❝You're looking at a professional Occlumens.❞
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧
The shock of losing Mad-Eye hung over the house in the days that followed.
Mrs. Weasley kept everyone busy with preparations of the wedding that they hardly had any time to think. And Y/N concluded that Mrs. Weasley wanted to distract them all from thoughts of Mad-Eye and the terrors of their recent journey.
They were often joined by the Order members for dinner now, because the Burrow had replaced twelve, Grimmauld Place as the Headquarters. Mr. Weasley had explained that after the death of Dumbledore, their Secret-Keeper, each of the people to whom Dumbledore had confided Grimmauld Place's location had become a Secret-Keeper in turn.
And that meant Snape would also know the location.
"We must decide 'ow you two will be disguised, 'Arry and Y/N," said Fleur during dinner one day. "For ze wedding," she added, when they looked confused. "Of course, none of our guests are Death Eaters, but we cannot guarantee zat zey will not let something slip after zey 'ave 'ad champagne."
"Disguise?" said Y/N. "Like the whole poly juice potion jazz again?"
"Don't worry, Y/N!" said Fleur brightly. "I 'ave ze perfect plan for you!"
She winked at Y/N.
"Yes, good point," said Mrs. Weasley from the top of the table, where she sat, spectacles perched on the end of her nose, scanning an immense list of jobs she had scribbled on a very long piece of parchment. "Now, Ron, have you cleaned out your room yet?"
"Why?" exclaimed Ron, glaring at his mother. "Why does my room have to be cleaned out? Harry, Rigel, and I are fine with the way it is!"
Due to Rebekah and Sirius taking Percy's old room, Rigel had to move in with Harry and Ron while Y/N stayed with Hermione and Ginny in Ginny's room.
"We are holding your brother's wedding here in a few days' time, young man-"
"And are they getting married in my bedroom?" asked Ron furiously. 'No! So why in the name of Merlin's saggy left-"
"Don't talk to your mother like that," said Mr. Weasley firmly. "And do as you're told."
Ron scowled at both his parents, then picked up his spoon and the last few mouthfuls of his apple tart.
"Harry and I will help," Rigel told Ron. "Most of it's our mess anyway, right, Harry?"
"Yeah," Harry nodded but Mrs. Weasley cut across him.
"Oh, Rigel, dear, it's fine. Ron can do it-"
"No. it's okay, Mrs. Weasley," said Rigel, smiling warmly, his dimples sticking out. "I am more than happy to help, really."
Y/N slightly glared at him from across the table; he'd never agreed to help her with anything, even though he could do it easily and quickly with magic. But it still surprised her to see him so comfortable talking to Mrs. Weasley- smiling, while he was at it. Y/N wondered if a certain redhead had something to do with this development.
The Delacours arrived the following morning at eleven o'clock. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Y/N, Rigel, and Ginny were feeling quite resentful toward Fleur's family by this time. Once they had all been deemed smart enough, they trooped out into the sunny backyard to await the visitors.
It was no longer possible for anybody to travel by magic directly into the place. Mr. Weasley had therefore gone to meet the Delacours on top of a nearby hill, where they were to arrive 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 luggage and leading a beautiful blonde woman in long, leaf-green robes, who could only be Fleur's mother.
"Maman!" cried Fleur, rushing forward to hug her. "Papa!"
Monsieur Delacour was nowhere near as attractive as his wife; he was a head shorter and extremely plump, with a little, pointed black beard. 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. "Fleur tells 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 was peering out from behind one of the new Flutterby bushes.
"Dear lady!" said Monsieur Delacour, still holding Mrs. Weasley's hand between his own two plump ones and beaming. "We are most honored 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 a look, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appropriate to the sickbed of a close friend.
"And, of course, you 'ave met my leetle daughter, Gabrielle!" said Monsieur Delacour. Gabrielle was Fleur in miniature; eleven years old, with waist-length hair of pure, silvery blonde, she gave Mrs. Weasley a dazzling smile and hugged her. "And, zat is my brother's daughter-"
Monsieur Delacour's words were drowned by two identical squeals.
"Y/N!" cried Lisette, beaming at Y/N, who had also called out Lisette's name at the same time. They hurried forward together and embraced each other fondly.
"It has been so long!" exclaimed Lisette when they pulled away. She was smiling so much it seemed contagious.
"I know, I've missed you," said Y/N, squeezing her hands.
"We have so much to catch up on!" said Lisette, squeezing her hands back.
"Why don't you come in?" said Sirius, stepping forward with Rebekah just behind him. Madame Delacour fixed him with a confused look and turned to Mr. Weasley, who was quick to answer her unspoken question.
"Oh, that is Sirius and Rebekah, you know Harry's godparents and-"
"Ah yes!" Madame Delacour clapped her hands brightly. "Lovely to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Black! Our Lizzie says your godson saved 'er, we're ever so grateful-"
Sirius and Rebekah's faces flushed. The others laughed behind their hands.
