So this isn't late because I didn't write it...I just honest-to-god forgot about days of the week and how they work; that is the life I have had lately.

SO HERE I AM, LATE BUT BEAMING/TIPPING OVER SLIGHTLY FROM EXHAUSTION. HUG ME.

Also I know how stoked some of y'all have been about Dougal. I have something special planned for the next few updates. :) HERE WE GO!

3 July 1954

"Oh, Minerva…I couldn't be prouder of you," Mother said, gazing down at the brass and wood plaque she held in her hands. She looked up and smiled. "Where shall we hang it?"

"It's got the seals of the Ministry and Transfiguration Today on it, Mother," Minerva reminded her, huffing as she stowed her wand with her robes and all the books she could fit, shut the lid of her trunk, and shoved the whole thing under her bed. "It's not hanging anywhere in the house."

Her mother's face fell, and Minerva felt a little bit of guilt. All the same, she held out a hand for the Most Promising Newcomer Award, one of three recognitions she had received (top marks in all her subjects over seven years and Excellence in N.E.W.T. Studies) upon leaving Hogwarts. Mother handed it to her, and Minerva tucked it in a drawer of the nightstand, behind a stack of parchment and a few inkbottles.

She brushed her hands together. "There. Good as new."

"I am sorry we didn't make it, love. Really, I am." Mother was watching her sadly. "I felt—I couldn't just leave your father behind."

"I know that," Minerva said. "I know. It's all right," she added brusquely, rubbing her hands on her skirt. She pushed away the nasty, aching, guilty feelings. The ceremony had been less than a week ago; surely she could be annoyed at her parents for missing it just a little while longer? It wasn't really their fault, said the small, traitorous voice of maturity in the back of her head.

"I was thinking we'd have beef stew tonight?" Mother asked quietly. "It's your favorite, and we really don't have you here for too long…"

"Sounds nice, Mum, thanks," Minerva said briefly, brushing a kiss against her cheek as she passed to the bookcase, her arms now laden with spellbooks. She started sliding her books into their hiding places on the shelves. If she'd had any sense at all, she wouldn't be bothering with this; she could have been traveling with most of her friends who were also starting jobs at the Ministry and who had gone straight to London, or would be there soon to hunt out flats and houseshares.

Instead, she had eight solid weeks in Caithness. Eight weeks to do her mother's shopping, to keep the boys out of trouble (their most recent mischief had involved Monty, who now refused to leave his hiding spot under Minerva's bed), and to say goodbye to this strange, foreign life in the Muggle world, in which Minerva had not felt entirely at home for years.

"Where's my girl?"

Minerva started, shoved her Potions book behind some older volumes on the shelf, and looked at her mother, who was smiling in a strained way. "You didn't say he was coming home early," she whispered.

"I didn't know," Mother replied, as the bedroom door swung open.

"You're home!" Dad cried, striding to Minerva and scooping her up in a tight embrace. Despite herself, she laughed as he lifted her off the floor.

"Put her down, Robert, you'll give yourself a heart attack," Mother laughed, though she stepped forward and tentatively joined the embrace, one hand on Minerva's back.

Dad kissed Minerva's cheek and set her on her feet again. "Never. It's been too long, Miss Minerva, too long since you've been home."

"I missed you," Minerva murmured, her arms still around him.

"The parish missed you at Easter services," Dad laughed, patting her back heartily. Minerva smiled and kept a smart remark about her graduation to herself, allowing him to kiss the top of her head again. "You've settled in well," he said, pulling back and looking around the little bedroom. This was his uncomfortable way of acknowledging how hard she and Mother worked at keeping their home as 'normal' as possible. He kissed Mother's cheek.

"Beef stew tonight, Robert," Mother said. "Sound all right?"

"That ought to do us well, eh, Minerva?" he asked, grinning at her. She nodded. A lump was rising in the back of her throat. "Goodness, lass, you look all turned about," he said, squeezing her tightly about the shoulders with one arm.

"She's had an important week, Robert," said Mother gently.

Dad smiled. "She has. I haven't forgotten that," he said, reaching into his pocket. He produced a small package wrapped in paper and presented it to Minerva. "I'm proud of you, love, for finishing all that."

Momentarily stunned, Minerva unwrapped the gift in silence. A small silver ring fell out of the parcel, into her palm. It was beautiful, a thin filament of silver twisted into a looping figure-eight knot. Dad took it out of her palm and slipped it onto the middle finger of her right hand.

