The Delacours arrived the following morning at eleven o'clock.
Me, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were feeling quite resentful toward Fleur's family by this time, and it was with ill grace that Ronstumped back upstairs to put on matching socks, and Harry attempted to flatten his hair.
Once we had all been deemed smartenough, we trooped out into the sunny backyard to await thevisitors. I had never seen the place looking so tidy. The rusty cauldrons and old Wellington boots that usually littered the steps by theback door were gone, replaced by two new Flutterby bushes standingeither side of the door in large pots; though there was no breeze, theleaves waved lazily, giving an attractive rippling effect. The chickenshad been shut away, the yard had been swept, and the nearby garden had been pruned, plucked, and generally spruced up, although I thought that it looked rather forlorn without its usual contingent of capering gnomes.
I had lost track of how many security enchantments had beenplaced upon the Burrow by both the Order and the Ministry; all I knew was that it was no longer possible for anybody to travelby magic directly into the place. Mr. Weasley had therefore goneto meet the Delacours on top of a nearby hill, where they were toarrive by Portkey.
The first sound of their approach was an unusually high-pitched laugh, which turned out to be coming from Mr.Weasley, who appeared at the gate moments later, laden with luggageand leading a beautiful blonde woman in long, leaf-green robes,who could only be Fleur's mother.
"Maman!" cried Fleur, rushing forward to embrace her. "Papa!"
Monsieur Delacour was nowhere near as attractive as his wife; hewas a head shorter and extremely plump, with a little, pointed blackbeard. However, he looked good-natured. Bouncing toward Mrs.Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice on each cheek,leaving her flustered.
"You 'ave been to much trouble," he said in a deep voice. "Fleurtells us you 'ave been working very 'ard."
"Oh, it's been nothing, nothing!" trilled Mrs. Weasley. "No trouble at all!"
Ron relieved his feelings by aiming a kick at a gnome who waspeering out from behind one of the new Flutterby bushes. I caught Fred and George's eye, and turned my head to stiffle a laugh.
"Dear lady!" said Monsieur Delacour, still holding Mrs. Weasley'shand between his own two plump ones and beaming. "We are mosthonored at the approaching union of our two families! Let me present my wife, Apolline."
Madame Delacour glided forward and stooped to kiss Mrs. Weasley too.
"Enchantée," she said. "Your 'usband 'as been telling us such amusing stories!"
Mr. Weasley gave a maniacal laugh; Mrs. Weasley threw him alook, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed anexpression appropriate to the sickbed of a close friend.
"And, of course, you 'ave met my leetle daughter, Gabrielle!" saidMonsieur Delacour. Gabrielle was Fleur in miniature; eleven yearsold, with waist-length hair of pure, silvery blonde, she gave Mrs.Weasley a dazzling smile and hugged her, then threw Harry a glowing look, batting her eyelashes. Ginny cleared her throat loudly. Hermione and I shared a smirk.
"Well, come in, do!" said Mrs. Weasley brightly, and she usheredthe Delacours into the house, with many "No, please!"s and "Afteryou!"s and "Not at all!"s.
The Delacours, it soon transpired, were helpful, pleasant guests.They were pleased with everything and keen to assist with the preparations for the wedding. Monsieur Delacour pronounced everything from the seating plan to the bridesmaids' shoes "Charmant!"
Madame Delacour was most accomplished at household spells andhad the oven properly cleaned in a trice; Gabrielle followed her eldersister around, trying to assist in any way she could and jabberingaway in rapid French.
On the downside, the Burrow was not built to accommodate somany people. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were now sleeping in the sitting room, having shouted down Monsieur and Madame Delacour'sprotests and insisted they take their bedroom. Gabrielle was sleepingwith Fleur in Percy's old room, and Bill would be sharing with Charlie , his best man, once Charlie arrived from Romania.
Opportunitiesto make plans together became virtually nonexistent, and it was indesperation that Me, Harry, Ron, and Hermione took to volunteeringto feed the chickens just to escape the overcrowded house.
"But she still won't leave us alone!" snarled Ron, as our secondattempt at a meeting in the yard was foiled by the appearance ofMrs. Weasley carrying a large basket of laundry in her arms.
"Oh, good, you've fed the chickens," she called as she approachedthem. "We'd better shut them away again before the men arrivetomorrow . . . to put up the tent for the wedding," she explained,pausing to lean against the henhouse. She looked exhausted. "Millamant's Magic Marquees . . . they're very good, Bill's escortingthem. . . . You'd better stay inside while they're here, Harry, Emma. I mustsay it does complicate organizing a wedding, having all these security spells around the place."
"We're sorry," said Harry humbly.
"Oh, don't be silly, dear!" said Mrs. Weasley at once. "I didn'tmean — well, your safety's much more important! Actually, I'vebeen wanting to ask you how you want to celebrate your birthday,Harry, Emma. Seventeen, after all, it's an important day. . . ."
"We don't want a fuss,"I said quickly, envisaging the additional strain this would put on us all. "Really, Mrs. Weasley,just a normal dinner would be fine. . . . It's the day before the wedding. . . ."
"Oh, well, if you're sure, dear. I'll invite Remus and Tonks, shallI? And how about Hagrid?"
"That'd be great," said Harry.