"Oh- we aren't-"
"You're mistaken, Madame-"
"Maman, zat is Y/N's mother!" interrupted Fleur, who was also grinning. She had been joining in everyone's teasing ever since Y/N told her about Sirius and Rebekah's dating history. "She is Rebekah Lupin, not Black!"
Yet, she mouthed at Y/N and the others over her mother's back.
"Their marriage is just a rumour to keep Y/N and Harry safe," said Mr. Weasley.
"Oh my- I am very sorry!" said Madame Delacour, seizing Rebekah's shoulder.
"It's alright!" said Rebekah, blushing at the whole Mrs. Black comment.
"Well, come in, do!" said Mrs. Weasley and she ushered the Delacours into the house, with many "No, please!"s and "After you!"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. Lisette spent all of her time with Y/N, helping her in any way she could and laughing and talking about anything they could think of.
They talked about everything. Lisette went on and on about how glad she was that Y/N and Harry had gotten together and how adorable they looked as a couple. She was as excited as a toddler in a toy shop when Y/N and Fleur told her about Sirius and Rebekah, and she was more than happy to learn more about Y/N's family stories.
"You never told me you had a cousin!" Lisette said when she and Y/N sorted out wedding presents. They were in the sitting room, watching Rigel and Ron play wizard chess in the corner.
"Yeah, well, he and I didn't exactly have a sunshine and rainbows relationship in my fourth year," said Y/N, shrugging. "That's a long story. Oh I have so much to tell you. . ."
The next day, Y/N woke up bright, fresh, and surprisingly before Hermione and Ginny. After waking the other two, Y/N made her way into the kitchen at the same time Harry came downstairs with Ron and Rigel.
Y/N threw her arms around him.
"Happy Seventeenth, Harry!"
"Thanks," said Harry, grinning as Y/N kissed him on the cheek and pulled away.
"God, it's seven in the morning and the first thing I see is these two being disgusting," groaned Rigel sleepily.
"Where's my present?" asked Harry, looking at his girlfriend.
Y/N smirked.
"It's kind of a special present," she whispered. "I'll give it to you later. In private."
"Can't wait," spluttered Harry, turning slightly red.
"Happy birthday, Harry!" said Hermione, hurrying into the kitchen and adding her own present to the top of the pile. "It's not much, but I hope you like it. What did you get him?" she added to Ron, who seemed not to hear her.
"Oh don't even ask that question," said Rigel disappointedly.
"Come on, then, Harry, open Hermione's!" said Ron.
"Are you gonna tell her or should I?" said Rigel, sipping his coffee.
Ron mouthed "shut up, Diggory!" at him. Hermione and Y/N looked confused. Harry simply tried not to laugh.
"I have a feeling I know what it is," said Ginny, walking into the kitchen and sitting beside Rigel.
"Oh yeah?" said Rigel.
Ginny whispered something into his ear and Rigel smiled evilly.
"Damn, Weasel, even your little sister knows," said Rigel as he and Ginny shared a high-five, grinning at Ron.
Ron's splutter was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley entering the kitchen with a new figure.
"Charlie's home!"
There was a general sound of roars and applause as everyone gathered in the kitchen to welcome Charlie. He was shorter than Ron, thickset, with a number of burns and scratches up his muscley arms.
"Hey, troublemaker," said Charlie, hugging Y/N. "Set Hogwarts on fire yet?"
"Working on it," replied Y/N. "Thought you were too busy snogging a Norwegian Ridgeback to come home."
"I was! But Bill begged me to be his best man at his wedding. I had to leave my beloved Ridgeback back in Romania. Dunno how I am gonna survive without the love of my life."
"I bet you can last a week, brother," chuckled Y/N. "Speaking of Norwegian Ridgebacks, how's Norbert?"
"Norbert?" Charlie laughed. "The little devil you sent me in your first year? We call her Norberta now."
"What- Norbert's a girl?"
"Oh yeah," said Charlie.
"How can you tell?"
"They're a lot more vicious," said Charlie. He looked over his shoulder and dropped his voice. "Enough about dragons. I feel so out of loop and I need you to update me on everything here. Especially the history between the new Diggory in this house and my second favorite sister."
They glanced at Rigel and Ginny through the window. The pair was in the garden where several tables were placed end to end. Rigel was showing Ginny how to bewitch a number of purple lanterns, all emblazoned with a large number 17, to hang in midair over the tables.
"Am I your first favorite sister?" said Y/N, side-eyeing Charlie suspiciously.
"Obviously."
"You have a lot to catch up on, then, old man. . . Let me find a good bowl of snacks."
After spending the entire afternoon with each other, sitting on the grass outside, eating, catching up, and letting others do the work for the party, Y/N and Charlie silently crept into the garden and slipped into their seats for Harry's birthday dinner.
"Think Mum noticed us?" Charlie whispered to her.
