Updating on a more-than-biannual basis? Who's that? Not me!

Let's blame it on my desire to procrastinate my packing and moving process, shall we?

Regardless, hi, love you - as always!

18 August 1994

The campsite beyond the World Cup stadium was riotous with excitement and celebration—it had been a spectacular match to end a spectacular playoff event, and though it was late at night (and she'd had a fair bit to drink), Minerva was still feeling energized. It had been a long time since she'd focused on nothing but recreation, and between her nephew John's wedding to Patrick Connelly just last weekend and a solid month of Quidditch around which the entire McGonagall clan (Kate and Meg had even managed to muster up some enthusiasm on Ireland's behalf, even if they attended no matches) had rallied, she couldn't remember a more joyful time in her recent memory.

Minerva now sat between her brothers outside the tent that Isobel had borrowed from a coworker in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, watching enthusiastic Quidditch fans in glittering shamrocks and green paraphernalia flood past, singing Irish songs and firing off sparklers with their wands. Isobel, whose husband was home with Emily, had disappeared with her brothers upon meeting Nymphadora Tonks and a few other old Hogwarts friends, while Tommy was still on call for the Quidditch League, already working on the breakdown of the magnificent stadium.

Minerva, Rob, and Malcolm were sharing a pot of tea that had stopped being tea some time since—now that their less-than-modest addition of some Ogden's Old Firewhisky had overtaken it—and laughing about nothing in particular.

"Even Kate and Meg would've enjoyed that," Minerva said over the din around them. "I'll never understand how the pair of ye chose two witches who couldn'y be less interested in Quidditch if they tried." She hiccupped. All three of them were sounding much more like their country-Scots upbringing than usual, now that the second bottle of firewhisky was all but gone. "Mind you, I'm no' complaining—they've made the both of ye so much more tolerable."

"That Feint were somethin' else, eh?" said Rob, apparently not having heard any of this.

"Ach, no, that one Alex Kincaid had y'do back at school were better," said Malcolm, elbowing Minerva. "Remember that? Better executed, too, even when that Avery bird pulled ye off yer broom. Krum's solid, there's no doubt, but I'd bet you could outfly him, M'nerva."

Minerva took the mug he held and sniffed it. "That's enough firewhisky for you, m' wee puffskein," she laughed, and Rob guffawed.

"Outflown him in y'r prime, maybe," said Rob. "Nowadays you're an old—"

Minerva kicked him in the knee, he gave a great, fake yelp, and the three of them lapsed into hysterics again. An enormous crack echoed as something exploded somewhere in the distance.

"Irish've got their firecrackers out, eh?" Malcolm said, lifting his head and squinting as though he thought he could make out more than the hazy fog created by the sparklers and celebratory spells filling the air.

Minerva took a last gulp of her mug of firewhisky and set it aside, wobbling to her feet.

"Steady on, ol' girl," Malcolm guffawed, catching her wrist and righting her. "Where are ye off to?"

"Back to this one's house," Minerva replied, putting an affectionate arm around him where he sat and pointing at Robert. "Your elder sister is elder enough to know she won't be spending the night in a tent," she hiccupped.

Rob stood and stretched, as well. "Aye, Malcolm—c'mon, let's get out of it. Kids are headed back. We'll let them have their do," he nodded. Minerva looked around. Sure enough, Minerva saw a gaggle of young adults––her nephews and a handful of others––with her own niece at the very center approaching the tent site. She smiled; it was largely the same group of friends Isobel had traipsed about Hogwarts with not so long ago, including Nymphadora Tonks, whom John saved from a near-miss tumble into a cooking fire as they got close.

"Auntie!" Isobel called, waving wildly. "You'll never guess who we ran into! Bill and Charlie! Charlie Weasley! And look—Tonks!"

"I swear, I didn't let her drink all that much," Tonks told Minerva, her heart-shaped face split into a mischievous grin Minerva remembered all too well. "Being a mum's made you a lightweight, McGonagall," she laughed, as Isobel dropped beside the campfire and began picking through the leftover sausage rolls from their early dinner. Isobel made a rude hand gesture and kept eating.

Tonks stuck a hand out to Minerva. "How are you, Professor? It's good to see you!"

"Marvelous," Minerva said, hastily repressing a burp and extending her own hand, "Marvelous to see you too, Miss Toonks—Tonks." She pressed her lips together and tried to remember how to blink normally.

"I was stationed in Hogsmeade this last year, on Kingsley's orders for the Sirius Black hunt," Tonks said. "I was sorry I never got to see you. I'm one of the only Aurors duty tonight, and when I saw Isobel, I asked if you were here. I never got a chance to thank you properly for that letter you wrote me when I was applying for the job."

Minerva nodded the entire time Tonks spoke, as if she followed every word. She stopped nodding about three seconds after Tonks finished and said hastily, "Well—quite so, quite so, Miss Tonks––"

Malcolm came to the rescue at precisely the right second. "Ready to go, then?" he asked, clapping his arm round her shoulders. "G'night, you lot! Ye'll have to excuse the ol' girl," he added in a stage whisper to Tonks. "Bad sausage roll."

Tonks giggled, and Minerva had the vague impression that she ought to pull herself together, but then she was sandwiched between her brothers, the three of them leaning on one another for support as they made their way in a long stream of witches and wizards headed for one of the Apparition points in the woods. Songs and cheers and more fireworks echoed behind them as they walked, giggling and stumbling.

"All right, now, I know ––" Rob began, twisting his ankle and bumping into Minerva, "I know it'll be a little more––reserved," he said with a burp.

"Robert Ross McGonagall," Minerva scolded him.

"I know it'll be a bit more reserved," he said again, "seein' as it's kids––but c'mon," he opened his arms wide, gesturing to the atmosphere at large, Minerva guessed. "This tournament ought to be a good bit o' fun, don't ye think?"

"I guess so," Minerva sighed, waving a hand. "I'm not too fussed about it at the moment, to be honest."

"It'll be grand!" Malcolm said, as the approached the end of a short queue of Disapparators. "Cornelius Fudge––now, he hasn' tipped me off much, mind, but he's told me about some o' the creatures they're bringin' in for the tasks!"

"Creatures?" Minerva asked, stepping forward as the group ahead of them stepped into the clearing. "What sort of creatures?"

Behind them, more firework explosions and cheers erupted, echoing through the woods. It was louder than the music, now.

"Dragons, says Fudge," Malcolm told her.

"Surely not!" Minerva gasped. "What are they supposed to––oh, bloody hellfire, I can't get upset about this now. No, I'm on holiday." She swiped her hands outward, like she was brushing away a hill of ants.

Malcolm and Rob giggled foolishly at her and she gave each of them a gentle push towards the clearing, where they spread apart. "Now don't go Splinching yourselves," she told them, "Kate and Meg won't be puttin' ye back together."

With another raucous laugh and two small pops, she heard her brothers Disapparate on either side of her. As she turned on the spot, Minerva heard a particularly loud boom and saw the night sky above her head light up green, before she was enveloped by the familiar crushing darkness.