A/N Disclaimer: Okay, Harry Potter is my life, first of all. I am not trying to knock my all time favorite book. I was thinking about it, and thought this would be in good fun. I may add more scenarios based on this idea of Harry not making it to the Dursleys, but for now it's a standalone. Enjoy!
Doorsteps and Doorbells
"Good luck, Harry," Dumbledore murmured to the small bundle on the doorstep of Number 4, Privet Drive.
With a swish of his cloak, he was gone.
The next morning, Mrs. Dursley opened the door of Number 4 to get the milk bottles. And screamed.
One of the bottles had cracked, and frothy white milk was running down the stone steps.
"I just cleaned the stairs yesterday," she muttered, scowling. With a sigh, she went inside to fetch her cleaning supplies, then came back to tend to the mess.
Upon her return, she realized what had caused the milk bottles to spill. Some well-meaning idiot had placed the bottles on a soft blue blanket that was now covering the stoop, not thinking that a blanket may not be the sturdiest surface for six glass bottles. Must be a new milkman, Mrs. Dursley decided. Muttering to herself about poorly trained workers, she swept the glass fragments into her dust pan and sopped up the spilled milk with a dish rag. She nudged the blanket gingerly with her toe. When no roaches or rats scurried out, she kicked the offensive item down the steps. With a satisfied huff, she marched inside to complain to Mr. Dursley all about her eventful morning.
Where was Harry, you may ask? Good question. Harry was long gone, snatched up by one of the many unsavory characters that inhabit the night hours. Nighttime is no time for a child to be outside unsupervised, as most people are aware. Or should be. Especially child professionals, such as headmasters responsible for the safety of hundreds of young children ten months a year. Needless to say, doorsteps after dark are no place for a baby, especially one who is destined to save the entire Wizarding world.
Moral of the story: Ring the damn doorbell.