So, my intention had been to be a jerk and upload all 55+ chapters in a single go. I'm not finished rewriting this story, however, so as usual you'll get the chapters as they are finished. As I said, I feel like this is my minor part of helping with the virus since I'm recovering from surgery and can't go to work. It's not much, but it's all I can do at the moment.
Warnings: This story is shounen-ai, yaoi, slash, Harry Potter/ Tom Riddle eventually, Draco Malfoy/ Ron Weasley, eventually. Don't like, don't read.
Notes: While this is technically Harry's fifth year, it is the first story in the Wizard series. It reads Lament (year 5), Redemption (year 6), Past (year 4). Years 7 and beyond are not written yet.
Notes: (X) is pov change and or time jump.
Chapter 2: A Beginning to an End
For just a moment, it was too much. Mrs. Figg, the woman he'd believed to be nothing more than his neighbor and a crazy cat woman, was flinging her arms into the air, cursing someone named Mundungus as she paced around, obviously distraught. Harry would have believed she had simply slipped into an even crazier mindset than usual, but most of her sentences began with "Dementors, here! Of all places!" before they finished in a far more creative way that surprised Harry to hear come from an older woman's mouth.
Dudley had remained curled up on the ground, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, tears streaming down his face. He was muttering and when Harry bent down to listen; It surprised him to hear the same words being repeated again and again by his cousin.
"Sorry, I'm sorry! Sorry!" Every sentence broke off into a sob before he started again. A broken record.
While the other two people around him panicked, Harry used the time to scan the surrounding area. He frowned when he saw no signs of the shadow anywhere. Had he been seeing things? Perhaps because of the mental anguish brought on by the Dementors, he'd seen… what? It really had been nothing more than a shadow with glowing eyes, and yet it somehow felt so familiar.
"We need to move," Mrs. Figg said. "Of course, that useless thing is still blubbering! Get up!" She attempted and failed to pry one of Dudley's fat arms from around his knees. She gave him a swat with her string tied purse. "Get up! Never have I ever seen such a useless child!"
Harry briefly remembered Gordon calling Dudley 'Dud' and held back a snicker. Now was not the time, nor did he think Mrs. Figg was being entirely fair. A Dementor had almost kissed Dudley, something he understood all too well.
"I'll try," he said. My some miracle he managed to get Dudley to release his legs and back onto his feet with little hassle, if you ignored the fact that he would never be able to walk properly again because of the strain such a task put on his body. For a second Dudley seemed to be okay, and then he lurched to the side, all of his weight nearly crushing him. Harry groaned, his legs threatening to give, tears rushing to his eyes, and yet, beyond reason, remained standing. How Dudley moved with so much weight on his body was beyond Harry.
"Quick, in case they come back!"
Harry wanted to tell her he was trying, but his neighbor was already too far ahead of him and he really didn't think he'd be able to talk while hoisting Dudley. He'd be lucky if he got his cousin home and didn't throw his back out in the process.
"Oh! When I get my hands on him!" She seemed to realize Harry wasn't beside her because she turned around and gave him a quick wave. "There's nothing I can do if they come back, you must hurry!"
There's nothing I can do right now either, Harry thought angrily. If the Dementors returned, there was no way Harry would be able to get to his wand fast enough to save them. Not while he was trying to keep Dudley or himself from falling onto the street.
"Trying," Harry breathed out. The words almost cost him any strength he had left him and his cousin almost toppling to the ground. He stopped to get his breath back and started again. You need to wake up you whale! Harry knew it was stupid, but he had to stop. He leaned Dudley against a light post, his cousin sinking to the ground where he continued to sob.
"Don't stop," Mrs. Figgs shouted.
"I hate Dementors, but I can stop them," Harry said. "But only if I have enough breath to cast the spell," he finished.