"Nah, she's too distracted," Y/N whispered back.
"Wish Dad would hurry up and get here. Mum's getting edgy."
They looked over at Mrs. Weasley. She was trying to talk to Madame 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 up at- oh!"
They 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 a bright silver weasel, which stood on its hind legs and spoke with Mr. 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.
"Bloody hell," said George. "What's the Minister of Magic doing here?"
But there was no time to discuss the matter; a second later, Mr. Weasley had appeared out of thin air at the gate, accompanied by Rufus Scrimgeour, instantly recognizable by his mane of grizzled hair.
The two newcomers marched across the yard toward the garden and the lantern-lit table, where everybody sat in silence, watching them draw closer.
"Sorry to intrude," said Scrimgeour, as he limped to a halt before the table. "Especially as I can see that I am gate-crashing a party."
His eyes lingered for a moment on the giant Snitch cake on the table.
"Many happy returns."
"Thanks," said Harry.
"I require a private word with you," Scrimgeour went on. "Also with Miss Y/N Diggory, 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," said Scrimgeour. "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 be no need for you to accompany us, Arthur."
Y/N saw Rebekah exchange a worried look with Sirius as she, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up and they led the way back to the house in silence.
Scrimgeour did not speak as they all passed through the messy kitchen and into the Burrow's sitting room. Scrimgeour sat himself in the sagging armchair that Mr. Weasley normally occupied, leaving Harry, Y/N, Ron, and Hermione to squeeze side by side onto the sofa. Once they had done so, Scrimgeour spoke.
"I have some questions for the four of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. If you three" - he pointed at Harry, Y/N, and Hermione - "can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald."
"We're not going anywhere," said Harry, while Hermione nodded vigorously. "You can speak to us together, or not at all."
"Yeah, we sort of come as a package deal," said Y/N, crossing her arms.
Scrimgeour gave them a cold, appraising look. Y/N had the impression that the Minister was wondering whether it was worthwhile opening hostilities this early.
"Very well then, together," he said, shrugging. He cleared his throat. "I am here, as I'm sure you know, because of Albus Dumbledore's will."
Harry, Y/N, 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 long to 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 no right to do that!" she said, and her voice trembled slightly.
"I had every right," said Scrimgeour dismissively. "The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power to confiscate the contents of a will-"
"That law was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artifacts," said Hermione, "and the Ministry is supposed to have powerful evidence that the deceased's possessions are illegal before seizing them! Are you telling me that you thought Dumbledore was trying to pass us something cursed?"
"Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?" asked Scrimgeour.
"No, I'm not," retorted Hermione. "I'm hoping to do some good in the world!"
Ron and Y/N laughed. Scrimgeour's eyes flickered toward them and away again as Harry spoke.
"So why have you decided to let us have our things now? Can't think of a pretext to keep them?"
"No, it'll be because the thirty-one days are up," said Hermione at once. "They can't keep the objects longer than that unless they can prove they're dangerous. Right?"
"Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?" asked Scrimgeour, ignoring Hermione. Ron looked startled.
"Me? Not- not really . . . It was always Harry and Y/N who . . ."
Ron looked around at Harry, Y/N, and Hermione, to see Hermione giving him a stop-talking-now! sort of look, but the damage was done: Scrimgeour looked as though he had heard exactly what he had expected, and wanted, to hear. He swooped like a bird of prey upon Ron's answer.
"If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you account for the fact that he remembered you in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions - his private 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 . . . I mean, I think he liked me. . ."
"You're being modest, Ron," said Hermione. "Dumbledore was very fond of you."
"Yeah, remember when he borrowed Errol from you in our second year?" said Y/N.
Scrimgeour did not seem to be listening. He put his hand inside his cloak and drew out a drawstring pouch. From it, he removed a scroll of parchment which he unrolled and read aloud.
"'The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore' . . . Yes, here we are . . . 'To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.'"
Scrimgeour took from the bag an object that Y/N had seen before: It looked something like a silver cigarette lighter, but it had, he knew, the power to suck all light from a place, and restore it, with a simple click. Scrimgeour leaned forward and passed the Deluminator to Ron, who took it and turned it over in his fingers, looking stunned.
"That is a valuable object," said Scrimgeour, watching Ron. "It may 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 are you four. Why is that? To what use did he think you would put his Deluminator, Mr. Weasley?"
"Put out lights, I s'pose," mumbled Ron. "What else could I do with it?"
Evidently, Scrimgeour had no suggestions. After squinting at Ron for 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 and instructive.'"
Scrimgeour now pulled out of the bag a small book that looked ancient. Its binding was stained and peeling in places. Hermione took it from Scrimgeour without a word. She held the book in her lap and gazed at it.
"Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?" 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 in thirty-one days, I doubt that I will."
She suppressed a sob. They were wedged together so tightly that Ron had difficulty extracting his arm to put it around Hermione's shoulders.
