｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡
𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓
｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡
the kindest words my father said to me
women like you drown oceans
·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .
SHE WAS WALKING along a mountain road in the cool, blue light of dawn. Far below, swathed in mist, was the shadow of a small town. Was the man she sought down there? The man she needed so badly she could think of little else, the man who held the answer, the answer to her problem ...
'Hey, wake up.'
Elara opened her eyes. She was lying again on the old mattress in Ginny's room. The sun had not yet risen and the room was still shadowy. Elara sat up to find both Ginny and Hermione looking at her curiously.
'You were muttering in your sleep,' said Ginny curiously.
'Was I?'
'Yeah. "Gregorovitch." You kept saying "Gregorovitch".'
'Who's Gregorovitch?'
'I dunno, do I? You were the one saying it.'
Elara rubbed her forehead, laughing. She had a vague idea she had heard the name before, but she could not think where.
'I think Voldemort's looking for him.'
'Poor man,' said Hermione fervently.
Elara tried to remember exactly what she had seen in the dream, but all that came back was a mountainous horizon and the outline of the little village cradled 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.'
There was silence.
"At any rate," said Hermione, pushing herself up and out of bed, "It's Harry's birthday today."
"Oh, shit," said Elara, jumping up, "I'll be right back!"
She ran up the stairs as quietly as she could, suspecting people were still asleep as it was very early in the morning. She whipped open the door to find Harry's glasses hitting him in the face.
"Bad time?"
Ron laughed.
"Anyways, Happy Birthday! You're officially as old as I am!" said Elara, sitting next to him.
Harry groaned.
"When will you stop teasing me about my age?"
"When you learn to respect your elders."
"You two fight like a married couple. With that being said, I better be your Best Man, Harry, or I will not be coming," said Ron, a huge smile on his face.
"Yeah, right," said Elara, "You'd be drunk off your ass before you could even make a toast."
Harry fell back, howling with laughter. Ron rolled his eyes.
"I have your present, Harry. Unwrap it up here, it's not for my mother's eyes,' said Ron.
'A book?' said Harry, as he took the rectangular parcel. 'Bit of a departure from tradition, isn't it?'
'This isn't your average book,' said Ron. 'It's pure gold: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Explains everything you need to know about girls. If only I'd had this last year, I'd have known exactly how to get rid of Lavender and I would've known how to get going with ... well, Fred and George gave me a copy, and I've learned a lot. You'd be surprised, it's not all about wandwork, either.'
"Harry seems to be doing just fine without the book," said Elara, laughing, "I wouldn't trust anything Fred and George give you either. Anyways, I don't think Hermione would appreciate you reading a book to learn how to get going with her. Well, she'd appreciate you reading, but not that."
Ron turned impossibly red.
"Just tone down the apathy and keep up with her in conversation," said Elara, "I promise you, Ron, it's not as hopeless as you might think."
Harry's and Ron's heads whipped over to her.
"What — "
"Lara, wait — "
But Elara had floated out the doorway, feeling smug. She arrived in the kitchen to find Bill and Monsieur Delacour finishing their breakfast. Harry and Ron came thundering down the stars after her, pausing once they saw they were not alone.
'Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Harry,' said Mrs Weasley, beaming at Harry. 'He had to leave early for work, but he'll be back for dinner. That's our present on top.'
Harry sat down, took the square parcel she had indicated and unwrapped it. Elara peered over his shoulder to see inside was a watch very like the one Mr and Mrs Weasley had given Ron for his seventeenth; it was gold, with stars circling round the face instead of hands.
'It's traditional to give a wizard a watch when he comes of age,' said Mrs Weasley, watching him anxiously from beside the cooker. 'I'm afraid that one isn't new like Ron's, it was actually my brother Fabian's and he wasn't terribly careful with his possessions, it's a bit dented on the back, but –'
The rest of her speech was lost; Harry had got up and hugged her. She patted his cheek clumsily when he released her, then waved her wand in a slightly random way, causing half a pack of bacon to flop out of the frying pan on to the floor.
'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.
'Open Hermione's!' said Elara.
