Harry Potter: Love's Second Chance

Harry had never known exactly what had happened that night he had been left at the Dursleys. Now it seemed like someone else didn't either. "Professor, there has been a lot of things that do not make sense," As he cast around looking for a good excuse, he realized the perfect one had just happened. "Hermione has been going over some of the things I've described and finding problems with them as well. Everything seems to go back to the Headmaster."

"Albus…but..." McGonagall again was trying to figure out that night as well. "I remember that day and night very clearly."

"I..." Hermione had started to reply but then stopped as she looked sharply at the Transfiguration Professor. "Clearly...like it just happened?"

"Yes...exactly."

A paragraph from a book came floating into the memory of Hermione. It was the book she studied before modifying her parents' memories. "Professor...isn't one of the first things you learn when it comes to memory modification spells is that the new memory being implanted must be more defined because..."

"It needs to override any possible echo of the memory being modified," McGonagall finished. "Albus changed my memory of that day? Why?" She asked mostly to herself.

"I don't know what the Headmaster is doing, but a lot of things don't add up," Harry said. "Until he is willing to give me answers that make sense, I will not trust him," Harry could see the confusion on the Headmistress's face. "You said you didn't like my relatives, did you ever wonder what my life has been like with them?"

"I've often wondered," She admitted. "You see, I remember your father exceptionally well. He...he how can I say this.."

"Professor, I know my father was a bully for most of his time here."

"That might be a little harsh, but he definitely had some moments, especially when it came to a few students, one in particular."

"Snape," Harry muttered.

McGonagall lifted an eyebrow. "You are exceptionally well informed."

Harry shrugged. "It came up and Sirius verified it."

McGonagall nodded her understanding. "Well your father did like to strut, shall we say, but he was always dressed very well."

"And I'm dressed not so well?"

"That would be an overstatement sometimes. Where do you get your clothing?"

"Hand-me-downs from my cousin," Harry replied. "The Dursleys have never bought me a single item of clothing," Harry looked again toward his wife and after a couple of seconds she nodded. Harry got up from his seat and pulled off his robe. Then he pulled off his shirt, revealing the various scars that crossed his body. "This is what life with the Dursleys has been like," He said as he put his shirt and robe back on. "So as you can see, I have very little reason to trust the Headmaster right now. Next week he will once again insist I need to go live with the Dursleys. Now I will admit they haven't dared touch me since I told them that Sirius, who they believe is a mass murderer, is my Godfather, but the hatred is there still."

"Does that answer your question to why we don't trust the Headmaster?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. I guess it does," McGonagall sighed.

As Hermione and Harry rose from their chairs to depart, they both saw something that made their blood freeze. The portraits. All were awake and staring attentively at them.

"Shit," Harry mentally exclaimed.

Turning back to McGonagall Hermione asked. "Professor, are the portraits going to tell Dumbledore what we just told you?"

McGonagall looked up at the portraits and realized it was something she should have thought of them. "Portraits, as the official acting Headmistress, I order you to not discuss anything said in this office in the last twenty minutes with anyone, including Albus Dumbledore or myself. That also includes anyone where you have other portrait frames."

"Will that work?" Hermione asked.

"I hope so."

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