*walks into this fandom fifteen years late and without a butter beer*

So after I'd gotten over my long seeded resentment of Harry Potter because of the endless hype that followed me around wherever I went and pounded against my poor battered skull for years, a few very good friends thought it was high time that I get into the series. Laora was one of them. And she has become my encyclopedia of all things HP related… including all of the pieces of trivia that make every scene even more heartbreaking than it needed to be.

Therefore, my first fic in this fandom is for her on her birthday (eh still a few minutes in your timezone, I think). Based on an (AUish?) headcanon of hers I thought I'd take a spin at. :D

Set in Prisoner of Azkaban during the manhunt for Sirius in Hogwarts after he'd slashed up the Fat Lady's portrait.

Recrudescence

n., the reappearance of something, usually regarded as bad

McGonagall strode quickly through the third floor of the school, eyes peering into every shadowy alcove along her journey as she danced around columns, trying to remain aware of her surroundings on every side.

It had been hours now that she had been roaming the hallways, searching for Sirius Black. Hoping to divine where he might be hiding, discover where he could be lurking, just waiting for his chance to leap out and kill Potter.

Even with nearly every professor scouring the castle, however, he had still proven elusive. It was a huge place, with too many twisting corridors for them to hope of completely clearing by the end of the night. Not when the target in question had lived here for seven years of his life and undoubtedly knew every nook and cranny of the school better than the professors did.

She'd nodded in passing to a ragged looking Remus shortly after they dispersed, she on her way to the hallways she had claimed and he to the hiding places he and Sirius might have shared in days gone by. As the searchers hadn't been summoned to do battle or recalled to the Great Hall saying that the coast was clear, she had to assume that he hadn't found a trace of the man who had once been one of his best friends in the world.

And now he raced to save him from killing the boy that was now all that remained of the Potters.

Minerva shook her head and turned down another corridor.

Perhaps the only other person looking as hard as the Defence against the Dark Arts professor and the head of Gryffindor house was Severus Snape. She'd crossed paths with him an hour or so into their search and the glint in his eye told of his burning desire to be the one to find the escaped prisoner and bring him to justice. She wasn't even quite sure that he would wait to call in the nearest dementor; perhaps he would simply take it upon himself to dole out his years of pent up hatred for the man under the guise of justice.

She understood his drive, she thought, pointing her wand at a shadowy figure only to realize with relief that it was merely one of the suits of armor guarding the entryway to the next room she would tackle.

Twenty years ago, she had taught them all. Been head of house to James and Sirius and Remus and poor little Peter. She'd been well acquainted with the trouble they often got into, the scrapes they managed to embroil themselves in, and the petty squabbled that fueled schoolboys who had taken a dislike to each other and felt the need to prove by just how much. She'd seen how bloodlines and family wealth and pride and prowess came into play when any one of them were called into question.

None of that seemed to change over the years, she sighed, if the interactions between Mr. Potter, Weasley, and Malfoy were any indication.

But even with all of the tricks and the spells that only happened to go awry when Severus happened to be walking down the hallway, Sirius and James hadn't really been mean spirited simply for the sake of it. And if they'd gone overboard with some of their pranks, they'd learned from their experiences. They hadn't been bad boys.

Of course, that was back when the world seemed to have been a different place. When all of them had been different people entirely.

It was before the most loyal friend under the castle's roof would sell out his brother to the foulest wizard to ever have roamed the earth. To callously give him up along with his wife and child. The leave them for dead.

Hard as it had been at the time to reconcile the image of Sirius committing such a thing, it was impossible now to imagine him still as the carefree youthful boy she had reprimanded in so many classes for showing off.

Something must have been lurking deep in his soul even then, even before he ran away from his own home to live with the Potters, before he had stood up at James' wedding, before he had become the godfather of the boy he was now trying to murder. He must have waited to come out when he had earned the trust of those around him and had found the moment in which he could do the most damage. And laugh about all of it as he was dragged away to Azkaban.

She put a hand up to squeeze the bridge of her nose. No, this wouldn't do.

There was no use dwelling on the past, remembering all of the reasons she had refused to believe reports of the Potters secret being revealed and their invisible house found. It had been found. And because of Sirius.

Now had had escaped from the most highly protected building in the entire world and managed to come back to England after twelve years of being drained and broken beyond recognition by the faceless things that guarded him.

How he had done such a thing was a mystery to her, as well as how someone who had survived the wizarding prison and found a way to do the impossible and break into Hogwarts itself—center of too many anti-intruder enchantments to name—could be stopped. Especially when all of the highly trained witches and wizards on the school staff had yet to pick up on any trace of the man.

But she had to try. She hadn't been able to protect James and Lily. But she was doing her damnedest to keep Harry from the same fate that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had tried to inflict upon him all those years ago.

She wasn't about to let Sirius black sink his claws into his godson.

