Post by AthenaDumbledore on Sept 12, 2004 11:14:11 GMT -5
She
Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his favourite armchair in his quarters, spending his sunday afternoon alone, in peace. Peace, all thing are relative. His magical radio was playing loudly, “She”, again...
She may be the face I can't forget,
A trace of pleasure or regret,
May be my treasure or
The price I have to pay.
Why he didn’t know. It had been like this for ages, but he, the greatest wizard of all time, did not dare to tell her.
She may be the song that summer sings,
May be the chill that autumn brings,
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day.
There didn’t pass a day he didn’t think about her. Not an hour went without her face coming into his mind at least once.
She may be the beauty or the beast,
May be the famine or the feast,
May turn each day into a
Heaven or a hell.
She had caught him several times staring at her during dinner. The looks she sent him then... Every man would have gone running to his mummy seeing those... but he didn’t. He simply couldn’t get enough of looking at her.
She may be the mirror of my dream,
A smile reflected in a stream,
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell.
When she was around other people she was so diffent. There were those walls around her, and she was very careful not to let them slip. He had been watching her in her office for years, while she was correcting essays, exams, or simply preparing a lesson. She could look so peaceful when she was alone in her quarters.
She who always seems so happy in a crowd,
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud,
No one's allowed to see them
When they cry.
Don’t understand me wrong, she always looked happy, even when she was among other teachers and students. There was just this difference he couldn’t quite put a name on, she wasn’t herself around them. At those moments she was professor McGonnagall, and that wasn’t the woman he had fallen in love with ages ago. He loved Minerva. The Minerva that nibbled on her quill while correcting papers, grading test, oh how he loved that person. The Minerva that played chess with him every Wednesday and Friday night, the one that went with him over Fudges problems every Saturday afternoon. He was completely head over heel in love with her.
She may be the love that cannot hope to last,
May come to me from shadows of the past,
That I remember till the day I die.
He had hoped for her to tell him she loved him for years now, but it couldn’t be. She didn’t love him. How could she? He was more than thirty years her senior. But still, he loved her.
She may be the reason I survive,
The why and wherefore I'm alive,
The one I'll care for through the
Rough and rainy years.
For the past fifty years he had lived for her. There had been many points where he hated life and wanted to stop being the most important person of the wizarding world, snap his wand in halves, or even kill himself. But each time he had kept himself from doing so just for her. Each time saw her face or thought about her had got the courage to answer another letter from Dippet and later Fudge begging for help.
Me, I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be.
The meaning of my life is she, she, she--.
That moment he made up his mind. He stood up, left his radio that had been replaying the same song all afternoon blaring, and swept out of his office, going in a certain direction, one particular door and the person opening it clearly in his mind ...
Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his favourite armchair in his quarters, spending his sunday afternoon alone, in peace. Peace, all thing are relative. His magical radio was playing loudly, “She”, again...
She may be the face I can't forget,
A trace of pleasure or regret,
May be my treasure or
The price I have to pay.
Why he didn’t know. It had been like this for ages, but he, the greatest wizard of all time, did not dare to tell her.
She may be the song that summer sings,
May be the chill that autumn brings,
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day.
There didn’t pass a day he didn’t think about her. Not an hour went without her face coming into his mind at least once.
She may be the beauty or the beast,
May be the famine or the feast,
May turn each day into a
Heaven or a hell.
She had caught him several times staring at her during dinner. The looks she sent him then... Every man would have gone running to his mummy seeing those... but he didn’t. He simply couldn’t get enough of looking at her.
She may be the mirror of my dream,
A smile reflected in a stream,
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell.
When she was around other people she was so diffent. There were those walls around her, and she was very careful not to let them slip. He had been watching her in her office for years, while she was correcting essays, exams, or simply preparing a lesson. She could look so peaceful when she was alone in her quarters.
She who always seems so happy in a crowd,
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud,
No one's allowed to see them
When they cry.
Don’t understand me wrong, she always looked happy, even when she was among other teachers and students. There was just this difference he couldn’t quite put a name on, she wasn’t herself around them. At those moments she was professor McGonnagall, and that wasn’t the woman he had fallen in love with ages ago. He loved Minerva. The Minerva that nibbled on her quill while correcting papers, grading test, oh how he loved that person. The Minerva that played chess with him every Wednesday and Friday night, the one that went with him over Fudges problems every Saturday afternoon. He was completely head over heel in love with her.
She may be the love that cannot hope to last,
May come to me from shadows of the past,
That I remember till the day I die.
He had hoped for her to tell him she loved him for years now, but it couldn’t be. She didn’t love him. How could she? He was more than thirty years her senior. But still, he loved her.
She may be the reason I survive,
The why and wherefore I'm alive,
The one I'll care for through the
Rough and rainy years.
For the past fifty years he had lived for her. There had been many points where he hated life and wanted to stop being the most important person of the wizarding world, snap his wand in halves, or even kill himself. But each time he had kept himself from doing so just for her. Each time saw her face or thought about her had got the courage to answer another letter from Dippet and later Fudge begging for help.
Me, I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be.
The meaning of my life is she, she, she--.
That moment he made up his mind. He stood up, left his radio that had been replaying the same song all afternoon blaring, and swept out of his office, going in a certain direction, one particular door and the person opening it clearly in his mind ...
