Magic is temperamental, obstinate, and depends a large amount on luck. This was Albus Dumbledore's train of thought as he sat down after what had been an exceedingly tiring and long day.
What had been-he checked his watch and its swirling assortment of planets- nearly forty eight hours ago the tragic death of Lily and James Potter had escalated into a massive mess. Sirius Black, who Dumbledore had always liked, had blown up a street and killed Pettigrew. Alice and Frank Longbottom had been tortured and were in critical condition. The entire Ministry was working on getting the remaining Death Eaters rounded up while they were still disorganized and confused.
The light side had, honestly, been losing the war, and the Ministry was almost bankrupt. Albus knew Bagnold was planning for the rich Death Eaters, Malfoy, Parkinson, and a few others, to pay their way out of Azkaban, and it sickened Dumbledore. But without the money, the ministry would very likely collapse, which would be far worse than a free Malfoy.
The biggest problem in the aftermath of this war, though, was a toddler. Harry Potter. Dumbledore was crushed by Lily and James' deaths, and though he had never met their son before Hagrid handed him to him, he had hoped to place him somewhere perfect. His first choice would have been to give him to Sirius... no, not Sirius, Peter... and send him out of the country, to be raised in Europe and grow up safe and obscure. It seemed as though Fate had wanted to remove each and every one of Lily and James' acquaintances from the world, though, and not a single person listed in their will was available. Even those out of it were not right; the Weasleys were too poor (and Dumbledore did not have any money to give them to help raise Harry, Potter's vault being usable only to Harry), Dumbledore himself was far too busy between the ICW, Wizengamot, and Hogwarts to raise him (though he would have provided the best security), and Augusta Longbottom was known to be a bit harsh.
The child needed to be raised well, for if Dumbledore did not really believe the prophecy before, he did now. Voldemort had chosen to target Harry, and Harry, in living, had clearly been chosen by Magic to fulfill the prophecy. Magic was finicky, and if Magic wanted a toddler to defeat a dark wizard, the most Dumbledore could hope to do was keep Harry safe long enough to do so.
It was hard to believe that a toddler such as Harry could ever beat anybody. He was born to parents who, if better than the average Hogwarts student, were still not spectacular, and Harry himself, as Dumbledore could sense, was hardly extraordinary. Slightly more powerful than normal, but certainly not a prodigy, he would probably not master and difficult quick magics, and all of the best spells took time. Dumbledore hadn't acquired mage sight until he was thirty, and he did so only because of almost constant immersal in magic of all sorts. Magic took time to master, even for a prodigy, and that any toddler had a chance of beating the decades-older riddle was almost ridiculous.
Only almost, though, because the prophecy, an expression of Magic herself, suggested Harry would have Magic on his side. Perhaps something gifted through his scar, or spectacular abilities in times of need, but something to even the scales. Magic did not condone unfair fights.
An early sign of this advantage showed itself immediately after the attack. Dumbledore had been called in, as he was one of the, if not the most, powerful wizard in Britain, and the Aurors had not known if Voldemort was still within the building or not. Dumbledore had walked into the rubble warily, tripping over the debris because he was, after all, an old man, and had found a heartbreaking scene in the nursery. Lily dead, a cloak and a handful of dust which might have been the remains of Voldemort, and a wailing infant with a bleeding scar. Harry Potter was there, lying on a shimmering cloak which Dumbledore suspected was James' invisibility cloak, and a Deathly Hallow. He took the cloak to investigate later, and then picked up baby Harry. He was shocked to still feel the lingering magic of his mother's sacrifice floating around the babe, especially as it would normally fade quickly after a death.
Dumbledore felt it and knew this was the first of magic's acts, giving the boy a fair chance until he came of age, and cast a complex ritual he had discovered in a temple in Peru upon the boy, to postpone the fading until he came of age. It was lucky he was there. There might have been two other wizards on the planet who knew it, and it would do a lot to help Harry.
He still worried about the boy, though. Dumbledore hardly knew what kind of change could be expected in the wizarding world, but doubted a suitable guardian would suddenly appear. Harry would have to remain at the Dursleys, for better or worse, and this would give him a disadvantage. He would not know about magic, its nuances and limitations. He would not know that it was less than a science, more of an art really, that it thrived on luck and coincidence and situations, and that it took more than a little of all for most spells to work. The vast majority of wizards could never achieve the concentration, intelligence, and pure natural talent required to conjure a teacup, much less a proper house. Harry would, more than probably, come to the wizarding world with expectations of perfection, no disease or dirt or poverty, and, knowing the Dursleys, nicer people. Already Dumbledore could feel his disappointments and trials, and he felt terrible, for he could not do anything to stop them.
Albus Dumbledore could summon truesilver, part seas, and read minds. He had a huge amount of influence in the wizarding world. But no matter what, he could not magic up a perfect family or a safe life for Harry Potter. For magic could bring joy, but also pain; life, but also death. It could achieve great things, but only if it felt like it, and as magic had chosen Harry Potter, there was very little Albus Dumbledore could do for now to make the boy's path easier. Harry Potter would just have to trust in Magic.