"O, only for a moment!" She began pacing again and wringing her hands. Harry closed his eyes and placed his forehead against the light post. The cold metal felt great on his skin. He knew he'd be sorry when he had to hoist Dudley up again in a moment. But if he didn't take a quick break right now, he wouldn't make it back to the Dursley's house. His muscles were already sore, and he was sure he'd be in pain for the next few days. Maybe if he wrote to Madam Pomfrey, she'd take pity on him and send him a pain elixir.
"W, what's that?" Mrs. Figgs jerked around, her eyes wide as her gaze snapped from one spot to another.
Harry was about to ask her what when his ears caught what was barely a whisper of a growl. It stopped, if it had really been there to begin with.
"I think we're just on edge," Harry said, leaning down to pull Dudley back up. They began their trek down the street, slow as ever. Harry regretted taking the break as much as he'd needed one. His body was shouting at him more than ever now, begging him to take another rest. He could see the turn for their street, but knew if he put Dudley down again, his mind and body would refuse to lug him up for a third time.
The lights in the light posts began flickering again, each one of them growing dim.
"I knew we shouldn't have taken a break," Mrs. Figgs screamed. She ran over to Harry, lifting one of Dudley's arms up and threw it over her shoulder, trying to help move them along faster.
Harry trudged forward, waiting for the depressing thoughts and icy wind to blow in, but neither did. The lights flickered again and sure enough went out, leaving the three stranded in the middle of the street in darkness.
"Just keep going," Harry said. He was sure he could use his Patronus again if he needed to, but how many Dementors would there be this time? Harry didn't think he could drive away two or three Dementors away again and get Dudley home. He wasn't even sure if he would remain conscious if he had to drive another group of Dementors off.
"Oh, I'm so going to kill him," Mrs. Figg said in a harsh whisper.
With Mrs. Figg's help, they managed to go slightly faster, but nothing more. Harry remained on guard for the signs that a Dementor was near, but five minutes later, there was still nothing.
"This is weird," Harry muttered. Dementors didn't wait. They swooped in as soon as they located their prey. Harry could feel that they were being watched and followed, but it seemed it wasn't by Dementors.
His eyes began to adjust to the darkness, so he looked around. A quick movement to his right, another whispered growl and then nothing.
Not a Dementor, he thought. He knew immediately that whatever he was dealing with was a threat, but he didn't know to what extent. His hair was standing on end and his gut told him to run, but he couldn't just leave Dudley and Mrs. Figg.
Two more quick movements caught his attention, both blurs in the surrounding darkness. The growling was still low, but clear now, definitely there.
"No," Mrs. Figg gasped. "Use your wand!"
Harry gaped at her. What exactly was he supposed to do with his wand? He didn't even know what was coming after them. The growls grew louder. The blurs that ran past them now had silver sheens to them. Harry had no idea how many of the creatures were there, but he knew they were in trouble.
"What am I supposed to do," Harry asked quickly.
"They're Gytrash boy! Use Lumos!"
"Lumos?" That was easy enough. The problem was Dudley. There was no way he could shift all of Dudley's weight to Mrs. Figg. "We have to put Dudley down."
"Just drop him!" As if to show Harry his cousin didn't matter, she moved out from under him. The sudden imbalance had Harry falling to the side with Dudley. Dudley hit the ground, Harry landing next to him. A burning pain erupted in Harry's arm, a hiss escaping from his lips. "Use Lumos!" Mrs. Figgs was practically weeping now.
"LUMOS!" The entire street lit up. Harry caught a glimpse of what looked to be three white dogs with forked tails, baring their teeth at them as they slunk back. Harry held his wand up, the light growing. The brighter the light grew, the faster the silver dogs backed away. When it was evident, the light wasn't going away, they let out howls and darted back into the darkened areas of the neighborhood.
"Keep your wand lit," Mrs. Figgs instructed.
Harry nodded and bent down to help grab Dudley. He hissed again as the burning sensation came back and looked at his left arm, blood pouring down from the upper half. He stared at it dumbfounded, trying to think what could have possibly happened.
