23For 1yellowfish - Thank you for being my 100th review on Vahan. You're awesome! This is what your prompt created, I hope it meets your expectations.
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips in irritation. She had a great deal of respect for Albus Dumbledore, but sometimes she really had to question his judgement.
He'd refused to listen to her about placing Harry Potter with those disgraceful muggles, and she had felt wracked with guilt ever since for not fighting him harder. Her stomach cramped again as her worry manifested physically; she hadn't had such severe anxiety since she was a small girl, and its return was extremely unwelcome.
There was nothing for it.
Placing her teacup and saucer on the spindly little table next to her very comfortable chair, she stood, straightening her robes and swirling a thick cloak over her shoulders. It had been a week since Harry had been placed with his Aunt and Uncle; time enough for them to have established a routine, and it was up to her to make sure said routine was in the best interests of the little raven haired boy that had saved them all.
Walking briskly out of the castle and across the grounds, she Apparated with a sharp crack.
"Albus Dumbledore!"
The ancient headmaster looked up from his dinner plate, startled. His Deputy Headmistress bore down on him, posture stiff and robes swirling as her fury manifested as wild magic.
He paled.
"I warned you those muggles were the worst sort! I warned you! You claimed he was best with them, safest. You were wrong!"
Next to the Headmaster, Severus Snape, the new Potions Master, shifted faintly.
"Now, Minerva," Dumbledore began, his voice soothing. "I'm sure young Harry will be perfectly well cared for with the Dursleys. Petunia is family, after all-" He paused when his dinner companion jerked sharply.
"Petunia? You placed Lily's child with Petunia?" The rich baritone was disbelieving. "Have you taken leave of your senses? That woman detested Lily and everything to do with the magical world, and you put a helpless magical child in her care? How did you convince her?"
"Convince her, Severus? Oh no! Our Headmaster, in his infinite wisdom, left the boy on the doorstep in the middle of the night with a letter!" The scorn fairly dripped from Minerva's words, her Scottish brogue thickening as her fury reached new heights.
"In November?" Severus's sallow face was aghast, his hands tightening to a white knuckled grip on his cutlery. He hated the thought that Lily had spawned with that thrice cursed James Potter, but even he wouldn't be so heartless as to do that to the toddler.
Minerva placed a hand on either side of Headmaster's plate, leaning forward threateningly. "I decided to check on him, Albus, since you wouldn't listen to me about leaving him there. Do you know where I found him?" She paused, giving the cowed man a chance to speak.
He decided discretion was the better part of valour and remained silent.
"They were keeping him in a cupboard with the cleaning supplies!" She spat. "He was filthy, starving, and freezing cold. They hadn't even changed his nappy from when you left him there!" Her eyes narrowed. "And the worst part, Headmaster, was that he didn't even bother to cry anymore. He is fifteen months old, and had already given up." She stood back, drawing herself up. "I respect you, but I will not follow you blindly, not anymore. I have removed Harry from those animals. I understand your concerns about him being adopted by an unsuitable family or being raised to expect adoration, and therefore, I will be raising him myself." She held up a hand when Dumbledore opened his mouth to protest. "No, not one word out of you! It is done, and I have officially adopted him through all legal and magical channels. He will still be Heir to the Potter line when he comes of age, but for all intents and purposes, he is now Hadrian McGonagall. You would do well to remember what happens to people who threaten a McGonagall."
If possible, Dumbledore paled even more. There was a reason that even Voldemort's most vicious Death Eaters retreated with impressive speed when a McGonagall stepped onto the battlefield.
"Minerva," Severus spoke softly. "I understand why you may decline, but Hadrian is the last link I have to my Lily. She was my best friend, my only friend, for all that I drove her away. If there is anything I can do to aid you or your ward, please ask. All I ask in return is that you do your best to prevent the boy from becoming an arrogant bully like his father. He has Lily in him too."
Minerva turned her piercing gaze onto the stoic man still gripping his cutlery hard enough to bend it.
"Thank you Severus, I'll bear that in mind. My son could use an Uncle."
Dumbledore bowed his head in defeat.
Harry scowled at the wall as Madam Pomfrey left his private room in the hospital.
He swallowed his bitterness as he scratched at something purple and oozing on his arm, trying to ignore the ones that covered the rest of his body.
Of all the rotten luck! He'd survived facing The Dark Parasite mere weeks ago, and what nearly takes him out? A vaccination.
He scratched an oozing spot on his neck.
Apparently garlic and the Dark Lord weren't the only things Quirrel had stashed in his hideous robes. The unknown potion in his pocket had reacted badly to the heat generated by Harry's burning hatred, and had exploded, and Harry had inhaled the fumes. Not his fault, since he'd been unconscious at the time, but still.
The potion had seemed to be completely inert, until it had reacted to the standard vaccination Harry had been given three weeks after the end of term. At which point things had gotten… messy. Dragon Pox was a serious condition at the best of times, but Harry had somehow developed a mutant strain that was completely resistant to all forms of treatment. Fortunately it didn't appear life threatening once the initial fever, seizures, and anaphylaxis passed, but it itched! Also the oozing was seriously gross. The virus was highly contagious, and the pus was corrosive to everything except human flesh, much to Madam Pomfrey's consternation. And the smell!
So here he was, spending his twelfth birthday in an isolation ward at Hogwarts, with no company and unable to touch anything without dissolving it. Fun times.
He glanced up when the door clicked open, the hiss of the 'airlock' loud in the otherwise silent room.
"Mama?" He asked, puzzled. He hadn't been allowed any visitors since he'd had the reaction, not even Mama McGonagall.
Minerva's strict expression softened, and she offered a small smile. "Hello, Harry. How are you feeling?"
Harry plucked at his blanket listlessly, ignoring the holes that had already been eaten through it. "I'm ok. Is Uncle Severus still working on a treatment?"
"Of course he is. Did you expect him not to head immediately to the lab? As horrible as your illness is, I think this is the most fun he's had in years."
Harry shook his head slightly, feeling ashamed of his doubt. Uncle Severus was a hard man, but he loved Harry, and always took care to teach the boy the consequences of his actions. It was in large part due to him that Harry was such a conscientious and studious young man.
"Mama, you shouldn't be here," he looked up sadly, ignoring his desperate loneliness. "You'll get sick, and we don't have a treatment yet."
Minerva smiled again. "Severus developed a personal shield several months ago that he uses when working with highly dangerous potions. It is still just a prototype, but he believes it will work well enough for me to spend some time with you today. It prevents the fumes from reaching me, so theoretically as long as I don't touch you, I should be alright." She pulled out her wand and transfigured an armchair from the partially dissolved teacup on the bedside. "And even if it didn't, I would have come anyway. It's your birthday, and you shouldn't have to spend it alone." She nodded firmly.
Harry cracked a smile, ignoring the spurt of pus it caused on his cheek. His Mama may be the strictest parent he knew aside from Neville's grandmother, but she was just as warm and fuzzy as her animagus form underneath it all.
"Thank you, Mama," he whispered.
"You're welcome. Now, I brought you something that my Da used to read to me when I was sick."
Harry perked up.
Minerva held up the book to show the title, carefully keeping it away from the caustic liquid pouring from the pitiful boy on the bed.
Harry quirked an eyebrow. "The Princess Bride?" He paused, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Wait, it's not a kissing book, is it?"
Minerva ignored the question, simply settling herself more comfortably in her chair and opening the book.
"Buttercup was raised on a small farm in the country of Florin." She began.