"Emma, dear" said Mrs Weasly smiling "I wish we could invite Draco, but you know how You-Know-Who deals with traitors. He does send his love, and I'm sure we can arrange for you two to meet before you leave for Hogwarts." She broke off smiling, "he really is a lovely boy. Nothing like his father."
Harry and Ron looked stunned. Hermione confused. But I smirk, Draco Malfoy's charm had a very pronounced effect.
"It's alright, Mrs Weasly" I said. "Please don't go to loads oftrouble."
"Not at all, not at all . . . It's no trouble. . . ."
She looked at me, a long, searching look, then smiled a littlesadly, straightened up, and walked away.
I watched as shewaved her wand near the washing line, and the damp clothes roseinto the air to hang themselves up, and suddenly I felt a great waveof remorse for the inconvenience and the pain I was giving her.
I was walking along a mountain road in the cool bluelight of dawn. Far below, swathed in mist, was theshadow of a small town. Was the man I sought down there, theman I needed so badly I could think of little else, the man whoheld the answer, the answer to my problem . . . ?
"Wake up. Emma, Wake up!"
I opened his eyes. I was lying again on the camp bed in Ginny's room. The sun had not yet risen and the room wasstill shadowy. Crookshanks was curled up in his sleep. The scar on my forehead was prickling.
"You were muttering in your sleep." said Hermione sharply.
"Was I?"
"Yeah." said Ginny "'Gregorovitch.' You kept saying 'Gregorovitch.' "
"Who's Gregorovitch?"
"I dunno, do I? You were the one saying it."
I rubbed my forehead, thinking. I had a vague idea I hadheard the name before, but I could not think where.
"I think Voldemort's looking for him."
"Poor bloke," said Ginny fervently. Hermione looked furious.
I sat up, still rubbing my scar, now wide awake. I tried toremember exactly what I had seen in the dream, but all that cameback was a mountainous horizon and the outline of the little villagecradled in a deep valley.
"I think he's abroad."
"Who, Gregorovitch?"
"Voldemort. I think he's somewhere abroad, looking for Gregorovitch. It didn't look like anywhere in Britain."
"You think you were seeing into his mind again?" asked Hermione sharply. I hesitated.
"Leave her alone," said Ginny. "Happy birthday anyway."
"Wow — that's right, I forgot! I'm seventeen!"
Reveling in the removal of my Trace, I sent Ron's possessions flying around the room, causing Crookshanks to wake up and snarl at me. I also tried tying the lacesof my trainers by magic (the resultant knot took several minutes tountie by hand) and, purely for the pleasure of it, turned the orangerobes on Ginny's Holyhead Harpies posters bright blue.
"I'll give you your present downstairs" said Hermione, as she left.
Ginny waite, then said. "Here's your present. Unwrapit up here, it's not for my mother's eyes."
"A book?" I said as I took the rectangular parcel. "Bit of adeparture from tradition, isn't it?"
"This isn't your average book," said Ginny. "It's pure gold: TwelveFail-Safe Ways to Charm Wizards. Explains why boys are idiots. If only I'd had this last year I'd have known exactlyhow to get rid of Dean and I would've known how to get goingwith . . . Well, Fred and George gave me a copy, and I've learned alot. You'd be surprised, it's not all about wandwork, either."
As soon as I walked out I was pulled into a bone-crushing hug by my brother.
"Happy Birthday, Ems" Harry whispered.
"Happy Birthday, Harry" I smiled.
We usually don't give eachother presents. Well, we used to, but not since we were eleven. But 17. . .it's a big thing.
"Here" said Harry, giving me a small golden charm after I had finished hugging Ron. It was the letter E, with a silver serpent coiling around.
"It's 'E' for Emma, and the serpent because of Slytherin. It's supposed to represent intelligence, stubborness, shortness of height" Harry smirked, I scowled. "and loyalty."
"I love it, Harry" I said, beaming at him, as I took the charm, went into my room and put it in a small pouch. Then went back to give him my present.
It was a letter.
Harry made to open it, but I stopped him. "Take it with you" I said, smiling "in case I can't talk face-to-face with the mirror, and your feeling over-whelmed. And don't what to do, read that before you go do something stupid. It'll also be used in-case your getting too thick headed, read that and my wise words will put you in your place."
Harry laughed, went up to his room and put it in his rucksack.
When we arrived in the kitchen we found a pile of presentswaiting on the table. Bill and Monsieur Delacour were finishingtheir breakfasts, while Mrs. Weasley stood chatting to them overthe frying pan
"Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Harry, Emma" saidMrs. Weasley, beaming at him. "He had to leave early for work, buthe'll be back for dinner. That's our present on top."
Harry and sat down,and each took the square parcels she had indicated, andunwrapped them. Inside was a watch very like the one Mr. and Mrs.Weasley had given Ron for his seventeenth; it was gold, with starscircling around the face instead of hands.
"It's traditional to give a wizard and witch a watch when they come of age,"said Mrs. Weasley, watching us anxiously from beside the cooker."I'm afraid those ones aren't new like Ron's, it's a bitdented on the back, but —"
The rest of her speech was lost; Harry and I had got up and hugged her. We tried to put a lot of unsaid things into the hug and perhaps sheunderstood them, because she patted my cheek clumsily when wereleased her, then waved her wand in a slightly random way, causinghalf a pack of bacon to flop out of the frying pan onto the floor.