"We need to go," Mrs. Figg said, sternly. Her eyes fell on Harry's arm and she groaned. "Were you bit!?"
"I don't know…" The creature must have lunged at him when he'd bent down to get Dudley. There was too much blood to tell if he was bitten or scratched. "I think it scratched me. Nothing ever clamped down on my arm."
"We must get you inside!"
It was the longest walk ever back to Number Four Privet Drive. It took all the energy he had to get down the street with Dudley while keeping his wand lit. He noticed Dudley was no longer making any noise, but just staring with a blank expression on his face. Harry was sure he was in shock. He sympathized with his cousin somewhat, but his annoyance won out since he was stuck dragging the boy.
Finally… Harry heaved Dudley up the front porch step, all of his muscles straining. He knew he'd be sore for the next few weeks, months maybe.
"Okay, just go in and don't come out until you hear from someone! I'll tell Dumbledore what happened—"
"You know, Dumbledore," Harry asked in disbelief.
"Who doesn't know Dumbledore," she asked back. "Oh, that Mundungus! He knew I was a Squibb, and he still left! How am I supposed to do anything?!" She shook her head, her face turning red. "I'll kill him is what I'll do! Ran off to buy stolen Cauldrons! If Mr. Tibbles hadn't been on the job!" She turned back to Harry. She now looked like she was about to cry. "I'm so sorry! Oh, I WILL KILL HIM! And if not me, Dumbledore!" She shook her head again. "Quick, inside and STAY inside!" She started fast walking again, stopped once more. "AND PUT SOME HEALING CREAM ON YOUR ARM! IF IT TURNS BLUE WRITE SOMEONE IMMEDIATELY!"
Harry watched her run off back towards her house before he could even register half of her rant.
"My arm might turn blue," he repeated quietly. Mrs. Figg's front door slammed shut after she disappeared inside, leaving the two boys outside alone. Whom exactly was he supposed to write if his arm turned blue? No one seemed to be reading the letters he sent. Was there even a point? Maybe he would have to write Madam Pomfrey. She was a healer and didn't healers have to help the wounded like Muggle doctors had to?
"Okay Dudley, I need you to be okay," he whispered, opening the door. He gave his cousin a slight shove with his good arm and watched. When his cousin didn't fall flat on his face, he inched in behind him.
"Dudley! We were getting worried," Aunt Petunia said, walking towards her son. "Where have you been… What's wrong…?" She seemed to have noticed the green tint of Dudley's face and his blank gaze.
Dudley opened his mouth, tried to say something, and closed it again.
Well, that was a good start. If he could respond to Aunt Petunia's words in even the smallest way, it meant his soul hadn't been sucked out.
"Dudley?" Aunt Petunia's voice began to raise in alarm now. "What happened? Are you all right? Were you robbed!?"
"Robbed," Uncle Vernon, repeated with a laugh. "No one could take on our wrestling champion!"
Dudley managed a shake of his head. He seemed to realize he wouldn't be getting any words out because after another failed attempt at talking; he lifted his hand and pointed it at Harry.
Harry mentally cursed. Of course, his cousin would regain some of his minimal mental functions before he made his escape to his bedroom.
"YOU," Uncle Vernon shouted. He closed in on Harry, luckily grabbed his unhurt arm, and jerked him back into the living room. "What did you do?!"
"First you try to give people heart attacks and then blind me! Now you attack Dudley?!" He threw Harry onto the nearest stuffed chair and got right into his face. "HOW DARE YOU!"
"I DIDN'T ATTACK HIM!"
"Oho! You're not even allowed to use magic," Uncle Vernon said, gleefully. "You'll be in big trouble now!" He seemed to finally notice that Harry was bleeding, his eyes widening. "You'll ruin the chair, boy!" He pulled Harry off the chair, Harry staggering towards the doorway. He was beginning to feel dizzy. "HA! You attacked Dudley, so he fought you off!"
