So I felt really bad for all of the professors. . .do they have lives outside of classes? What do they DO with themselves? Well. . .here's one idea!!

Minerva nodded her head as she stared down the newly straightened hall, brushed her hands together and pursed her lips. As good as new, or at least as good as old Hogwarts. She wanted to stand and stare at her renovation, but knew, with a heavy heart, that she'd better be moving on to the next part.

Fifteen hallways down which meant. . .which meant she didn't even know how many more to go. After decades upon decades spent within the stony old walls, she still wasn't completely certain as to how many hallways or staircases there were.

She looked down the next hallway, paused for a moment. Did she really want to do this right now? Could she even do it? Her wrist was tired and, truth be told, so was her heart.

"Now, now, Ms. McGonagee," Sir Cadogen said from his painting across the way. "Don't tell me you're giving up?"

"Not giving up, Sir Cadogen," she responded, a thin smile gracing her lips. "As many of my students would say, I am merely. . .postponing."

For the first time she was able to understand why some of even her best students made a habit of procrastination. There was something very pleasant about just ignoring unpleasant work and letting it pile up. She flicked her wand at the old gargoyle, and it drifted aside, granting her access to the Headmaster's (Headmistress, now, of course) chambers. She'd really have to come up with a password, she thought.

"Good evening, Professor," all of the paintings said in chorus as she entered. McGonagall nodded back at them. It had been a bit of a chore, wheedling that degree of respect out of them, but she'd achieved it. After all, she wasn't Hogwarts first Headmistress for nothing.

"Excellent job at the memorial, Minerva," said the one portrait that she actually cared about. She turned her tired smile on the familiar face.

"Thank you, Albus," she said. "You would have done much better, of course." The portrait chuckled.

"Possible," he said finally, after having recovered from his bout of giggles. "Possible, but highly unlikely. You're one tought old bird, Minerva."

"Thanks," she said. "I suppose."

She made her way to her desk, sat down behind the well-organized surface. At least, she thought, pushing her answered letters to one side, there would be professors for the coming year. All of the professors would be returning, which was a godsend. A former student (and a very talented one, at that, Minerva remembered fondly) would be taking her former position as Transfiguration teacher, Charlie Weasley had accepted the position for Care of Magical Creatures, and two new teachers had signed up for Potions and DADA. The only question now was whether there would be students.

In theory there should have been someone else writing the letters. In theory she would be taking the time before school's start to review procedures and policies with her teachers, to review the grounds, to set up the wards. Instead here she was, fixing up hallways, sending out letters, and still in charge of restructuring.

"If anyone can do it, you can!" Dumbledore said encouragingly.

"Thank you, Albus," she murmured, not that the advice from a portrait did much good.

She could almost laugh as she went through the students names. Some of them belonged, of course. Luna Lovegood, Romilda Vane, Ginevra Weasley. It was the other names that made her laugh, the ones that could have taught classes, that hardly needed to be in school. Dean Thomas, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley. . .Harry Potter. And then, of course, there was the choice of Head Boy and Head Girl. And she was very certain that nobody would be happy with her decision for that position.

"It will all be worth it," a dreamy voice said from the doorway. Minerva's head jerked up again, seeing the frizzy hair and too large glasses. I really need to come up with a new password, she thought for the second time.

"Is that a prediction, Professor Trelawney?"

"No, no," The seer shook her mangy head, a nervous smile playing on her lips. "Or yes. But not a True Seeing. Just a seeing. A normal seeing. A see-seeing if you see what I mean."

"Yes, Professor, I think that I do," Minerva agreed. Trelawney blinked at her twice more, before nodding her head vaguely and wandering off again. Taking Trelawney's advice and just leaving things as they were (not much of a different option, anyway, was there?)

With a flick of her wand, the rest of the names were signed onto cards, and as a contingent of owls flew in, they swooped up the letters and headed out. Well, Minerva thought, that bit was easier at least.

Except that, when she turned around, there was still one owl sitting placidly on the windowsill, staring at her with its unblinking eyes.

"Well?" Minerva asked, cocking one eyebrow at it. "What are you waiting for?"

The owl hooted once, and hopped a little on its foot. It was just then that she noticed the wound piece of paper tied to its foot. "A message for me?" She asked. The owl hooted again.