"Happy birthday, Harry!" said Hermione, hurrying into thekitchen and adding her own present to the top of the pile. "It's notmuch, but I hope you like it. What did you get them?" she added toRon, who seemed not to hear her.
"Come on, then, open Hermione's!" said Ron.
She had bought me a new Sneakoscope. Ron had gotten me a book full of wizards jokes, entitled; Tell your friend to relax (I hit him on the head with it.) The other packages contained a huge bouquet of lilies from Bill and Fleur,chocolates from the Delacours, and an enormous box of the latestWeasleys' Wizard Wheezes merchandise from Fred and George.
"Emma dear" said Mrs Weasly, handing me a note "Draco told me to give this to you."
"Who ees thees Draco?" asked Monsieur Delacours, rolling the 'r'. I took the note.
"He's my boyfriend" I said, trying hard not to blush.
"Oooh, la la la. Handsome ees he?"
"Very" I nodded, opening the note, and pushing my brother's nosy arse out of the way.
Dear Princess,
Happy Seventeenth! I really do wish I could have met you to wish you in person. But I can't, unfortunately.
Take this day to relax, love. You can worry later. You deserve a break more than anyone I know. Mrs Weasly assured us we could meet before Hogwarts, I'll give you a kiss then.
I'm sure you also heard about the incident with the Dark Mark. Don't be mad, darling, I 'm fine.
I love you and happy Birthday again.
Love,
Dray.
I smiled, re-read the note twice before putting it inside my pocket. I looked up and met the nosy eyes of my brother.
HARRY:
"Well?" Harry demanded, glaring at his sister. For all he knew, that note could contain something dirty-minded. He wouldn't put it beside Malfoy.
"Well what?" asked Emma, glaring back.
"What did it say?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"I'm your brother!"
"And I'm your sister. So what?"
"Wouldn't you want to know if I got a note from--" Harry struggled to think of a name besides 'Ginny'. He couldn't so he just said "from some girl?"
"Yes, I would" said Emma "and I'd tackle you and snatch it. But you can't hit a girl, Harry."
Emma, Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not linger at the table, as the arrival of Madame Delacour, Fleur, and Gabrielle made the kitchenuncomfortably crowded.
"I'll pack these for you," Hermione said brightly, taking Harry'spresents out of his arms as the four of them headed back upstairs."I'm nearly done, I'm just waiting for the rest of your underpantsto come out of the wash, Ron —"
Ron's splutter was interrupted by the opening of a door on thefirst-floor landing.
"Harry, will you come in here a moment?"
It was Ginny. Ron came to an abrupt halt, but Hermione and Emma, each tookhim by the elbow and tugged him on up the stairs. Feeling nervous,Harry followed Ginny into her room.He had never been inside it before.
It was small, but bright. Therewas a large poster of the Wizarding band the Weird Sisters on onewall, and a picture of Gwenog Jones, Captain of the all-witch Quidditch team the Holyhead Harpies, on the other. A desk stood facingthe open window, which looked out over the orchard where he andGinny had once played two-a-side Quidditch with Ron and Emma, and which now housed a large, pearly white marquee.
Thegolden flag on top was level with Ginny's window.Ginny looked up into Harry's face, took a deep breath, and said,"Happy seventeenth."
"Yeah . . . thanks."
She was looking at him steadily; he, however, found it difficult tolook back at her; it was like gazing into a brilliant light.
"Nice view," he said feebly, pointing toward the window.She ignored this. He could not blame her.
"I couldn't think what to get you," she said.
"You didn't have to get me anything."
She disregarded this too.
"I didn't know what would be useful. Nothing too big, becauseyou wouldn't be able to take it with you."
He chanced a glance at her. She was not tearful; that was one ofthe many wonderful things about Ginny, she was rarely weepy. Hehad sometimes thought that having six brothers must have toughened her up.She took a step closer to him.
"So then I thought, I'd like you to have something to rememberme by, you know, if you meet some veela when you're off doingwhatever you're doing."
"I think dating opportunities are going to be pretty thin on theground, to be honest."
"There's the silver lining I've been looking for," she whispered,and then she was kissing him as she had never kissed him before,and Harry was kissing her back, and it was blissful oblivion, betterthan firewhisky; she was the only real thing in the world, Ginny,the feel of her, one hand at her back and one in her long, sweet-smelling hair —
The door banged open behind them and they jumped apart.
"Oh," said Ron pointedly. "Sorry."
"Ron!"
" Oh, you complete idiot!"
Hermione and Emma were just behind him, slightly out of breath.There was a strained silence, then Ginny said in a flat little voice,"Well, happy birthday anyway, Harry."
Ron's ears were scarlet; Hermione looked nervous; Emma apologetic. Harry wantedto slam the door in their faces. So, Emma was allowed to get a note from her boyfriend, but he wasn't allowed to have this? But then one look into his sister's face told him, she had tried to hold Ron of as long as she could. That she knew what was happening and wished that kiss could have formed a new understanding, a pact of some sort.
Emma had one hand on Ron, another on the door. She looked at him, asking if he wanted to be left alone with Ginny again. Harry shook his head,it felt as though a cold draft had entered the room when the door opened, and his shining moment had popped like a soap bubble.