Moving out of the armory, McGonagall came to the trophy room. She entered without much hope that anyone would be hiding in such a wide open space. There were, however, enough columns and stands upon which the trophies had been arranged that it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that Black could be hiding here amidst the awards that had been rightfully earned by the schools' students over the centuries. The room was always left unlocked, even after curfew, so it might have been an easy place for a refugee with knowledge of that fact to slip inside to hide for the time being. And she was taking no chances.

Wand at the ready, she moved through the aisles of trophies, shields, and statues that littered the room. A few floated above their stands in the cases build into the base of each column. Two of them sparked red as she passed but after a quick glance she dismissed them and moved on, senses honed to locate something else entirely.

The signs of someone hiding. A curtain rustling. The clink of metal on stone. Breathing that wasn't quiet enough.

Nothing happened as she passed the displayed list of the head boys and girls. Reaching the center of the room, she slowly turned in a circle, searching the corners as best she could. It seemed clear, but that didn't mean anything to a man who had escaped detection for months, despite the best aurors in the land— not to mention half of the dementors not at the island prison— hunting for no one but him.

With a few words whispered under her breath and a flick of her wand, she sent a revealing spell out through the trophy room. It pulsed outward in a bright translucent wave.

Every other time she'd cast the spell that night, nothing had happened, but now a patch of air in front of her seemed to ripple, bubble, and pop. Her eyes were drawn to the spot immediately before a few more of the same soft noises came from around the room.

No mass murderers sprang from the shadows; she still couldn't see evidence of Sirius Black anywhere. There were no secret doors revealed in the walls and no enlarged hiding places. But the fact remained that there had been some enchantment broken and there were things that had been brought back to light.

With narrowed eyes, she moved toward the altered cabinet closest to her.

It was the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting with Albus' name on it.

Odd, she thought, stepping closer. What could have been hidden on such a thing? She'd always known it had been here. That he'd won it in his seventh year. It was hard not to realize it when by all accounts he had been one of the most brilliant wizards to ever step foot in the school. The plaque was still here and remained unaltered. For there was his name on it and his house's symbol etched lightly into the background.

Minerva paused. Blinked. Then peered closer at the animal that was most definitely not a lion's head.

What in Merlin's name…?

It must be some mistake.

She turned and moved to the next column over, where she had sensed another pop.

Here was Dumbledore's gold medal for Ground-Breaking Contributions to the International Alchemical Conference that he'd attended in Cairo. She searched quickly for further inscription. There was none. Just his name.

But perhaps the metal had not always been that silvery. And she couldn't remember now if the alchemists preferred to use emerald green enamel for their lettering. It was just so hard to tell in this light.

Her brow furrowed as she thought furiously for some explanation. But of course! There was a way to check for sure. The display with the list of all of the head boys and girls would have his name and house on it.

She all but ran to the list, eyes scanning through the years until she found the familiar name and yes, there—

Albus Dumbledore

Head Boy – 1899

Slytherin

Her mouth fell open and for once she felt herself utterly incapable of speech. She continued to stare at what she saw before her.

Because it was wrong.

Albus had been in Gryffindor. It was common knowledge. Yet the awards told a different story. Everywhere his name appeared, it was accompanied by the livery of Slytherin. Now that they had been un-enchanted. The spells on them furthered everything that Dumbledore claimed about his schooling. But while perhaps the achievements were real, the banner under which they had been made, were not. The biographies of the current headmaster were, apparently, false.

She cast another revealing spell directly at the case in front of her, wondering if there had been multiple layers of enchantment and instead of undoing one, the discoverer of the fact had simply enchanted it back to normal. But nothing happened. There were no more fizzles or pops. The list remained unchanged and the final result showed that Dumbledore was not in the house he'd always been proud to come from.

McGonagall rocked back on her heels. She couldn't understand why he would lie about such a thing. Why would anyone claim to come from a house tat was not his own? What was the sense in putting up a charade that could be so easily disproved?

Then again, she had never had reason to doubt the pride with which Albus had worn the maroon and gold before this. Most of the people who knew Dumbledore during his school days— those who could disprove his story— were now dead and gone. Or so loyal to the man that they would never say a word to cross him.

And without a maniac running loose in Hogwarts, there was no need for anyone to specifically try to clear these trophies of enchantments that shouldn't be expected to be there in the first place. Most students wouldn't have been able to manage the intricacy of the unbinding work she'd done even if they had tried.

But what was she doing here examining ancient awards? There was still a maniac running loose in the castle. And she had established beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sirius was hiding in here. It was time to move on. There were still countless rooms to go through even without considering the possibility that he was somehow able to double back through the passages they'd already declared safe.

She'd already reached the doorway when one last thought crossed her mind. She turned around with a grim set to her mouth. Pausing for a moment, she lifted her wand, and said the words that restored the room to its state when she had walked in. The red and gold instead of silver and green. The familiar Gryffindor instead of the Slytherin they all despised.

Right now, however, she needed to go find a murderer and protect every student set under her charge.

But once that had been taken care of, Minerva vowed that she would have a very private conversation with the headmaster to see exactly why the records had been changed and he had been lying to everyone all this time.