Early update because I have an interview tomorrow. Thanks for the lovely reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter too :)

19 August 1994

It was late in the evening. Pomona had come to pick up Grace several hours ago, and the rest of the McGonagall family had safely returned to Malcolm and Helen's before then each going home. Meanwhile, Malcolm had asked Minerva if she could stay for a few more days while Helen was recuperating from her visit to St Mungo's. After making sure that this was something Helen was comfortable with, Minerva had of course agreed.

Now, after a long day of re-organising the house, making sure everyone got home safely and helping with the cooking and cleaning, Minerva was sitting at the kitchen table reading through the short but dramatic piece in the Prophet about the troubling events at the Quidditch Match.

She sat there silently and alone for a little over ten minutes until Malcolm made an appearance. He seemed tired and worried, not that Minerva expected any less.

"Tea?" he asked, passing a hand through his greying hair.

Minerva cleared her throat and folded down the newspaper she had been reading. "Let me," she said, getting up from her chair and guiding Malcolm to his own. For once, he did not complain. "How is Helen?" she asked, as she assembled the tea things.

"Resting," he said, quietly.

Minerva nodded and placed a steaming mug in front of him before sitting down opposite him with her own. "She will be back on her feet in no time," she said reassuringly. "Ague has a simple remedy," she added. "And the Healers said by the end of the week she will already be feeling a lot better."

Malcolm nodded then sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. "Don't some muggles get this too?" he asked.

Minerva nodded. "They do," she said, "but the symptoms and causes are a bit different."

"Same name but different ailments," he said.

"Precisely."

Malcolm nodded though his eyebrow knit together. "How do you know this?"

"Auror training," Minerva replied, rolling her eyes, "and too much reading. Also, Finn was considering going back to work and training as a Healer," she added. "He used to read passages to me from his books before we went to sleep."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Really," Minerva repeated, smiling sligthly at the memory. "Barmy old coot. He never could sit still."

Malcolm smiled too and they sat in a comfortable silence for a moment; both sipping their tea. Minerva leaned back in her chair and her eyes drifted to the window. It was particularly at these moments, when stars speckled the dark indigo sky, that she was glad she lived in Scotland. It was a sight that never got old.

Malcolm sighed and wrapped his hands around his mug. His wedding band gently hit the china with a soft clink. "What does the Prophet say?" he asked, nodding at the paper folded on Minerva's knees.

Minerva looked down and picked up the newspaper. "Nothing new," she said. "No one has been caught for the attack on that poor family."

"And the Dark Mark?" he prompted.

Minerva shook her head. "They don't know," she said, turning to look at him and sighing. "I don't think I will ever leave any of you out of my sight again."

Malcolm smiled weakly. "I doubt Dumbledore would allow all of us to move to Hogwarts," he teased. "Or let us attempt to pry you from his tight grip."

Minerva smiled slightly too. Yet, the air of seriousness remained etched on her features. "Really, Malcolm," she added. "I haven't been that worried in a long time. Not to mention positively terrified when you left me at the door like that."

He nodded soberly and reached out to pat her hand. "Sorry about that," he said sincerely, before clearing his throat. "Do you think it means anything?"

"The Death Eaters?" Minerva sighed. "In all honesty, I am not sure. According to Fudge, everything is fine," she added, raising the newspaper to show the Minister for Magic sporting his lime-green bowler hat. "But for them to appear out of the blue like this..." she trailed away.

If she thought hard about it, there was at least one reason, that she knew of, that could explain the surprising attack. She had discussed this with Albus a few weeks back. Unsurprisingly the unknown whereabouts of Peter Pettigrew were causing him concern as well. Even Severus seemed on edge when the topic surfaced.

Indeed, with no more wizarding family to look after him, and the impossibility of returning to the wizarding community without his disguise, it seems likely that Pettigrew would attempt to reconcile with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. If that was even a possibility remained to be seen. However, if Pettigrew did succeed at helping You-Know-Who return to power, then perhaps that would explain why Death Eaters had surfaced again after so many years.

Minerva shuddered at the thought because as much as she wanted to think otherwise, spontaneous Death Eater attacks and anti-muggle behaviour was exactly how it had started last time.

"So," said Malcolm, looking as though he was about to change the topic, "I suppose the Ministry have a lot on their plate now. What with the renewal of the Triwizard Tournament."

Minerva looked up abruptly. "How do you know about that?"

Malcolm tapped his nose. "A journalist never reveals their sources," he said, with a smile.

"You are a retired journalist, Malcolm," she pointed out. "This information was meant to be kept secret until September."

Malcolm shrugged. "I keep in touch with my old colleagues who still work at the Ministry," he said. "Thrilling, this new plan," he added. "Though by the look on your face I can tell you don't approve."

Minerva sniffed and took a sip of her tea. "My opinion is of no importance," she said. "Apparently the decision to partake in a competition such as this one is entirely in the Ministry's control. Albus seemed a bit uncertain, as did I when the Minister came to inform us. However, we were told that we could not decide if Hogwarts should take part."

"Seems a bit unfair considering you'll be the ones arranging accommodation, food, and hosting the actual competition."

Minerva pursed her lips disdainfully. "That is an easy feat apparently," she said, echoing the words of Cornelius and Ludo Bagman.

"Is it now?" said Malcolm, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms. "Do you know what any of the tasks are?"

Minerva shook her head. "They are meant to be a "surprise", apparently," she said, her unenthusiasm and disapproval clear in her voice.

Malcolm snorted. "What a treat."

"Indeed," Minerva sighed. "There will be an age limit, though. I suppose that is one thing to be grateful for. No underage witch or wizard will be allowed to participate."

"Well, I expect they won't make the tasks too hard since it is the first time the Tournament is taking place since...1790?"

"1792," Minerva said. "I do hope so," she added. "I just cannot understand why people have this deep-seated passion to watch students attempt to use magic like fully trained Aurors. Absolutely nonsensical," she added under her breath. "I am sure more than half of the adult wizarding population would not be able to pass the tasks set in this tournament."

Malcolm nodded in agreement though he seemed to realise that a change in conversation was needed. "What else is written?" he asked, indicating at the paper.

Minerva frowned and flicked through. It was mainly photographs of the campsite at the Quidditch World Cup; an interview with Fudge and Ludo Bagman. As she skim-read Bagman's interview Minerva's frown deepened.

"Bertha Jorkins still hasn't returned from her trip," she said. "It says here she was due to return months ago."

Malcolm nodded. "I was told by a friend at the Ministry that she went to Albania. No one is searching for her because she is usually always late to return from trips. It's all a bit hush-hush."

"Albania?" Minerva said, looking up sharply.

"I think that was it," he replied. "Apparently the Ministry is not concerned about it at all. Bagman reported she will just turn up one day as though nothing had happened."

Minerva swallowed, making a mental note to mention this to Albus. It could be nothing, however, something told her it was possibly worth investigating. Especially considering recent events, and the fact that Albania was where Quirrell had met and been possessed by Voldemort some three years ago or so.

"Yes, that is what he says here," Minerva said, gently waving the page containing Ludo's interview. She sighed and began to get up.

"Going to bed?"

"I think so," she replied, folding the newspaper and leaving it on the table. In actuality, she was intending to write a quick letter to Albus before attempting to get any sleep. "And you?"

"I'm going to stay for a bit," he said.

Minerva nodded, then came to kiss him on the cheek. "Goodnight, Malcolm."

"Night, Minerva."