Scrimgeour turned back to the will.
"'To Y/N Hope Diggory,'" he read, and Y/N's insides contracted with sudden excitement. "'I leave my sister's precious jewelry box, in the hope that she never loses the possessions given by her loved ones.'"
Scrimgeour took a small wooden jewelry box from the bag with floral patterns on it. It looked older than Hermione's book but Y/N felt a certain pull towards it. When she touched the ornate box, Y/N could've sworn the hairs on her arm stood up. There was some inexplicable energy around it.
"Why did Dumbledore leave you this jewelry box, Miss Diggory?" said Scrimgeour.
"You just read it yourself, Minister," said Y/N, gazing at the box in her lap. "To keep my possessions safe."
"But I am sure you have a lot of jewelry boxes for that," said Scrimgeour impatiently. "Why would Dumbledore give you his sister's jewelry box in particular?"
"That's the thing, I don't," grinned Y/N, looking up at Scrimgeour. "You see, Minister, I have quite a few jewelries given by some of my favourite people," she tilted her head to show Cedric's locket on her neck, Harry's bracelet on her wrist, and waved her fingers to show the birthstone ring she got with Ginny and Hermione.
"And I actually lost my locket during my visit to the Ministry a year ago and Dumbledore knows it. He's the one who gave it to me- well, my cousin found it actually, Dumbledore was only the delivery boy-"
"Open it," said Scrimgeour crossly.
"Excuse me?"
"Open the box, Miss Diggory," repeated Scrimgeour.
"Haven't you already looked inside it?" said Y/N incredulously.
"We tried. It wouldn't open," said Scrimgeour. "It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill, whatever his other faults, might have enchanted this box so that it will open only for you."
"And why would he do that?" said Ron.
"Exactly my thoughts, Mr. Weasley," said Scrimgeour.
Y/N's heart was beating rather fast. She was sure that Scrimgeour was right. How could she avoid opening the box in front of the Minister?
"Yeah. . . you know what, I think I'll open this box later. . ." said Y/N, trying to slip the wooden box behind her back.
"Open the jewelry box, Miss Diggory," said Scrimgeour, sounding more dangerous than before.
Hermione nudged her shoulder encouragingly. Y/N met the Minister's eyes and knew she had no option but to obey. She looked back at the box in her lap and slowly moved to open it, silently praying for whatever was inside the box to disappear.
There was nothing inside.
Scrimgeour, Harry, Ron, and Hermione continued to gaze avidly at the now open box, as if still hoping it might transform in some way or something fascinating might appear inside it.
"That was dramatic," said Y/N coolly. Ron, Harry, and Hermione laughed.
"See?" Y/N held the box up for Scrimgeour. "Nothing here. As blank as my best friend Dean's head. Can we move on now?"
Scrimgeour gave her a long, grim look and turned back to the will.
But when Y/N closed the box again, she was sure the box felt heavier in her lap.
"'To Harry James Potter, I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.'"
Scrimgeour pulled out a tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver 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 and whatever it was."
"You think this a mere symbolic keepsake, then?"
"I suppose so," said Harry. He held out his hand, and Scrimgeour leaned forward again and placed the Snitch, slowly and deliberately, into Harry's palm.
"That's all, then, is it?" asked Y/N, making to prise herself off the sofa. "We still have a birthday dinner to get to."
"Not quite," said Scrimgeour, who looked bad-tempered now. "Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter."
"What is it?" asked Harry.
Scrimgeour did not bother to read from the will this time.
"The sword of Godric Gryffindor," he said.
Hermione, Y/N, and Ron stiffened. Harry looked around for a sign of the ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimgeour did not pull the sword from the leather pouch, which in any case looked much too small 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 important historical artifact, and as such, belongs-"
"It belongs to Harry!" said Hermione hotly. "It chose him, he was the one who found it, it came to him out of the Sorting Hat-"
"According to reliable historical sources, the sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor," said Scrimgeour. "That does not make it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, whatever Dumbledore may 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 look nice on my wall."
"This is not a joke, Potter!" growled Scrimgeour. "Was it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he wish to give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
"Interesting theory," said Harry. "Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort? Maybe the Ministry should put some people onto that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators. So is this what you've been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a jewelry box? 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, has there? And you still expect us to cooperate with you!"
"You go too far!" shouted Scrimgeour, standing up; Harry jumped to his feet too. Scrimgeour limped toward Harry and jabbed him hard in the chest with the point of his wand: It singed a hole in Harry's T-shirt like a lit cigarette.
"Oi!" said Ron, jumping up and raising his own wand.
"Get away from him," snarled Y/N, her eyes already flickering yellow in anger as she started toward Scrimgeour, but Harry said,
"No! D'you want to give him an excuse to arrest us?"
"Remembered you're not at school, have you?" said Scrimgeour, breathing hard into Harry's face. "Remembered that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence and insubordination? You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job! It's time you learned some respect!"
