Minerva had been perched on the flawless, stone fence for all, but ten minutes. Privet Drive, it was, a quaint Muggle neighborhood where every birdhouse was identical save for the folks living inside them. And this particular birdhouse had the worst sort of birds imaginable.
The man was plump and thick and was walking past the window at an alarmingly quick rate, lecturing his wife on what she imagined was the proper way to lull the baby to sleep. His wife was a thin woman with cold, tired eyes and a shrill voice. The baby was a mixture of both: plump and shrill. The amalgamation of weight, yelling and poor temper was telling.
These were the unknowing Muggles the Headmaster had chosen to complete an all important task: to house a newly orphaned wizard boy.
Minerva could just see the fat man lecturing his wife as she lugged around two infants. That was the best case scenario. Worst case, their baby would be left to wail in his cot in the garage: alone.
The street darkened and a cloaked figure with a long beard and a saggy hat approached her.
"Albus, are you sure this is the right choice?" she asked the Headmaster.
Soon, the Keeper of Keys joined them on his roaring motorbike-orphan boy in tote.
Both Albus and his trusty key-keeper Hagrid looked sorrowfully at the lad. But naught could be done to ease his plague. These terrible Muggles were his only family, and no one but they could care for the orphaned boy. Even if they were mean and nasty and bad tempered.
Minerva protested all she could, but the Headmaster's choice was final. The outside world was filled with all sorts of dangerous types who preyed on unsuspecting orphans, especially the magical kind. Here with these normal Muggles, he'd be safe and sound.
"Good luck Harry," the Headmaster whispered, kissed the boy and the trio Apparated into the night.
But only two returned to the castle.
Minerva once again found herself on Privet Drive. Taking slow steps, she strode over to the house where the orphan lay whimpering in the cold.
One shake of a lamb's tail and she had snatched the babe up in her arms and ducked behind the car.
The front door opened. Out walked the fat man.
"Petunia, it's those blasted Marxists again! I know it is, doing the Devil's work," he bellowed. "You stay far away from us, you hooligans! We are perfectly normal, thank you very much."
The closing door swallowed the last of his words.
Minerva exhaled and rocked the bundle.
"There, there, no harm will come of you, dear Harry."
And what a sweet wee thing Harry was: with those plump rose cheeks and hair that smelled of buttermilk pancakes. Minerva adjusted the blanket, covering the fresh lightening shaped scar on his forehead and could not resist giving him a kiss. Or two. Or ten.
She waited until she was well down the drive, hid the boy under her cloak with a quick Silencing Charm and Apparated to the nearest town.
The streets were alive and well with the drunken cheers of wizard-folk. They donned their wizard gear in public, it being All Hallow's Eve, and blended in quite nicely with the crowd of pub-crawlers dressed as cats and vampires.
Minerva ducked into a coffeeshop, snatched up some old newsprint and made way to the lavatory. No one would be wondering why an old crone such as herself would be using the loo at a time like this. When she arrived, she pulled a fountain pen out of her pocket, set the paper on the sink and penned a quick letter. Then, flushing it down the loo, she prayed it would be answers by the time she arrived at the boarder.
Thirty minutes later, her letter was answered.
There, by the old boot on the ground at the edge of Surrey, by an old Muggle outhouse stood her brother.
He was as tall a Scottish lad as they made them, with a handsome white beard and moustache, a blinder and a rain-robe over his green wellies. Spitting out the tabac from his pipe, he crossed his caterpillar brows and looked crossly at his sister.
"Aye, I smell trouble a-brewing. What have yeh got this time."
Minerva took a breath, puffing out her chest. "Now before yee lecture me, you stroop, I need you to promise me one thing. Without questions. I swear it to yeh, I'll never ask for anything more."
Malcolm let out a yelp. "Yeh got to be joking."
"Malcolm, I need yeh to hide a dear friend for me so that wandering eyes don't find him."
"There's only one place for that. But tis too far."
"I'll give yeh anything yeh want."
"But not a name."
Minerva narrowed her eyes into cat-like slits. Malcolm harrumphed and held out his hand. "Alright. But it best not come back to bite yer arse." Then. "Ah, it will eh."
"Promise me."
And when he did, Minerva removed the sleeping baby from under her robes and handed it to Malcolm. The Scot widened his eyes. "A wee laddie? What am I supposed to do if he cries up a storm?"
"Travel faster," Minerva snapped. "I'll meet you by our house in a few days time. That should be enough time for the dust to settle."
Malcolm harrumphed, popped his pipe back in and took a hard look at the sleeping laddie. He was a fine one, that boy. Black hair and rosey cheeks. If it weren't for his sister, he'd have pinched those cheeks once. Or twice. Or ten times. Well, there'd be plenty of time for that in Scotland. One look at Minerva and her magnificent scowl, and he grabbed hold of the boot and began his long journey.
A/N: To my friend excessivelyperky who suggested Minerva would have been wiser to just snatch up Harry when Albus wasn't looking LOL! Probably the better choice!