(Y/N)'s POV

Scrimgeour did not speak as we 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: Harry flicked his wand at the oil lamps as he entered and they illuminated the shabby but cosy room.

Scrimgeour sat himself in the sagging armchair that Mr. Weasley normally occupied, leaving Harry, Hermione and I to squeeze side by side on the sofa as Ron politely took the floor beside us. Once we 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, Hermione and I, "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 just sat down, don't make us all get up again" I reasoned.

Scrimgeour gave Harry a cold, appraising look. "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."

We all 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!" Ron laughed, I giggled so hard I was almost in tears, she mugged him right off.

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, who was absolutely right. Ron looked startled. "Me? Not – not really ... it was always Harry and (Y/N) who ..."

Ron looked round at us, to see Hermione giving him a 'stop-talking-now!' sort of look, "Zip the lip genius!" I muttered, 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."

"Well, Ron sorted out the Chamber of Secrets and Sirius Black, then he was at the Department of Mysteries with us , made a good impression I imagine" I said, looking to Harry, who nodded awkwardly, Scrimgeour seemed amused by this flimsy reasoning and moved on.

This was stretching the truth to breaking point, however, 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" he cleared his throat for dramatic effect, "to Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that when things seem most dark, it will show him the light."

Scrimgeour took from the bag an object that I had seen before: it looked something like a silver cigarette lighter, it had 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 be fair Minister, we do leave quite the impression" I smirked at him.

He moved on again, "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."

"The old storybook? With the scary rabbit lady and stuff?" I enquired, thinking back to fond memories of my childhood.

Scrimgeour 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. The title was in runes; I nudged her shoulder comfortingly as a tear hit the cover.

"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. "Well, you are a fan of rabbits" I scoffed, poor Binky, gone but never forgotten.

Scrimgeour seemed to take this answer as the truth and despite seeming dissapointed at the lack of any incriminating evidence he moved on with the will, holding it up and clearing his throat.

"To Mr. (Y/N) (L/N) I leave my pocket watch" He reached into a pouch and pulled out a golden ornate pocket watch attached to a simple golden chain.

He gave it a once over and passed me it as if It was going to start singing when I touched it. I examined it, just touching the cold metal gave me chills, but it still made no sense to me, the Minister spoke again.

"With the reminder that time is precious, whether made or lost, and with the promise that it is unlikely to spontaneously combust" I smiled and oddly thanked Dumbledore in my head.

"And why Mr. (L/N), do you think that Dumbledore deemed you to be the person receiving this specific object" I just shrugged, "At the end of his message, he mentions combustion. Is this some sort of code you have previously discussed?" I shook my head.

"Nope, you're not that lucky Minister, It's just an inside joke." "Care to elaborate?" he insisted, "No." I said plainly. He grit his teeth, "Do you have any idea what the significance of this watch may have been? What it meant to Dumbledore?"

"I dunno, I barely knew what he was talking about while he's alive, let alone now, so I couldn't tell you, I was always late to classes so there's that, but then again, maybe he thought it would go nice with my eyes."

Scrimgeour barely held back a frown, as I looked at the pocket watch I realised it was a lot more intricate then I first thought, It was a very odd watch It was made of gold and It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge.

"Guess that means I've definitely come of age now." I thought as I looked down at it. Still with no clue how to read it or its purpose.

Scrimgeour turned back to the will. '"To Harry James Potter,"' he read, "I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill."

As Scrimgeour pulled out the 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. "What else could it be?"

"I'm asking the questions," said Scrimgeour, shifting his chair a little closer to the sofa. "We noticed," I said, pulling my eyes away from my new timepiece.

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!"

"Don't be silly Hermione, its not in the icing...its in the filling" I rolled my eyes at her. "Don't you remember he said Vanilla means assassinate the Minister and Chocolate meant resurrect him...Geez, It's like you never payed attention in our conspiracy meetings."

"I don't think there's anything hidden in the icing" said Scrimgeour with barely hidden anger, "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: answering questions correctly was such a deeply ingrained habit she could not suppress the urge. "Because Snitches have flesh memories," she said. "What?" the rest of us said together.

"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."

"You don't say anything," said Scrimgeour. "Perhaps you already know what the Snitch contains?" "No," said Harry quickly. "I do," I said quickly, as Scrimgeor became entranced with me I explained.

"Inside is just a little risqué picture of Dumbledore giving a little wink and a step by step plan on how to overthrow the Ministry written in Mermish, it's the only logical outcome."

