Whoever was outside gave that same polite knock again. Wondering why someone else than Hagrid had been sent to pick him up, Harry quickly disentangled himself from the blankets and pulled on his shoes. He hurried over to the door and opened it carefully, peering outside, straight into the decidedly cat-like eyes of…
Harry bit his tongue to prevent himself from exclaiming "Professor McGonagall!" It wouldn't do to break his cover as a timetraveller before he could figure out just how loyal she was to Dumbledore.
"Uhm… Can I help you?" Harry said instead, intensely aware of the absurdity of the situation. He noticed that while both waves and rain were still lashing the sides of the cabin, Professor McGonagall's clothes were completely dry.
Professor McGonagall looked around the shack with a disapproving look on her face. Finally her piercing gaze settled back on Harry.
"Harry James Potter, I presume?" she said. Harry nodded wordlessly, still puzzling over why Dumbledore had sent his deputy Headmistress instead of Hagrid in this timeline.
"My name is Professor McGonagall."
There was a short pause, in which Harry remembered that she was standing outside in a raging gale, and pulled the door open completely.
"Please come in, uh, professor." Harry stepped aside for his former and future Transfiguration professor, and she nodded at him curtly as she swept inside. He'd forgotten how tall she'd looked to his eleven-year-old self. It didn't take a lot of acting to keep staring at her, as his mind was still well and truly boggled over the change in events.
"Please do close that door, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall, raising a single eyebrow.
Harry hurried to comply with her request, then stood uncertainly in front of the now-closed door.
"How do you know my name?" he said, shivering. He'd quite like to get back under the pile of blankets with Dudley, who was still snoring, but professor McGonagall stood between him and the sofa, and he didn't think a frightened eleven-year-old would dare to pass her.
Professor McGonagall whipped out her wand, and for an insane moment Harry was worried she was going to hex him for some reason, but she merely pointed it at the fireplace and said: "Incendio".
A roaring fire sprang to life in the fireplace, and Harry was so grateful for its sudden warmth washing over him that he almost forgot to look astonished.
"How did you – what just –" he stammered, hoping he looked suitably impressed for what should be his first contact with magic.
"The reason I know your name, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, "is because Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sent me here to make sure you received your letter."
"Professor Who of the School of What?" said Harry, noticing that Dudley had opened his eyes and was trying to blink the sleep out of them.
"I will take that as a no," said Professor McGonagall, looking around the hut again. She sighed, then waved her wand and conjured up a twin set of plush armchairs, a low but elegant coffee table, a set of china and what looked to Harry, whose stomach started growling, like two cream teas.
"Please sit down, Mr. Potter. It appears I have rather a few things to tell you."
They were halfway through their cream tea and McGonagall had just finished telling Harry about what had really happened to his parents – in quite a bit more detail than Hagrid had the previous time – when Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia appeared in the room. Harry was in the process of slathering his third scone with clotted cream, eyed by a perplexed Dudley, who so far had been too intimidated to show any signs that he was awake, and looked up at his legal guardians, amused by their horrified expressions.
"Oh, you're awake," he said, fighting to keep his face straight. "This is Professor McGonagall, she came by to see if I'd gotten my letter. She's been telling me all sorts of interesting stuff about my parents and this wizarding school I've been accepted to. Professor McGonagall, these are my Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon."
Professor McGonagall sniffed, and gave the Dursleys a glare that clearly said we will have a chat about this later. Uncle Vernon made a funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on. Harry didn't blame him, as he had first-hand experience of being fixed with that exact same look. Aunt Petunia was looking at Dudley, who was very obviously awake now, opening and shutting her mouth wordlessly.
"You... you've been discussing this in front of my Dudders?" she said faintly.
Professor McGonagall looked at Dudley, who cringed slightly at the force of her stare.
"Oh, excuse me young man. I hadn't realised you were there," said McGonagall. She waved her wand again, and a third cream tea appeared on the table. "Scone?"
Dudley fidgeted a little, torn between his hunger and his uncertainty of the situation. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything she gives you, Dudley."
"Really, Mr. Dursley, I do not routinely go around poisoning children." Professor McGonagall sniffed again. "Although I do agree that the boy could do with losing a little weight." She peered at Dudley a bit closer, and frowned when she noticed his bulk wasn't just due to the pile of blankets. "Or a lot of it."