All the reasons for ending his relationship with Ginny, for staying well away from her, seemed tohave slunk inside the room with Ron, and all happy forgetfulnesswas gone.
He looked at Ginny, wanting to say something, though he hardlyknew what, but she had turned her back on him. He thought thatshe might have succumbed, for once, to tears. He could not doanything to comfort her in front of Ron.
"I'll see you later," he said, and followed the other three out of thebedroom.Ron marched downstairs, through the still-crowded kitchen andinto the yard, and Harry kept pace with him all the way, his sister behind, giving them space. Hermionetrotting along behind them looking scared. Once he reached the seclusion of the freshly mown lawn, Ronrounded on Harry. Emma looked at them wearily.
"You ditched her. What are you doing now, messing heraround?"
"I'm not messing her around," said Harry, as Hermione caughtup with them.
"Ron —"
But Ron held up a hand to silence her."She was really cut up when you ended it —"
"So was I. You know why I stopped it, and it wasn't because Iwanted to."
"Yeah, but you go snogging her now and she's just going to gether hopes up again —"
"She's not an idiot, she knows it can't happen, she's not expectingus to — to end up married, or —"
As he said it, a vivid picture formed in Harry's mind of Ginnyin a white dress, marrying a tall, faceless, and unpleasant stranger.
In one spiraling moment it seemed to hit him: Her future was freeand unencumbered, whereas his . . . he could see nothing but Voldemort ahead.
"If you keep groping her every chance you get —"
"It won't happen again," said Harry harshly. The day was cloudless, but he felt as though the sun had gone in. "Okay?"
Ron looked half resentful, half sheepish; he rocked backwardand forward on his feet for a moment, then said, "Right then, well,that's . . . yeah."
"Your idiots" said Emma, turning on her heel and walking back to the house "your both idiots." Harry couldn't help but agree with her.
Ginny did not seek another one-to-one meeting with Harry forthe rest of the day, nor by any look or gesture did she show thatthey had shared more than polite conversation in her room.
Nevertheless, Charlie's arrival came as a relief to Harry. It provided adistraction, watching Mrs. Weasley force Charlie into a chair, raiseher wand threateningly, and announce that he was about to get aproper haircut.
EMMA:
As our birthday dinner would have stretched the Burrow'skitchen to breaking point even before the arrival of Charlie, Lupin,Tonks, and Hagrid, several tables were placed end to end in thegarden. Fred and George bewitched a number of purple lanterns,all emblazoned with a large number 17, to hang in midair over theguests. They had also, planned 'The great 17'. Which I found out, were 17 carefully planned pranks that shot up on me through-out the day. You don't want me to recount them, because at the end I had painted a very vivid and creative image in their heads on how I would murder them.
"If you do something like that again" I had warned "I'll _____________" (I left it blank to spare the eyes of sensitive readers)
They had audibly gulped.
"In fact" I added as an afterthought "After I'm done with you, even Voldemort will weep to see your bodies."
Hermione made purple and gold streamers erupt from the endof her wand and drape themselves artistically over the trees andbushes.
"Nice," said Ron, as with one final flourish of her wand, Hermione turned the leaves on the crabapple tree to gold. "You've really got aneye for that sort of thing.""Thank you, Ron!" said Hermione, looking both pleased and alittle confused. Harry turned away, smiling to himself.
George and I caught each other's eye and shared a smirk.
"Out of the way, out of the way!" sang Mrs. Weasley, comingthrough the gate with what appeared to be a giant, beach-ball-sizedSnitch floating in front of her, It was suspended over a gigantic book.
Seconds later Harry and I realized that itwas our birthday cake, which Mrs. Weasley was suspending with herwand, rather than risk carrying it over the uneven ground. Whenthe cake had finally landed in the middle of the table, I said,"That looks amazing, Mrs. Weasley."
"Oh, it's nothing, dear," she said fondly.
By seven o'clock all the guests had arrived, led into the house byFred and George, who had waited for them at the end of the lane.Hagrid had honored the occasion by wearing his best, and horrible,hairy brown suit. Although Lupin smiled as he shook my hand, I thought he looked rather unhappy. It was all very odd; Tonks,beside him, looked simply radiant.
"Happy birthday, Emma," she said, hugging me tightly.
"Seventeen, eh!" said Hagrid as he accepted a bucket-sized glassof wine from Fred. "Six years ter the day since we met, Emma, Harry d'yehremember it?"
"Vaguely" grinned Harry.
"Didn't you smashdown the front door, give Dudley a pig's tail, and tell us we were a witch and wizard?" I asked with a mock thoughtful face.
"I forge' the details," Hagrid chortled. "All righ', Ron,Hermione?"
"We're fine," said Hermione. "How are you?"
"Ar, not bad. Bin busy, we got some newborn unicorns, I'll showyeh when yeh get back —" Harry avoided Ron's and Hermione'sgazes as Hagrid rummaged in his pocket. "Here, Harry, Emma — couldn'think what ter get yeh, but then I remembered this."
He pulled out two small, slightly furry drawstring pouches with a long string, evidentlyintended to be worn around the neck.
"Mokeskin. Hide anythin' inthere an' no one but the owner can get it out. They're rare, them."
"Hagrid, thanks!" said Harry, while I hugged him.