She stood up, sighing at the creaking of her old bones, and walked over to the owl. Placidly it extended its leg, and the moment the paper was slid off, it hooted again, almost politely, before stretching its wings and heading out.

Minerva considered leaving the note, still tied up, on her desk and heading off to work on the hallway reservations. She had a very good idea of who had written the letter, and wasn't altogether certain that she was going to like what was written. She stared at it for a moment.

"Better answer, Minerva," Albus said, wagging his eyebrows at her. "You know he'll only send a Howler if you don't."

Acknowledging that, once again, her former Headmaster was right, she slowly undid the piece of twine. She unrolled the parchment. And, sure enough, there was Monhaighn McGonagall's ugly scrawl.

Minnie,

He wrote, and that put a frown on Minerva's face immediately. She absolutely hated the nickname. Minnie, like that mouse from the American pictures. Disgusting name.

I know that you are dreadfully involved in the restructuring of Hogwarts, but I hardly think that now is the time to be abandoning and forgetting your family. The girls came home immediately after hearing that their mum had been in a battle, and the wee ones are positively beside themselves. Little Donahan can scare believe you're still breathing!

Besides that, you know how I am at cooking—positively dreadful, and the wee ones haven't eaten a bite in days. The girls are trying, but heaven knows they've enough to do, Flooing back and forth between work and here and spending every moment worried about you.

And then there's me, Minnie. I'm beginning to forget whether we're even married or not. I don't see you for four months and a time, and now I haven't seen you in almost a year. Remember your vows, Minnie? It can't be me making all the efforts.

War is a sacrifice, and I know that, love, but sometimes you can sacrifice a little of the war, too. Remember that, and remember that if you don't feed a hungry heart, it may forget how to love.

Your adoring husband

"What a pretty little note!" Albus gushed. McGonagall's face was deadly white, and she turned away from the headmaster, hiding her note. Had it really been a year since she'd been home? She supposed so. . .after all, she couldn't leave the children over the holidays with the Carrows around enforcing the rules, and then there had been the battle, and the restructuring. . .

And if she hadn't seen Monhaighn in a year, how long had it been since she'd seen Brigid, Calista, Mona and their children? Good heavens. . .Monhaighn had mentioned Donavan, and the last time she'd seen him he'd just been learning to speak!

It was with a trembling hand that she lay the sheaf of paper down on the table. She had to leave, but she couldn't. She owed it to her family, but she owed it to the students of Hogwarts.

"But what do you owe to yourself, Minerva?" Albus asked. Minerva pursed her lips, forming a tight line across her weathered face. Irritating man. Even in death and portrait form he was capable of Legilimacy. . .or just a greater degree of intuition than any other wizard (or man) she'd ever met.

"Minnie," he said consoling, and when she turned to face him with a tight face and a raised wand, he corrected himself with a soft "Minerva". Graciously, she allowed him to continue. "Minerva, how many people even know that you're married? Know that you have three beautiful daughters? Know that your life extends beyond these walls? Go home to them. The castle will stay for a week, even a month without your presence."

She sighed. That, right there, was precisely what she was afraid of. That the castle wouldn't stand when she left, that the walls would grumble, the ghosts grow recalcitrant, and, worst of all, Lord Voldemort returned. At least, if she remained vigilant, Hogwarts would be warned. . .

But even as she tried to convince herself with such half-founded theories, she could feel her heart weakening. She thought of Donavan's cheerful little face, of Mona's good-natured jokes, and most of all of Monhaighn's wiry arms circling her waist. Home was a blurry memory. She knew, in that instant, that she would be going home.

But before she left she had to check just one, last thing, let me know just one last

"Harry Potter has sacrificed everything for the world. I just feel like a sacrifice should be made for him, for once."

"Minerva," Albus said, and the twinkle had completely disappeared from his brush-stroke eye, replaced by a serious calm. "You have sacrificed as much, if not more, than the Boy-Who-Lived. He would want you to have some happiness. . .you know this as well as I."

Was it enough? It would have to be, Minerva realized, as a great heaviness took over her body. Suddenly she couldn't stand in the cold, stone walls any longer. She had to be home, beside her warm hearth. It would have to be enough.