I still do not own Harry Potter. Too bad.

A/N...I did some editingfrom chapter one, I made some really dumb mistakes.

And here we go with chapter two...


Chapter 2: Visions from Whispering Lane

Harry really didn't care whether or not the Dursleys locked him in his room anymore. He seriously preferred it that way. There were few downsides to not having to see his relatives' ugly faces.

Calmly reading his Potions text, he tried to ignore the stabbing hunger pains that now plagued him. The hunger was definitely a downside.

After a few minutes of this, he gave in. He was a growing boy, after all. Hopping off of his bed, he made his way to the ever handy loose floorboard under his bed. Harry lifted up the board and eased his hand in. He knew that there was some leftover cake in there somewhere. Not feeling anything, he shoved his whole arm in. Nothing was going to come between him and his food.

Aha! He had found something! He frowned, however, when what he clasped did not feel like one of Mrs. Weasley's delicious deserts after all. He had to slide his arm in up to his shoulder in order to get a good grip.

Carefully, he pulled the object out to inspect it. It appeared to be a small girl's jewelry box about the size of his hand. The beautiful box was stained dark brown with simple gold letters on the cover that spelled, "Lily R. Evans."

Harry gasped; it had belonged to his mother. With shaking hands, he delicately lifted the top up. Inside, he found his mother's prized possessions from childhood. He removed several pressed flowers from the top, exposing a thick envelope.

He managed to absolutely murder it while fumbling to get it open, but he was too preoccupied with what was inside to care. He turned the envelope upside-down and a few folded pieces of loose-leaf and a gorgeous necklace fell into his hand.

First, he unfolded the paper—hoping for some sort of an explanation. In a childish, awkward script it read:

To whoever finds this letter,

You have come across one-half of my most brilliant project. Please be warned: it is very powerful. You see, I am a witch. You may not believe it, but it's true. I'm not really supposed to tell anyone, but if you managed to find this, it must have been fate.

When I was accepted to Hogwarts at eleven years old, my sister Petunia changed. It was as if she felt left out, although she would never admit it. We had never been best friends, but this was the first time she glared at me every time I did something as little as ask her to pass the peas at dinner.

I spent a whole month wondering how I was going to patch things up, until I finally thought of it. To make a long story short, I read through dozens of advanced spell books and put a lot of hard work into them.

I transfigured some rocks into two identical necklaces. This wasn't too hard, since it was working with inanimate objects. I used countless charms on them. I didn't mind, though, since that's my favorite class at school. By the last week of school, I was done with the necklaces; they were perfect.

They were made so that each of us would know if the other one needed help. As long as the two people wearing them have a special bond, your jewel with glow green and jingle softly if the other is in trouble. You can even tell what kind of mood they are in, kind of like those muggle mood rings.

During the summer, everything was fine. It wasn't until I came home from school the next year that I noticed Petunia wasn't wearing it anymore. When I approached her about it, she said she had a new boyfriend now, Tom, who thought it was ugly. She snootily added that she agreed with him.

So that is where I am now, packing it away forever. Maybe you can find a better use for it—if you can find the other half. I hope Petunia choked on it.

Best Wishes,

Lily Evans

Harry took a deep breath and set the letter down. No one had ever told him much about his mother before. He lifted the necklace by the chain and held the pendent part in front of his eyes so that he could study it.

It just looked like clear crystal at first glance. Each of its sides were smooth and flat, and it came to a point at the top and bottom. After a few minutes, he held it up to the light streaming in through his window, where it showed its true beauty. Every color imaginable shone brightly in the crystal, and as the light went through it, he could hear a delicate jingling sound.

Harry had no doubt that it was full of powerful magic. Even though it was supposedly made by his mother, he was slightly reminded of his second year and the diary. He realized that he didn't know much about what it did yet.

He decidedly slid it back into the envelope along with the letter, put everything back into the box, and returned it to the loose floorboard.

He had some snooping to do in Petunia's room. Perhaps he could find her half.

Harry had now come along another annoying disadvantage of being locked in. He wished he wasn't an underage wizard. What was the point of learning how to use magic when he never got the chance to use it when in a bind?

Harry flopped backwards onto his bed while trying to think of an escape route.

Immediately when he closed his eyes, he saw an image. It was very blurry, but he recognized it as the Whispering Lane street sign.

His eyes snapped open. That had never happened before. Not during the day. Out of curiosity, he closed them once more. Just like last time, it was as if he were watching through someone else's eyes as they sprinted down the lane. They turned into one of the driveways and entered a brown house with yellow shutters; the person was panting heavily.

Inside, a young-looking man was sitting comfortably on a dusty green couch, reading a muggle newspaper. His face was kind, and he found that it was oddly familiar. The man slowly turned his head to face Harry, "Hello, Harry. I've got answers for you." he said slowly.

Just as abruptly as the vision began, it ended, leaving Harry with even more unanswered questions. He wanted nothing more dearly than to go to this man. No one ever answered his questions. No one ever told him anything.

Harry's eyes flicked to Dudley's old baseball bat that was sticking out of his closet, then to the window. Was he desperate enough? Maybe. He had to get out.


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