She had bought him a new Sneakoscope. The other packages contained an enchanted razor from Bill and Fleur ('Ah yes, zis will give you ze smoothest shave you will ever 'ave,' Monsieur Delacour assured him, 'but you must tell it clearly what you want ... ozzer wise you might find you 'ave a leetle less hair zan you would like ...'), chocolates from the Delacours and an enormous box of the latest Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes merchandise from Fred, George, and Aurora.
Elara, Harry, Ron and Hermione did not linger at the table, as the arrival of Madame Delacour, Fleur and Gabrielle made the kitchen uncomfortably crowded.
'I'll pack these for you,' Hermione said brightly, taking Harry's presents 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 pants to come out of the wash, Ron –'
Ron's splutter was interrupted by the laughter of Elara.
"Oh," said Elara, "I forgot to give you your present, Harry."
"You didn't need to get me anything."
"Shut up, Wonder Boy. We'll be right back," said Elara to Ron and Hermione, tugging Harry down the stairs and out the door.
She pulled him across the garden and outside The Burrow's magical enchantments, hopefully avoiding detection from Mrs. Weasley and any other adults who might chastise them for their recklessness.
They were in the meadow they were in last year when they had made a last-minute decision to stargaze in celebration of Harry's sixteenth.
There was a slight breeze as they raced to the middle of the meadow, laughing.
"So," said Harry, lying on his back, "What's my present?"
"I've been studying — "
"You've been studying?"
"Shut up," said Elara, rolling her eyes and joining Harry on the ground, "I've been studying the extents of my power with the scrolls Anya gave me before our last session, you know, the ones Hermione insisted she translate for practice for her Ancient Rune exams?"
Harry nodded.
"Well, it appears I can project memories. For example. . . ."
Elara squeezed her eyes shut and thought about the first time she and Harry had met. When she reopened them, they were both at Hogwarts again, watching their younger selves interact for the first time.
"Here, let me try," offered First-year Elara softly.
First-year Harry looked at her, startled. He nodded slowly and Elara reached her hands up and tried to somewhat flatten his unkempt hair. Elara gave up after his hair kept sticking up in random places. She pulled her hands back and shrugged.
"It's no use," grumbled Harry.
"My hair's normally like that too, but I changed it for today," reassured Elara.
"I'm Harry Potter, by the way."
Elara froze up before responding.
"I'm uh... I'm Elara — "
The scene faded as Elara and Harry sprung into laughter at how awkward and clueless they had been only six years ago. They sat and watched replays of their past experiences and adventures they had embarked, laughing especially hard at Elara flipping off Rita Skeeter.
"You always give the best gifts," said Harry, as the last memory faded from around them.
"I know," said Elara, standing up and wiping herself of dirt. "We should probably head back before Mrs. Weasley murders us."
Charlie's arrival came as a relief to the pair. It provided a distraction for them to sneak back in, watching Mrs Weasley force Charlie into a chair, raise her wand threateningly and announce that he was about to get a proper haircut.
As Harry's birthday dinner would have stretched The Burrow's kitchen to breaking point even before the arrival of Charlie, Remus, Nymphie and Hagrid, several tables were placed end to end in the garden. Fred, George, and Aurora bewitched a number of purple lanterns, all emblazoned with a large number '17', to hang in mid-air over the guests.
Thanks to Mrs Weasley's ministrations, George's wound was neat and clean, but Elara was not yet used to the dark hole in the side of his head, despite the twins' and Aurora's many jokes about it.
Hermione made purple and gold streamers erupt from the end of her wand and drape themselves artistically over the trees and bushes.
'Nice,' said Ron, as with one final flourish of her wand, Hermione turned the leaves on the crab-apple tree to gold. 'You've really got an eye for that sort of thing.'
'Thank you, Ron!' said Hermione, looking both pleased and a little confused.
Elara sidled up to Ron as Hermione turned away to begin working on another task.
"You'll be with her in a month at this rate," said Elara, to which Ron vehemetly denied.
'Out of the way, out of the way!' sang Mrs Weasley, coming through the gate with what appeared to be a giant, beach-ball-sized Snitch floating in front of her.
Seconds later Elara realised that it was Harry's birthday cake, which Mrs Weasley was suspending with her wand rather than risk carrying it over the uneven ground.
When the cake had finally landed in the middle of the table, Harry said, 'That looks amazing, Mrs Weasley.'
