Chapter Text
“You, my dear thief,” he cooed teasingly at the handsome man, “who walks through life with no desire, no legacy, and no principles, must achieve a truly remarkable feat. Before the turn of the century, you, Tom Riddle, must discover something upon this earth that is more important to you than immortality. If you do that, then I will make you truly immortal.”
“Impossible!” he shouted, bursting to his feet as his face contorted with both rage and bewilderment in equal measure. “Do you believe me capable of surpassing the boundaries of reality? Do you expect me to become a greater creator than God? How am I meant to find something that simply does not exist?”
“Well,” Harry shrugged, grinning wolfishly. “You have nine more years to figure it out.”
Minerva McGonagall woke on the first day of the new school year feeling cautiously hopeful.
The Welcoming Feast had gone better than she could have hoped. The first years had all been sorted easily enough, with a few familiar faces getting sorted into her house. Minerva was more than satisfied with how things had gone, especially when she saw Lily Potter making cordial small talk with Professors Flitwick and Snape. She hoped that being among children and peers, rather than cooped up in that big house, would bring out some of the old Lily Evans she remembered. James may be out of sorts, but Minerva was confident his anger would cool the more he saw his family flourishing.
Everything would be alright.
Minerva had made the right choice.
The only surprise of the evening had been Charles Potter himself, who had ended up being both the longest Hatstall on record and the first Ravenclaw in the Potter family for nearly twenty generations. No one had looked more surprised by the hat's decision than the boy himself, who had to be practically dragged to his proper seat. Minerva didn't know what ripples his sorting would cause for the surviving Potter son, but only time would tell.
Early to rise on the first day of the semester, Minerva joined her fellows in the Great Hall for breakfast and watched with great joy as the students came trodding in. Among the first to arrive were the curious first-year Ravenclaws. Charles Potter seemed to have been dragged into a group of the other Ravenclaw boys, who all gathered around him despite his rather evasive reactions to their presence. Minerva considered it a promising start, and from the hopeful expression she caught on Lily Potter’s face, it seemed the boy’s mother believed the same.
From there, the first day of classes sped by in a blur of introductions and transfiguration. Minerva knew it was likely her last year of teaching the subject before she hired another professor to fill the role while she focused on her Headmistress duties, so she savoured every second of it. When it came time for the first year Ravenclaws, she was unsurprised to find that Charles excelled in the subject. It seemed that the rumours of his rigorous training had been far from an overexaggeration. If anything, Minerva wondered just how far the boy had been taught. If she didn’t think it would harm his socialisation, she would have recommended he be advanced a few years. Instead, she applauded his skill and urged the other students to ask him for assistance if they needed it. The crowd of excited Ravenclaws who chased after the boy upon being excused from class was reassurance enough that he would be forced into making friends before long.
At the end of the day, Minerva took her supper in the Great Hall before retiring early for the night. With the school year still so young, she would not get many days to sleep in before she began receiving papers to grade, so she chose to savour it while she had the chance.
However, that first day of school proved to be the happiest, as, on the second morning of the term, Headmistress McGonagall was awoken before the sun by a concerningly insistent owl. It pecked at the window of her quarters like it was trying to burst through the glass. Letting it in immediately, she was still rubbing sleep from her eyes as she unwound the messily bound scroll from its ankle and stretched the parchment flat across her escritoire.
Professor McGonagall,
Sirius has been missing for over a day. I woke yesterday to find him gone, and neither James nor I have been able to find him anywhere. I don’t know what to do or who else to contact. Please answer your floo A.S.A.P. so we may speak in person.
Worried,
Remus Lupin
Wide awake in an instant, Minerva threw on the closest robe and all but flew out of her quarters. Sprinting past several startled prefects and one rather miffed Professor Snape on her way through the corridors, Minerva barely spared any of them a glance, her mind tumbling over itself in worry. Was it the Dark Lord? The Master of Death? Minerva cursed herself. She never should have dragged her students into personal matters. She should have handled it alone. She should have bought a Muggle phone herself. She should have gone to Bruges unaided. When Sirius stormed out of her office that day, she should have followed after him. She should have made sure he was okay.