"I DIDN'T!" An owl dived into the house through one of the Dursley's windows and landed in front of Harry. It dropped a letter at Harry's feet and flew off.
Harry opened the letter quickly, his mouth falling open as he did so. Expelled? They had expelled him for saving Dudley and his own life? Surely, there was some sort of exception to the rule about using magic in front of Muggles while underage when it came to keeping your soul and blood inside your body.
And they're going to destroy my wand? How could he defend himself against Voldemort with no wand? He had to run before they took it.
"Move," he said, dropping the letter.
"DON'T YOU DARE—"
A loud crack followed by the intrusion of another owl. It landed on Harry's shoulder. Harry recognized the old owl as Ron's family owl and took the letter off its leg.
Dumbledore is at the ministry getting everything sorted out! DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES LEAVE YOUR AUNT'S AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. AND DO NOT USE ANY MAGIC! AND WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT GIVE YOUR WAND TO ANYONE!
Harry dropped the letter. What could Dumbledore possibly do at the ministry? Harry wanted so badly to start the day over, the entire year really.
"What are all these owls doing in my house," Uncle Vernon screamed.
"I saved your son's life and now they're trying to expel me from school for it," Harry screamed.
That seemed to get their attention. The two adults looked at each other, both of them shifting uncomfortably, their eyes wide, mouths tight. Their faces paled before Aunt Petunia turned around, narrowing her eyes at Harry.
"You honestly expect us to believe that," Aunt Petunia asked, in her condescending tone. "That you would actually save Dudley?"
"Did you think I'd let him die," Harry asked in disbelief. He knew he wasn't on good terms with his cousin, with any of the people in the house, but did they actually believe he would just let a Dementor steal Dudley's soul or one of those creatures attacked him? Harry wasn't that heartless, though sometimes, like now, he wondered. Did he appear to be one of those people who would abandon Dudley when real danger was present?
"What did you do to him," Uncle Vernon demanded, again. Some of his anger seemed to have faded.
"Nothing! We were walking back home, and these Dementors came. If they manage to kiss you, then they're able to steal your soul! I had to use a Patronus to stop them. Then we got attacked by some weird dogs, that's how I got this." He motioned to his left arm. The adrenalin he'd been feeling before was fading. He was feeling light-headed, and he just wanted to hide somewhere. Why did he have to deal with this? They should be thanking him, he'd saved his stupid cousin.
"A what? You really—"
"Why are there Dementors here," Aunt Petunia asked, quietly. The question had both Harry and Vernon looking at her in shock.
"Probably, because Voldemort's back," Harry said, evenly. At least he was getting through to his Aunt. Petunia glanced at Dudley. He had sat down on the couch and had started turning back to a normal color. She seemed satisfied with that and turned back to Harry.
"When," she asked, her voice cold and what sounded like fear.
"Right before school let out," Harry said. He almost added when he'd been attacked, but decided against it. If they thought Harry would bring about any more disaster than they already believed he had, they'd kick him out of the house for sure.
"What do I do to help Dudley?" It sounded like had tortured her into saying the words.
"Chocolate," Harry said. "Any kind of chocolate."
She sniffed and gave a slight nod.
"Go to your room and do not come out," she snapped. "And don't stain anything with your blood!"
Harry didn't have to be told again. He bolted up the stairs before his aunt could change her mind. Downstairs, he could hear his uncle asking Petunia if she'd lost her mind before he shut the door to the bathroom. He locked it and rested his back against it. He'd never thought his aunt would actually hear him out. And listen to him? The world must be ending.
Making sure to be careful, he washed the blood off his arm. He didn't know which was worse, a bite or a scratch, but he was pretty sure the marks were scratches. None of the marks looked even vaguely like a bite mark. He dried his arm off just as cautiously as he'd cleaned it and went into his room.
