"SORRY to intrude," Scrimgeour said, addressing everyone at the table, "especially as I can see that I am gatecrashing a party. Many happy returns."
"Thanks," Harry said flatly.
"I require a word with you. Also with Mr. Ronald Weasley, Miss Hermione Granger, and Miss Margo Lovett."
"Us?" Ron blurted surprised, Hermione and I mirroring the same look he had. "Why us?"
"I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private," Scrimgeour replied. "Is there such a place?" he asked Mr. Weasley.
"Yes, of course. The, er, sitting room, why don't you use that?"
"You can lead the way," the Minister told Ron. "There will be no need for you to accompany us, Arthur."
My eyes flitted to my parents who stood beside Mrs. Weasley, both of them looking puzzled and worried. I shrugged at them and followed the trio into the house. Not one of us spoke until we were all seated on the sofa, sitting side-by-side in front of Scrimgeour.
"I have some questions for the four of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. If you three can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald," he said.
"We're not going anywhere," Harry said quickly. Hermione and I nodded. "You can speak to us together, or not at all."
Scrimgeour shot Harry a menacing look, but within the blink of an eye it was gone. "Very well, then, together. I am here, as I'm sure you know, because of Albus Dumbledore's will."
The four of us looked at each other, my eyebrows shooting up to my hairline at the unexpected announcement. Since the Minister's arrival, I didn't dare guess why he would possible want to talk to us, but out of all things, I didn't expect this. I didn't even know Dumbledore well enough for him to leave me something from his will.
"A surprise, apparently!" Scrimgeour said. "You were not aware, then, that Dumbledore had left you anything?"
"A—all of us?" Ron said. "Me and Hermione and Margo too?"
"Yes, all of—"
"Dumbledore died over a month ago. Why has it taken this long to give us what he left us?" Harry interrupted.
I almost flinched at the words. A month ago. It had been exactly a month since that night in the Astronomy Tower. . .that night with Draco.
Blinking rapidly, I shook my head subtlety.
"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione said. "They wanted to examine whatever he's left us. You had no right to do that!"
Scrimgeour almost looked bored. "I had every right. The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power to confiscate the contents of a will—"
"Which isn't really the right way, Minster," I said a little coldly.
Hermione nodded furiously. "The law was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artefacts and the Ministry is supposed to have powerful evidence that deceased's possessions are illegal before seizing them! Are you telling me you thought Dumbledore was trying to pass us something cursed?"
"Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?"
"No I'm not. I'm hoping to do some good in the world!"
Ron and I laughed.
"So why have you decided to let us have our things now?" Harry asked. "Can't think of a pretext to keep them?"
"No, it'll because the thirty-one days are up," Hermione spoke again. "They can't keep the objects longer than that unless they can prove they're dangerous. Right?"
"Would you say you're were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?" Scrimgeour asked a startled Ron, ignoring Hermione completely.
"Me? Not—not really. . .it was always Harry who. . ."
He looked at us helplessly, faltering upon seeing the look Hermione was sending his way — the same look she usually gave when she wanted him to stop talking — but it was already too late. One glance at Scrimgeour's satisfied face got me face-palming mentally.
Whatever this old man wants to know. . .he's not going get it that easily.
"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," Scrimgeour said. "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," Ron replied unsurely. "I. . .when I say we weren't close. . .I mean, I think he liked me. . ."
"You're being modest, Ron," said Hermione sharply. "Dumbledore was very fond of you."
Whatever interrogation he was doing, Scrimgeour decided that it was enough and not worth-while anymore. He took out a drawstring pouch from his cloak and pulled out a scroll of parchment in it that he unrolled to read out:
"'The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore'. . .yes, here we are. . .'to Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in hope that he will remember me when he uses it.'"
From the same pouch he took out an object that closely resembled a silver cigarette lighter which he gave to Ron.
"That it a valuable object. It may be even be unique. Certainly it is Dumbledore's own design. Why should he have left you an item so rare?"
But Ron merely shook his head looking bewildered.
"Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students," the Minister pressed. "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?"
"Does the Ministry really ask this many questions," I tried asking politely but failed.