“Jackdaw!” she barked at the statue, which stepped aside placidly. Sprinting up the spiral staircase, Minerva’s head swam with possibilities as she grasped the doorknob to her office and threw it open.
What she found inside nearly sent her to an early grave.
Sirius Black was slumped over the edge of the Pensieve, his head bowed into the basin as it overflowed with a glowing green plasma. It was the memory. The infinite, spiralling memory. It had grown to a disproportionate size, snaking up Sirius Black’s face and wrapping around the back of his head, thin green tendrils keeping him pinned within the basin.
“Good Merlin!” Minerva cried. On the shelf, the Sorting Hat made a tsk noise at her.
"You heard the Master of Death's warning," it cautioned. "You must free him at once."
"Why did you not tell me that he was here?" she shrieked at it, leaping forward and grasping Sirius Black's slumped form by the shoulders. "How long has he been here?"
"He arrived of his own accord the night after last," the hat replied vaguely. Minerva hissed curses as she shook the unconscious man, but the thin threads of light held firm. Acting more than thinking, she grasped him around the waist as if she were about to administer the Heimlich, braced a foot against the base of the pensieve, and shoved. Once, twice, thrice. With one last yank, the memory finally let go, snapping like loose threads from a robe and sending them both flying backwards.
Minerva grunted as her back impacted against the ground, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins dulled the pain. She flew up to a seat and rolled Sirius onto his back, heartbeat thudding through her skull. Feeling around, she pressed her fingers into his wrist and let out a horrified shriek when she found his pulse was barely present.
“Mister Black,” she croaked weakly, shaking his bony shoulders. “Mister Black, wake up!”
There was no response. The man's entire body was slack.
"His soul is wavering," noted the hat. The green memory inside the Pensieve was boiling over the edge, tendrils slithering down to the ground. Cursing, Minerva scrambled for her wand and pointed it at her unconscious student.
“It’s going to hurt. Forgive me,” she pleaded, “but I can’t lose another student. Not like this. Velox Inpulsa!”
A sharp bolt of electricity shot out of her wand and hit Sirius Black with a fierce shower of light. His body jerked, but remained terrifyingly still. The memory was snaking up his ankle. Minerva’s vision was swimming. She choked back a frightened sob and readied the spell again.
“Velox Inpulsa!” Another shudder, and then more horrible nothing. Minerva clawed both hands through her bedhead and released a wail of anguish. Electricity was flying everywhere, shooting up her fingers, zapping along her robes. A tendril of green light was coiling around the moribund auror's throat. “Damn it, damn it, damn it all to Hell! Don’t you dare die, Sirius Black! Velox Inpulsa!”
There was an overwhelming burst of light as the third bolt of electricity hit his chest, and the man flew upwards with a sudden, violent shout. He sputtered, chest heaving as he sucked in great, thundering gasps of air. His hair was electric, standing up on end, and his… his eyes—Minerva couldn’t stop herself from crying out in shock as he opened his eyes wide and turned to look at her with twin irises of a burning, electric green.
“Oh… oh, Merlin,” she breathed. “Mister… Mister Black? That is… that is you, isn’t it?”
He stared at her. He stared and stared with those infinite eyes of verdant, luminous light as the memory latched onto his cheek like a glowing leech. Minerva shuffled back, her legs slipping and stumbling beneath her. She had never seen anything like those eyes. Nothing, save for the immortal green gaze residing within the body of Harry James Potter.
“It's eternity out there, Professor,” Sirius Black intoned, before his bright green eyes rolled to the back of his skull, and he collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
End of Part Two
Thank you all so much for the incredible support! We will return in a few weeks with the first chapter of Part Three. Until then, stay safe, stay kind, and never stop reading!