The Locket

Chapter 2

There he was again, staring out a window. This time, Harry was watching the suburban empire from which he had narrowly escaped, fly past in a dizzying blur. The bus was small and oddly smelled of raisins, but he was on his way. He had managed to elude Petunia's hawk-like watch on him and prevail against all odds. In his hand, he still tightly clutched the locket, half afraid it would suddenly slip through his fingers. Quite honestly, it wouldn't surprise him if it did. In the wizarding world, anything was possible. Which was sometimes an unprecedented problem. Through the hexes and curses, riddles and potions, it could be hard to know what to believe. Harry was so sick of being lied to. It was an infuriating game of tag and chase and every time he was close to answers, things would get blurry again. Allowing his mind to wander, Harry thought back to the end of his second year. The satisfaction and relief at having defeated the Basilisk and Voldemort (at least for the time being anyway). He had felt as if the secrets were over. How wrong he had been. Harry shut his eyes and remembered the beginning of the summer, and how it had all began.

It had been a typical evening with the Dursley's. Harry had managed to salvage a few scraps of the chicken dinner he had made, and retreat to the kitchen counter to eat in peace. Unfortunately, Harry could still hear every word uttered in their unbearable conversation. Dudley sloppily chomped away, grunting every now and again in answer to his parents.

"So Diddles, dear, how was your day?" Petunia asked dotingly. Grunt.

"Oh, how lovely!" She squeaked. Chomp. Slurp.

"Dudley. My boy, I was thinking you and I could go see that wrestling match next week. What do you think?" Vernon's deep rumble was met with the same answer. Grunt. It went on for about another ten minutes or so until Petunia called Harry in to do the dishes. Rubbing his already raw hands, Harry meticulously scrubbed each plate with a soapy sponge. Hurriedly, he dried everything and prepared to quietly slip away to his room, the cupboard under the stairs. Vernon had slumped off to the TV and Dudley was already asleep. Strangely though, Petunia was still sitting at the table. Almost expectantly, like she was waiting for something. Noticing Harry still standing there, she gave him a nasty glare.

"What are you still doing here, boy?" The malice in her tone was evident, as always. Harry sighed and left.

Though he tried to ignore it, Harry couldn't help but remain curious over Petunia's peculiar anxiety. Lying awake in bed, he listened. The house was quiet for the longest time, aside from the low hum of the television. Then, Harry heard the phone ring. Petunia must've jumped up suddenly, because he heard her chair scrape against the floor.

Petunia hissed into the phone urgently. Swiftly slinking out of bed, Harry carefully opened his door. Edging along the hallway, he moved until Petunia's voice was just around the corner.

"Yes. I understand. Meet me by the Lambury and Rosewood intersection." Casting a wary glance back, Petunia put the phone on the hook and slipped out the door. Waiting several moments for the sound of her footsteps to leave the porch, Harry hurriedly followed suit. Slinking through the shadows, Harry remained unnoticed. The night air was cool and a light breeze wafted by, blowing his jet black hair aside, revealing a scar. A scar, so much a part of him, and yet something he knew so little about.

Harry was creeping through the hydrangea bushes in the neighbor's yard when, without warning, Petunia stopped. She had halted under a lamp post and stood there awkwardly for a moment. Abruptly, there was a flash and a figure appeared next to Petunia. Struggling, Harry tried to readjust himself so that he could see the second person. Unfortunately, the mailbox blocked his line of view, and the mysterious figure remained an anonymous shadow.

"Do you have it?" Petunia's voice was hushed and she looked apprehensive for whatever she was about to receive.

"Yes. The pensieve will remain with you. Lily's memories cannot be shared." The hidden person had a stern quality to her voice.

"I don't want to be a part of this. Why can't someone else keep it?" Petunia shrunk in on herself. She almost looked afraid.

"I think you already know the answer to that." Handing her a small box wrapped in brown paper, the woman's shadow spontaneously appeared to shrink. Then, as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone.

His head reeling and his face pale, Harry trailed after Petunia back to the house. Crouching by the window, he watched her carefully place the package in the highest cabinet where she hoped it would remain obscured from unwanted eyes.

As soon as she was out of sight, Harry retrieved the small package from it's hiding place. Returning to his room, Harry opened the box. In it, was the locket. The locket that could answer everything, without holding back. Unlatching it, Harry ever so slightly grazed the misty substance within it with his finger. Almost instantaneously, Harry's surroundings changed.

Harry stood several feet away from the memory of her. Her memory. Lily's crimson red hair blew across her face and Harry turned to see what she was looking at. Swirling rapidly in all directions, was a black, powdery, dust-like substance. It shifted and moved like one being. Lily gazed upon the strange force with a fascinated wonder and slowly brought her hand up to it.

Hedwig's restless squawk brought Harry back to reality.

"Shhh, girl. We're almost there." He calmly stroked her feathers through the narrow bars of the cage. Defiantly turning her head, Hedwig gave an indignant chirp.

"Fine. Be that way." Harry laughed, rolling his eyes. The bus had now surpassed the endless row of houses and reached the city. King's Cross Station couldn't be more than a couple miles away. As the grumbling of the bus roared to an abrupt halt, he collected his things. An odd sight Harry must've been to passing Muggles, a scraggly thirteen year old boy, carrying an enormous trunk and an owl. Moving through the shifting crowd of people, Harry made his way to King's Cross Station. The ceiling was an enormous arch covered by little glass tiles. It was a mass collection of squares assembled together to make a masterpiece. The trains thundered along the tracks, and, in the clamor of it all, Harry had to stifle a laugh, as it reminded him way too much of Uncle Vernon's snoring. Recovering, he moved through the crowds and towards Platform 9 and 3/4. Stepping back, he ran with full force at the wall. The yellow bricks flickered slightly and Harry vanished.

Reemerging on the other side of the wall, he smiled. Witches and wizards were quickly moving to and fro, and among them all, Harry recognized the two things he had missed most about the magical world. Ron and Hermione. Sprinting towards them, Harry's grin stretched all the way up to his ears.

"Harry!" Hermione and Ron cried almost in unison. Running at each other, they all fell into a heap and burst out laughing. Ron's vivid red hair was a trademark trait of the Weasley's and made it easy to spot him in a mob of people. He had gotten visibly taller over the summer. Hermione's bushy brown hair was wild as ever, and the stack of books she was carrying came crashing down with her when she fell.

"Ow. Hermione, are you honestly going to need all those?" Ron grumbled, gesturing to the half a dozen books that had been in her arms.

"As a matter a fact, I am going to need them all. If you weren't so pigheaded you'd understand." Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry just smirked with fond amusement at their bickering. It was good to be back. However, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, lingering in the back of his mind, was the memory he had seen in Lily's pensieve. It sat in the shadows, waiting. At the thought of it, he brought his hand up to his forehead. Harry's scar had begun to hurt.