Albus Dumbledore was worried. So worried, in fact, that he had lost the twinkle in his eye. In the first time in years, his robes were a solid colour, with no fancy design on them at all. The source of his worry? One Severus Snape.

Earlier, he had received a rather slipshod letter from Remus Lupin. That in itself was cause for worry, since Remus’s work was normally impeccably neat. The contents, however, nearly stopped his heart. Remus, in the letter, had been going through the Black family vault, and had found something quite disturbing. So disturbing that Albus suddenly felt all 111 years of his life and then some. He was about to peruse the letter a bit more, when Minerva McGonagall, in the form of her Animagus, came in.

“My dear Minerva, what can I do for you today?”

She transformed. “Arabella Figg has sent me quite a disturbing missive, Albus. She was fairly distraught, writing about the horrors Harry has had to endure, and—” here, she paused for effect. “The fact that you chose our dear colleague Severus to inspect, where he then proceeded to give her a tongue-lashing for half an hour—for lying. What on earth were you thinking, Albus?”

Albus chuckled. “Severus must have seen something in order to do something so drastic.”

“Drastic? He accused her of lying about the abuse! And you and I both know that Arabella would die before anything could harm Harry. Why on earth would you send Severus? You know he hated James for stealing his beloved. And cute as Harry is, he is almost an exact replica of that boy,” she exclaimed. “Could you for once stop meddling in things and just do things right the first time? Honestly, Albus, you can be so obstinate. Now, if you won’t check on the little boy, I will do it.”

She huffed, and started tapping her foot, noticing that Albus was still looking at her with an amused look. “Why can’t you trust me, Minerva? You know I have the child’s best interest in mind.”

“Oh, yes, even though I specifically warned against placing the child at the Dursleys, and now look what they’ve done! It’s been barely three years, Albus,” Minerva replied.

“Oh, but there are greater powers at work,” Albus said absentmindedly. “Don’t worry, I will check up on the child, soon enough.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Albus. I don’t want another child to suffer the way Severus did,” replied Minerva softly. “Now, I bid you good day. I’ll see you at dinner.”

With that, she exited the room, and the door creaked shut.

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Of course, Minerva McGonagall was going to check up on Harry, regardless of what Albus said. For all his wisdom, sometimes he forgot the value of human life, especially when he was deep in thought. But even Minerva couldn’t see the utter chaos the Dursleys would soon thrust the wizarding world into.

Instead of taking the Floo, she decided to walk into Hogsmeade and apparate from there to Privet Drive. She had no intention of being influenced by Arabella; for all the words Minerva spoke on her behalf, in truth, she knew that Arabella often exaggerated, and made situations far worse than they seemed. As soon as she arrived, though, she transformed into her Animagus form: a silver tabby cat. She didn’t want Harry or his family noticing strange people around; it would only serve to anger or create fear. She was correct in this aspect; but she was quite late to prevent anything of that sort from happening; after all, Severus wasn’t exactly careful, was he.

Nothing seemed amiss in this quiet Muggle neighbourhood. Over the next street, she could hear a dog barking, but she knew she was safe for now. Minerva saw Dudley playing in the mud, and didn’t really think much of it. Had she but looked closer, she would’ve noticed the blood. She didn’t, needless to say, and assumed, that since Harry was younger than his cousin by almost a full year, he would be having a nap. Still not quite reassured, she paced around the house several times, but she didn’t hear any sounds other than Petunia’s loud conversation and Dudley’s whoops as he splashed. Finally, after about an hour of this, she left.

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Vernon Dursley had been late in coming home because he had been dealing in less than appropriate areas of society. To be exact, in the tasteless wizarding end of society. For all his fear of the unknown, what drove him was the fact that he needed to be rid of his nephew—or he’d lose his sanity, what with crashing plates one week and sporadic fires the next.

Unfortunately, the child slave market thrived in both Muggle and wizarding society. Some former Death Eaters had chosen to enter this career path, selling Muggleborns to all sorts of people: from people who couldn’t have magical offspring to the lowest of lows. Yes, that night, Vernon Dursley had finally made a breakthrough in his offer.

So how exactly had he found this place? At work, an unsavoury man he had recently hired walked into his office completely stone drunk. Apparently, he knew of some shady underground business, and as much as Vernon was disgusted with the bloke, he was fascinated. He grew even more fascinated when the drunk proceeded to tell him about the profit he could make by selling a magical child to child dealers. An idea instantly formed in his mind. Why give back the child when he could make a profit instead? He’d had to put up with the child for three long years, and all the shenanigans that came with the freak. Even now, as the freak was about to turn four, he could barely speak. That just proved how unnatural these freaks were.

That night, when he’d gone home, dishevelled and exhausted, Vernon told Petunia. Of course, Petunia had doubts, until Vernon had told her that they could choose the prospective buyer. That assured her, and she agreed. Before even touching his dinner, Vernon sprinted out to the car, gasping for breath as his bulk delayed his journey to the car. Finally, he opened the door and took out an owl; he quickly scrawled out a message of acceptance. Harry Potter’s fate was sealed.