'Oh, it's nothing, dear,' she said fondly.
Over her shoulder, Elara and Ron gave Harry the thumbs up and mouthed, Good one.
By seven o'clock, all the guests had arrived, led into the house by Fred and George, who had waited for them at the end of the lane. Hagrid had honoured the occasion by wearing his best, and horrible, hairy brown suit. Although Remus smiled as he shook Harry's hand, Elara thought he looked rather unhappy.
It was all very odd; Nymphie, beside him, looked simply radiant. Elara suspected something was up as Nymphie hugged her very loosely and denied a glass of wine.
'Happy birthday, Harry,' said Nymphie, hugging him loosely as well.
'Seventeen, eh!' said Hagrid, as he accepted a bucket-sized glass of wine from Fred. 'Six years ter the day since we met, Harry, d'yeh remember it?'
'Vaguely,' said Harry, grinning up at him. 'Didn't you smash down the front door, give Dudley a pig's tail and tell me I was a wizard?'
'I forge' the details,' Hagrid chortled. 'All righ', Ron, Hermione, Lara?'
'We're fine,' said Hermione. 'How are you?'
'Ar, not bad. Bin busy, we got some newborn unicorns, I'll show yeh when yeh get back –'
Elara avoided Harry, Ron, and Hermione's gaze as Hagrid rummaged in his pocket.
'Here, Harry – couldn' think whatter get yeh, but then I remembered this.'
He pulled out a small, slightly furry drawstring pouch with along string, evidently intended to be worn around the neck. 'Moke skin. Hide anythin' in there an' no one but the owner can get it out. They're rare, them.'
'Hagrid, thanks!'
''S'nothin',' said Hagrid, with a wave of a dustbin-lid-sized hand. 'An' there's Charlie! Always liked him – hey! Charlie!'
Charlie approached, running his hand slightly ruefully over his new, brutally short haircut. He was shorter than Ron, thickset, with a number of burns and scratches up his muscly arms.
'Hi, Hagrid, how's it going?'
'Bin meanin' ter write fer ages. How's Norbert doin'?'
'Norbert?' Charlie laughed. 'The Norwegian Ridgeback? We call her Norberta now.'
'Wha – Norbert's a girl?
''Oh yeah,' said Charlie.
'How can you tell?' asked Elara, rather excited to learn about dragons.
'They're a lot more vicious,' said Charlie. He looked over his shoulder and dropped his voice. 'Wish Dad would hurry up and get here. Mum's getting edgy.'
They all 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 on to 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 for Magic coming with me.'
The Patronus dissolved into thin air, leaving Fleur's family peering in astonishment at the place where it had vanished. Elara groaned loudly.
'We shouldn't be here,' said Remus at once. 'Harry – I'm sorry – I'll explain another time –'
He seized Nymphie's wrist and pulled her away; they reached the fence, climbed over it and vanished from sight. Elara and Mrs Weasley looked bewildered.
"What the hell is wrong with him?"
'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 by Rufus Scrimgeour, instantly recognisable by his mane of grizzled hair.
The two newcomers marched across the yard towards the garden and the lantern-lit table, where everybody sat in silence, watching them draw closer. As Scrimgeour came within range of the lantern light, Elara saw that he looked much older than the last time they had met, scraggy and grim.
'Sorry to intrude,' said Scrimgeour, as he limped to a halt before the table. 'Especially as I can see that I am gatecrashing a party.'
His eyes lingered for a moment on the giant Snitch cake.
'Many happy returns.'
'Thanks,' said Harry.
'I require a private word with you and Elara,' Scrimgeour went on. 'Also with 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.'
Elara saw Mr Weasley exchange a worried look with Mrs Weasley as she, Harry, Ron and Hermione stood up. As they led the way back to the house in silence, Elara knew that the other three were thinking the same as she was: Scrimgeour must, somehow, have learned that the four of them were planning to dropout of Hogwarts.
Scrimgeour did not speak as they all passed through the messy kitchen and into The Burrow's sitting room. Although the garden had been full of soft, golden evening light, it was already dark in here: Elara flicked her wand at the oil lamps as she entered and they illuminated the shabby but cosy room.