" 'S'nothin'," said Hagrid patting me gently."An' there's Charlie! Always liked him — hey! Charlie!"
Charlie approached, running his hand slightly ruefully over hisnew, brutally short haircut. He was shorter than Ron, thickset, witha number of burns and scratches up his muscley arms.
"Hi, Hagrid, how's it going?"
"Bin meanin' ter write fer ages. How's Norbert doin'?"
"Norbert?" Charlie laughed. "The Norwegian Ridgeback? Wecall her Norberta now."
"Wha — Norbert's a girl?"
"Oh yeah," said Charlie.
"How can you tell?" asked Hermione.
"They're a lot more vicious," said Charlie. He looked over hisshoulder and dropped his voice. "Wish Dad would hurry up andget here. Mum's getting edgy.
We all looked over at Mrs. Weasley. She was trying to talk toMadame Delacour while glancing repeatedly at the gate.
"I think we'd better start without Arthur," she called to the garden at large after a moment or two. "He must have been held upat — oh!"
We all saw it at the same time: a streak of light that came flying across the yard and onto the table, where it resolved itself into abright silver weasel, which stood on its hind legs and spoke withMr. Weasley's voice."Minister of Magic coming with me."The Patronus dissolved into thin air, leaving Fleur's family peering in astonishment at the place where it had vanished.
"We shouldn't be here," said Lupin at once. "Harry, Emma — I'm sorry— I'll explain another time —"He seized Tonks's wrist and pulled her away; they reached thefence, climbed over it, and vanished from sight. Mrs. Weasley lookedbewildered.
"The Minister — but why — ? I don't understand —"
But there was no time to discuss the matter; a second later, Mr.Weasley had appeared out of thin air at the gate, accompanied byRufus Scrimgeour, instantly recognizable by his mane of grizzledhair.
The two newcomers marched across the yard toward the gardenand the lantern-lit table, where everybody sat in silence, watchingthem draw closer. As Scrimgeour came within range of the lanternlight, I saw that he looked much older than the last time we had met, scraggy and grim.
"Sorry to intrude," said Scrimgeour, as he limped to a halt beforethe table. "Especially as I can see that I am gate-crashing a party."
His eyes lingered for a moment on the giant Snitch and book cake.
"Many happy returns."
"Thanks," said Harry. I nodded curtly.
"I require a private word with you both," Scrimgeour went on. "Alsowith Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger."
"Us?" said Ron, sounding surprised. "Why us?"
"I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private," saidScrimgeour. "Is there such a place?" he demanded of Mr. Weasley.
"Yes, of course," said Mr. Weasley, who looked nervous. "The, er,sitting room, why don't you use that?"
"You can lead the way," Scrimgeour said to Ron. "There will beno need for you to accompany us, Arthur."
I saw Mr. Weasley exchange a worried look with Mrs.Weasley as me, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up. As we led theway back to the house in silence, I knew that the other three were thinking the same as he was: Scrimgeour must, somehow,have learned that the three of them were planning to drop out ofHogwarts.
Scrimgeour did not speak as they all passed through the messykitchen and into the Burrow's sitting room. Although the gardenhad been full of soft golden evening light, it was already dark inhere: I flicked my wand at the oil lamps as I entered and theyilluminated the shabby but cozy room. Scrimgeour sat himself inthe sagging armchair that Mr. Weasley normally occupied, leaving Me, Harry, Ron, and Hermione to squeeze side by side onto the sofa.Once we had done so, Scrimgeour spoke.
"I have some questions for the three of you, and I think it will bebest if we do it individually. If you three" — he pointed at Harry,me andHermione — "can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald."
"We're not going anywhere," said Harry, while Hermione noddedvigorously.
"You can speak to us together, or not at all." I added, putting a protective arm over Ron.
Scrimgeour gave Harry and me a cold, appraising look. I had theimpression that the Minister was wondering whether it was worthwhile opening hostilities this early.
"Very well then, together," he said, shrugging. He cleared histhroat. "I am here, as I'm sure you know, because of Albus Dumbledore's will."
Me, Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another.
"A surprise, apparently! You were not aware then that Dumbledore had left you anything?"
"A-all of us?" said Ron. "Me and Hermione too?"
"Yes, all of —"
But Harry interrupted."Dumbledore died over a month ago. Why has it taken this longto give us what he left us?"
"Isn't it obvious?" said Hermione, before Scrimgeour could answer. "They wanted to examine whatever he's left us. You had noright to do that!" she said, and her voice trembled slightly.
"I had every right," said Scrimgeour dismissively. "The Decree forJustifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power to confiscatethe contents of a will —"
"That law was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artifacts," I snapped, "and the Ministry is supposed to have powerfulevidence that the deceased's possessions are illegal before seizingthem! Are you telling me that you thought Dumbledore was tryingto pass us something cursed?"
"Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Potter?" asked Scrimgeour.
"Not if the ministry keeps being hypocrites."
Ron laughed. Scrimgeour's eyes flickered toward him and awayagain as Harry spoke."So why have you decided to let us have our things now? Can'tthink of a pretext to keep them?"
"No, it'll be because the thirty-one days are up," said Hermioneat once. "They can't keep the objects longer than that unless theycan prove they're dangerous. Right?"
"Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?" askedScrimgeour, ignoring Hermione.
