A/N: Feeling that love-hate frustration with JK we all do, I suddenly had an epiphany. The HP universe if there weren't so many dumbasses! Or, perhaps if Harry weren't a dumbass. I do not know. I shall see. Some will be blessed with the ability to not be a dumbass (Harry)... some will be left with that trait, as they wouldn't be themselves without it (Dumbledore).
Dear Lord. I have stumbled upon something magnificent. So, there you have it. My Author's Note.
I'm done now.
Disclaimer: Really now. I'm not making any money and you know it.
Chapter One: The Boy Who Lived
Mr. And Mrs. Dursley were quite proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were not involved with anything shady or suspicious and they were not the sort of people to hold with nonsense, because it was just ridiculous and no good ever came out of it.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man, but with the diet his wife had put him on he might not be forever. Mrs. Dursley, who was the only person Mr. Dursley would ever allow to interfere with his eating habits, was herself tall and thin and only followed the diet so as not to tempt her husband. After all, eating steak and eggs in front of Vernon while he had to force down a grapefruit wasn't very fair, and neither of them wanted to get angry and disrupt their baby Dudley, who already had a temper problem and trouble sleeping.
One Tuesday afternoon, the Dursleys awoke to another perfectly normal day. Mrs. Dursley fed the baby while Mr. Dursley got ready for work. As he left for another day's honest labor, she entertained little Dudley, who would grow up to be their shining star, and nothing else seemed out of the ordinary.
That was, until Vernon left Grunnings on his lunch break and started to see strange things. He saw an owl fly overhead- in the middle of the day! Then, there were the people in the streets, wearing capes and pointed hats as though it were still Halloween! One of the men was his age, even- and running around with a bunch of teenagers!
"Ridiculous!" Vernon hissed to himself, jumping when two of the men turned and looked at him, surprised.
"What did you say, old chap?"
"Old?" Vernon swelled angrily. "Why, you're every bit as old as I am!"
"Much older, actually." The old man smiled. "But today I feel so young! Good sir, even someone so rude as yourself couldn't disrupt my mood! For it's happened! He's gone! You-Know-Who is gone and even you should be happy!" With that, the man leapt into the air and clicked his heels together, shouting happily. His companions all nodded and laughed in agreement. They seemed oblivious to the stares.
"Freaks." Vernon hissed under his breath, turning and returning to Grunnings on an empty stomach. These people just made him lose his appetite.
When he returned home, things were only a little better. He saw a cat sitting on his front porch and the damn thing wouldn't leave no matter how he tried to shoo it. Eventually, he gave up and headed inside, joining his wife and son in a family viewing of the evening news.
A man appeared on Privet Drive, dressed very strangely in a bright blue cloak and high-heeled, buckled boots. His robes were purple underneath, clashing very horribly. His long silver beard reached his waist and his hair was, if possible, even longer. As he pulled something small and silver out of his pocket and began to capture the lights along the street without a second thought, the cat sitting on the Dursley's front porch ran and leapt onto the garden wall, apparently waiting for the man to arrive.
As the man turned and stepped onto the Dursley's property, the cat turned, transforming suddenly from a tabby cat to a stern looking woman wearing square spectacles. Before the man could open his mouth, the woman began to speak.
"Albus," she hissed, looking around them. "Do you realize what you're about to do? These people, they- they're absolutely not the type of people to raise a young wizard!"
"My dear McGonagall-"
"No Albus, listen to me, please! They abhor anything unusual, anything strange- they would treat the boy as though he had the plague!"
"Professor, I know."
She looked scandalized. "And you're going to leave Harry with them? Where he'll grow up alienated, alone?"
"What else would you have me do, professor?"
She threw her hands into the air. "Anything, Albus! Why can't the boy live with a wizarding family? The Weasleys- they've been known to adopt orphaned young witches and wizards for centuries! The Bones'- a perfectly average wizarding family. Or even the boy's irresponsible, skirt-chasing godfather!"
Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. "None of those are feasible options, Minerva. The boy must be left here for his own protection."
"Albus, Harry is only a baby, and he defeated- or at least, caused the defeat- of the Dark Lord. I hardly think there is anything else to protect him from! If we leave him with a responsible family, he will be protected from any stray Death Eaters looking for revenge!"
"Minerva, we do not know where the Dark Lord is, but we know that he is not dead in the full sense of the word. He has simply been defeated. There is a chance he could come back-"
"-And these muggles can protect him?" At his nod, she became even more incredulous. "How, Albus?"
"Blood magic, Minerva. They're the only family he has left, and as long as he calls this place home, he will be safe from Voldemort or any who wish him harm."
The professor seemed to deflate. She opened her mouth, but couldn't come up with an argument. "I suppose... that is justification."
"Do not worry, my dear professor. I have written them a letter that will explain everything, and they can tell young Harry whenever he is older."
Before McGonagall could question the effectiveness of a letter, a low rumble broke the night silence. It grew steadily as the two watched the skies in anticipation.
A flying motorcycle easily twice the size of a normal motorcycle arrived in the driveway of Number Four. The figure astride it, a tall, muscled young man who looked to be barely an adult, swung off with a basket in one hand. He set the basket down, pulled his long hair behind his head into a rubber band, and turned to the house, wiping his face with his sleeve.
"Professor." His voice broke like that of a scared child's, reaching out for help. "I- I brought Harry. He's fine, except... for a s-slash across his f-forehead." He stepped forward and handed the basket reluctantly to the older wizard.
"Thank you, Sirius." Dumbledore turned and set the basket down on the porch step, pulling the blanket off of the child to look at the cut. Professor McGonagall laid her hand empathetically on the young man's shoulder, surprised when he suddenly turned and hugged her for dear life.
"Professor- please- I- I don't know what to do!" He began to sob forcefully. "James- James- James and Lily- they-"
"Sirius, it's alright." She hugged the man tighter, trying not to tear up herself. "And it's Minerva, you silly child."
He laughed- although it sounded more like a cough- and turned toward professor Dumbledore. He sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself down. "Professor- please. I want to take care of Harry."
Dumbledore lowered his head. "I am sorry, Sirius-"
"It's what James and Lily wanted!" His voice came out as a loud wail.
"Harry must stay here for his own good, Sirius! It is the only way!"
Sirius's face turned hard behind the tears. "This isn't the way it was supposed to happen, Dumbledore."
The professor shook his head. "I know, Sirius. I know."
Sirius looked as though he wanted to say something more, but changed his mind. "Fine." He turned back to his motorcycle. "I'm going, then."
There seemed to be more purpose behind his words than either of the professors could understand. As he kicked the motorcycle to life and took off, a sense of foreboding came over them both.
"Where is he going, Albus?"
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A/N: I don't know why, but this would not get out of my head. And I promise it didn't take time away from IYWH, because I wrote this in like an hour (can you tell .) I might come back and put in some filler, but nothing important.