Scrimgeour sat himself in the sagging armchair that Mr Weasley normally occupied, leaving Elara, Harry, Ron, and Hermione to squeeze side by side on 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 Elara, Harry, and Hermione, 'can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald.'
Elara laughed.
'We're not going anywhere,' she said coldly, while Harry and Hermione nodded vigorously. 'You can speak to us together, or not at all.'
Scrimgeour gave Elara a cold, appraising look. Elara had the impression that the Minister was wondering whether it was worth while 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.'
Elara, 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 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 artefacts,' 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!'
Elara and Ron howled with laughter. Scrimgeour's eyes flickered towards 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 Lara and Harry who ...'
Ron looked round at Elara, Harry, 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 Elara. 'Dumbledore was very fond of you.'
She was stretching the truth to breaking point; as far as she 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 cloak and drew out a drawstring pouch much larger than the one Hagrid had given Harry.
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 Elara had seen before: it looked something like a silver cigarette lighter but it had, she 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?'
"Would you shut up and give us our shit, please?" snapped Elara, already growing impatient with Scrimgeour's incessant mind games.
His nostrils flared and his jaw ticked as his eyes scanned the 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 as ancient as the copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art upstairs. 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. Elara saw that the title was in runes; she had never learned to read them. As she looked, a tear splashed on to the embossed symbols.
'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?'
"Oh my God," groaned Elara loudly, "Would you stop questioning us? Clearly we don't know shit, and even if we did, we wouldn't tell you anything."
"You take after your biological mother," said Scrimgeour coldly, the classic hostility finally emerging from the depths of feigned politeness.
"I really do, don't I?" said Elara, crossing her arms. "I'd also say you take after our last incompetent as hell Minister."
"Do not compare me to Cornelius Fudge!" shouted Scrimgeour, rising from his chair.
"Then don't compare me to my crazy-ass, sociopathic, Death Eater mother!" said Elara with the same volume, rising from her seat as well.
"You are ordered by the Ministry of Magic to reveal all Albus Dumbledore has told you!"
"You can't order me to do shit. I don't work for you."
Ron, through his shock, snickered.
"Well — "
"Give Harry and I our shit before I light this whole damn place on fire!"
"To Harry James Potter,"' shouted Scrimgeour, reading the will loudly, '"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 the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver wings fluttered rather feebly and flew over to Harry.
"To Elara Lestrange Tonks," said Scrimgeour, still furious, "I leave the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, and her ancestor's notebook!"
"Excellent," said Elara, clapping her hands together, "Give me the sword and the notebook and we'll be on our way!"
"Not so fast," said Scrimgeour smugly, "The Sword of Gryffindor is not yours to have, and I'm afraid the Ministry found something. . . . concerning with that notebook."
"What the hell?! That notebook belongs to me by birthright!"
"That notebook gave Ministry Officials deadly burns! Dolores Umbridge spent a week in St. Mungo's!"
"It's what she deserves!"
'This is not a joke, Tonks!' 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, Tonks, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to save the Wizarding World?'
'Interesting theory,' said Elara. 'Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort? Maybe the Ministry should put some people on to that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators, or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So is this what you've been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a Snitch and a bloody Notebook!? People are dying, I was nearly one of them, Voldemort chased me and Harry 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, limping towards Elara and jabbed her hard in the chest with the point of his wand: it singed a hole in Elara's shirt like a lit cigarette.
'Hey!' said Harry, jumping up and raising his own wand, but Elara 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 Elara's face. 'Remembered that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence and insubordination? You may wear that Savior title like a crown, Tonks, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old girl to tell me how to do my job! It's time you learned some respect!'
'Respect is earned, not given,' said Elara. "Far be it from be to respect an old man who burned my shirt because he was angry."
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.
'We – we thought we heard –' began Mr Weasley, looking thoroughly alarmed at the sight of Elara and the Minister virtually nose to nose.
'– raised voices,' panted Mrs Weasley.
Scrimgeour took a couple of steps back from Elara, glancing at the hole he had made in Elara's shirt. He seemed to regret his loss of temper.
'It – it was nothing,' he growled. 'I ... regret your attitude,' he said, looking Elara 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.'
'Working together?' said Elara. 'You're just as bad as the American government.'
