31st December 1999

The first time a jet of green light had shot into the air and lit up the night sky in a brilliant cloud of green and orange glitter, Minerva had found her fingers curled around her wand in an instant. But when no skull appeared, no screams ensued, and instead beautiful combinations of greens, reds, and sparkling gold illuminated the night sky, Minerva had relaxed.

She should have expected fireworks on the eve of a new year, and a new century at that. It was a practice not normally condoned, and Minerva had seen more than a few people, teachers included, jump when the first firework had exploded in the air. But many of the students at Hogwarts this Christmas stayed out of necessity rather than choice, and Minerva had considered it permissible, just this once, to allow such a practice as fireworks to continue. As long as a teacher was supervising and, in this instance, Filius and Hagrid were keeping a watchful eye on the current celebratory activities.

Meanwhile, Minerva continued her journey down the muddy path to Hogsmeade. After some convincing from Poppy, Irma, and most of all, Pomona, Minerva had finally conceded to taking some annual leave, and she was now en route to Caithness where she had been invited to join Malcolm and Helen in their celebrations. Their children would be there, and their children and grandchildren too. The house was positively bursting at the seams, Helen had cheerfully written in her latest letter, but Minerva's room had been kept empty just for her, as it was each year.

As she made it to Hogsmeade, her feet taking her to the Hog's Head, Minerva passed Robin Clement, the Pastor in Hogsmeade. Though not a regular church visitor, Robin and Minerva had developed a lasting friendship ever since she had started at Hogwarts. His kind and gentle demeanour had always reminded her of her father, and they had grown close over the last few years.

Robin smiled and tipped his hat. "Coming to the service, Minerva?"

"Not this time I'm afraid, Robin," Minerva replied. She paused and leaned on her walking stick, an appliance she had started to use more frequently recently, much to her frustration. "I am leaving for Caithness shortly. Do you happen to know if Aberforth has returned?"

Robin nodded. "I've only just been to see him. I didn't realise he had been away. I wouldn't have thought—after his trip to St Mungo's—his condition," he stopped when he noticed Minerva's puzzled frown and cleared his throat. "Erm—but never mind—Yes, he is. He was closing up as I left so I best let you go if you'd like to catch him," he added, and he smiled. "Happy New Year, Minerva. Do send my regards to the family. And let me know about tea. Next Saturday perhaps?"

"Next Saturday it is," Minerva replied. "Happy New Year, Robin, and say hello to Clemence for me."

They shared one last smile, and then Minerva continued her way to the Hog's Head. Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to make sense of Aberforth's sudden, and prolonged silence. Robin's uncharacteristic slip-up divulging a little more than he ought about Aberforth's private life, which she put down to the strain he was under caring for his partner who was unwell, made her believe that perhaps Aberforth had not been entirely truthful about this so-called trip he had taken to France.

The door to the Hog's Head was no longer open, and the closed sign was hanging in the window. But through the small pane of glass in the door, Minerva could see the signs of a candle flickering. She knocked on the door.

"It is Minerva McGonagall," she said. "I know you are inside so do not ignore me, Aberforth."

There was a pause, and Minerva strained her ears as she waited to hear some sign of life from within. To her relief, she heard floorboards creak as someone made their way to the front door. Keys were fitted in the lock, and then the door opened.

"Hasn't anyone told you that's rude to turn up unannounced," Aberforth grumbled.

"On occasion yes. But I find sometimes it is necessary," Minerva replied. "Anyway, is it not rude to leave someone's letters unanswered?"

She glanced at him pointedly over her spectacles, a look she had used and perfected over the years, and reserved only when she needed a student to confess to their misdeeds. When Aberforth looked suitably sheepish, her expression softened and she nodded to a seat at the bar. "Do you have a moment?"

He half nodded half shrugged. "Do you want something?" he asked

"A cup of tea, please. Peppermint should do," Minerva replied. She put her hand in her pocket to retrieve her purse, but Aberforth shook his head.

"It's on the house," he said.

"That's very kind, thank you," Minerva replied. She took a seat, taking the opportunity to look around the newly refurbished Hog's Head while Aberforth got a drink ready.