Ron shrugged. "Put out lights, I s'pose. What else could I do with it?"
Scrimgeour smartly kept his mouth shut and proceeded on with reading the next will. "'To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle and the Bard, in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.'"
I perked up at the familiar name and shared a puzzled glance with Ron, wondering why Dumbledore would give Hermione a children's book. The book was small and tattered, its binding stained and peeling; clearly showing that it's probably as ancient as Dumbledore was.
From afar, it looks almost like the exact copy Mrs. Weasley used to read to Ron and I, but when Hermione placed it on her lap I realized that the title of the book was in ancient runes.
"Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?"
Hermione sniffled. "He. . .he knew I liked books."
"But why this particular book?"
"I don't know. Be must've thought I'd enjoy it."
"Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with Dumbledore?" Scrimgeour asked her.
"No, I didn't." She wiped a tear. "And if the Ministry hasn't found any hidden codes in this book in thirty-one days, I doubt that I will."
Scrimgeour cleared his throat awkwardly when he saw Hermione suppress a sob. Ron, doing the best he can while being squeezed in between Harry and Hermione, did his best to comfort the latter.
"'To Margo Lucille Lovett,'" the Minister read. My heart skipped a beat. "'I leave my only memory I had with her ancestor, Genevieve, in hopes that she will choose her own path in the very end.'"
From the pouch, he took out a small teardrop-shaped phial, filled with a glowing white substance that didn't look like liquid nor gas, but a mix of between. My mouth parted open as soon as the Minister's words fully sank in — I didn't even know Dumbledore lived long enough to talk to Genevieve.
"This was the only item the Ministry could not strip down, as it is a memory, it would violate the laws to which wizards and witches have their rights of privacy."
"Yet you lot couldn't do the same with the others," I muttered. The phial was cold to the touch, nonetheless I greedily pocketed it before Scrimgeour had the chance to take it back.
And like it was automatic, he asked, "Why do you think Dumbledore left you this memory, Miss Lovett? Why not give it to your parents, or their parents, when he had the chance?"
A bitter taste was left in my mouth. I had to come up with a lie, quickly, before I revealed too much of my kinisis. "My parents and grandparents never showed any interest towards Genevieve."
"But why have you?" he pressed.
"Mum told me about her. . .just bits of stories. . .but, I've always found her interesting because in a way, she's a lot like me. So I asked Dumbledore if he knew her. . .and it just so happens that he did."
Scrimgeour didn't look too happy with my answer, though it seemed like he did believe me without a doubt. He looked back at the will and finally read Harry's turn.
"'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.'"
The trio and I glanced at each other with excitement as he took out the familiar golden walnut-sized ball, its silver wings glittering rapidly in place.
"Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?"
"No idea," Harry replied. "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 is a mere symbolic keepsake, then?"
"Pardon me, Minister," I said, "but everything you've given us so far has been a 'symbolic keepsake'."
Harry nodded. "What else could it be?"
"I'm asking the questions," Scrimgeour said. "I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch. Why is that?"
Hermione scoffed humorously. "Oh, it can't be a reference to the fact Harry's a great Seeker, that's way too obvious. There must be a secret message from Dumbledore hidden in the icing!"
Ron and I tried our best to suppress our giggles.
"I don't think there's anything hidden in the icing," Scrimgeour said surprisingly calm, "but a Snitch would be a very good hiding place for a small object. You know why, I'm sure?"
Harry shrugged, looking uninterested as possible whilst Hermione answered his question.
"Because Snitches have flesh memories."
"What?" the rest of us chorused.
"Correct," Scrimgeour said. "A Snitch is not touched by bare skin before it is released, not even by the maker who wears gloves. It carries an enchantment by which it can identify the first human to lay hands upon it, in case of a disputed capture. This Snitch will remember your touch, Potter. It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who has prodigious magical skill, whatever his other faults, might have enchanted this Snitch so that it will only open for you."
I whistled. "Now that's one hell of a birthday gift."
"You don't say anything," he said, judging Harry's silence. "Perhaps you already know what the Snitch contains?"