"It's time you earned it," said Harry.
The floor trembled; there was a sound of running footsteps, then the door to the sitting room burst open and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley ran in, followed closely by Sirius and Rebekah.
"We- we thought we heard-" began Mr. Weasley, looking thoroughly alarmed at the sight of Harry and the Minister virtually nose to nose.
"-raised voices," panted Mrs. Weasley.
"Might I ask why you're pointing your wand at my godson, Minister?" said Sirius, glaring at Scrimgeour.
Scrimgeour took a couple of steps back from Harry, glancing at the hole he had made in Harry's T-shirt. He seemed to regret his loss of temper.
"It- it was nothing," he growled. "I . . . regret your attitude," he said, looking Harry full in the face once more. "You seem to think that the Ministry does not desire what you- what Dumbledore- desired. We ought to be working together."
"I don't like your methods, Minister," said Harry.
"I think you should leave," said Y/N.
Scrimgeour's expression hardened. He turned away without another word and limped from the room.
"What did he want?" asked Rebekah, looking around at Harry, Y/N, Ron, and Hermione.
"To give us what Dumbledore left us," said Harry. "They've only just released the contents of his will."
Mrs. Weasley said tentatively, "Harry, dear, everyone's awfully hungry, we didn't like to start without you. . . Shall I serve dinner now?"
They all ate rather hurriedly and then, after a hasty chorus of "Happy Birthday" and much gulping of cake, the party broke up.
"Meet us upstairs," Harry whispered to Hermione and Y/N. "After everyone's gone to bed."
Hermione and Y/N waited and waited forever for Ginny to get back, but when she didn't, they crept out of their room to find Ginny taking a walk around the garden with Rigel.
"Okay, these two are getting awfully close," Y/N whispered but Hermione said "Shh!"
Finally, they tiptoed inside Ron's room to find the two boys awake in their beds. Y/N dropped Elvendork into Harry's lap.
"I hate that he likes your company more than mine," said Y/N, watching Harry pick up Elvendork and place him on his shoulder.
"Muffliato," Hermione whispered, waving her wand in the direction of the 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.
"Wicked," said Y/N.
"The thing is," whispered Hermione through the dark, "we could have achieved that with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder."
There was a small click, and the ball of light from the lamp flew back to the ceiling and illuminated them all once more.
"Still, it's cool," said Ron, a little defensively.
"D'you think Dumbledore knew the Ministry would confiscate his will and examine everything he'd left us?" asked Harry.
"Definitely," said Hermione. "He couldn't tell us in the will why he 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 Tales of Beedle the Bard. "If these things are important enough to pass on right under the nose of the Ministry, you'd think he'd have let us know why . . . unless he thought it was obvious?"
"Thought wrong, then, didn't he?" said Ron. "I always said he was mental. Brilliant and everything, but cracked. Leaving Harry an old Snitch - what the hell was that about?"
"I've no idea," said Hermione. "When Scrimgeour made you take it, Harry, I was so sure that something was going to happen!"
"Me too," said Y/N. "Because Snitches have flesh memories. Everyone knows that."
"Yeah, well," said Harry, his pulse quickening as he raised the Snitch in his fingers. "I wasn't going to try too hard in front of Scrimgeour, was I?"
"What do you mean?" asked Y/N.
"The Snitch I caught in my first ever Quidditch match?" said Harry. "Don't you remember?"
Y/N and Hermione looked simply bemused. Ron, however, gasped, pointing frantically from Harry to the Snitch and back again until he found his voice.
"That was the one you nearly swallowed!"
"Exactly," said Harry, and with his heart beating fast, he pressed his lips to the Snitch.
"I never thought I'd be jealous of a goddamn Snitch," whispered Y/N.
It did not open. Frustration and bitter disappointment welled up inside Harry: He lowered the golden sphere, but then Hermione cried out.
"Writing! There's writing on it, quick, look!"
He nearly dropped the Snitch in surprise and excitement. Hermione was quite right. Engraved upon the smooth golden surface, where seconds before there had been nothing, were five words written in the thin, slanting handwriting that Harry recognized as Dumbledore's:
I open at the close.
He had barely read them when the words vanished again.
"'I open at the close . . .' What's that supposed to mean?"
Hermione, Y/N, and Ron shook their heads, looking blank.
"I open at the close . . . at the close . . . I open at the close . . ."
But no matter how often they repeated the words, with many different inflections, they were unable to wring any more meaning from them.
"And as for this book," said Hermione, "The Tales of Beedle the Bard . . . I've never even heard of them!"
"You've never heard of The Tales of Beedle the Bard?" said Ron incredulously.
"You're kidding, right?" said Y/N.
"No, I'm not!" said Hermione in surprise. "Do you both know them, then?"
"Well, of course we do!" Ron and Y/N said together.
