Albus Dumbledore had already been having a very bad day when he'd received the urgent summons from the Ministry. He'd been suffering from a major digestive upset that had given him a horrible stomach ache and a bad case of diarrhea.
Little did he know, that his day would soon get worse, much worse...
He had received the missive from the Minister of Magic while he was in the Hospital Wing learning from Madam Pomfrey that he would have to tough out his stomach problems due to the risk of a bad - and potentially fatal at his age - interaction between the potions she had on hand to treat said problem and the headache potion he'd taken while filling out paperwork for two of his three jobs with the aid of his ever trusty Time Turner.
As far as he was concerned, Apparition was out due to the risk of people seeing him shit himself when he arrived in the Atrium. Apparating often had the unfortunate effect of further loosening loose bowels, and a headline involving him and a certain bodily function was the absolute last thing he wanted to see in tomorrow's newspaper. People tended not to have faith in people who couldn't control their own bowels.
Sighing as he crumpled the minister's frantic request that he come immediately and help him out of his current predicament, he got up and made his way back to his office.
He tried the Floo to the Ministry from his office only to find himself rather painfully bounced back out of the fireplace. He tried a couple more times only to achieve the same result. He tried to Floo from Minerva's office, and got the same. He tried from Filius' office only to realize that it was long past time he gave up and found another method of reaching London, since his problems with the Floo Network were apparently part of the reason that the Minister had been so desperate to get ahold of him.
He probably would have taken one of the wonderful Thestrals that Hagrid was raising, if it weren't for that little phobia of his...
Muttering things that would have had his mother scourgifying his mouth were she still alive under his breath, he grabbed the experimental broom one of his students had sent him which wouldn't reach the market for a couple of years or so and headed outdoors. After climbing up one staircase rather than down several, he took off from the Astronomy tower and pointed himself in a southerly direction.
He had still been in Scotland when his stomach gave an ominous rumble. The rumble was a harbinger of something worse, something that filled the brightly colored boxer shorts that he occasionally wore more because he liked the way they looked rather than anything else since he, like much of his generation, did like a healthy breeze around his privates.
"Screw this! Whatever the Minister wants can wait until tomorrow!" he yelled at the sky before turning back to Hogwarts and a set of clean robes.
When he got back to Hogwarts, it had been to learn that Quirrel had gone after the Philosopher's stone, and that little Harry Potter had somehow gotten himself involved in the crisis.
Two days later, he decided not to tell the boy that the reason he'd returned in time to save him had been because he'd shit his pants.