Chapter Text
The old man, wearing flowing purple robes, a pointy purple hat, and moon glasses, sporting a long white beard, walked down the seemingly desolate suburban street, basket in hand. Any observer, even the largely unobservant muggles, would say that he looked tired and worn, with deep wrinkles and frown lines etched into his skin, dull eyes, and sagging shoulders. These observers would be correct. He was tired. Depressed. Oh sure, there was plenty of reason to celebrate at the moment, but also, plenty of reason to grieve, for both the lost lives of the innocent, and the lost potential of the once great.
As he walked, he called out to the street. “Thoughts, Minerva.”
A small, lithe cat jumped off a gate, and in its place landed a human woman. Old, but not nearly as old as the man, wearing red and black robes and a frown, with steely eyes focused on the man.
“A bit uptight, but as you know, they have a son a couple years older than young Mr. Potter, who they seem to treat quite well. The father leaves for work in the morning and comes back in the evening, while the mother stays home. They’ve got a stable and decent income, adequate housing with room for the boy, and live in a neighborhood with decent schools. No police or court records on them. A brief dive into their minds doesn’t indicate any major problems. Generally unremarkable, but I expect they’d do an ok job raising him,” the woman remarked.
“Quite. I’ll have a squib move nearby. She’ll keep an eye on him, make sure he’s treated well, report suspicious behavior, and deal with any problematic accidental magic on his part.”
“Is that all you’ll be doing to ensure his safety?”
“No, I’ve placed a variety of tracking charms on him, to keep track of his physical health, any signs of distress, and location. If anything bad happens to our dear Mr. Potter, we’ll learn about it immediately.”
Just as the old woman was about to respond, a loud boom echoed down the street. A motorcycle, gliding down from a few hundred in the air, hit the ground with a thump and a few creeks. How the motorcycle survived the landing is a mystery, especially given the man who just stepped off of it. He was a hulking man, about nine feet tall, arms more akin to tree trunks than body parts. He had a large, scruffy brown beard, to go with his long, scruffy brown hair. His soft, watery eyes darted around the street as he approached the old man.
“Madam Pomfrey said the little one’s all good,” the giant sniffled out, as he walked towards the old man and woman, carrying another basket. Unlike the one carried by the old man, this basket contained a tiny, crying passenger. “I tried to bring Sirius to you, but he refused and ran off.”
“Not unexpected, unfortunately,” the old man sighed.
“How did he-who-must-not-be-named find them,” the giant asked. “I can’t imagine Sirius would betray them.”
“I doubt he did. It seems likely they switched the secret keeper to fool Voldemort's spy.” A shiver went through the spines of the giant and the old woman at the name. “Sirius would have been the obvious choice, but Voldemort never targeted him for information. What does that tell you,” the old man asked, slipping back into old habits.
“He knew Sirius wasn’t the secret keeper. And if that’s the case, he would have had to be informed by his spy, who could have only known if the spy himself was the secret keeper, or Mr. Black” the old woman replied.
The old man smiled. “Precisely. But we know from experience that Sirius can’t be the secret keeper, as the spy had information that Sirius didn’t know, and Sirius had valuable information that was never passed to Voldemort. There is, however, a seeming friend of the Potter’s, who would have been a good match for secret keeper given his partial immunity to legilimency granted by his animagus form, and his closeness to the Potter’s, who’s also a perfect match for the spy.”
“Pettigrew,” the woman said bitterly.
“Indeed. It seems likely young Sirius ran off to confront Pettigrew, which will certainly be to his detriment. I’ll go after him as soon as we handle this.”
With that, the trio reached the house they were seeking. Number four Privet Drive. The old man approached the door, ringing the bell. After a few seconds, the lights in the house flicked on, and the old woman heard some grumbling and thumping. Following this, the door swung open, and the trio was greeted by a large, mustached man, and a woman with a short haircut, both in night clothing.
“May we help you,” the large man grumbled.
“Indeed you can. We have something rather important to discuss with you.”
As the large man was about to reply, the conversation was interrupted by a cry from the giant's basket. The couple, looking at each other, opened the door wider, ushering the trio in. The trio sat on the couch, the couple on the chairs.
“Well, I suppose we should introduce ourselves,” the old man began. “I am Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, and with me is Professor Minerva McGonogall and Groundskeeper Rubeus Hagrid. I believe we’ve met once before when you were younger, Mrs. Dursley.”
The large man went to respond, but was cut off by his wife. “We have. May I ask what exactly you’re doing here?”
“A reasonable question. Unfortunately, it’s not due to any good news. I knew your sister fairly well, she accomplished many great things. Unfortunately, earlier tonight, something rather terrible happened.”
“She died.” Mrs. Dursley sniffed. “Well, I suppose it’s not a surprise, given what I know of your world.” The large man looked confused at this, but Mrs. Dursley gave him a look.
The trio looked somewhat uncomfortable. “Well,” the old man began. “Before her unfortunate demise, she had a child, one year old now, with her husband, James Potter. The boy's name is Harry James Potter.”
“I don’t see how this concerns us.”
“Well, Mrs. Dursley, for various reasons, it would be safest for the boy to be placed with you. If the chosen godfather insists otherwise, we’ll pick him up within the week, but I believe he’ll likely be staying here for the foreseeable future, should you agree, of course. I will also be happy to provide all the money you need to raise the boy, for food, clothes, toys, and everything else, along with an additional stipend for your sacrifice,” Dumbledore said.
“How much?”
“Well, I’m admittedly not too aware of how much it takes to raise a child in your world, but I believe I’ll start by supplying an initial 250,000 pounds, along with £10,000 every month.”
The eyes of both Dursleys shone greedily at that information. “We would be happy to take care of the boy, in that case.”
“And you would treat him as well as your own, yes?”
“Of course! If he’s being raised by us, he’ll be one of us,” Mrs. Dursley answered as Dumbledore stared intently into her eyes, then into her husband's.
“Very well. If you have any questions, you’re welcome to mail me through the muggle post. I’ll get anything you send. If that’s all, I leave the boy and his remaining belongings in your capable hands.”
With that, the trio departed, walking down the street before completely disappearing, along with the motorcycle.