Albus dearly wished he could do something about that. There were a lot of things he wished he could do something about, frankly, but he was not nearly as omniscient as everyone seemed to think he was. He could not bring people back from the dead, he could not make his students stop being heroes. He could not, though he wished with all his might that he could, smile and tell Minerva it was all a mistake, that the Potters were alive after all and a one-year-old boy and his parents had not been murdered twelve hours ago in cold blood. How dearly he wished it had not happened, for all that he had known it was coming. He had, perhaps selfishly, hoped that at least one of the parents would live - though he knew that neither Lily nor James would have wanted to outlive the rest of their little family. All he could do was say, "I'm so sorry, Minerva."