Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros, and other share holders and unfortunately I am not a part of that list.
This text is to be edited later on. Intended as a glimpse of the story.
It was a late, warm night while the seventh month of the year was dying. A dark-auburn-haired lady with some wrinkles on her face was having a heated discussion with her long-time colleague and mentor.
This man had lines on his pale face along with silver hair and a beard that could be tucked into his belt. The old yet energetic and, apparently fiery, lady exclaimed loudly, "I am telling you this for the thousandth time, and I am sure that it will not get into your thick-headed mind 'till I tell you for a thousand more," and continued without allowing the old man to interrupt, "that boy is not safe with those pathetic excuses of men, worst kind of muggles."
Although this conversation did not differ in any aspect from other discussions, she continued her passionate form, declaring her arguments in a rather heated manner, so unlike to her unless it was about this particular subject. Inwardly, she knew that she was never going to get what she wanted unless she took the matter in her hands. Unbeknownst to both of the present professors, this conversation was not going to end with what both of the sides were expecting.
"He is as thin as a paper and has cuts all across his face. They are barely feeding him, Albus. I am begging you, please come to your senses now," listed she.
However, apparently, this was not enough for Albus, as he began stating his reasoning behind the placement of this special boy, "He is safe there, Minerva. They are his only living relatives. I am more than sure that they are and will take care of him as much as they can. He is a celebrity in our world, Minerva, and you know it as well as I do. There won't be anybody who doesn't know his name by the time he is grown up. At least, we can assure him a normal childhood, without the blinding pleasure of fame." Albus expressed these lines with a maddening calmness in his voice, even not a single hint of doubt or hesitation. This statement of his colleague, dear friend, and, in a way, mentor caused her blood to boil.
"Maybe," whispered she, but sounded more potent than anything could be said, "the people he is protected from are not the only ones from whom he needs protection. And since when have you been giving so much worth for normalcy. You and I both know that he is not going to have a chance to be normal even in the Wizarding World."
Then Dumbledore seemed to weigh his options on approaching this inevitable discussion, repeating itself on any given opportunity, as in this very night. He could either do what he always did, concerning this repeatedly-occurring discussion, which was either bringing something irrelevant up, finding an excuse to dismiss the subject on hand, or he could continue listening to the never-ending, legitimate arguments of his dear friend. However, little did he know that Minerva, one of his most trusted friends, would not be wasting her precious time, lest they had the very same conversation only several hours ago. Sighing desperately, he attempted to end the sickening discussion, which made him second think his decision concerning the well-being of the boy, only to be put his words in his mouths.
"You, of all people..." taking a deep breath to regain her senses not to say anything she might regret later on, "are the most dunderheaded, reckless person I have ever seen in my life. You are a sad excuse of a man, making an innocent child stay with the worst kind of muggles I have ever encountered." Eyes watering, she muttered, "They hit him, Albus. Right in front of my eyes. With your sickening excuses, you made me doubt myself again, even when I have promised myself not to be deceived by your tainted optimism."
Staring into his soul-piercing shade of blue eyes, usually twinkling with kindness and mischief, she looked for something that could allow her to raise Harry as one of his own. A second thought, an unexpected yet welcome moment of hesitation.
Anything that would let her witness Harry's childhood, growing into a wonderful young man and help him through his difficulties. More importantly, she felt that she, at least, owed this to her favourite students, not that she was allowed to have favourites, mind you. However, what would they think about her if she let those worthless scums abuse their only son, so defenceless, and so innocent. Minerva McGonagall was many things, but a coward, yet she was nothing if not persistent and stubborn. And she finally found what she looked for, a hint of anger and doubt.
Knowing very well that she would not be able to catch him off guard one more time, she insisted, but with more determination in her voice, "These pathetic excuses of humans pounded an innocent, eight-year-old child. I am sure, this was neither the first blow he ever got, nor will be the last."
Grateful for catching a glimpse of grief, Minerva began shouting louder and louder with every word, spitting out each word with the hatred of preserving her thoughts and observations on the well-known but neglected topic, Harry Potter's well-being.
