Author's Note: I do not, and never will, own Harry Potter.
This story is very AU, because I had the thought of "what would happen if Harry was raised by someone else?" And thus, voila. So there isn't really much of a point to telling me a certain event isn't canon, because I pretty much tossed canon merrily out the window. This is sort of the prologue.
"You can't be serious, Albus," Minerva hissed at him. If it had been a less somber occasion, he might have smiled at the distinctly feline tones in the Deputy Headmistress's voice.
"I'm afraid I am, Minerva," he replied quietly. "He can't grow up in our world, surely you can see that. Every child will know his name after tonight."
"But these are the worst sort of Muggles, Albus, they won't be happy with him-he won't be treated well," Minerva persisted as a loud clamour arose and a slightly scuffed-looking motorcycle landed in the road beside them.
"Little tyke slept all the way," Rubeus Hagrid said, bestowing a fond look at the bassinet he carried over one arm.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Albus said, retrieving it. Harry Potter slept peacefully within, swaddled in blankets. The livid lightning-bolt-shaped cut caught the dim light of the moon, making Albus wince.
"I won't let you make this mistake," Minerva warned, but Albus was already resting the child on the doorstep, with an envelope prominently displayed on top. "For the love of-Albus Dumbledore, it's the end of October, surely you know better than to leave an infant out in the cold, at least put a warming charm on him-"
"Fine, Minerva," Albus sighed, waving his wand and watching a lemony glow settle over the sleeping baby.
"Give me a moment," Minerva requested. "You go ahead."
"Minerva, you better not bring him back with you," Albus started, but Minerva shook her head, glaring at him with tears standing in her eyes.
"I just want to say goodbye," Minerva whispered. Albus hesitated, then nodded and withdrew. The street-lights clicked on, one by one, before he vanished, Hagrid soon following on Sirius Black's borrowed motorcycle.
Albus, you're a fool, Minerva thought, conjuring up a piece of parchment and a fresh quill. If he thought it wise to inform Lily Potter's only other living relative of her death (well, murder) with nothing more than a letter and surprise child to take care of, that was his own business, but Minerva knew better.
Hers included ample condolences and three ways to get into contact with her if the care of the child proved too much.
It only took a week.