For some reason, he suddenly felt very alone. It might have been a side effect from the Dementors, but he wasn't sure. He looked towards the bedroom window, but didn't see or sense anything. But the loneliness wouldn't fade. Even seeing all the streetlamps and porch lights back on brought little comfort.
He went over to his trunk and began looking for his tube of healing cream. He found it halfway down under some books and took it out. After opening it up, he gently rubbed some cream on his arm. It stung slightly at first, but the two dark red lines on his arm lightened a good deal.
He grabbed one of the discarded boxes of chocolate before collapsing onto his bed and removed a piece from the box, popping it into his mouth. The creamy flavor and smooth texture should have been enough to help, but didn't.
Why do I feel this way? He couldn't remember Dementors ever leaving such a long-lasting effect. He wanted to be around his friends, to be with Sirius, with someone, anyone at this point, but there was no one. Or… His hand went into his shirt and pulled out the necklace. It was warm to the touch, comforting somehow.
"My whole world is wrong," he said, sitting up and resting on his good arm. "My aunt actually listened to me. There were Dementors and some dogs in a Muggle town, and now the Ministry wants to expel me for using magic." Why was everyone being so unreasonable? Had he slipped into a parallel universe? He hoped so and hoped he'd be leaving it very soon. "Supposedly Dumbledore is going to fix things, but how can he," he snapped at the necklace. "Why aren't any of my friends writing me, or Sirius?!"
Harry hadn't intended for the necklace to answer this time, but he had asked a question. The abyss inside the necklace began swirling, its green light coming to life. The words began forming, Harry's heart sinking.
'Are you sure they understand what happened at the end of the school year?' The words shimmered, a new sentence appearing. 'Perhaps you believed they still cared for you after the incident and were mistaken?'
"No, Ron, Hermione, and I, we've been through too much!"
'Then why aren't they writing you?'
A growl escaped Harry's lips.
"I DON'T KNOW!" He grabbed the box of chocolates on the bed and threw it into the wall. The pieces inside rained across the room, all of them landing on the floor. Because he knew why. Or he was pretty sure he did. The looks of pity, of fear, when he'd left the graveyard with Cedric's dead body. The questions, the looks of horror and disbelief that had followed. His entire support group had stood down the second they'd found out Voldemort was back. Somehow, Harry had failed them. He'd allowed the dark lord to come back, and it maybe everyone disgusted with him. How was he supposed to have known though?! He never once would have thought that someone had turned the trophy into a Port Key! Cedric hadn't noticed either. They'd both blindly fell for the trap, Cedric had died, and Harry was getting to live through the aftermath of it. No one trusted him anymore and he couldn't blame them, but did they have to treat him like he'd done everything on purpose?
"I didn't mean for Cedric to die," Harry said, his shoulders shaking. "I didn't want Voldemort back! If I knew it was going to happen, I'd have let those vines grab me and drag me out of the maze!"
'It doesn't matter what your intentions were. It won't change their minds; they aren't listening to you.'
Harry knew the necklace was right, and it angered him off even more. How could his friends abandon him? Did they really think he'd purposely allowed Voldemort to regain power or for Cedric to die? They knew him better than that!
He grabbed one of his pillows and threw it at the window. It bounced off harmlessly and fell to the floor. Why were people such arseholes?! And why did they abandon you the second you needed them the most?! He couldn't even deny anything to the necklace, because he'd be lying and what was the point of that? He knew his friendships weren't strong. Ron had ditched him without protest the second he thought Harry had put his own name into the Goblet. Hermione had barely looked at him once the term had officially ended, and Sirius. His only real family had gone from promising him everything to silence.