Ron looked startled."Me? Not — not really . . . It was always Harry and Emma who . . ."
Ron looked around at Harry, me and Hermione, to see Hermione and I giving him a stop-talking-now! sort of look, but the damage wasdone: Scrimgeour looked as though he had heard exactly what hehad expected, and wanted, to hear. He swooped like a bird of preyupon Ron's answer.
"If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you accountfor the fact that he remembered you in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions — hisprivate library, his magical instruments, and other personal effects —were left to Hogwarts. Why do you think you were singled out?"
"I . . . dunno," said Ron. "I . . . when I say we weren't close . . . Imean, I think he liked me. . . ."
"You're being modest, Ron," said Hermione. "Dumbledore wasvery fond of you."
This was stretching the truth to breaking point; as far as I knew, Ron and Dumbledore had never been alone together, and direct contact between them had been negligible. However, Scrimgeour did not seem to be listening. He put his hand inside his cloakand drew out a drawstring pouch much larger than the one Hagridhad given us. From it, he removed a scroll of parchment whichhe unrolled and read aloud.
" 'The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric BrianDumbledore' . . . Yes, here we are. . . . 'To Ronald Bilius Weasley, Ileave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me whenhe uses it.' "
Scrimgeour took from the bag an object that I had seen before: It looked something like a silver cigarette lighter, but it had, I knew, the power to suck all light from a place, and restore it, witha simple click. Scrimgeour leaned forward and passed the Deluminator to Ron, who took it and turned it over in his fingers, lookingstunned.
"That is a valuable object," said Scrimgeour, watching Ron. "Itmay even be unique. Certainly it is of Dumbledore's own design.Why would he have left you an item so rare?"
Ron shook his head, looking bewildered.
"Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students," Scrimgeour persevered. "Yet the only ones he remembered in his will areyou four. Why is that? To what use did he think you would puthis Deluminator, Mr. Weasley?"
"Put out lights, I s'pose," mumbled Ron. "What else could I dowith it?"
Evidently Scrimgeour had no suggestions. After squinting at Ronfor a moment or two, he turned back to Dumbledore's will.
" 'To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining andinstructive.' "
Scrimgeour now pulled out of the bag a small book that looked asancient as the copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art upstairs. Its bindingwas stained and peeling in places. Hermione took it from Scrimgeour without a word.
She held the book in her lap and gazed at it. I saw that the title was in runes; he had never learned to readthem. As he looked, a tear splashed onto the embossed symbols.
"Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, MissGranger?" asked Scrimgeour.
"He . . . he knew I liked books," said Hermione in a thick voice,mopping her eyes with her sleeve.
"But why that particular book?"
"I don't know. He must have thought I'd enjoy it."
"Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with Dumbledore?"
"No, I didn't," said Hermione, still wiping her eyes on her sleeve."And if the Ministry hasn't found any hidden codes in this book inthirty-one days, I doubt that I will."
She suppressed a sob. We were wedged together so tightly thatRon had difficulty extracting his arm to put it around Hermione'sshoulders. Scrimgeour turned back to the will.
" 'To Harry James Potter,' " he read, " 'I leave the Snitch he caught in his firstQuidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.' "
As Scrimgeour pulled out the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, itssilver wings fluttered rather feebly.
"Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?" asked Scrimgeour."No idea," said Harry. "For the reasons you just read out, I suppose . . . to remind me what you can get if you . . . persevere andwhatever it was."
"You think this a mere symbolic keepsake, then?"
"I suppose so," said Harry. "What else could it be?"
"I'm asking the questions," said Scrimgeour, shifting his chair alittle closer to the sofa. Dusk was really falling outside now; the marquee beyond the windows towered ghostly white over the hedge.
"I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch,"Scrimgeour said to Harry. "Why is that?"
I laughed derisively."Oh, it can't be a reference to the fact Harry's a great Seeker, that'sway too obvious," I said. "There must be a secret message fromDumbledore hidden in the icing!"
"I don't think there's anything hidden in the icing," said Scrimgeour, "but a Snitch would be a very good hiding place for a smallobject. You know why, I'm sure?"
Harry shrugged. Hermione, however, answered.
"Because Snitches have flesh memories," she said.
"What?" said Harry and Ron together; both considered Hermione's Quidditch knowledge negligible.
"Correct," said Scrimgeour. "A Snitch is not touched by bare skinbefore it is released, not even by the maker, who wears gloves. Itcarries an enchantment by which it can identify the first human tolay hands upon it, in case of a disputed capture. This Snitch" — heheld up the tiny golden ball — "will remember your touch, Potter. It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill,whatever his other faults, might have enchanted this Snitch so thatit will open only for you."
"You don't say anything," said Scrimgeour. "Perhaps you alreadyknow what the Snitch contains?"
"No."
The minister said nothing.
"'To Emma Lilith Potter'" I held my breath waiting"'I leave my dairy . . .in hoped it will satisfy her curiosity. May her sharp mind catch clues about the past I missed.'" Scrimgeour looked at me. "You seem to like books too Ms Potter. Why didn't Dumbledore--"
"--Leave me a storybook instead?" I finished, coolly. "Possibly because he thought I'd find this more interesting."
"Did you ever have some sort of code with Dumbledore. So that people don't know what you were talking about?"