"Gorgeous," he told her.

"Dad…how did you…this had to be expensive," she stammered.

"Never mind that," Mother said, hugging Dad's arm. "Things like this only happen a few times in your life."

Perhaps it was because she was so 'turned about,' or because she was exhausted from weeks of preparation for exams, from journeying up from London on Muggle trains with Robbie and Malcolm in tow, or perhaps it was because she was growing weary of being both her father's daughter and her mother's kindred spirit, but all Minerva could hear were the words her parents didn't dare to say in front of each other.

Witch. Magic. Hogwarts.

Minerva stared down at her ring. "I—I think I'd like to take a walk before supper," she said. Her mother and father were silent for a moment. "I could—I could walk to town. Do you have anything you need posted, Dad?" she said, hoping that it was just the ringing in her ears that made her voice sound so shaky.

"No, I—I don't," he said, clearly nonplussed.

"Well, I think I'd like to walk anyway," Minerva announced, scooping up a sweater before her mother could remind her. She draped it over her shoulders. "I'll be back before the table's set," she promised, waving her hand briefly.

And she left her parents standing in her bedroom as she hurried down the stairs and out the front door of the manse. The sun was nowhere near setting—not this far north, at this time of year—but all the fields and houses in the little glen were bathed in a fiery orange glow. Minerva set off down the dirt road, down the path to town.

As she marched, she muttered to herself. Anyone passing her would have thought her insane, but she was quite alone up here. Nearly everyone was home for dinner by now, either in the heart of town or here on the outskirts. Before long, she started twisting the new ring on her finger. Truthfully, it made her nervous, a frightening weight on her right hand that she was afraid she was going to lose. Jewelry had never been an accessory of hers at Hogwarts.

And yet, this was a beautiful ring. Clearly her parents had worked hard to pick it out,

In her heart, she ached to assume her feline form; her emotions were much less acute, so much easier to handle and compartmentalize into one or the other—happy or sad, and never both—when she was a cat. But this was risky magic to perform near Muggles, and she hadn't quite yet mastered the art of behaving like an ordinary, everyday housecat.

She also didn't feel like being chased by the enormous brown and white collie that had appeared around the bend in the lane and was now bounding towards her. She drew both hands up, away from the slobbering mouth and wet nose as the huge dog leapt up, dancing all around her, thinking she was playing a game.

"Reggie! Reggie, cut it out, will ye—" A young man was running after the dog, waving his arms.

"Dogs are supposed to be on leads, even out here," Minerva said sharply, as the dog's owner came sprinting up. He caught the dog's collar, panting. "That's just courtesy."

The young man looked up, and Minerva's brain stuttered to a halt. He had bright blue eyes and a thick mass of curling, brown-blonde hair. He smiled at her, and though he couldn't have been much older than she was, his tanned face crinkled around his eyes. He had to be a farmer from one of the neighboring plots of land; the look was unmistakable. "Well, excuse us, miss," he said, kneeling down and scratching the panting collie's head. "We didn't mean to be rude, did we, Reggie?"

Minerva stepped back. "It's all right," she mumbled, looking down at the ground.

He released the dog's collar and straightened up, dusting his hands on his trousers. The collie sniffed interestedly at Minerva's shoe, but didn't jump up or bark at her again. "You live around here?" he asked.

Minerva frowned. "Do you?"

He laughed, a huge laugh that actually—actually—made Minerva's stomach twist up in a shocking jolt of happiness, just the way Clare had once described to her. He pointed over her shoulder, up the road and across the small valley. "My family's farm," he said.

"That's Richard McGregor's," Minerva told him. "He doesn't have sons."

He grinned again. "No, aye, he doesn't. But he had a brother. My da."

"Oh," Minerva said quietly. "I—I didn't know he'd—I'm sorry for your loss," she said, her cheeks flushing hot.

The man stared at her curiously. "It's been a few years," he said, "you sure you're from around here, miss? Thought everybody knew we'd taken up the farm here."

"You're his…nephew?"

"Dougal McGregor," he said, sticking out a hand. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. And this is Reggie—er, Regina." He gestured to the collie, who was wagging her tail and peering between them excitedly.

"I'm Minerva McGonagall," she replied, shaking his hand.

"McGonagall…you're the minister's daughter, eh?" Dougal asked. "That's right, you're the one that's always off at school. You missed Easter services…I remember you from Christmas, though."