Harry looked up, diverted. The circumstance of Ron having read a book that Hermione had not was unprecedented. Ron and Y/N, however, looked bemused by their surprise.
"Oh come on!" said Y/N. "All the old kids' stories are supposed to be Beedle's, aren't they? 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' . . . 'The Wizard and the Hopping Pot' . . . 'Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump' . . ."
"Come off it!" said Ron, looking in disbelief from Harry to Hermione. "Babbitty Rabbitty! No?"
"Ceddy would be very disappointed if he could hear you right now," said Y/N.
"You both know full well Harry 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.
"Sure sounds like one," said Y/N.
"So these are children's stories?" asked Hermione, bending again over 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 what they're like in the original versions."
"But I wonder why Dumbledore thought I should read them?"
Something creaked downstairs.
"Probably Charlie sneaking off to get some food," said Y/N.
"All the same, we should get to bed," whispered Hermione.
"Hold on!" said Y/N at once. "What about my box? Shouldn't we talk about that?"
"We already looked inside it, it's empty," said Hermione.
"Also, what use is a jewelry box gonna be?" said Ron.
"I hope you children are done playing with your little trinkets," said Y/N, tilting her chin up as she placed the box in the centre. "Because what I am about to show you is the real thing."
"I still see an ordinary jewelry box," said Ron.
Y/N smacked the back of his head.
"Look at it closely, you idiot!"
Ron, Harry, and Hermione leaned in towards the spot she was pointing at and Hermione let out a soft gasp.
"It can't be. . .?" She said, wide-eyed.
"Can you ladies please explain what I am supposed to be seeing?" said Ron.
"Look here, Ron!" breathed Hermione, tapping frantically at the side of the box. "The initials! Can't you see them? 'O.R?'"
"Okay. . . who's 'O.R?'" said Ron nervously.
"Octavia freaking Reimonenq!" said Y/N. "Not counting the middle name, of course."
Ron's eyeballs seemed to pop out of his sockets.
"Are you TELLING me-?" Ron exclaimed so loud that Elvendork jerked awake on Harry's shoulder and almost fell over before Harry caught him. Y/N, Harry, and Hermione shushed Ron hastily.
"That this box might have something to do with the dagger?" whispered Y/N. "Yes, I think so."
"What do you mean? How?" said Harry, his eyes shining with the kind of excitement Y/N'd never seen before.
"Listen to this," she said as Harry, Ron, and Hermione scooted closer. "When Scrimgeour told me to open this box, I sort of wished for the contents to disappear and I swear it got lighter, as though it really did disappear."
"How's that possible?" said Harry.
"Don't you remember what I said last year?" said Hermione. "The dagger obeys Y/N's every single command. If it really was the dagger inside the box. . ."
"That's what I thought too!" said Y/N eagerly. "Think about it, we know for sure this is Octavia's box. Who else has these initials? And I don't think it was Dumbledore that made it impossible for anyone else to open the box. It was all my Queen Octavia's magic. Only the werewolf can open it."
"But Dumbledore's will said the box was his sister's," said Ron. "I didn't even know Dumbledore had a sister."
"Well, obviously, Dumbledore isn't going to write that it's Octavia's box!" said Hermione. "He knew the Ministry would go through it and he needed an excuse."
"Exactly," said Y/N. "This is Octavia's box, I am sure of it!"
"Have you opened it then?" said Ron.
"No," said Y/N and when the other three gave her scowling looks, she added, "I thought we could do it together! I didn't want to freak out alone if the dagger really was inside."
"What are you waiting for?" said Harry.
"Uh, drumroll?" said Y/N. "Alright, alright! Don't look at me like that, I'll open it."
With slightly shaking and fumbling fingers, she opened the box again that day as Harry, Ron, and Hermione shuffled even closer.
"There, there, THERE!" screamed Hermione, making Y/N yelp and drop the box on the bed, clapping her hands over her mouth.
The four Gryffindors put their heads together to peek into the box. And Y/N saw it.
A black and gold dagger sat inside, looking so beautiful she thought it would hurt her eyes if she looked away.
Y/N's heart was pounding as she covered her fingers around the hilt and picked it up. As soon as the last tip of the dagger was lifted from the box, it started to glow a shimmering gold, and Y/N felt actual electricity surge through her for a split second.
"Whoa," said Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"That felt. . . weird," said Y/N, taking deep breaths as though she'd run a marathon. After a few wordless moments, the glow of the dagger dulled, but it still seemed to shimmer under the light.
Y/N used her other hand to remove the scabbard and another set of gasps followed the reveal. The blade was made of black glass-like metal with a spear point tip. Her fingers hugged the hilt perfectly, like they were made for it. The hilt had ornate golden carvings all around it, and there were two golden spikes at the tip of the hilt, which Y/N was sure were included to represent the werewolf fangs.
"My goodness!" said Hermione breathlessly. "It's made of obsidian! Pure obsidian!"
"The blade too?" said Ron. "I thought it was glass."
