Prologue

Minerva McGonagall sat in the living room of her Hogwarts chamber. A baby blue basinet sat next to the dark red armchair she sat in. She leaned forward resting her head in her hands. The transfiguration teacher did not know what to do. Not only were three people, who she thought of as children, dead, by fault of their best friend, she now had a small bundle on her hands. Sirius Black had turned against his best friend and his wife, giving Lily and James Potter away to You-Know-Who. Sirius Black had then murder Peter Pettigrew before being captured. He would be sentenced to Azkaban.

Minerva had then gone to Private Drive to watch the Dursley's. Petunia Dursley nee Evans lived there with her husband Vernon and son Dudley. Minerva was appalled, they were shallow people, nothing like James and Lily. And from what Lily had told her, narrow-minded, especially towards magic. And Dumbledore wanted to leave young Harry Potter, the Boy-Who Lived, only survivor of the attack by Voldemort, with these muggles. She could not allow it. They would stifle the young boy, attempt to get rid of his magic. They would be lucky if the Dursley's were even kind to the buy.

The Head Deputy rarely went against Headmaster Dumbledore but she could not budge on this matter. Dumbledore would not leave Lily and James son with these people. And she had told him this, clearly and with a sense of righteous anger, which quickly grew into flustered stuttering when Dumbledore had grinned and said "I was hoping you would say that" and plopped the baby in her hands.

That man would be the death of her. The adoption papers were all written up, signed and dated and sent to the ministry of magic. Minerva McGonagall was now the uncertain guardian of one, Harry James Potter, age 1 and three months.

Oh Merlin this was not going to end well.