Scrimgeour huffed in disapproval and Ron barely stifled a giggle, even Harry and Hermione gave little smirks. "That does sound like him" Harry said. But there was a tense moment when the Minister handed over the Snitch and we all waited in wonder to see what would be revealed.

"Take it," said Scrimgeour quietly. He held out his hand and Scrimgeour leaned forwards again and placed the Snitch, slowly and deliberately, into Harry's palm, and...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, "Maybe it's shy" I shrugged. "That's all, then, is it?" asked Hermione, making to prise herself off the sofa. "Not quite," said Scrimgeour, who looked bad-tempered now.

"Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter." "Of course he did..." I muttered; Harry would be the one of us to get the most presents out of this. "What is it?" asked Harry. 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.

"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 artefact, 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, scrutinising 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 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? 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 towards 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.

He sneered at Harry and before It escalated I decided to intervene. "Remembered who you're dealing with Minister?" I said, drawing my own wand and pressing the tip to Scrimgeour's throat.

His eyes flicked to me, then he withdrew his wand from Harrys chest and now locked eyes with me, his yellow orbs scanning for any weakness,  "I could have you locked up in Azkaban for that boy." He threatened, I scoffed.

"Go on then, I'd be out in a week, have fun trying to cover that break out up when I come back screaming to the heavens about you assaulting the Chosen One on his birthday and locking up his mates because they hurt your feelings, I can't wait until Skeeter gets her hands on it."

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, the Minister and I 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 be working together." "I don't like your methods, Minister," said Harry. "Remember?"

He raised his right fist, and displayed to Scrimgeour the scars 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.

I called him a few choice words as he left and for one in her life, Hermione didn't stop me or take offence but simply nodded. "What did he want?" Mr Weasley asked, looking around at us, as Mrs Weasley came hurrying back.

"To give us what Dumbledore left us," said Harry. "They've only just released the contents of his will." Outside in the garden, over the dinner tables, the objects Scrimgeour had given were passed from hand to hand.

Everyone exclaimed over the Deluminator, the pocket watch 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?"

We 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 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.

Our attic meeting essentially boiled down to the phrase '... why couldn't he have given us a hint when he was alive?' which Ron asked finally after a demonstration of the Deluminator and examining of the other items.

"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!" "Yeah, well," said Harry, "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 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 slanting handwriting. Dumbledore's. "I open at the close."

"I open at the close ... What's that supposed to mean?" I racked my brain but could think of nothing helpful, "I suppose we'll find out eventually, maybe it'll open when you graduate from Hogwarts? Like the Trace?"

He shrugged "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.

"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?" "Because he always liked making things weird and complicated."

"Like this thing...I can't even read it." I said, shaking the watch slightly, "Wait..." I pressed my lips to it, there was no change except a snort from Ron.

I shrugged, "Just thought I'd check, Harry, kiss this..." I held it out to him, he frowned at me. "Maybe I have to chuck it in a fireplace..." I mumbled to myself.

"And as for this book," said Hermione, moving on, "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 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 Ron, looking in disbelief from Harry to Hermione. "You must've heard of Babbitty Rabbitty-" "That one always confused me at the end..." I said to Ron, who still seemed to be in a state of shock.

Then I had an epiphany, "Oh my god she's a rabbit ANIMAGUS!" I said that far louder then I meant to, my childhood confusion about the story connecting with the adult reasoning in my head.

"Sorry, been trying to put my finger on that one since I was five" "So you've heard of them too then?" said Hermione, I nodded, "Yeah, my brother read the scary ones to me sometimes. The Hairy Heart still gives me nightmares," I shuddered.

"Dad read the rest though, he was the best at the voices" I said with a bittersweet flash of memory, "And the one about the three blokes fighting Death with magic superwands..." I trailed off; I don't think I was remembering that right.

"I didn't really like all the Muggle stories, they always made the witches the bad guy and It felt really mean, Like, you crushed her sister with a house and robbed her corpse, what do you expect you little whiny psycho?"

"See, (Y/N)'s normal, I cant believe-" started Ron "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. "I figured you'd be a more of a Beauty and the Beast girl 'Mione" I chuckled, she shrugged. "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."

"Night 'Mione" I said with a quick peck, then I said, "Night Harry, Happy Birthday" he groaned at me, I giggled and said finally, "Night Bilius" "Oh shut up" he said in retort, and he clicked the Deluminator once more as Hermione left the room.

