A/N: Now, this is just a mini chapter to sate your appetites and cure my inability to write due to lack of sleep (it's currently five in the morning as I post this) but I promise a longer chapter will follow.

Oh dear. That was the only half-coherent thought that Daniel McGonagall could push through his pounding brain. His ears were buzzing and his legs would barely carry him, as if his torso had suddenly been transformed into granite. But the heat still running through his veins was more powerful than any amount of Firewhiskey in the world (and there was a fair amount of it tucked away in obscure corners of the Auror offices). He tried to force his mind over what had happened that night.

There had been the shops. He had definitely been shopping. And Minerva! She had been there, hadn't she? Had she? Yes. Yes, of course she had. But what… what else? Think, Dan, think!

Alleys… there had been a few of those; he only remembered because Minerva had been on the verge of hexing him for taking her in them. Oh, Merlin she looked good when she was angry. Maybe that alley could have come in handy - Stop it, Dan! Now is not the time. You should be panicking and predicting your imminent doom, not salivating over a woman. Speaking of this particular woman, where was she?

As if his thoughts had drawn a magnet to her, Dan became aware of something that sounded like a mixture of giggles and snorts somewhere to his right. Was that…? No… she was not capable of emitting such a horrid noise, was she? Certainly not! Minerva McAllister was nothing if not painfully aware of public perception of her.

And yet, the slurred ranting that followed had an unmistakeable Scottish tinge to it.

"Dan? Dan!" the blotto whisper caught him somewhat by surprise. "DAN… a-are you," the words were now interrupted by a loud hiccough, "losten… listle… listening to me?"

"Sshhh!" He joined her in an uncharacteristic giggle as he placed a finger to her lips.

Where on Merlin's green earth were they? Forcing his addled mind to attempt to concentrate on his surroundings proved harder than Daniel would first have guessed. He did hear the distinct sound of hissing… no, wait… it was not hissing, but the breaking of waves as they forced their fleeting kisses upon the cliff faces. Inebriation does conjure the strangest of similes. It seemed that they had made it all the way back to Portreath in their… unfortunate state.

How they managed to Apparate that far while managing to avoid any splinching disasters, Dan would never know.

Ah, there it was! The far-too-undersized cottage on the cliff. Within minutes, he and Minerva had managed to clamber and stumble their way to the door. Suddenly, the few senses that Dan had managed to gather dissipated once more as he felt soft lips cover his, followed by a rather invasive tongue. Then there was the sweet tickle of alcohol-laced breath.

His hands were fumbling for the door handle and, in his intoxicated mind, there was absolutely nothing strange about it being unlocked at this ungodly hour of the morning. A welcoming gust of warm air hit the drunken pair as they tripped over the threshold. With Minerva still fastened to his lips, Dan moved further into the cottage, kicking the door closed behind him. When he unwillingly pulled away from her due to his overwhelming need for oxygen, she let out a soft whimper and all coherent thought was lost to him.

He pushed Minerva roughly so that her back collided with the wall. Merlin, her hands were skilled. They were roaming circles on his back when they were suddenly stopped mid-motion by a loud clearing of a throat.

For the second time that night, the words 'oh dear' rose to the forefront of Daniel McGonagall's mind.

Annabelle was irate. Not just because of the fact that she had been roused from her bed at nearly four o'clock in the morning; oh no, the fact that her son – her little Danny boy – had returned in such a state with this… harlot. No doubt the witch had forced more liquor into her poor baby's throat!

He always had such terrible judgement when it came to women.

Perhaps not always.

At that moment, the seeds of a plan began to implant themselves into Annabelle's brain. But, for the time being, she would have to settle for giving the girl a firm dressing-down.

Dan could hardly comprehend the words his mother was shooting at the pair, but he did notice how both stood a little straighter – or, rather, leaned a little less. Dan turned his head inconspicuously towards Minerva and he noted that her emerald eyes had widened to the diameter of saucers. Both he and Minerva were searching the recesses of their minds to find a trigger for instantaneous sobriety. Both failed miserably.

"What have you to say for yourselves?" Annabelle paused in her accosting of them to allow them to cobble together some sort of excuse. Merlin, she made them feel like giddy teenagers caught in the act.

Dan turned to face Minerva once more, this time fully meeting Minerva's eyes. For some reason known only to those who were on the wrong side of tipsy, a strange wave of capriciousness overtook the couple. They could not help but burst out laughing.

This, of course, did nothing to dissuade Mrs. McGonagall's rage. She was still shouting some rather choice words at them as they tumbled up the stairs. Not that they were paying particular heed to her words, that is. Somehow, Minerva had managed to lead Dan towards the spare bedroom with about as much grace as an ostrich on an ice rink.

When she tripped over thin air and landed flat on her face, Dan found that a smidgeon of clarity hit his mind. Dear Merlin, was she hurt?

His concerns were quieted, however, when Minerva rolled along the floor from where she had landed and began laughing her intoxicating laugh once more. He had no idea why – though he did not really have any idea why he was doing anything in this state – but Dan felt himself settle down next to Minerva on the wooden floor.

As a warm arm crept up his back, Dan found the thralls of sleep far too irresistible.

Stop that incessant noise, will you?

A never-ending, drilling at the base of his head was sounding loud and clear through his battered brain. Why, Merlin, must he be punished so?

Because you were stupid enough to go out and get utterly hammered, that's why! he thought sharply.

However, besides the hangover-induced headache, something else was troubling him. His back was stiff, as if somebody had injected his spine with a Straightening Solution. Merlin, I feel old. What on earth happened last night? Why does the ceiling seem so far away?

His final question was answered as he noticed that the furniture around him was stretching far above his head. It seems that I ended up sleeping on the floor last night. His next thought was to try to remember what he had done to Minerva to make her kick him out of the bed. That was when he recognized the warm entity lying beside him; Minerva had evidently ended up on the floor also.

Oh, my head hurts.

"Danny! There is a visitor here to see you." Annabelle's voice on the other side of the door was doing nothing to soothe his aching head.

Merlin, not again, he groaned.

A/N: I do hope that the shameful overuse of ellipses in this chapter reflected the *ahem* intoxicated thoughts of our leading man, rather than making this poor writer look like an incapable fool.

Next chapter: Who is the mysterious guest and just what does Annabelle's next scheme involve?