Scrimgeour's expression hardened. He turned away without another word and limped from the room. Mrs Weasley hurried after him; Elara 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 Elara, Harry, Ron and Hermione, as Mrs Weasley came hurrying back to them.
'To give us what Dumbledore left us,' said Elara. 'They've only just released the contents of his will.'
Outside in the garden, over the dinner tables, the three objects Scrimgeour had given them were passed from hand to hand. Elara would share her outrage to anyone who would listen at the fact her possessions were not passed over to her. Everyone exclaimed over the Deluminator and The Tales of Beedle the Bard and lamented the fact that Scrimgeour had refused to pass on the sword, but none of them could offer any suggestion as to why Dumbledore would have left Harry an old Snitch.
As Mr Weasley examined the Deluminator for the third or fourth time, 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.
Hagrid, who was invited to the wedding the following day, but was far too bulky to sleep in the overstretched Burrow, left to set up a tent for himself in a neighbouring field.
'Meet us upstairs,' Harry whispered to Elara, while they helped Mrs Weasley restore the garden to its normal state. 'After everyone's gone to bed.'
Up in the attic room, Ron examined his Deluminator and Harry filled Hagrid's Mokeskin purse, and Elara was hitting a punching bag she had conjured, trying to release some anger. At last, Hermione tapped on the door and tiptoed inside.
'Muffliato,' she 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.
'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. 'And from what they said, Dumbledore invented it himself!'
'I know, but surely he wouldn't have singled you out in his will just to help us turn out the lights!'
'D'you think he knew the Ministry would confiscate his will and examine everything he'd left us?'asked Harry.
'Definitely,' said Elara. '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 Elara a notebook that seemed to hate the Ministry. . . . and 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!'
'Yeah, well,' said Harry raising the Snitch in his fingers. 'I wasn't going to try too hard in front of Scrimgeour, was I?'
'What do you mean?' asked Elara.
'The Snitch I caught in my first ever Quidditch match?' said Harry. 'Don't you remember?'
Elara and Hermione were 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, pressing his mouth to the Snitch.
It did not open. He lowered the golden sphere, and it caught the light.
'Writing! There's writing on it, quick, look!' said Elara excitedly.
Harry nearly dropped the Snitch in surprise. Engraved upon the smooth golden surface, where seconds before there had been nothing, were five words written in the thin slanting handwriting that Elara recognised as Dumbledore's: I open at the close.
' "I open at the close ..." What's that supposed to mean?'
"Doors? Opportunities?" suggested Elara. "Death?" she added ominously.
'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 the sword and the notebook,' said Ron finally, when they had at last abandoned their attempts to divine meaning in the Snitch's inscription. 'Why did he want Elara to have the sword or a centuries old notebook?'
'And why couldn't he just have told me?' Elara said quietly. 'It was there, it was right there on the wall of his office during all our talks last year! If he wanted me to have it, why didn't he just give it to me then?'
She felt as though she were sitting in an examination with a question she ought to have been able to answer in front of her, her brain slow and unresponsive. Was there something she had missed in the long talks with Dumbledore last year? Ought she to know what it all meant? Had Dumbledore expected her to understand?
'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?' added Elara.
'No, I'm not!' said Hermione in surprise. 'Do you know them, then?'
'Well, of course I do!' said Ron
Elara looked up, diverted. The circumstance of Ron having read a 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 the Hopping Pot ... Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump ...'
'Excuse me?' said Hermione, giggling.
'What was that last one?'
'Come off it!' said Elara, looking in disbelief from Harry to Hermione. 'You must've heard of Babbitty Rabbitty –'
'Ron, Lara, you 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 Dwarves and Cinderella –'
'What's that, an illness?' asked Ron.
"You've never seen Cinderella?" said Elara, in shock.
'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 just Charlie, now Mum's asleep, sneaking off to regrow his hair,' said Ron nervously.
"All the same, we should get to bed,' whispered Hermione. 'It wouldn't do to oversleep tomorrow.'
'No,' agreed Ron. 'A brutal quadruple murder by the bridegroom's mother might put a bit of a damper on the wedding. I'll get the lights.'
And he clicked the Deluminator once more as Elara and Hermione left the room.
·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .
AUTHORS NOTE
— life? a shitshow
written: august 23, 2020
published: august 23, 2020