It all belongs to J.K. Rowling

Words in bold are direct quotes.

The Worst Sort of Muggles

Minerva McGonagall had both dreaded and looked forward to today's sorting. Her conscience had been eased somewhat over the years by Albus' assurances, yet she could not escape the feeling that persisted. Try as she might Minerva could not shake the thought. The worst sort of muggles.

Minerva had never felt comfortable leaving the child as she did. Albus, however, could not be dissuaded. "It's the best place for him" he had said. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?" She had wanted to disagree, to insist that there were better options. She couldn't, the words would not form. Still, the doubt lingered. The worst sort of muggles.

She had often thought of the words Albus spoke that night. They niggled in her subconscious, something was not quite right. She could not quite put her finger on it. Her guilt gnawed at her soul. Why had she never checked on the child herself. She had thought about it, even mentioned it to Albus a few times. Every time though, there was always something else to do. Albus needed her elsewhere. She would acquiesce to his demands, but the guilt remained.

She watched from the shadows as Hagrid led the children into the castle. Trying to spy the child she had worried about over the years. The worst sort of muggles.

As soon as Harisa had said her name, Minerva was thrown back into a memory long forgotten. She smiled bemusedly as she remembered an argument between a young father and his child. Harry, she'd heard James say, poking the child in the stomach. But instead of the giggles she had expected, the child had pouted and responded "No, Risa". Risa, Minerva thought, Harry, Risa, the meaning of the memory forcing her to know the truth. Harisa. In Merlin's name what have I done. Minerva choked back a sob.

Minerva didn't respond when Filius guided her the head table. Minerva didn't even notice when Albus appeared to talk to her. Already turning to her friends comfort. Oh Merlin what have I done, she spoke quietly, unable to shake the image from her mind. It was burned there, seared into her soul. The sight of the too small, suffering child. Harisa, cradled within Severus' arms as she watched Poppy, hurriedly, leading them from the room. Oh Merlin, what had she done. She knew. The worst sort of muggles.

Minerva headed straight to the infirmary after the feast, barely acknowledging Albus' announcement of a staff meeting. The guilt weighed heavily, her steps faltering as she hesitated to enter. Yet enter she must. She was silent as she entered, her eyes automatically seeking out the child. Harisa. Minerva watched as Severus stroked the child's, Harisa's, brow, speaking quietly in a soothing voice. She froze, aghast, as a glamour fell. The lightning bolt scar suddenly appearing starkly white on the too pale skin. The bruised and battered body, seemingly all the more fragile in the white hospital bed. She did not notice the others in the room. Her gaze was riveted on the small child in front of her. Harisa.

Minerva turned and almost ran from the room. As silently as she arrived, she had left. It was not guilt that spurred her, nor fear of the repercussions of her mistakes. She would face those and suffer the consequences gladly. Outside forces of Magic were being invoked , and she was not going to deny them their wrath.

Entering the staff room, Minerva McGonagall seized her inner Gryffindor. She was not one to shy away from an impossible task. Strength did not come from following the easy path. Bravery did not come from performing heroic deeds without fear or worry. In that one moment of seeing glamours fall, Minerva had all her idealistic notions ripped away. Infallibility she could forgive. Platitudes and empty words from a selfish, deluded old man she could not.

The magic swirled around her, choking Albus' words mid speech. She did not care about his image, she no longer cared about his so called place within the world. Minerva wondered how she could have placed so much faith in the man before her, because that is all he was. Simply a man, no better than the rest. The pedestal crashed and fell. His lies laid bare, the pain he had caused open for all to see. Her words came out harsh, her emotions spewing forth.

Guilt, rage, helplessness in worry over the child. "I told you so", she shrieked at Albus. "I told you but did you listen. Do you ever listen. The oh so great, all knowing, Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore", the sarcasm dripped in every word. "They were the worst sort of muggles and you abandoned that child to them. Did you even bother to check on the child?"

A brief flicker, something Minerva could not quite put her finger on, flashed across Albus' face. Her eyes narrowed. "You knew, YOU KNEW. YOU DESPICABLE OLD DESPOT. THE WORST SORT OF MUGGLES. HOW DARE YOU." Minerva McGonagall was on a warpath, she would destroy the world for this child. She would fight, tooth and nail for Harisa, there would be no backing down. Her magic pulsed throughout the room. Minerva was blind in her fury, she didn't notice Albus surreptitiously reaching for his wand.