Ah, living in the Highlands of Scotland.

You were admiring your wedding ring, the day playing in your head like a melody as you heard the song thump in your ears. It was loud and shiny, the lake glistening as the sun beamed down like a spotlight just to illuminate everything in that warm, yellow glow. Earrings and emeralds, happy faces..

And the flowers were beautiful, although Nifflers had attempted to steal your rings, in which you barely got back from their tiny, cute little paws. You had a basement full of creatures, of which Nifflers got out every so often, although to none of your concern. They were all babies anyways, harmless.

An Auror for a husband- a half blood, but your parents were by no means upset. They were just glad that you’d found someone who’d gone to Hogwarts as well. Someone magical, raised in a world where they could use spells and potions, a wand, Charms, Transfiguration, and so on, so forth.

And from said marriage, children. Minerva, Malcom and Robert Jr, although you would’ve changed your son’s names, really…you didn't half understand why one had to be named after Robert, although you supposed he'd want some kind of memory when he was dead. It was stupid, really.

Life was lovely.

Sure, you two sons were nothing but troublemakers. They were naughty and loud, funny and sweet, complete idiots through and through. They were thick, one aged thirteen and one aged fifteen. Truly forces of nature, but your daughter-

A know it all, by the world’s means.

And your pride and joy. Minerva McGonagall.

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“Mum?”