"Today, Albus for your information, was the last day of his imprisonment and torture amidst these inhumane muggles. Tomorrow morning, I am going to take the poor child with me to Hogwarts and raise him as though he was my son. I will do anything I am capable of to make sure that he maintains his innocence and capability of love. I will make sure that these pathetic excuses of humans did not make him think of himself as worthless, unlovable."
She glared into Albus's eyes, daring him to object, threatening him to find some way out of this situation. However, Albus, for the first time in her life, seemed to avoid her cold gaze. "Lastly, for all the things I stand for, I swear that I will torture them to no end if they have taken his ability to care, and love, who is born to the most endearing parents I have ever had the pleasure to be acquainted with," spoke she with every word the temperature in the room visibly dropping,
"I dare you to stop me from doing so." Yet, he could tell his memorised speech of the boy's safety with his blood relatives, but Minerva was having none of it.
"You and I both know that nowhere can be more heavily warded and protected than Hogwarts. He will stay in my dormitory, eat there and study there. I will raise him as any other child ould have been raised if you had not made that horrible mistake, which you are still horrified to admit to yourself loudly, thinking it would make the reality more real. Stop living in your fantasy, Albus! Stop! Ignorance is not bliss, and you know it. The boy will live the rightful childhood of every child. Understood?" With that, she left his office, heading to her dormitories to cry her eyes out without getting disturbed. She could not find any words to express her emotional situation, and was half-sure she wouldn't, even if she read a dictionary. Save for the war times, she had not seen any man to pound a child for his undignified pleasure.
One thing was sure, however. She may not have made herself clear with her harsh retorts, but her departure from his office was an indicator that there were no backsteps this time. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was getting introduced to the wizarding world without the wizarding world being aware of the situation, which was Albus' concern for the time being. Harry Potter was going to stay in Hogwarts with extra safety measures, and Minerva McGonagall was going to be the mother figure, he longed for. Content with her overdue decision and surprised by the turn of events, Minerva slipped into her sleeping robes and started drawing tomorrow's activities and - Harry's birthday.
Meanwhile, it seemed that sleep was running away from Albus. Before their speech with Minerva, he was intended to go to bed early. However, this seemed to be impossible now. Therefore, he decided upon taking a late-night journey to 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, to see the tragic life of Harry Potter for himself.
Slowly getting up from his bed, he transfigured his nightgown into appropriate daily clothes and started heading to the close village near Hogwarts to have a fast trip to that particular house. After walking for 15 minutes, a silent Crack was to be heard, and there was no trace of the senior, indicating his departure. It would be such shame if the wizardkind did not have their own kind of transportation now, wouldn't it? At the beginning of Privet Drive, there was again a silent crack, and a man with long white beard and hair appeared. He began walking nervously and hesitantly to 4 Privet Drive while expecting some kind of magical aura change, for there had to be wards upon this street.
Yet, his expectations were both met and not met simultaneously. For the blood wards to stand, the boy had to consider that place as his home, more importanrecognisead to recognise those abusive horrible people as family. From what Minerva told him, it was miraculous that wards had lasted so long. However, no one could impute a senile old man for having irrational expectations, could they? He disillusioned himself with a gentle tap of his wand, which seemed to be a carved wooden stick to inexperienced eyes. With that, he approached to the window, risking a peek through it, only to meet the gaze of an incredibly skinny boy, being pushed into a cupboard under the stairs with a lock on it.
Harry muttered, "Help!" after getting a blow on his head from the big, beefy man with a large purple face; thick, dark hair, a bushy black moustache, and with hardly any neck, who Albus knew as Vernon Dursley, Harry's worthless uncle. He felt overwhelmed by the emotional devastation and despair contained in that momentary lock of eyes and the call of help, without the boy even being awarabsolutisedhat absolutised Minerva's decision. Harry Potter was, indeed, going to be accommodating in Hogwarts, of which he was the Headmaster, by Minerva, who happened to be the Deputy Headmistress. With a final glimpse to Vernon Dursley, he apparated to the small village near Hogwarts and evaluated today's turn of events. Sleep was long overdue and tomorrow was, for sure, going to be a game-changer, but it was unknown to the old man, whether it was for good or for evil.