Stars twinkled overhead as an exhausted and distraught Minerva McGonagall sat perched outside the household of a certain wizard family in the dead of night, in her animagus form. The wind ruffled her fur as she glanced around, feeling shaken from the events of the night so far.
The halloween of 1981. Two parents of a young wizard. Murdered in cold blood by the Dark Lord. He'd tried to kill the young boy, too, but hadn't succeeded. She couldn't quite wrap her head around the idea that this infant had somehow managed to single-handedly defeat one of the most powerful wizards in the world and escape with only a scar.
A noise startled her and she jumped slightly, shaken out of her train of thought. An old man with a long beard strolled down the street, with an infant in his arms. The infant who would later be known as The Boy Who Survived.
Dumbledore approached Minerva with a small chuckle, despite the events that had occurred, despite the orphan he was carrying.
"Minerva. I should have known you would be here."
She leapt from her perch on the wall, transforming back into her human form. She always loved transforming this way, but tonight was not a night for enjoyment. Wearing a sombre face.
"Absolutely tragic." Was all she could think to say. "It should have ended a different way."
"Sacrifice is always necessary in times like these. They understood this concept."
"They were so young."
"That is the way with wars, Minerva."
"What will become of the boy?" She peered down at him, taking in the sight of his scar. It was real.
"He will be taken care of by family." Dumbledore replied simply, not wishing to delve deeper into an explanation. Minerva knew who he meant anyway, they were outside his new caregiver's house. As Dumbledore placed him on the doorstep with a letter, Minerva swept a golden lock of hair from the infant's forehead, and uttered the closest thing she would get to a prayer for the boy.
"May these stars guide you on your path. I wish you luck, Neville."