"Octavia's made it look like glass, but it's actually full of obsidian, like the rest of the dagger," said Hermione.
The blade gleamed like it was under the sunlight. One second, Y/N thought it looked like black glass, as it glowed like a thousand crystals at once. Then the other, the blade looked opaque and completely black. It was magical to look at.
"It's. . . I don't think 'beautiful' can do it justice," said Y/N.
"I bet it can cut through anything if it's made of obsidian," said Hermione.
"I thought daggers were made of silver and stuff?" said Ron.
Y/N gave him a look. "Have you never heard Dean rant about his favourite Muggle TV shows?"
"There's a common myth that silver is harmful to werewolves, Ron," said Hermione.
"How do you feel, Y/N?" said Harry, watching Y/N gaze affectionately at the dagger.
"God, it feels awesome, you have no idea," said Y/N in pure awe. "When I hold it like this," she gripped the hilt tighter, "it feels. . . so comforting. Like I've come home. Like I've finally found the missing part of me. This dagger feels like a sixth finger. . . or a third hand."
She twirled the dagger between her fingers, smiling at the way the glass blade caught the light. It was so easy to handle; something she was dreading would be really difficult. But she felt like she'd been using it all her life.
"I wish you guys could feel what I feel while I am holding this," she said.
"Can we try?" said Ron eagerly. But when Y/N handed him the black and gold dagger, Ron hissed in pain and dropped the blade at once, blowing at his hand.
"What happened?" asked Hermione.
"What do you mean 'what happened?'" said Ron, wincing more. "Didn't you see how the dagger melted into lava on my hand?"
Y/N, Harry, and Hermione stared at him. His hand looked completely normal to Y/N.
"What? I am not joking!" said Ron furiously. "It burned me the second I touched it!"
"Come on, Ron," scoffed Harry, picking up the dagger but he flinched at once and dropped it just like Ron.
"Ow!"
"Told you! Lava!" said Ron jubilantly.
"Lava-? No!" said Harry, wincing. "There were at least a thousand thorns on that handle and they all pierced into my palm!"
"A what did what now?" said Y/N, confused.
A thoughtful look crossed Hermione's face as Ron continued to blow air into his hand.
"Of course!" she said excitedly. "How did I forget? Nobody can touch the dagger except the werewolf it belongs to! Nobody can hold it except Y/N!"
"And she mentions that after my hand basically gets roasted like a chicken!" said Ron angrily.
"So it hurts other people differently when they try to hold it?" said Harry. "It can never end up in the wrong hands! Literally."
"I am sort of curious now," said Y/N, smiling. "Harmonica, why don't you hold it and let's see how it hurts you?"
"Ha ha. I don't want to get electrocuted next. I choose life," said Hermione.
Y/N closed her fingers around the smooth yet sculpted hilt, feeling the same sense of familiarity and comfort. She couldn't believe it was hers. It was too good to be true, even in the wizarding world.
"I need to start practicing my dagger-related skills," she said, playfully aiming the dagger at the Quaffle on Ron's Chudley Canon poster, imagining how cool it would be if it hit the exact centre and pierced the wall. "I think I'll get Charlie tomorrow, he'll know some stuff-"
She threw the knife. And it hit exactly where she wanted it to hit. And sunk into the wall exactly how deep she wanted it to go in.
The Gryffindor quartet stared at it for a moment.
"Hold the eff up," said Y/N slowly. "I. . . Hold the eff up."
"Y/N, you didn't happen to throw it with the slightest intention of hitting that specific Quaffle, did you?" said Hermione, as she, Y/N, Harry, and Ron kept their eyes on the dagger stuck on the wall.
"Perhaps," said Y/N dizzily. The aim was too accurate for her lame knife-throwing skills.
"How could it cut through the stone wall?" said Harry. "I didn't think it was that sharp."
"Honestly, Harry, what part of 'the most powerful dagger in the world' do you not understand?" said Hermione.
"Uh. . . Y/N, you should probably get it out of the wall," said Ron hesitantly. "I'd get it for you since I am sitting closer but. . . you know. . ."
He gestured helplessly at his 'burnt' hand.
Y/N nodded and positioned herself to start crawling on the bed to get to the poster near the desk, holding her hand out.
The dagger came flying back into her hand perfectly.
"HOLD THE FUCKING FUCK UP-"
"WHAT IN MERLIN'S-"
"THAT IS- WOW-"
"Oh my- keep your voice down, you three!"
They all stared, mouths hanging open, at the dagger sitting innocently on Y/N's shaking hand.
"Did this baby just fly right into my hand because I wanted it to?" whispered Y/N after a long pause.
"Yes," whispered Ron. "Unless we all imagined it together."
"I am gonna try it again," Y/N got off the bed and placed the dagger on top of Ron's cupboard near Pidwidgeon's cage and climbed back into the bed again.