He screamed, leaping to his feet, and grabbed his trunk. He jerked the lid open and began throwing everything he could that was inside of it. His books slammed into walls, the door. Potion bottles smashed into things, shattering. He saw his large stack of parchment and ink well. Stomping towards it, he ripped the paper in half and opened his window. He chucked the ink well as hard as he could out of it. It flew across the fence and landed in another neighbor's yard. He brought his foot down on several smaller items for Astronomy class, pleased to hear their cracking sound, thrilled when the pieces felt like sand beneath his shoes.
When the room looked like a storm had destroyed it, he fell back onto his bed, tears streaming down his face. His head was throbbing horribly. He kicked his shoes off and climbed under the covers. He'd already lost his parents. Why did he have to lose everyone else now too?
He buried his face into his pillow and cried. This wasn't fair. He hadn't asked for any of this. Why hadn't Voldemort just killed him when he was a baby? Things would have been so much simpler. No worrying about grades, about the Dursleys, about war, or the fact that his friends had disowned him.
The hot tears flowed faster. Would Dumbledore really set things straight so he wouldn't be expelled? Did it really matter? Even if he went back to school, what was the point? If his friends had decided he wasn't worth the trouble, he might as well just stay at the Dursleys' or maybe they'd send him to Azkaban for the use of magic in front of a Muggle.
He sobbed at the thought of being imprisoned and surrounded by Dementors. There was no way he could survive Azkaban. The Dementors would surely take him. It was his fault his parents were dead. That Cedric was dead. Even if he hadn't killed them, if he hadn't been around, all three of them would still be alive, and how many more?
The tears and sobs continued. He waited for the Dursleys to come upstairs and yell at him for the commotion, but they never did. Perhaps they knew better.
Harry stirred and frowned when he saw the light shining through his window. He groaned, rolling over in bed, his hand covering his eyes. His head was screaming, and he didn't know why. He hadn't thought he'd ever fall asleep last night, but somehow, he'd drifted off. At first, he thought he'd run out of energy after throwing his tantrum, but the more he thought about it, that didn't seem right. He'd drifted off in peace.
Arms…? He was sure of it. He'd felt arms wrapped around him, but that was crazy. There wasn't anyone around to hold Harry and no one that would want to if there had been. Maybe he'd just been so distraught he'd imagined being held by someone.
How pathetic can you get?
He turned back over and opened his eyes again. The headache intensified, his brain pulsating. It almost felt like someone had struck him in the head.
I have to clean up this mess before anyone sees it. If the Dursleys came into his room and saw the enormous mess he'd made, he'd be in bigger trouble with them than he was with the ministry.
He managed to sit up, the room spinning before him. It wasn't as if this was the first time he'd drifted off in tears or thrown a fit. Why was this one having such horrible aftereffects? It felt worse than a normal headache, worse than the migraines he'd sometimes ended up with in the nurse's office at the Muggle school due to stress. Had the Dementors done something to him? Was it because of the silver dogs?
It took a few tries, but Harry managed to shove himself up into a standing position. For a second he thought he'd collapse back onto the bed, but his world somewhat straightened itself out. Slowly, he approached the first pile of debris and frowned. All the tiny instruments he'd destroyed the night before were pieced back together. He picked up one of the small cups he used to measure potion ingredients. It showed no signs of being stepped on and smashed from the night before.
How? Was he losing his mind? A slow look around had him sitting back down on his bed. Everything that he'd destroyed had been fixed and placed into multiple piles around his room. Even the inkwell he'd chucked out the window was sitting next to his trunk beside the parchment he'd most certainly ripped in half. He couldn't have dreamed the fit, his items were still scattered, just fixed.
There was no letter in the room accusing him of using under aged magic either.
Had someone snuck into his room to check on him and fixed all of his possessions? And if so…. Harry shuddered. Had that person, whoever they were, climbed into his bed without him feeling a thing until they'd put their arms around him? It was scary to think that someone had snuck into his room, but even worse that they'd crawled into his bed. He couldn't exactly write to anyone about it, they'd just think he was crazy. They'd chide him for throwing the tantrum, claim he was mad that all of his supposed destroyed items repaired themselves, and finish it with disgust that he hadn't had enough sense to throw the person who'd put their arms around him out of his bed.