Three o'clock on the following afternoon found Harry, Ron, Fred, George and I standing outside the great white marquee in the orchard, awaiting the arrival of the wedding guests. I was given the extra riveting task of guarding Harry.

But when I saw him It was hard to keep a straight face, "Nice hair, hahaha, you look like a rejected Beatle" I said as I wiped tears from my eyes at the sight of him.

Harry had taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion and was now the double of a redheaded Muggle boy from the local village, Ottery St. Catchpole, from whom Fred had stolen hairs using a Summoning Charm.

The plan was to introduce Harry as "Cousin Barny" and trust to the great number of Weasley relatives to camouflage him. We were clutching seating plans, so that they could help show people to the right seats.

A host of white-robed waiters had arrived an hour earlier, along with a golden-jacketed band, and all of these wizards were currently sitting a short distance away under a tree; a blue haze of pipe smoke issuing from the spot.

"When I get married," said Fred, tugging at the collar of his own robes, "I won't be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I'll put a full Body-Bind Curse on Mum until it's all over."

"She wasn't too bad this morning, considering," said George. "Cried a bit about Percy not being here, but who wants him? Oh blimey, brace yourselves, here they come, look."

"Remember boys, big smiles" I said as brightly coloured figures were appearing, one by one, out of nowhere at the distant boundary of the yard. Within minutes a procession had formed, which began to snake its way up through the garden toward the marquee.

"Excellent, I think I see a few veela cousins," said George after a minute, craning his neck for a better look. "They'll need help understanding our English customs, I'll look after them. . . ."

"Not so fast, Your Holeyness," said Fred, and darting past the gaggle of middle-aged witches heading the procession, he said, "Here — permettez-moi to assister vous," to a pair of pretty French girls, who giggled and allowed him to escort them inside.

I whispered in one's ear as they walked off giggling, "Pardonnez-lui, il est stupide" she giggled harder and despite my admittedly subpar French she caught my meaning and went off with the others.

George was left to deal with the middle-aged witches and Ron took charge of Mr. Weasley's old Ministry colleague Perkins, while a rather deaf old couple fell to Harry's lot and I was left with him sorting it out.

"Wotcher," said a familiar voice as he came out of the marquee again and found Tonks and Lupin at the front of the queue. She had turned blonde for the occasion. "Love the hair" I smiled, she winked and turned to Harry.

"Arthur told us you were the one with the curly hair. Sorry about last night," she added in a whisper as Harry and I led them up the aisle.

"The Ministry's being very anti-werewolf at the moment and we thought our presence might not do you any favours." "It's fine, I understand," said Harry as we walked.

After I fixed a mishap that Hagrid had with several folding chairs I hurried back to the entrance to find Ron face-to-face with a most eccentric-looking wizard I'd ever seen.

Slightly cross-eyed, with shoulder-length white hair the texture of candyfloss, he wore a cap whose tassel dangled in front of his nose and robes of an eye-watering shade of egg-yolk yellow. An odd symbol, rather like a triangular eye, glistened from a golden chain around his neck.

I recognised him immediately, even our brief exchange a few years ago made him unmistakable to me. "Xenophilius Lovegood," he said, extending a hand to Harry, "my daughter and I live just over the hill, so kind of the good Weasleys to invite us. But I think you know my Luna?" he added to Ron.

"Yes," said Ron. "Isn't she with you?" "She lingered in that charming little garden to say hello to the gnomes, such a glorious infestation! How few wizards realise just how much we can learn from the wise little gnomes — or, to give them their correct name, the Gernumbli gardensi."

"Good to see you sir!" I called out to him, trying to draw attention from Harry, he smiled widely at my approach, "(Y/N) (L/N), always a pleasure." I shook his hand, "I didn't know you lived so close to here, I would have popped round for a visit" I smiled.

"You are always welcome. Any friend of my darling Luna's is a friend of mine." Speaking of Luna, she emerged from the garden, joining her father in greeting us. "Hello, Harry!" she said.

"Er — my name's Barny," said Harry, flummoxed. "Oh, have you changed that too?" she asked brightly. "How did you know — ?" "Oh, just your expression," she said. Trust Luna to see through the Polyjuice immediately and think nothing of it.

Like her father, Luna was wearing bright yellow robes, which she had accessorised with a large sunflower in her hair. Once you got over the brightness of it all, the general effect was quite pleasant. At least there were no radishes dangling from her ears.

