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As Scrimgeour pulled out the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver wings
fluttered rather feebly, and Harry could not help feeling a definite sense of anticlimax.

"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. "What else could it be?"

"I'm asking the questions," said Scrimgeour, shifting his chair a little closer to the
sofa. Dusk was really falling outside now; the marquee beyond the windows towered
ghostly white over the hedge.

"I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch," Scrimgeour said to
Harry. "Why is that?"

Hermione laughed derisively.

"Oh, it can't be a reference to the fact Harry's a great Seeker, that's way too
obvious," she said. "There must be a secret message from Dumbledore hidden in the
icing!"

"I don't think there's anything hidden in the icing," said Scrimgeour, "but a Snitch
would be a very good hiding place for a small object. You know why, I'm sure?"

Harry shrugged, Hermione, however, answered: Harry thought that answering
questions correctly was such a deeply ingrained habit she could not suppress the urge.

"Because Snitches have flesh memories," she said.

"What?" said Harry and Ron together; both considered Hermione's Quidditch
knowledge negligible.

"Correct," said Scrimgeour. "A Snitch is not touched by bare 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" -- he held up the tiny golden ball -- "will remember your touch, Potter.

It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill, whatever his
other faults, might have enchanted this Snitch so that it will open only for you."

Harry's heart was beating rather fast. He was sure that Scrimgeour was right. How
could he avoid taking the Snitch with his bare hand in front of the Minister?

"You don't say anything," said Scrimgeour. "Perhaps you already know what the
Snitch contains?"

"No," said Harry, still wondering how he could appear to touch the Snitch without
really doing so. If only he knew Legilimency, really knew it, and could read Hermione's
mind; he could practically hear her brain whizzing beside him.

"Take it," said Scrimgeour quietly.

Harry met the Minister's yellow eyes and knew he had no option but to obey. He
held out his hand, and Scrimgeour leaned forward again and place the Snitch, slowly and
deliberately, into Harry's palm.

Nothing happened. As Harry's fingers closed around the Snitch, its tired wings
fluttered and were still. Scrimgeour, Ron, and Hermione continued to gaze avidly at the
now partially concealed ball, as if still hoping it might transform in some way.

"That was dramatic," said Harry coolly. Both Ron and Hermione laughed.

"That's all, then, is it?" asked Hermione, making to raise herself off the sofa.

"Not quite," said Scrimgeour, who looked bad tempered now. "Dumbledore left
you a second bequest, Potter."

"What is it?" asked Harry, excitement rekindling.

Scrimgeour did not bother to read from the will this time.

"The sword of Godric Gryffindor," he said. Hermione and Ron both 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 or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So this
is 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!"

"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, 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.

"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.

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 work together."

"I don't like your methods, Minister," said Harry. "Remember?"

For the second time, he raised his right fist and displayed to Scrimgeour the scar
that still showed white on the back of it, spelling I must not tell lies . Scrimgeour's
expression hardened. He turned away without another word and limped from the room.
Mrs. Weasley hurried after him; Harry 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 Harry, Ron, and
Hermione as Mrs. Weasley came hurrying back to them.

"To give us what Dumbledore left us," said Harry. "They've only just released the
content of his will."

Outside in the garden, over the dinner tables, the three objects Scrimgeour had
given them were passed from hand to hand. 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 of 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 neighboring field.

"Meet us upstairs," Harry whispered to Hermione, 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, not with gold, but with those items he most prized, apparently worthless
though some of them were the Marauder's Map, the shard of Sirius's enchanted mirror,
and R.A.B.'s locket. He pulled the string tight and slipped the purse around his neck, then
sat holding the old Snitch and watching its wings flutter feebly. At last, Hermione tapped
on the door and tiptoed inside.

"Muffiato," 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 I 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 Hermione. "He couldn't tell us in the will why he was leaving
us these things, but that will 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 left 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!"

"Yeah, well," said Harry, his pulse quickened 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 Hermione.

"The Snitch I caught in my first ever Quidditch match?" said Harry. "Don't you
remember?"

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 mouth to the
Snitch.

It did not open. Frustration and bitter disappointment welled up inside him: 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, slanted 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 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 the sword," said Ron finally, when they had at last abandoned their attempts
to divine meaning in the Snitch's inscription.

"Why did he want Harry to have the sword?"

"And why couldn't he just have told me?" Harry said quietly. "I 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?"

He felt as thought he were sitting in an examination with a question he ought to
have been able to answer in front of him, his brain slow and unresponsive. Was there
something he had missed in the long talks with Dumbledore last year? Ought he to know
what it all meant? Had Dumbledore expected him 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?"

"No, I'm not," said Hermione in surprise. "Do you know them then?"

"Well, of course I do!"

Harry 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 the last one?"

"Come off it!" said Ron, looking in disbelief from Harry to Hermione. "You
must've heard of Babbitty Rabbitty –"

"Ron, 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.

"So these are children's stories?" asked Hermione, bending against over the runes.

"Yeah." Said Ron uncertainly. "I mean, 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 cracked 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 triple murder by the bridegroom's mother might put a
bit of damper on the wedding. I'll get the light."

And he clicked the Deluminator once more as Hermione left the room.