I looked him dead in the eye. "Dumbledore and I didn't discuss privet matters in public. Or by owl. We had no need for codes."
Scrimegeor scowled and handed me the diary. It was covered with faded brown leather, and thick parchment. It was very worn.
"That's all, then, is it?" asked Hermione, making to prise herselfoff the sofa.
"Not quite," said Scrimgeour, who looked bad-tempered now."Dumbledore left you both a second bequest, Potter."
"What is it?" asked Harry,my excitement began rekindling.
Scrimgeour did not bother to read from the will this time.
The sword of Godric Gryffindor," he said.
Hermione and Ron both stiffened. I looked around for asign of the ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimgeour did not pull thesword from the leather pouch, which in any case looked much toosmall to contain it.
"So where is it?" Harry asked suspiciously.
"Unfortunately," said Scrimgeour, "that sword was not Dumbledore's to give away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an importanthistorical artifact, and as such, belongs —"
"It belongs to Harry!" said Hermione hotly. "It chose him, he wasthe one who found it, it came to him out of the Sorting Hat —"
"According to reliable historical sources, the sword may presentitself to any worthy Gryffindor," said Scrimgeour. "That does notmake it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, whatever Dumbledoremay have decided."
Scrimgeour scratched his badly shaven cheek,scrutinizing Harry.
"Why do you think — ?"
"— Dumbledore wanted to give me the sword?" said Harry,struggling to keep his temper. "Maybe he thought it would looknice on my wall."
"This is not a joke, Potter!" growled Scrimgeour. "Was it becauseDumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindorcould defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he wish to give you thatsword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the onedestined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? And if so why not give to your sister?"
"Because I'm a Slytherin. Interesting theory," I added. "Has anyone ever tried stickinga sword in Voldemort? Maybe the Ministry should put some peopleonto that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So is this what you'vebeen doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a Snitch? People are dying — I was nearly one of them — Voldemort chased me across three counties, he killed Mad-Eye Moody,but there's been no word about any of that from the Ministry, hasthere? And you still expect us to cooperate with you!"
"You go too far!" shouted Scrimgeour, standing up; I jumpedto my feet too. Scrimgeour limped toward me and jabbed me hard in the chest with the point of his wand: It singed a hole in my T-shirt like a lit cigarette.
"Oi!" said Ron, jumping up along with Harry and raising his own wand, but I said,"No! Do you want to give him an excuse to arrest us?"
"Remembered you're not at school, have you?" said Scrimgeour,breathing hard into my face. "Remembered that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence and insubordination? You maywear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a seventeenyear-old boy to tell me how to do my job! It's time you learned somerespect!"
"It's time you earned it," I snarled.
The floor trembled; there was a sound of running footsteps, thenthe door to the sitting room burst open and Mr. and Mrs. Weasleyran in.
"We — we thought we heard —" began Mr. Weasley, lookingthoroughly alarmed at the sight of Me and the Minister virtually nose to nose.
"— raised voices," panted Mrs. Weasley.Scrimgeour took a couple of steps back from me, glancing atthe hole he had made in my T-shirt. He seemed to regret hisloss of temper.
"It — it was nothing," he growled. "I . . . regret your attitude," he said, looking me full in the face once more. "You seem to thinkthat the Ministry does not desire what you — what Dumbledore— desired. We ought to be working together."
"I don't like your methods, Minister," I said. "Remember?"For the second time, I raised my right fist and displayed toScrimgeour the scars that still showed white on the back of it,spelling I must not talk back.
"You don't seem to have learnt anything" snapped the man in front of me.
I smiled. A hollow one. "Neither have you."
Scrimgeour's expression hardened. Heturned away without another word and limped from the room. Mrs.Weasley hurried after him; I heard her stop at the back door.After a minute or so she called, "He's gone!"
"What did he want?" Mr. Weasley asked, looking around at Me,Harry, Ron, and Hermione as Mrs. Weasley came hurrying backto them.
"To give us what Dumbledore left us," said Harry. "They've onlyjust released the contents of his will."
Outside in the garden, over the dinner tables, the four objectsScrimgeour had given them were passed from hand to hand. Everyone exclaimed over the Deluminator and The Tales of Beedle theBard and lamented the fact that Scrimgeour had refused to pass onthe sword, but none of them could offer any suggestion as to whyDumbledore would have left Harry an old Snitch. Or me an old diary. As Mr. Weasley examined the Deluminator for the third or fourth time, Mrs.Weasley said tentatively, "Harry, Emma, dear, everyone's awfully hungry, wedidn't like to start without you. . . . Shall I serve dinner now?"
We all ate rather hurriedly and then, after a hasty chorus of"Happy Birthday" and much gulping of cake, the party broke up.Hagrid, who was invited to the wedding the following day, but wasfar too bulky to sleep in the overstretched Burrow, left to set up atent for himself in a neighboring field.
"Meet us upstairs," Harry whispered to Hermione and me, while we helped Mrs. Weasley restore the garden to its normal state. "Aftereveryone's gone to bed."
We had to wait. I skimmed through the diary, It was poem of riddles on every page, and dated back to the time where Tom Riddle was a student. Things like;
While the forbidden forest holds many dangerous creatures. I am convinced Hogwarts does too.
