Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, no matter how many stars I've wished on to fix that issue.
Happy Birthday, Harry! I hope being 36 will treat you well.
This is kinda cracky. It's also been sitting on my hard drive for a while and since I can't find my notebook, it's this year's birthday fic.
15 years. It had been 15 years since Minerva McGonagall had a vacation.
As Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor and Transfiguration Professor, she only managed to catch up on everything that had to be done on August 31st, just in time for the madness to start all over again. Had the Grindelwald and Voldemort Wars not occurred, the Wizarding Population in the United Kingdom would not have shrunk, and the Hogwarts staff would not have been downsized accordingly to match with the smaller class sizes. Or perhaps it had shrunken too much, if one was to be frank. Minerva was doing the work that would have once been done by three or four different people.
As such, when Headmaster Dumbledore suggested in the summer of 1991 that she take July off and relax, she pounced upon the idea like it was catnip. It took little more than a few assurances that the letters would be sent off in time and that Filius would introduce the muggleborns to the Wizarding world for her to be off, a plaid carpetbag in hand.
By this time, only a few Wizarding children, and fewer muggleborns were still waiting on their letters. Most received theirs upon their eleventh birthday, however those with summer birthdays still had not.
All letter-sending duties were left in the Headmaster's hands.
"Now, let's see…. Ah yes. Minerva said this parchment would say if a student's letter was opened and touched by the student themselves. That way we can avoid that mix up from '56." Albus too-many-names Dumbledore mumbled, displacing all the other parchments as he pulled the required one from his deputy's desk. He made a mental note to send Severus to deal with it, but it ended up getting lost along with the reminder to add a more complex locking charm to the third floor corridor so that a simple 'alohamora' wouldn't open it.
"Huh, young Harry hasn't responded. I should send another few, just in case. Some of those owls are quite old, after all."
Several days later it became obvious the Dursleys were avoiding the wizarding world. "Ah, yes, that should do it," Albus clapped his hands and popped a new lemon drop into his mouth. He took special delight in coming up with inventive ways to deliver ever more letters to the young Potter. Filling the Dursley's house should do the trick. At least one letter should be opened then.
Eventually, however, the response date approached and Dumbledore sighed, giving the job of fetching Harry to Hagrid. He'd been hoping Petunia would be sensible about this.
McGonagall was not amused when she came back to find the only thing done had been the sending of the letters and the muggleborn visits, but not any of the supply ordering or schedule-making that needed to be done. She also proceeded to beat the Headmaster with her carpet bag for using up her entire stock of green ink and self-addressing envelopes. "Did he think they came cheap?" she thought, swearing in Gaelic aloud.
When she sat down to the work Albus hadn't done, she swore she'd never take a vacation again.