And when she raised her hand, silently willing for her dagger to come back to her, it happened again.
"Yeah, I am going to pass out," said Y/N with a small chuckle.
"This is so wonderful, isn't it?" said Hermione brightly. "I don't know why but this dagger just gave me an enormous amount of hope about the future."
"I think you should name it, Y/N," said Harry. "It's yours now."
"Oh yeah, this beauty's my freaking pet," said Y/N smugly, twirling the dagger effortlessly between her fingers. "Any suggestions?"
"Jonathan?" said Ron.
The smiles on Harry, Y/N, and Hermione's faces dropped as they looked at Ron.
"What?" said Ron, obviously unabashed.
"Ronaldine Weasley," said Y/N accusingly. "Why in Merlin's ear wax would I name the most powerful magical weapon on earth 'Jonathan'?"
"It's a cool name!"
"No, it's not!" argued Y/N, Harry, and Hermione.
"I am not naming my dagger 'Jonathan,'" said Y/N. "I need a. . . that kind of name. A bit fantasy-y. Magical. Neat. Something fitting for her awesome arse powers. . . Ha! Found one!"
She grinned at her friends.
"How does 'Atlas' sound?"
"Now that's a cool name," said Harry.
"Yes, Atlas sounds great!" said Hermione.
". . . Okay, okay, I admit it's better," grunted Ron.
Y/N turned Atlas in her hand, admiring the way the light shifted on the almost-glass-like blade. She traced her thumb over the golden carvings on the handle, ending it at the fangs.
"If Dumbledore had already found it," she said, almost to herself, "why couldn't he have just given it to me when he was alive?"
"I still stand by what I said," said Ron. "Mental."
"The one thing that keeps nagging me is how you never got to finish your Occlumency, Y/N," said Hermione sadly. "Dumbledore thought it was extremely important, didn't he?"
"Hermione, have you been paying attention to the dagger in her hand?" said Ron. "A Legilimens should be able to come near her to look into her mind, but that's not gonna happen when she has Atlas with her. Who needs Occlumency?"
"Well, about that. . ." said Y/N with a sly smirk.
"I know that look," said Harry. "Spill."
"Guys, I finished my Occlumency."
Y/N's friends and her boyfriend stared back at her. She thought it was happening quite a lot that day, but given the number of shocking events that took place. . .
"No, you fucking didn't," said Ron at last. "Dumbledore died before you could finish."
"Who said Dumbledore helped me finish?" said Y/N. "It was Professor McGonagall. She's a very talented Occlumens. Apparently, Dumbledore had asked her to continue my lessons if something had happened to him."
"How did she teach you?" asked Hermione, awestruck.
"She came to my house," said Y/N fondly. "It took us a few weeks, but since I was already a pro at this thing, it was easy for her to teach me. The constant praises from Sirius and my mother's homemade snacks helped a lot too."
"You're joking," said Harry.
"Nope. You're looking at a professional Occlumens. No damn Legilimens can even think about using Legilimency on me."
"Why didn't you tell us?!" said Hermione as she happily hugged her best friend.
"You didn't ask!"
"I am so proud of you," said Harry, taking her hand in his.
"Look at her. She's probably the coolest teenager to ever exist," said Ron, pretending to sound gloomy. "And she does nothing but keeps raising the bar."
"Aw, thanks, Ronaldine," said Y/N, looking around at the three most important people in her life, she said, "honestly? It's all thanks to you. You three have always been my major source of support. Thanks for being there for me in like, everything."
Harry, Y/N, Ron, and Hermione exchanged fond smiles. Then Ron said,
"What are friends for?"
"You're getting the biggest hug for that!" exclaimed Y/N and threw her arms around them all sloppily. Laughing, the four of them put their arms around each other's shoulders.
Tangled together in a single big hug, they sighed, their appreciation for each other warming their hearts as they held the others close. Y/N really did get the best non-blood-related family and she wouldn't trade the world for it.
"Now we should really get to bed," said Hermione, breaking apart. "It wouldn't do to oversleep tomorrow."
"No," agreed Ron. "Four brutal murders by the bridegroom's mother might put a bit of a damper on the wedding."
The other three chuckled good-heartedly when a knock sounded on the door.
"That's probably Rigel," said Ron.
"We'll get going then," said Y/N, closing the scabbard on Atlas, she placed it inside the box carefully.
Giving Harry a quick kiss and saying goodnight, she got up to leave the room with Hermione. . . not even noticing the initials on the dagger box change from 'O.R' to '(F/L).D.'
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧
okay so all i wanted ron and rigel's relationship to be is like that bickering teasing iconic friendship because it seemed like something their characters would do but y'all made it a ship and now i wanna make them snog </3
like look ppl are making MEMES (credit: darling annabelle-potter )
but I don't want to be killed by romione shippers so :D imma make rogel endgame in mister snitch tho
QOTD: rogel or romione?
~ mads the turtle <3