In which Minerva McGonagall is The Actual Best.

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Minerva McGonagall couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so many conflicting emotions at once.

(Probably her own Hogwarts days, if she was honest with herself.)

The facts, then:

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was...gone. Vanished. Dead? It was almost too much to hope for, though she knew that the celebrations had already started.

Lily Evans - Lily Potter - was dead. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named must have killed her before he was...indisposed.

James Potter was alive. He shouldn't be, if Hagrid's report was to be believed.

And little Harry was alive too. You-Know-Who couldn't kill that little boy. After so many gruesome, tragic murders, he failed to destroy a one-year-old. Why? Why Harry and James, and no one else?

Sirius - Black, she told herself - must be the traitor. She couldn't believe it; he and James had been best of friends. Black had wormed his way into her heart the minute the Hat had shouted "Gryffindor!" so many years ago. He was the last person she would have suspected of betraying the Potters. Although with a family like his, it shouldn't have been that much a surprise. The old ways of thought must have caught up with him. That or they had convinced him to believe the deranged madness. And of course, actual madness wasn't out of the realm of possibility; so many of the pureblooded families were so inbred these days that mental and physical problems were manifesting themselves every day.

Enough thinking. Minerva McGonagall was fiercely protective of those that were hers, and James Potter had snuck into her heart with his charm, his devil-may-care ways, with his Quidditch skills, and most importantly with his dedication to the Light and devotion to his little family. He'd told her once, dazed and semi-coherent, that she was like his second mum, after his own had died too soon.

And now, with Lily gone…

She hurried to fasten her dressing-gown. She didn't know how James was, exactly, but it couldn't be good.

She Flooed straight to the hospital wing, rather than walking.

It was as bad as she could have imagined. Minerva had never seen him look so young and alone, even when he was eleven years old and homesick for the very first time. Not even losing his parents when he himself was barely an adult gave him the scared, lost look in his eyes.

She realized then that, for the first time in his life, he was completely alone. Even when the elder Potters had died, he had surrounded himself with those whom he loved. Recently, he and Black had started ostracizing themselves from poor Remus Lupin - probably a cruel plot by Black to destroy all of the Marauders - and Peter Pettigrew was nowhere to be found. He had been skittish and withdrawn recently at Order meetings; had he known or suspected Black's true nature? Someone ought to check on him and get him to safety.

The young man - still practically a boy - turned and seemed to stare straight through her.

"James?" she tried softly.

He didn't move, except to sway slightly from side to side. Little Harry was cradled in his arms, fast asleep. She wasn't sure if it was an instinctive reaction to holding his son or if it was due to shock.

"James," she said again, "Do you need Madam Pomfrey?"

He shook his head, confused. "I, I don't..."

Minerva made a decision. "Give me Harry," she said, and thank Merlin that there was still some part of his brain that registered she was someone who must be obeyed, because he passed the sleeping child over without any fuss. Minerva conjured a crib and laid Harry in it, and with a second wave of her wand set it rocking gently. When Harry was settled, she guided James to one of the infirmary beds and sat him on it. She crouched in front of him, ignoring her knees' protests. (She would pay for it later, but for now she could handle anything.)

"She's gone, Professor," he whispered.

Minerva's heart broke. "I know," she said.

"Peter - he - "

"Shh," she said. "I know. We'll find him."

"And Sirius! Someone should..."

"We're working on it now," Minerva said. "We'll bring him in."

James' eyes filled. "I don't know how I'm going to take care of him," he said, staring at the sleeping baby.

Minerva wiped away the tears that were leaking out of the corner of his eyes. "Leave that worry for another day," she said. "For now, let us take care of you both."

He nodded, and then his face crumpled and his shoulders started shaking. Without a second thought, Minerva McGonagall, formidable Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration professor gathered the boy into her arms and let him cry out the grief and shock and pain of the past six hours.

When he'd cried himself out, she conjured a goblet of water and had him drink. He was quiet and submissive, which disturbed her almost more than the crying or the frantic, semi-coherent rambling. Everyone grieves in their own way, she reminded herself. She put him to bed, then conjured a chair for herself and prepared to stand watch. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, though she doubted she'd ever feel the weight of guard duty quite the same way ever again.

She was there when Albus arrived, looking somber. He conjured a chair for himself and sat down heavily in it; a far cry from his usual composed air.

"So it's true," she said. She didn't need to hear his words to know that Lily Potter would no longer walk this earth.

Dumbledore bowed his head in remembrance.

Minerva covered her mouth with a hand. "Oh, Albus, I knew it was true, but I'd so hoped..." She took a moment to gather herself. "And what of Black or Pettigrew?"

"Their whereabouts are currently unknown," he said. "We have Mundungus Fletcher and Kingsley Shaklebolt on their trail now."

Minerva stared at him. "Really, Albus, of all people - Mundungus Fletcher? I understand Kingsley; he's quite good, but isn't Fletcher somewhat..." she let her voice trail off, unsure how to describe Fletcher. "What about Alastor Moody, or Hestia Jones?"

"Mundungus knows the less-savory parts of the country better than anyone else in the Order," Dumbledore said, eyes regaining some of their usual twinkle. "Kingsley can track a criminal with the best of the Aurors, but the best criminals know how to elude the best Aurors." His smile disappeared. "As for Alastor and Hestia, we have them tracking several known Death Eaters that are still at large. Recovering Pettigrew and apprehending Black will happen, but they are rather low priorities for the time being."

Minerva nodded, satisfied.

"How are the Potters?" Dumbledore asked.

Minerva sighed. "As well as can be expected," she said at last. "Harry seems to have fallen asleep, but James..." She shook her head. "He's in shock, I think, at losing Lily and Black in the same day."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "It is to be expected. Black has truly wounded us all. Did James tell you anything that might inform us as to what happened?"

She shook her head. "He knows that he was betrayed, and he is concerned for his friends. The boy's exhausted, Albus, and I for one don't think it a good idea to wake him quite yet." She leveled a stern look at the headmaster over James' sleeping form.

"I agree," Dumbledore said, and Minerva relaxed somewhat. "We needn't wake him quite yet. But tomorrow..." he trailed off. "Tomorrow shall take care of itself." He stood and vanished his chair. "Please inform me immediately when he wakes. I am going to wait for news."

Minerva stood as well to walk Albus to the door. As they passed Harry's crib, Dumbledore stopped and gazed at the small face.

There was a lightning bolt cut on his forehead.

Thanks to my lovely beta, Shelllessturtle.

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