A rather cheerful old man was strolling casually through the streets of London. His ankle-length velvet cape and rosy cheeks seemed to hint at a enlongated Christmas party with too much alcohol and a fancy dress code. He had control of his steps, however, and his long, white beard lacked the signs of any wine spillages – unless the suspect was a certain spirit instead. All of these details were noted carefully by a particular passer-by, who went by the name of Minerva McGonagall.
"Albus, with all due respect-"
"Ah, Minerva, good evening!"
The short man, Albus Dumbledore, did not seem bothered by the irritated glances Minerva was attempting to sober him up with. In fact, it was rather the opposite, Dumbledore dearly enjoyed cheering up miserable or stressed individuals, so he felt obliged to pass his – previously concealed – bottle of Firewhisky to his collegue.
"Drink up Minerva, tonight you may let your hair down, all is well!"
"Albus! Haven't you heard about the Potters?"
"The Dark Lord is gone!"
McGonagall swiftly cast a sobering charm over the respected headmaster before demanding an explanation. Dumbledore smiled weakly,
"The plan was perfect Minerva. It worked as I knew it would."
"Albus Dumbledore! Explain yourself before I am forced to hex you!"
The man appeared to regain a strange glint in his periwinkle eyes and patted her gently on the arm, he was sobered once more.
"It seems my dear Minerva, that you were unfortunate to come across me absolutely intoxicated. I apologize. Shall we return?"
The topic was dropped, McGonagall assumed that he had gone drinking after the messy affair with the Potters and Dumbledore tried to convince her to try a lemon sherbert.