Maybe if the person in question meant him harm, he'd do Harry a favor and dispose of him while he was asleep.
A blush formed across Harry's cheeks as he remembered the night before. Regardless if some stranger was breaking into his room, he'd felt calm, even safe in those arms. A thought occurred to him and he pulled the necklace out from beneath his shirt.
"Did someone sneak into my room last night after I went to sleep?"
The necklace did nothing. Harry felt the blood draining from his face. Had he harmed the necklace in his outburst? It'd been under his shirt, safe. How could he have done anything to it? He'd been throwing things across the room, not getting hit, and it'd worked after the Dementors and the dog incident.
"H, hey!" He gave the necklace a good shake. It swung back and forth, as a normal necklace would. Maybe it needed more time to recharge, but now was not a good time for Harry for it to do so. Was he really going mad? Had the necklace ever worked to begin with? What if he'd just been so desperate for someone to talk to, he'd imagined every conversation with the thing? If so, what had broken the madness? Now he'd be alone again!
Tears threatened to pour out once more until he saw a thin sliver of light break through the abyss. It grew until it consumed the whole necklace and words began forming.
Relief flooded Harry to a degree that wasn't healthy. He hugged the necklace, his face burning as he forced back tears and laughed.
"N, nothing. I thought I was losing my mind," he said, moving the necklace back so he could look down at the pendant. He stroked the side of it. It was smooth and cold, calming. "I don't understand what's going on anymore. Maybe I am mad." He laughed again, louder this time. "But as long as you're talking to me, I think I can handle it."
The light swirled with the darkness again, Harry watching its beautiful dance. Even if he was mad as long as he had someone to talk to. As long as the necklace hadn't abandoned him like everyone else.
'You need to calm down. Yesterday put a strain on both of us.'
"Both of us?" He then remembered the flash of light that had blinded his uncle and saved him from being choked. "R, right. I'll let you rest, I just… I thought someone had broken into the room and…"
I have lost my mind…. He was talking to the necklace as if it were a living thing. But it was the only friend he had, and not just now, perhaps for whatever remained of his life. If Ron and Hermione turned their backs on him, this was his last resort at any kind of friendly communication. Would the necklace get angry with him if he pestered it when it was recharging or if he said the wrong things? If he asked the wrong questions? Did magical objects respond that way?
"Sorry for bothering you," he muttered. Even if the chance was slim that the necklace could get angry with him, he couldn't risk it. "Would it be better if I put the necklace back in the drawer so there isn't so much light?" He would just have to wait to ask it about the intruder. It probably wouldn't know, anyway. It'd taken Harry a few jostles to get it working again, so the chances that it'd been on while he slept were unlikely.
He jumped slightly at the sudden bright light. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn't looked at the pendant to read its answer right away.
'Just lie back down on the bed.'
"I have to clean up this mess; if the Dursleys see it, they'll kill me."
'Let them try. Now get back into bed.'
Why is it ordering me into the bed? Hesitantly, he approached his bed. Nothing seemed off about it. It looked no different from it had all the other times he'd gotten into it. He climbed on cautiously, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he placed his head on his pillow and stretched out his body.
"Okay, I'm on the bed. I don't see how this helps."
A bright green light bathed Harry's entire body. It grew, spreading out from his bed to engulf the entire room until all Harry could see was light. He closed his eyes, trying to stop the onslaught, and then he was flying. His body felt light, his mind at ease, almost as if he'd drank a calming draught and a Butterbeer. The bed was wonderfully soft, and yet it barely registered in his mind; he knew it was there, but then it wasn't either. This feeling of warmth and comfort spread through his entire body, then darkness.
I can see this is going to get awkward. Chapter 1 has already turned into two chapters and starting into a third… Well. There'll be plenty to read now.