I've been littered by fake artist account's reviews and MPs after publishing this story, I hope there's some actual people following here xD
If yes, please enjoy this short chapter!
I didn't remember I was writing such small ones back when I wrote this story!
Have fun!
The start of the school year had gone smoothly, and it was already the second week of classes. It was now high time for Minerva McGonagall to pay a visit to the headmaster, as was proper. She waited until evening to approach the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's quarters, hoping that no urgent matters would distract him from their conversation. She gave the password without slowing down—"Lemon drops"—while thinking that Albus's obsession with strange, especially lemon-flavoured sweets was concerning. She climbed the staircase, and the door opened without her needing to knock, as was often the case. Her headmaster and friend awaited her on the other side, dressed in a simple midnight-blue wizarding robe speckled with stars.
"Good evening, Minerva, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"
"Good evening, Albus. Surely, you have some idea, don't you?"
"Am I finally to learn where you spent the end of your summer, neglecting this magnificent castle we call Hogwarts?"
"I think you have a good guess about that too."
"The Muggle world, probably. A witch like you would not have gone unnoticed in the magical one."
"I went to visit an old friend of mine, Mrs Figg," said Minerva, acknowledging the compliment with a nod. "She had insisted I visit her, as she was worried about a young boy in her neighbourhood."
"You met Harry Potter."
"More than that, I accompanied him in his daily life for two weeks in my Animagus form."
"And what did you think of him? Do you believe he will be a promising wizard?"
"Oh, certainly. But that's not the issue, Albus. Those Muggles mistreat him, and you can no longer ignore it! Every time he performs accidental magic, or even when he's merely suspected of it, he's deprived of meals, burdened with chores, and probably beaten! I can only speak of what I witnessed, but I know his uncle nearly broke his nose by throwing him into the cupboard where they make him sleep, and they didn't treat his injuries. His glasses are broken and patched up with tape, and his cousin's favourite pastime is hitting him. And Mrs Figg assures me his uncle and aunt can be even crueller. You must put a stop to this, Albus!"
"Minerva… I'm willing to believe that he isn't treated ideally, but did you actually see his uncle or aunt strike him?"
"No, but he had bruises on his back and chest."
"That's concerning, but it proves nothing. Don't you think you might have witnessed extreme situations, a result of the fear people often feel toward things they don't understand? These Muggles are utterly devoid of magic; they fear what they can't control, and as is often the case, fear turns to anger. It's a defensive reaction."
"Mrs Figg assured me this wasn't a one-off. Such treatment is commonplace for him."
"Mrs Figg is growing old, and while I do not doubt her worth, it's possible she has unintentionally exaggerated reality. She cannot see how young Potter is treated at all times, and you must know as well as I do that cries of anger are louder than whispers of affection."
"I trust her judgment, Albus. During the first war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I only survived thanks to her."
"I remember; the Death Eaters were on your trail, and she misled them by passing you off as one of her cats... Luckily, Voldemort didn't have the Animagus registers at hand, or we would have been in deep trouble… Nevertheless, time has passed since then, and while Harry may not be treated in the best manner, he will remain at Privet Drive until he comes of age."
"Why? Any wizarding family would be delighted to take in the Boy Who Lived and treat him as their own son. He could grow up loved and surrounded by support!"
"And he would probably be spoiled, like young Malfoy, which wouldn't necessarily be good for him. Furthermore, staying with his aunt provides him with an extremely powerful magical protection, in addition to the fact that no one knows where the Boy Who Lived is."
"What magical protection are you talking about? I didn't sense anything while roaming the neighbourhood."
"That's normal; you weren't harbouring ill intent toward him. It's sacrificial magic. When his mother sacrificed herself to save him from Voldemort, she left him with powerful protection tied to blood, which will remain effective as long as he stays at his aunt's home. Even if she doesn't care for him, he is accepted at Privet Drive, and that is enough for the spell to work. Do you now understand why Harry Potter must stay there?"
"Yes," McGonagall agreed, "but that doesn't stop me from worrying about him."
"Then reassure yourself by remembering that he will be at Hogwarts next year, and once he's here, he will be out of reach of those Muggles. For now, try to focus on your Gryffindors. I've heard that the Weasley twins are denying any involvement in the prank that saw three Slytherins refuse to sleep in their dormitories, convinced they would be turned into were-llamas?"
Accepting the headmaster's admonition, McGonagall continued their conversation about her most unruly Gryffindors. After all, she trusted her headmaster, and if he asserted that the boy must stay with the Dursleys, he surely had his reasons. However, she resolved to return to check on the boy from time to time.
oOo
I spent the first weeks of September hoping the cat would return, but I never saw it again. I wouldn't have thought I'd miss it so much, and the loss of this friend, even though it was just an animal, only highlighted the loneliness that was my constant companion. I didn't have any friends, as the few who might have dared to talk to me were, like everyone else, terrified of Dudley's gang. They had made it clear that anyone who wanted to be my friend would also become their target.
The teachers thought I was a disinterested student because I sometimes fell asleep in class and my homework was less than impressive. Both were easily explained: my chores and the cramped space of my cupboard left me little room for sleep, and I wasn't allowed to outperform Dudley. If I ever got a better grade than him, my aunt would punish me, claiming that instead of showing off my intelligence, I should help her son, whose superior brain struggled to deal with such basic problems.
Eventually, I gave up doing my homework altogether, preferring to use the time saved to read the few books that escaped Dudley's notice (he'd tear them up just to annoy me if he saw me with any) and to visit my secret garden—the one I'd discovered with the cat. I even managed to find a waterproof box, which I set up in the garden to store the books I could collect.
September passed in this way, rainy and grey, and October sped by much the same until the start of the holidays. The holidays, too, were lonely, but the elderly Mrs Figg, who bumped into me in the street, gave me some old books that, she said, had been gathering dust in her attic for as long as she could remember (and I was inclined to believe her). These gave me something to occupy myself with during the times I managed to sneak off to the garden.
I saw the cat again on the Saturday before school resumed, two days before the 31st of October.
I hope you enjoyed having Minerva's POV. As for Dumbledore's denial, let's just say he isn't often in the wrong and his denial is as strong as his magic powers xD
Reviews are welcome if you're not a bot :p