Although she had been quite a large contributor to the redecoration of the pub, Minerva still found herself surprised by the warm and comfortable atmosphere in the Hog's Head.

The cobwebs were gone, and the surfaces were clean. Minerva had persuaded Aberforth to purchase a couple of rugs and a few cushions for the wooden chairs scattered about the room. The infernal goat had even been relocated to the garden, where it had more space to run, and a nice sheltered pen to keep itself warm.

It was funny how only a few simple changes could completely transform a space. Yet, although pleased with the way in which the Hog's Head now looked, for Minerva, the cherry on top, so to speak, was Aberforth's grudgingly admitting that he rather liked the new interior.

Of course, he had proceeded to complain about Minerva's meddling instincts which, according to him, closely resembled those of Albus'. But he had never since grumbled about the layout of the pub, nor had he tried to change anything back to the way it had been.

In Minerva's eyes, that meant this little project of hers had been quite a success.

"How was France?" she asked, as Aberforth set the mug down in front of her. "Sunny, I hope?"

"Huh?"

"France?"

"Oh—Aye—fine," he said. "Sunny. Mhm."

Minerva narrowed her eyes. She had not missed the fact that Aberforth was walking with a limp, and she had not failed to notice the walking stick resting against the counter—a stick rather like her own, that she similarly avoided using. Taking a moment to truly take in his appearance, the man seemed pale and weary. And as though he had spent the last few weeks in bed rather than abroad in the sun, which Minera suspected was the case. "Only, I passed Robin just now..."

Aberforth tutted. "I thought pastors were known for their ability to keep certain information to themselves," he grumbled. "All right, I cancelled my trip. A bit under the weather is all." He narrowed his eyes at her. "You are a nosy thing."

"Only concerned, Aberforth," Minerva said. "For your wellbeing. I was worried when you did not reply to my letters. Are you well now?"

"As I'll ever be," he said, and Minerva knew not to press him anymore. He gestured at her teacup. "More tea? I would offer something stronger but you're away to Caithness, yes?"

A smile tugged at her lips. So he had read her letter then. "Indeed, I am. A new millennium, it's quite something."

Aberforth nodded.

"I will be away for a week, so will have to miss our usual appointment for lunch on Wednesday. I'm sorry."

"I expected that. No need to apologise."

"I thought perhaps you might like to come up for lunch tomorrow instead?" He eyed her warily as she continued. "It will be quite a full house, but I can promise you a nice meal, and perhaps even some cake."

"You came here with an agenda today," he said.

"A plan, I would say," Minerva said. "By way of apology for missing our meeting later this week."

She smiled, in the hopes that her geniality would convince him to accept her invitation. She knew that Albus and Aberforth had had a long tradition of dining together for the New Year, and while Aberforth would never admit such a thing, Minerva also knew that Aberforth had grown rather lonely in recent years since Albus' passing. Struck down with a particularly virulent strain of the flu the previous year, the McGonagalls had been in no shape to host anyone for their annual celebration. This year was rather a different state of affairs, and Helen had agreed with Minerva, if not heartily encouraged her, to extend an invitation to Aberforth to join them.

Opposite her, Aberforth seemed to be caught up in an internal argument regarding whether he should accept or decline Minerva's proposal. In the end, he shrugged, and nodded, all the while not quite able to meet her eye. "Then I shall gratefully accept your invitation," he said gruffly.

Minerva bit back a smile. "Excellent," she said, and she finished her tea and then stood. "My brother is expecting me soon, and I do not want to keep him waiting. Tomorrow, we will be lunching at 2, although do feel free to drop by earlier. I have been promised live music and perhaps even some dancing at 11."

"I'll come at 2," Aberforth said firmly. He stood too and walked Minerva to the door. As she turned to say goodbye to him before stepping out into the cold, winter's night, he awkwardly patted her twice on the shoulder. "I don't like hugs," he said. "But thank you, Minerva. I promise I was not ignoring your letters on purpose. I was—occupied for some time."

"I understand, Aberforth. And I do hope you are feeling better now," Minerva replied kindly. "Have a nice evening, and I shall see you tomorrow."

She left the pub and looked back once to wave at Aberforth before she disapparated.