While, I knew from experince that Dumbledore was refferring to the Basilisk, it doesn't neccessarily mean that I would understand all of them. At last, Hermione and I tapped on the door of Ron's room and tiptoed inside.
"Muffliato," Hermione whispered, waving her wand in the direction ofthe stairs.
"Thought you didn't approve of that spell?" said Ron.
"Times change," said Hermione. "Now, show us that Deluminator."
Ron obliged at once. Holding it up in front of him, he clicked it.The solitary lamp they had lit went out at once.
"The thing is," whispered Hermione through the dark, "we couldhave achieved that with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder."
There was a small click, and the ball of light from the lamp flewback to the ceiling and illuminated them all once more.
"Still, it's cool," said Ron, a little defensively. "And from whatthey said, Dumbledore invented it himself!"
"I know, but surely he wouldn't have singled you out in his willjust to help us turn out the lights!" I said.
"D'you think he knew the Ministry would confiscate his will andexamine everything he'd left us?" asked Harry.
"Definitely,"I said. "He couldn't tell us in the will whyhe was leaving us these things, but that still doesn't explain . . ."
". . . why he couldn't have given us a hint when he was alive?"asked Ron.
"Well, exactly," said Hermione, now flicking through The Talesof Beedle the Bard. "If these things are important enough to pass onright under the nose of the Ministry, you'd think he'd have let usknow why . . . unless he thought it was obvious?"
"Thought wrong, then, didn't he?" said Ron. "I always said hewas mental. Brilliant and everything, but cracked. Leaving Harryan old Snitch — what the hell was that about?"
"I've no idea," said Hermione. "When Scrimgeour made you takeit, Harry, I was so sure that something was going to happen!"
"Yeah, well," said Harry. "I wasn't going to try too hard in front ofScrimgeour, was I?"
"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.
"The Snitch I caught in my first ever Quidditch match?" saidHarry. "Don't you remember?"
Hermione looked simply bemused. I raised my eyebrows Ron, however, gasped, pointing frantically from Harry to the Snitch and back again until hefound his voice."That was the one you nearly swallowed!"
"Exactly," said Harry, he pressedhis mouth to the Snitch.It did not open. Frustration and bitter disappointment welledup inside him: He lowered the golden sphere, but then I cried out.
"Writing! There's writing on it, quick, look!"
He nearly dropped the Snitch in surprise and excitement. I was quite right. Engraved upon the smooth golden surface,where seconds before there had been nothing, were five wordswritten in the thin, slanting handwriting that I recognized asDumbledore's:
I open at the close.
I had barely read them when the words vanished again.
" 'I open at the close . . .' What's that supposed to mean?" asked Harry.
Me, Hermione and Ron shook our heads, looking blank.
"I open at the close . . . at the close . . . I open at the close . . ."
But no matter how often we repeated the words, with manydifferent inflections, we were unable to wring any more meaningfrom them.
"And the sword," said Ron finally, when they had at last abandoned their attempts to divine meaning in the Snitch's inscription."Why did he want Harry to have the sword?"
"And why couldn't he just have told me?" Harry said quietly. "Itwas there, it was right there on the wall of his office during all ourtalks last year! If he wanted me to have it, why didn't he just giveit to me then?"
"And his diary" I said, frowning at it "It's a book of riddles! Look, dated when the first Order of the Pheonix was formed; Education is the key. Patterns of the past keep repeating themselves. Empires fall and rise, each claim they are different but they all make the same mistakes.'"
" What's that supposed to mean?" asked Harry.
"I don't know! And I don't know how I'm supposed to find out!"
"And as for this book," said Hermione, "The Tales of Beedle theBard . . . I've never even heard of them!"
"You've never heard of The Tales of Beedle the Bard?" said Ronincredulously. "You're kidding, right?"
"No, I'm not!" said Hermione in surprise. "Do you know them,then?"
"Well, of course I do!"
I looked up, diverted. The circumstance of Ron having reada book that Hermione had not was unprecedented. Ron, however,looked bemused by their surprise.
"Oh come on! All the old kids' stories are supposed to be Beedle's,aren't they? 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' . . . 'The Wizard and theHopping Pot' . . . 'Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump' . . ."
"Excuse me?" said Hermione, giggling. "What was that lastone?
"Come off it!" said Ron, looking in disbelief from Me to Harry to Hermione. "You must've heard of Babbitty Rabbitty —"
"Ron, you know full well Harry, Emma and I were brought up by Muggles!"said Hermione. "We didn't hear stories like that when we were little,we heard 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs' and 'Cinderella' —"
"What's that, an illness?" asked Ron.
"So these are children's stories?" asked Hermione, bending againover the runes.
"Yeah," said Ron uncertainly, "I mean, that's just what you hear,you know, that all these old stories came from Beedle. I dunno whatthey're like in the original versions."
"But I wonder why Dumbledore thought I should read them?"
Something creaked downstairs.
"Probably just Charlie, now Mum's asleep, sneaking off to regrowhis hair," said Ron nervously.
"All the same, we should get to bed," whispered Hermione. "Itwouldn't do to oversleep tomorrow."
"No," agreed Ron. "A brutal triple murder by the bridegroom'smother might put a bit of a damper on the wedding. I'll get thelights."
And he clicked the Deluminator once more as Hermione and I leftthe room.