Minerva stared at him. "Y-you do?"

"You sat up at the front," Dougal nodded. "You had holly tied on that plait." He pointed at her braid. Then, suddenly, he turned bright red, cleared his throat, and looked away. "So, er—you've been away at school. So…you've—erm—you're on holiday, then?"

"I've finished," Minerva replied. "Just this week."

Dougal looked surprised. "Oh—is that so? Good work, then, that's…that's grand," he smiled at her.

"That's what they tell me."

"You don't think so?" he asked, frowning.

Minerva shrugged. "What I think doesn't seem to matter much around here," she said, before she could stop herself. She turned scarlet, and they were both quiet for a long moment. Minerva rubbed her elbow and looked at Reggie, who had stuck her nose in a nearby bush.

"So…"

"That's a favorite word of yours, is it?"

Dougal laughed again, and Minerva's spine tingled. "I guess so. And you like making fun of fools like me, then?"

"I'm sorry," she said, giggling slightly in spite of herself. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Dougal spread his arms and shrugged. "So, Minerva McGonagall," he said, fixing her with a piercing look, "what are your plans now?"

She froze. She had no idea how to answer the question. It wasn't a matter of truth-telling or not (eventually, it would come out in town that the minister's daughter had moved "back" to London, where they had always been told she attended school; she didn't know what story her parents would have this time—finishing school, perhaps, on her mother's wealthy relatives' dime), but rather that, for some inexplicable reason, she couldn't bring herself to say the words: I'm only visiting. I'm going away soon.

Dougal was staring at her.

"N-nothing," she stammered. "I—I haven't decided—I might do a university course," she lied quickly, "or—or finishing school. I'm—I'm really quite…free," she lied.

He smiled. "I—didn't quite mean career plans," he laughed. "I meant…in the next week or so?"

Minerva, who had been prepared to retort angrily that she wasn't about to drop everything she had just achieved in favor of a quiet life in Caithness, was dumbstruck. "I—I hadn't—"

"There's the social hall opening," Dougal said, apparently to the dirt under his shoes as he jammed his fists in his pockets. "It's…Saturday, I think. My sister's going. I wasn't, but…maybe if I knew some other people there…"

"I'm really terrible at parties," Minerva blurted out. Dougal looked up at her, smiling. "What I meant was—I—well, I don't quite…I don't like them, much."

Dougal rubbed the back of his neck. "Aye, nor me."

"My brothers might have a good time," she said slowly. "They're probably not allowed to go by themselves, but maybe…I could take them."

He grinned. "Maybe we'll see you, then."

"Perhaps." Minerva's stomach twisted, and she felt heat flood her face again as she and Dougal looked at each other. She jumped when Reggie the collie barked loudly; she had climbed up on top of the steep hillside next to the dirt road and apparently couldn't get down.

"I'll—uh—I'll get her," Dougal laughed, as Reggie whined loudly. He climbed carefully up the grassy slope and grabbed Reggie's collar, starting to lead her back down. "Erm—Minerva, if you like, I could—"

But Minerva was gone. She had bolted—actually fled—and in the three or so minutes that Dougal had had his back to her, she had murmured a spell and was now curled up in the ditch on the lower side of the road, keeping her tail and all four paws as tight to her body as she could.

Dougal looked up and down the road, but couldn't see which way she had gone. She felt a purr rising in her throat, and, embarrassed, packed herself down tighter into the grass.

"Where'd…Reggie—hey, you silly creature, I'm not rescuing you again," he laughed, clapping his hands to call the dog before her sniffing nose could get any closer to Minerva's hiding place. "What do you think, lass?" he asked, scratching Reggie's ears as she bounded up to him. "She's an odd one, isn't she?"

Minerva felt a surge of indignation as Reggie barked loudly and chased herself in a circle.

"Me too," Dougal grinned. "Lovely as the day is long, eh?"

Reggie barked again and ran up the road a ways. Then she barked again. Dougal looked around once more, shook his head in a bewildered way, and started off up the road after her.

When Minerva was quite sure he was gone, she poked her head up out of the grass and sniffed. They were a fair distance away by now. She padded up onto the dirt road, heated by the sun, and dropped with a sigh onto her side, curling and uncurling her body in the warm earth. When she finally popped back into her human form, her family would think she'd been attacked and left in the dust, but for now, she just wanted to bask in this lovely, warm feeling.