As fate would have it, it was indeed Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor Minerva McGonagall that Hagrid unloaded little Harry Potter onto. He hadn't had much trouble convincing her not to bring it up to Headmaster Dumbledore, it turned out. His suspicion that Harry had been literally beaten and starved dredged up her worst fears and misgivings. Worse, Hagrid had an epiphany as they silently pondered that, while Harry, as he'd been raised to do, made himself inconspicuous. McGonagall's charge, a quite tiny girl herself, had wandered over to look at the window of Flourish and Blotts and was out of ear-shot.
"Yer know," he said, thoughtfully, "It ne'er occurred ter me till just the now, but why on Earf did young Sirius gimme 'is boike if 'e were a Deaf Eater? An', thinkin' back, 'is expression then weren't no joy an' glee loike you'd imagine. It were more loike Oi'd imagine someone was after a long toime in Azkaban. Dead an' tormented. Didjer ever 'ear what 'e said when they troied 'im, Perfesser?"
"No, Hagrid. Nothing, not a word, ever. And the Headmaster told us not to ask about it."
"Come ter recolleck, it were always Sirius what were t' one protectin' li'l Peter. An' why would yon moighty Dark Lord be puttin' poor, weak Peter at 'er top of 'is list, such as e'd be sendin' 'is "top inner circle" after ter poor boy?"
That caused another reflective pause. It made absolutely no sense. It also emboldened Hagrid to confess he'd had "'Old Binns" thoughts about Dumbledore, "Great, great man," though he considered him still.
That nonsense about the scar was purely whimsical, and at a time and place where it was vilely inappropriate, she thought. What if we've been putting our trust in the old Dumbledore, and getting one in decline instead?
Right now, though, her charge was her charges.
"Hermione, we're moving along now, dear," she said. She had developed an immediate fondness for the girl. "This is Harry Potter," she said, quietly, when she reached them. "Please don't make a fuss, as we're trying to avoid one." They greeted each other shyly, and, while it went against her inclinations to always have a wand free, she gave them each a hand, and they both looked grateful to have her do so.
Their shyness with each other vanished, once Harry realised Hermione knew a great deal about what was mystifying him about his past and his place in this new world he'd been thrust into. Hermione, in turn, realised Harry was a primary source on those same topics, or at least now had access to them. Both of them chattered a mile a minute, alternately shocking and informing each other. Both of them hinted they'd not had friends before, but were eager to finally acquire one.
But it was after they'd left what was meant to be their final destination, Flourish and Blotts again, and settled in for ice cream at Fortescue's with Hermione's indulgent-this-one-time parents, that things really, drastically changed for the two children.
They'd both enjoyed showing each other discoveries at the store (albeit Hermione had been there once before). What they'd seen had inspired another rapid-fire, free-ranging conversation. When the wand-maker Ollivander had mentioned that he was going to send an owl telling Dumbledore what wand Harry had bought, Hermione, as well as Harry, had seen the look of anger pass over Professor McGonagall's face as the man turned away to grab some parchment.
Hermione, who was only bold around a teacher or parent, immediately asked about that once they settled in at Fortescu's. In a very limited way appropriate for precocious 11-year-olds, she explained that it was a violation of Harry's privacy, and that Dumbledore had been playing fast-and-loose with Harry since his parents' death. Harry asked if Dumbledore had put him with the Dursleys, and after finding out he had, asked if she thought Dumbledore was the one who'd prevented the police and hospitals from helping Harry when they were injuring him. This, of course, led the Grangers to express their shock and ask the same thing, more urgently.
The details Harry provided left Hermione and her mother in tears, Minerva fighting them, and Mr Granger's fingers tightening on the table until they went white.
"So, it was your Headmaster, I assume, who decided to drive the Dursleys spare by sending thousands of Hogwarts letters, instead of having you meet them with one?" he asked.
Minerva closed her eyes and nodded.
"Then they'll be in a high dudgeon, and eager to take it out on little Harry, here," he said, matter-of-factly. "If we had a patient whose step-parent had knocked out their teeth, we wouldn't be allowed by law to ignore it. Permission requested to have him stay with us for a while?"
Hermione and her mother stared at him, but then had matching smiles.
If Minerva agreed, and something happened to Harry, she'd never forgive herself. She tried to recall what precisely Dumbledore had said about the Dursley home. He'd used the protection his mother's sacrifice had given Harry to protect the house. That had probably weakened said protection. Then again, he needed to live somewhere. It would be strengthened by love. Fat chance. And as long as Harry considered it home, and resided there for a length of time each year he wouldn't specify, the home would be protected. That's it, she thought.
Perhaps it was unwise, therefore, to bring up the big world outside the Dursleys, since it would have to make him think of 4 Privet Drive as being less of a home than he had done when he couldn't even conceive of any alternative except an orphanage. Then again ...
She carefully explained her thoughts to Harry. He agreed that getting away from Privet Drive would make it less like a prison and more like a home, especially if it gave the Dursleys time to cool off - and realise how much they relied on him.
About to take the children home, she remembered Hagrid had bought Harry a birthday owl at Eeylops. They hurried over there and Harry had what he temporarily named The White Owl.
"I almost feel like it can talk to me," he told Hermione, excited.
"Funny you should say that, Harry," Hermione said, smiling. "There was a ginger cat at the Menagerie that looked me in the eye, and gave me the same feeling."
Mr and Mrs Granger looked at each other.
Don't say it, thought Mrs Granger.
Mr Granger had been about to say that since they were taking in one stray, they might as well bring another along for the ride. A tiny shake of his wife's hand put the kibosh on that plan.
Thus, it was without any fanfare or even discussion that they all trooped back to the Menagerie and bought "Crookshanks," a half-Kneazle.
Minerva planned to leave a note for the Dursleys, and had been pondering what to say. It was less brief than she'd originally planned, but what she went with was a couple of warnings and some marching orders.
The wizarding world was now keeping its eye firmly on the Dursleys, she told them. Keeping Harry in a cupboard was a crime under wizarding law. The very least the law would demand was that they clear out their son's second bedroom, fix the bed, make sure the window worked, and move Harry's things into it. Furthermore, interfering with a wizard's owl - his familiar and his main means of communication - was quite a severe crime, one they might not weather the punishment for. The same applied to interfering with his studies. If they even once tried their former treatment of Harry, they had better wish that Muggle law caught up with them, because no one could help them if was the wizarding law instead. Additionally, there were dark wizards killing the families of magical children born to non-magical families. If they wanted protection from that, the better they treated little Harry, the safer they'd be - the only real alternative would be moving house from England.
For the first time in ten years, a little feeling of guilt and shame she'd suppressed had gone away. Not all of it, and not all the way but it had.
Certainly, if he found out about it, she'd be in trouble with the Headmaster. Then again, he'd be in trouble, too. As long as she wasn't swayed by him, it would be a stand-off.