There were no wards, or magic prickling upon her skin, as Minerva McGonagall walked up to the plain green door. A sharp knock upon rough wood brought a noticeable pause to the activity inside, before footsteps indicated the arrival of a kind, yet weary-faced woman. Said woman looked the deputy headmistress up and down once, then again upon seeing the robes she wore.
“Martha, matron of this orphanage. May I help you, ma’am?” She asked. Polite, but firm.
McGonagall cleared her throat, before beginning a speech memorized long ago. “Good morning. I am the deputy headmistress for a private school located in Scotland, and was hoping to speak to two of your charges, about their future education plans.”
Martha looked skeptical, likely thinking of scams and opportunities too good to be true, an idea Minerva hoped to dissuade her of quickly.
“Their parents, alumni of our school, put their names down upon birth. A tradition, for many families.” This was not entirely true, but the story had worked for her in the past.
“Well, you had better come in then,” Martha said, opening the double doors before shutting them behind her with a click. Inside, the sound of children and music could be heard. “Who are the two children you wish to speak to?”
Minerva fought the urge to look down again, before uttering the two names that had been on her mind for the past week. “Daphne Greengrass, and… Harry Potter.”
The surprised look she received on hearing the names was concerning to Minerva, before Martha explained. “We have a Daphne and a Harry, but we were unaware of their last names. Both were dropped off at this orphanage nearly a decade ago, just a few weeks apart. Young Harry came to us with a short letter that included his name, and Daphne’s was found embroidered into her blanket. The constables looked for any records of the children, but never found anything.”
Many had fallen through the cracks after the war, Minerva thought. She nodded, before asking her own question of the matron. “Tell me a little about them?” It was rather open-ended, but she was curious what Martha would have to say.
She got a genuine smile in return. “Those two have been attached at the hip since they could walk—and with Daphne’s younger sister, Astoria—well, they’re a proper little family.”
Minerva hadn’t known about the sister, but supposed she wouldn’t have. It had been assumed by most that the Greengrass family had moved to the continent after the war, but something must have happened to cause two pureblood witches to grow up in an orphanage. She would need to make inquiries with Gringotts and the ministry on the matter.
They continued down the hall, until reaching what seemed to be the main communal area. Tables and chairs lined one wall, where children of various ages were sitting with their friends and eating breakfast. Scanning the tables, she did not see the expected mop of messy black hair. Before she could ask Martha, the woman pointed her past the eating area to a small, open kitchen.
Harry Potter stood in front of a large stove, multiple fry pans filled with eggs, bacon, mushrooms, and more. Daphne, for who else could she have been, stood at the sink to his side, helping occasionally and washing dishes as other children brought them back, empty. The thin, younger girl on Harry’s other side, who must have been Astoria, was diligently measuring out ingredients, biting her lip in concentration.
Minerva smiled. She had been terribly worried watching the Dursley’s all those years ago. Despite being an orphanage, Harry clearly did not lack for people who cared about him. Perhaps the Dursley's had finally done something good, even if this outcome was not—and she was confident it wasn’t—their intention.