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SIYE Time:13:33 on 29th March 2024
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Wizard's Pendant
By sherbet_meg

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Category: Post-OotP
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, Fluff
Warnings: Violence
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 4
Summary: *** The author has been reminded via the e-mail address on file that this story is listed as incomplete and has not been updated since 2005 ***

A mysterious pendant and a new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher make for an interesting year at Hogwarts. Ginny finds out why she has always loved Harry, and why he needs her.
Hitcount: Story Total: 2461







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Author's Note: This story just sort of came to me and wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to write it. I hope I do the idea justice. Anyway, the usual, nothing belongs to me, except any new characters, and no infrigment is intended. J.K.R. is wonderful and I mean her no disrespect.



With a flash of lightning, the blade came crashing down before Harry eyes. He tried to roll out of the way, but he wasn’t fast enough; it pierced his side and Harry knew it was deep. It stung, but it was a pain more intense than a regular sword could have created. Harry knew that blade was infused with magic. He felt his side and found his hand covered in blood. It was almost over.

Harry struggled to get up, not ready to give in to the wizard standing above him. His hand splashed down in a puddle, and he lost his balance, falling into the mud. The laughter from above was maniacal, evil, and it was tearing Harry’s world apart. It can’t be now, this can’t be it, Harry thought desperately. Looking up into the evil eyes above him, he knew he was wrong. Harry knew this was how it was going to end.



From across the field, Dumbledore could see the scene unfolding. Voldemort posed above Harry, a sword glowing with a sickly green in his hand. The sword flashed downwards and struck Harry in the side. Harry defiantly got up, Voldemort’s laughter echoing in the air. The sword flashed again, whistling with movement. Harry rose up, and with his last energy rushed towards Voldemort. Dumbledore saw them both tumble down the cliff behind them, a cry slicing through the silence. Lightning sparked the sky as the world held its breathe.

Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron and a few around them ran toward the hill. Reaching the cliff they stopped almost afraid to look down, afraid of what they would find. Hermione was the first to walk to the edge and peer over it. The others followed slowly after her. Dumbledore reached the edge himself and looking down saw nothing. No Voldemort, and no Harry. Only rock and rain glistening off the cliffs. Those around him looked at each other in confusion. What had happened? Where was Harry?

Dumbledore quietly walked away from the scene. He knew that something was wrong. Seeing the young witch walking towards him at that moment, he knew what it was. Dumbledore had made a fatal error.




A solitary male figure stepped into the beam of light that illuminated the pure white snow covering the ground. He was in a grove of fir trees, deep in a forest, the snow blowing in thick drifts around the tress. It was cold here, but the man had dressed warmly. He was cloaked in rich blue velvet that caught the light of the lamppost as he stood, waiting to understand the reason he had come here tonight. Dumbledore had sent for him, but had given no details; he could not refuse the meeting, however, for he owed Dumbledore his life. The man carried with him only a small black leather pouch, hanging from the sash tied about his waist as he was instructed to do.

The man checked his pocket watch once, then a second time in quick succession. Yes, this was the right time, and the right place. Dumbledore must be late, the man thought.

At that moment, the wise old wizard himself silently appeared in the beam of light amidst gently falling snowflakes. He walked over to the waiting man, and without a word of greeting reached for the pouch about the man’s waist. Dumbledore slipped his hand inside his own cloak, grasping in it a tiny object, which he then placed inside the pouch, returning it to its owner.

“I need you to make a delivery for me,” said Dumbledore, addressing the man. “This must be taken right away, and given to the girl. Don’t let anyone else see it. That is of the utmost importance. No one, not even her own mother, not even you, should see what is inside that pouch. Once you have found her, report back to me.”

The man nodded his head in understanding and took the piece of parchment Dumbledore held out to him. He looked down through the snow to see the coordinates of the girl he was to take the pouch to and nodded again. It was his duty, and unnecessary for him to ask questions. He trusted Dumbledore, whatever this pouch now contained; it was not for him to know.

Dumbledore smiled at the man kindly, said a word of thanks and apparated silently away, leaving the man standing alone once again in the ray of light, just outside the darkness of the night. The man took a few steps back, taking a small golden object out of his pocket. He looked once more at the slip of paper, refreshing his memory, and with a few turns of the small gold object, disappeared from the snowy place.

A few moments later, the messenger found himself in what appeared to be a young girls room. There were pink walls and lace ruffles all over the small room, with teddy bears dancing along the border of the wallpaper. The bears were marching in time to the sound of a small music box playing on the dresser. Looking quickly around the room for the girl, he found the baby in a crib. She was so small, barely a few weeks old. For a brief moment, the messenger wondered what he was delivering to this tiny baby girl, but quickly thought of his duty to Dumbledore. It was not for him to know.

The messenger quietly reached into the black leather pouch, and pulled out the object inside. Careful not to look at it himself, he placed it beside the small baby. He could hear the girl stir in her sleep, but she did not wake up. Still with his eyes closed, he could sense a bright light in the room and he could hear a strange noise, like the sound of wire being plucked. A melody played, mysterious yet beautiful. The messenger didn’t know it now, but he would be haunted by that melody for a long time to come.

Slowly turning, the messenger brought out the gold object again, turning it a few more times, and disappeared from the girl’s room, only to find himself in Dumbledore’s office.

The old wizard was sitting in his red high backed chair, waiting patiently for the messenger’s return. His long, thin fingers were clasped together, as if in a prayer.

“Well? Is it done?” asked Dumbledore.

The messenger nodded silently.

“Thank you,” nodded Dumbledore himself. “That is all of your service I require for tonight.” He looked down and his desk, and busied himself with the papers that littered it.

The man turned and walked out of the wizard’s office without looking back.
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