"No."
Scrimgeour thrusted the Snitch towards him. "Take it."
Harry glanced at us unsurely but obeyed the Minister's orders and opened up his palm for the Snitch. We watched intently, as it's wings fluttered to a still and waited for something, anything, to happen.
"That was dramatic," Harry said sarcastically as we laughed.
"That's all, then, is it?" Hermione asked then stood up.
One look at the Minister already told me that he was in an even worse mood than before. "Not quite. Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter."
"What is it?"
"The Sword of Godric Gryffindor."
I stiffened in place, sharing a disbelieved look at Hermione and Ron who reacted the same way as I did. We waited for Scrimgeour to rummage inside the pouch, to pull out the ruby-encrusted sword the Gryffindors took a lot of pride in, but nothing happened.
"So where is it?" Harry asked suspiciously.
"Unfortunately that sword was not Dumbledore's to give away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important artifact, and as such, belongs—"
"It belongs to Harry!" Hermione suddenly burst. "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," Scrimgeour argued. "That does not make it the exclusive property to Mr. Potter, whatever Dumbledore may have decided. Why do you think—?"
"Dumbledore wanted to give me the sword?" Harry guessed angrily. "Maybe he thought it would look nice on my wall."
Despite the growing anger that electrified the room, I couldn't help but suppress an amused smile at Harry's words.
"This is not a joke, Potter! Was it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he wish you give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as so many, that you are destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
"Interesting theory," Harry retorted smartly. I shared a knowing look with Hermione; here we go. "Has anyone ever tired sticking a sword in Voldemort? Maybe the Ministry should put some people on to that, instead of wasting their time stripping down a Deluminators, or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So is that what you've been 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 countries, he killed Mad-Eye Moody, but there's no word about any of that from the Ministry, has there? And you still expect us to cooperate with you!"
In the blink of an eye, Scrimgeour and Harry both immediately leapt to their feet, standing in front of each other whilst giving one another a death glare. The former jabbed his wand at Harry's chest, his shirt immediately burned a hole from where it's been singed.
My eyes widened. Ron and I jumped out with our wands too.
Harry was quick to respond. "No! D'you want to give him an excuse to arrest us?"
But his words didn't register in my head, I was still staring at Scrimgeour murderously, breathing heavily through my nose as I tried to control my temper.
"It's time you learned some respect!" I heard Scrimgeour say.
"It's time you earned it," Harry replied coldly.
The door to the sitting room immediately flew open, revealing a shocked-looking Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, as well as my parents.
"We—we thought we heard—" Mr. Weasley stammered.
"—raised voices," his wife finished with a pant.
"What's going on in here?" mum asked firmly, eyes flitting between the Minister and Harry.
Scrimgeour, having realized that there was now an audience watching him, took a step back from Harry and glanced at the singe mark on his shirt with regret.
"It—it's nothing," he managed to spit out. "I. . .regret your attitude. You seem to think the Ministry does not desire what you — what Dumbledore — desired. We ought to be working together."
"I don't like your methods, Minister, remember?" Harry grabbed a hold of my left arm and raised my fist on full display for the Scrimgeour to see, him doing the same with his right.
The Minister's face hardened upon seeing it, no doubt the words still etched into our skins as white scars: I must not tell lies and I must not provoke others.
As soon as Scrimgeour left, I breathed out a relieved sigh. "Thank Merlin, I thought he'd never leave."
~
DEAR READERS,
bro 😭 this chapter is sooo wack!!! i am so sorry
let me explain,,, i know i've been severely MIA the whole week and i'm sorry yall 😔 it's my school's mid-term break and i've been at a hotel actually,, just vibing n stuff . i came back home two days ago and tried my best to polish this chapter up the best i can but idk my writing abilities rlly dipped huh 😹 embarrassing !
i rlly need to stop making this authors note into a fucken diary before i ✨over share✨
also i've started playing this game called genshin impact and ???? i'm addicted as hell . curse my bf for doinf this
anywho i will probably put up another chapter later 👀 to makeup for my lousy ass. i love y'all! ❤️
— S.
~