Harry had found it, staring down at the doorstep with a confounding sense of deja vu.

It had been a crisp summer morning, the clear skies above promising of a smoldering afternoon, but that same heat was yet to make an appearance. As such, he was suitably disgusted at the notion of leaving a child out in the iced nights of England.

Then, he realised that, perhaps, the concept of leaving babies on doorsteps altogether should offend him more than the decision to not ensure a safe temperature. As he squatted down to inspect the bundle, he vaguely remembered Hermione once informing him that he had a twisted sense of morality and was unfathomably glad she could not read minds, recalling also how vehemently he had debated it.

It couldn't have been more than a few months old. Harry was no expert on babies, in fact, he hadn't actually seen a baby in what was easily 5 years, so that estimate may have been a little skewed. However, the squirming little thing was podgy, with scrunching fingers and stretching arms, eyes that focused carefully on Harry.

He had read the folded note once, then twice, muttering the entire time little innate things, as it seemed to keep the child relatively quiet where she lay.

Then, with a quick glance back into the corridor once more, he considered himself for a long moment, before indulging a creeping little fear.

It was an abrupt motion that brought his fingers up to the child's hairline, sweeping back the dark curls from it's forehead. His eyes were only met with clear skin and despite himself, he let out a relieved puff of air.

"Well, that's good. I think. You never know with him, you know?"

Harry stretched out once more, swiping a few stray hairs out of the baby's eyes. It had awfully long locks for such an age, he thought, wispy curls that swept down past it's ears.

"Voldemort, that is. Killing babies- well, failing at killing babies. But I suppose I wouldn't put it past Dumbledore. Not killing them, that is, but he does have a thing about orphans."

He frowned down at it, chuckling humorlessly to himself as he watched the tiny features crumple down to mirror his expression.

He read the note a third time.

"Dumbledore likes to almost kill orphans- see exhibit one- and then rescue them with a little sparkling glint in his eye. Good thing you aren't an orphan, little one. He would be drooling"

The little girl let out a tinkling giggle, grasping out with one hand to Harry.

"No. No, it's not funny at all. Some would say that it is actually very inappropriate as a headmaster," He intoned, then, shaking his head a little and shooting an apologetic glance her way, he spun to regard the hall.

"AUNT PETUNIA!"

It were those two simple words that found Harry- not even an hour later- standing a few streets down, still in the crisp of summer morning, with his cousin's baby girl clutched to his chest, bursting in peals of hysterical laughter.

It was a testament to his life that Harry Potter could not even find it within himself to be surprised.