To say that Minerva McGonagall was angry would be the largest understatement since the founding of Hogwarts. She was about as far from being angry as she could possibly be without actually screaming at someone and murdering them on the spot for breathing wrong. No, she was still willing to leave that little aspect of anger and rage to her dark and potions-loving colleague, Severus Snape. And she was also willing to hand him one more of her unwanted duties, the writing of the Hogwarts acceptance letters to future students.

If she saw another one of those blasted letters that summer, she swore she would scream. And she wasn’t alone, even the Hogwarts owls were getting sick of seeing them.

Never before had she needed to sign so many. There was no getting around it though. Without her signature on it, the letters would be considered null and void to anyone who wanted to test the magical signature to make sure that it was legal. The entire process of writing the letters, though, was now far more efficient than it had been in years past where all the letters had to be written entirely by hand and then sent out. Who ever had invented the Quick Quotes Quill was an absolute genius in Professor McGonagall’s opinion. She could only imagine how cramped her hand would’ve been after writing all of the most recent letters.

After the third day of signing these letters, she finally decided to stop signing them without checking to make sure that they were not going to the same person more than once. All of the letters that were sent to a muggle household were equipped with a charm to notify the Hogwarts staff if a prospective student was not receiving a letter due to his/her parents non-belief in magic. If this was the case, then a delegate was sent to the residence to deliver the letter and explain the magical world to the parents.

What Professor McGonagall found made her blood run cold. All, not one or two, but all of the letters that she had recently written had been for the child of two of her most memorable students of all time, Harry Potter.

Upon further inspection, it became clear that not only were they all addressed to Harry, but they were also sent to different addresses. Nearly one hundred had been sent thus far and not one of them had been sent to the same address twice. To make things seem even more dire, only one of the letters had been sent to the residence where Harry had been placed. The rest seemed to be going to different places on London streets.

After several moments of looking over where the different addresses were located and seeing that the were all in a relatively short distance from each other, Professor McGonagall finally went to see if there was anything that could be done outside of send more letters.

When Harry had first awoken from his “drop off,” he was even more terrified than normal. He had awoken in a very small alley in the middle of the night and found that there was only one other living being there with him.

An owl.

Another bloody owl. This was the second owl that Harry had seen in his life time and it had only been several hours since he’d seen his first, yet this one was different. This one had a letter in its talons and seemed to insist that Harry take the letter.

Harry flat out refused to do so. There was no way in hell that he was going to take something that was so obviously the reason for his being kicked onto the street. But the owl kept insisting, and, having finally gotten sick of the human child in front of him shying away when it was so obviously injured, the owl flew over to Harry and nipped his little finger.

This was the first time in months that Harry spoken a word and the first time in years that he’d spoken to another being. He had to though, that owl bite really hurt him. While it wasn’t bleeding, Harry knew that the owl could’ve done a hell of a lot worse.

“Please don’t hurt me, I don’t want your letter. It got me hurt,” Harry whispered, knowing that the owl couldn’t understand him.

And indeed it didn’t, but it did know the language of the serpents was to be feared so it quickly dropped the letter on Harry’s head and flew off into the night sky.

This was a very strange occurrence in Harry’s mind as no one had ever reacted that way before. Generally those who got to here him speak reacted in either hatred (as with the Dursleys) or confusion (like his teachers.) Never before had he had someone, or something for that matter, be afraid of the way that he talked.

Frustrated to no end about the fact that he couldn’t even read what was in the letter that the owl had so desperately wanted him to have and still aching from his latest beating from his uncle, Harry curled up against the wall and drifted off into a troubled sleep.

He was awoken the next morning by eight more of the same letters being dropped on his head, but this time he paid them no mind and instead gathered them up and stuffed them into the oversized pockets of Dudley’s old pants for use of some sort later. He planned on using them as either a pillow or a bed later if he got enough, but even if he didn’t, he was sure that he could find a use for them. Not that they were worth anything though, he’d have to find some way of getting money for food. Speaking of which, the bread that he’d been given the night before had lost any value that it might’ve had in halting the hunger that was gnawing it’s way through his stomach.

Food was becoming a must, so Harry set off on a quest to find some scraps that were laying around. That was the only food that he was used to anyway.

This was how Harry spent his week alone. Wake up to find more letters and throw away a few (he was now getting to many to fit into his pockets). Then he’d spend the rest of the day avoiding people who’d try to ask him questions while he was looking for food. Already he’d been approached by several people who’d yelled at him, about what he didn’t know, but what ever it was he was going to try not to do it again.

Finally, after a long day of searching for something to eat, Harry would curl up either under a bridge or in a deserted alleyway (the latter being incredibly difficult to find in London) and hope that no policeman would find him. He really didn’t want to have them try to talk to him and take him back to the Dursley’s. Harry had already become accustomed to life on the streets and preferred it to life at the Dursley’s. On the streets, he could get something to eat daily. At the Dursley’s, he was lucky to get fed weekly.

Life for Harry Potter was finally looking up.

“Albus, we need to do some thing besides send more letters to the boy. I don’t even think that he is receiving the letters. Don’t you even dare try to offer me one of those lemon drops,” the irate Deputy Headmistress said, trying to get her boss and colleague to wizen up. “I almost think that we need to send someone to check on him and make sure that he is where he’s supposed to be.”

“Oh, nonsense Minerva. The boy is fine and is doing well, if he chooses not to open the letters, that is his decision. We can’t make his decisions for him,” Albus Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling like mad. He knew that the boy was safe because that is what all of the instruments that he had focused on Harry told him so.

“Albus, if the savior of the wizarding world does not receive a wizarding education how will that look for the school that he was supposed to attend. Harry’s name has been on the list of attendees for this year ever since he was born, and you know it. This is not about whether or not Harry wants to go. This is not his decision to make. Albus, can’t you see that?!” Professor McGonagall almost yelled. “Lily and James wanted their son to attend here and I will make sure that their last wishes are carried out!”

Albus Dumbledore sat calmly through this entire rant, not making a gesture of any kind. Minerva did have a point. This would look terrible on Hogwarts part, and on his part, if Harry Potter didn’t attend because of some petty reason. Though the most likely reason for Harry not wanting to open his letter was purely pre-teen attitude at it’s finest, Dumbledore didn’t want to risk his reputation because of it.

Having finally made his decision, he said to his irate (and possibly steaming) colleague, “Fine, I will send Hagrid to check on him.”

“Why Hagrid? If Harry has any doubts about the reality of magic in the world, he will undoubtedly want to see some,” Professor McGonagall said.

“Never underestimate the power of the human spirit, Minerva.”

“You didn’t…”

“What are we talking about?”

Only several minutes later, having finally sent Hagrid to go check on Harry, they got the news that they had been dreading. Harry was missing and had been for over a week, and while Minerva had a general idea of where he was, he was in an area of London that was to densely populated by muggles for them to try apparating in.

A search party was quickly formed and since magic was not to be used in the presence of muggles, the search party was composed only of those who knew how to blend in with muggles and search without the assistance of magic. It was a very small search party, to say the least.

Unfortunately for Harry, Severus Snape, his fathers enemy and practice target, was on said search party.