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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
muscley 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 Hermione.

"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 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.

"We shouldn't be here," said Lupin at once. "Harry -- I'm sorry -- I'll explain some
other time--"

He seized Tonks’s wrist and pulled her away; they reached the fence, climbed
over it, and vanished from sight. Mrs. Weasley looked bewildered.

"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
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. As Scrimgeour came
within range of the lantern light. Harry saw that he looked much older than the last time
that 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 gate-crashing 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," 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."

Harry saw Mr. Weasley exchange a worried look with Mrs. Weasley as he, Ron,
and Hermione stood up. As they led the way back to the house in silence, Harry knew
that the other two were thinking the same as he was; Scrimgeour must, somehow, had
learned that the three of them were planning to drop out of Hogwarts.

Scrimgeour did not speak as they all passed through the messed 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; Harry flicked his wand at the oil lamps as he entered and they
illuminated the shabby but cozy room. Scrimgeour sat himself in the sagging armchair
that Mr. Weasley normally occupied, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione to squeeze side
by side onto the sofa. Once they had done so, Scrimgeour spoke.

"I have some questions for the three of you, and I think it will be best if we do it
individually. If you two" -- he pointed at Harry 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."

Scrimgeour gave Harry a cold, appraising look. Harry 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, 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 the 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 laughed. Scrimgeour's eyes flickered toward him 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 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 who..."

Ron looked around at 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 Hermione. "Dumbledore was very fond of you."

This was stretching the truth to breaking point; as far as Harry 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 Harry 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 the 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 and 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 three. Why is that? To what use did
he think you would put to the 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
tow, 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 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. Harry saw that the title was in runes; he had never learned to read them. As he
looked, a tear splashed onto 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?"

"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 Harry James Potter,'" he read, and Harry's insides contracted with a sudden
excitement, "'I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a
reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.'"