"Madam," said Uncle Vernon, trembling like a leaf, "I forbid you to say another word in the presence of my son."
"Forbid? I –" McGonagall started, but Uncle Vernon cut her off.
"We swore when we took the kid in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," he said, "swore we'd stamp it out of him!"
"You knew?" said Harry hurriedly, knowing he should act surprised and not like he'd been carrying a grudge for seven years now about this very fact. "You knew I'm a wizard?"
"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that - that school - and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was – a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"
She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went on ranting. Harry knew she had been wanting to say all this for years, but it still stung that his aunt had never been able to forgive his mother for having been born a witch, while she herself had remained a muggle, no matter how many letters she had sent to Dumbledore. He knew it must have been hard for her to always play second fiddle, but to loathe her own sister like that…
"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as – as – abnormal – and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"
A light went on in Harry's head, a light that had been waiting in the back of his mind for years for the right question to flick it on.
"But why?"
Every pair of eyes in the room focused on him as he sat in his conjured armchair, clotted cream slowly sliding off his forgotten scone.
"Why did you get landed with me – why did you agree to take me in? If you hated my mum that much, and you hate magic so much, why would you…"
Aunt Petunia had frozen, but her eyes darted to her only son, who had taken advantage of all the confusion to grab a scone with clotted cream and strawberry jam, and was now busy stuffing his face.
"You… You didn't," said Harry, as comprehension dawned. "Please tell me you didn't trade taking care of me for making sure Dudley was a muggle just like you."
"I had to!" choked Aunt Petunia. "I couldn't take the chance that my little Duddykins would be… would be…"
"Like me?" Harry said, his insides turning to ice. All this time, and he'd never wondered what Dumbledore must have offered his aunt in exchange for taking him in. He looked at Dudley, who was staring at his mother with a look of utter incomprehension on his face. He didn't understand what she was saying, didn't know that his mother had made a pact with Dumbledore in exchange for her hospitality, that she had made sure Dudley would never have any magic or become a wizard. He felt very sick all of a sudden. Dumbledore would have never agreed to stamp out the magic of The-Boy-Who-Lived, but his cousin…
Professor McGonagall had followed the exchange with a shocked expression on her face, and was now regarding Dudley, looking about as sick as Harry felt.
"He wouldn't…" she whispered, but Harry could see her come to the conclusion that Dumbledore, indeed, would. He would when it came to his plans for Harry Potter. In his own way, the man was quite as ruthless as Voldemort himself.
"Well, at any rate, he isn't going," said Uncle Vernon, breaking the shocked silence that had settled over the hut. "He's going to Stonewall High and he'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and he needs all sorts of rubbish – spell books and wands – I'm not going to pay for you lot teaching him magic tricks!"
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Dursley," snapped Professor McGonagall. "Rest assured that Harry's parents, at least, had his best interests at heart."
Aunt Petunia winced at that, and Dudley looked at each of the adults in return, aware that they were somehow talking about him, but not sure why.
"They set up a trust fund that will be quite adequate to pay for his tuition. A fund that cannot be accessed by anyone but Harry." She did not add in case any of you get any ideas to that sentence, but Harry could see that the Dursleys had understood it just the same.
"Well, come along Mr. Potter. It is getting late, and we'd best find some… appropriate accommodation for the night," said Professor McGonagall, finishing her tea and rising from her armchair. "We have a busy day tomorrow, as I will be taking you to Diagon Alley to buy your school supplies. If there are no more objections…?" She looked at the Dursleys, who swallowed, but remained wisely quiet.
Professor McGonagall nodded, and walked to the door, Harry trotting after her happily. While setting Professor McGonagall on the Dursleys instead of Hagrid had been a great deal less terrifying for them, it had contained an element of chastising that made it a lot more satisfying for him.
Before opening the door, Professor McGonagall looked back at the Dursleys, and almost as an afterthought, flicked her wand. Dudley's sofa was transfigured into a comfortable-looking single bed, the pile of blankets changing into a thick duvet with several comforters on top. Dudley squealed, but it was a squeal of delight, not terror. Harry grinned at him, and Dudley gave him a look of wonder.
As they left the shack, Harry could just barely make out Dudley saying: "What did Harry mean, you made sure I was a muggle just like you?"