-willed, and no, no man could ever stop her. But that exactly was the problem.

She wouldn't have let herself as well.

Because, if she had spoken those words, if she had spoken those three, fatal words, she would have had something to lose. And now she hadn't.

Her parents were dead- she had no siblings. And no really good friends. Except Rolanda Hooch, perhaps, but dear, witty, impulsive old Ro was far away in America, working on her Quidditch career. She'd understand.

And Albus?

He wouldn't understand.

Np-one would understand, actually.

No-one would ever understand, that a girl of barely twenty was prepared to throw her life away. Just for- just for goodness's sake.

But as a matter of fact- no-one had ever understood her.

Yet, with a sigh and a firm nod of the head, Minerva McGonagall chased all those depressing thoughts away and headed once more for the darkest and most evil street of the wizarding world.

Knockturn Alley.

~*~

But before Minerva even reached Diagon Alley, suddenly an almost magical attraction between her right hand and one of the pockets of her robes made her stand still. What… But before she could even finish her inward sentence, she remembered. Of course! Only about an hour ago, in Alastor Moody's office, just before her little performance, her once mentor had given her a letter. He'd found it in his mailbox that morning, and didn't know whom it came from. It was just, in a neat, yet curly handwriting –very politely- addressed to "Miss Minerva McGonagall". Minerva hadn't really thought about it –just put it in her pocket, supposing it came from Rolanda Hooch or someone. But now, as she remembered, she realized, she suddenly knew very, very well indeed it did *not* come from Rolanda. A sharp realization dawned as she let her fingers slide over the soft texture of what certainly was parchment.

Albus.

She didn't know why or how she knew it, she just realized it, without words, the way one realizes a color.

"Intuition?" Minerva ironically thought. "Am I going Sybill Trelawney here?"

Perhaps she was indeed, because right she was.

Albus.

Who else?

As she, with her frail, trembling fingers slightly shaking, carefully, carefully opened the envelope, her eyes immediately –despite herself- started consuming the words. His words. Albus Dumbledore's words.

"My dear Minerva," they began.

"You don't want me; you've made yourself perfectly clear, as you always do. So what choice have I but to accept the situation? For heaven's sake, Minerva, I am talking rubbish here. I love you, my dear, and though I once said in this time everything changes, that one thing will never change. Never.

And I will always keep hoping. Always, Minerva. And I know you are proud, I know you are strong, but call for me and I will be there.

This is probably sentimental rubbish to you ears, my dear, but I don't write these words often and now I do write them, I sincerely mean every syllable of them. I will be there, Minerva. Even though you don't love me. That you have refused me does not mean I don't need your friendship anymore. So please, Minerva, please don't think less of me because I lose myself in sentimentality here. I am angry at you, that I can't deny, but despite everything I know I love you and I know I will always love you.

Always.

Yours truly and forever,

Albus"

Minerva's trembling hands almost dropped the letter as she saw his name there, in that very typical purple ink, neatly carved against the yellowish parchment. And she couldn't stop one tear, just one tear, from falling from her eye as she noticed a very small, wet spot at the bottom of the letter. It was a tear stain, and Minerva knew it.

"Please don't think less of me…" she softly quoted.

"Oh Albus, I will never think less of you."