"You look lovely Luna" I complimented, she smiled brightly, "You look nice (Y/N), I like your new scar, did you do it yourself?" I didn't know how to answer that, "I mean...kind of..." I shrugged.

"Where you trying to be more like Harry?" I chuckled at the thought and shook my head, she beamed at me. Then she held up her finger and said, "Daddy, look — one of the gnomes actually bit me!"

"How wonderful! Gnome saliva is enormously beneficial!" said Mr. Lovegood, seizing Luna's outstretched finger and examining the bleeding puncture marks. "Luna, my love, if you should feel any burgeoning talent today — perhaps an unexpected urge to sing opera or to declaim in Mermish — do not repress it! You may have been gifted by the Gernumblies!"

Ron, passing them in the opposite direction, let out a loud snort. "Ron can laugh," said Luna serenely as Harry led her and Xenophilius toward their seats, "but my father has done a lot of research on Gernumbli magic."

"Really?" said Harry, who didn't seem very bothered with the answer."Are you sure you don't want to put anything on that bite, though?" "Oh, it's fine," said Luna, sucking her finger in a dreamy fashion and looking Harry up and down.

"You look smart. I told Daddy most people would probably wear dress robes, but he believes you ought to wear sun colours to a wedding, for luck, you know." As she drifted off after her father, Ron reappeared with an elderly witch clutching his arm.

Her beaky nose, red-rimmed eyes, and feathery pink hat gave her the look of a bad-tempered flamingo. ". . . and your hair's much too long, Ronald, for a moment I thought you were Ginevra. Merlin's beard, what is Xenophilius Lovegood wearing? He looks like an omelette. And who are you?" she barked at Harry.

"Oh yeah, Auntie Muriel, this is our cousin Barny." "Another Weasley? You breed like gnomes. Isn't Harry Potter here? I was hoping to meet him. I thought he was a friend of yours, Ronald, or have you merely been boasting?"

"No, he couldn't come" "Hmm. Made an excuse, did he? Not as gormless as he looks in press photographs, then. I've just been instructing the bride on how best to wear my tiara,"

She shouted at Harry. "Goblin-made, you know, and been in my family for centuries. She's a good-looking girl, but still — French." "Lovely...casual racism..." I sighed at the old women, trying to bite my tongue and blame it on age.

"Do I know you tall boy?" "We've met before yes, I'm (Y/N)-" "-The boy who flew into my rosebush, yes I remember you now, you ought to take better care of other people's property boy" "I was bleeding to death and half blind..."

She scoffed, "Or just soft like the rest of the kids nowadays, can't even tell the time properly..." she muttered and moved on. "Well, well, find me a good seat, Ronald, I am a hundred and seven and I ought not to be on my feet too long."

"Nightmare, Muriel is," said Ron, mopping his forehead on his sleeve as he came back. "She used to come for Christmas every year, then, thank God, she took offence because Fred and George set off a Dungbomb under her chair at dinner."

"Dad always says she'll have written them out of her will. Like they care, they're going to end up richer than anyone in the family, rate they're going. . . ."

"Wow," he added, blinking rather rapidly as Hermione came hurrying toward them. "You look great!" "I know I do, cheers Ron" I said, giving him a little twirl. "I meant Hermione!" he said adamantly, I faked a sob, "And after all this hard work to impress you."

Hermione was wearing a stunningly red dress that cut off just below her knee. "Your Great-Aunt Muriel doesn't agree. I just met her upstairs while she was giving Fleur the tiara. She said, 'Oh dear, is this the Muggle-born?' and then, 'Bad posture and skinny ankles'." 

"Don't take it personally, she's rude to everyone." I nodded, recalling my experience with her earlier in the year, "She called me a lumbering praying mantis, I don't even know what that means" I frowned, "Still hurt my feelings though" Ron shrugged.

I took Hermione's arm and looked her over, "For the record, I think you have great posture, and I like your ankles just the way they are." I winked, she smiled, "That was oddly quite flattering"

I hugged her around the waist, "You look exquisite. Definitely the prettiest girl here, apart from Fleur and Muriel of course" I ended with a smirk, she smiled and we shared a quick kiss.

"Talking about Muriel?" inquired George, reemerging from the marquee with Fred. "Yeah, she's just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat. I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings."

"Wasn't he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later?" asked Hermione. "Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end," conceded George. "But before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party," said Fred.

"He used to down an entire bottle of firewhisky, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his-"

"Yes, he sounds a real charmer," said Hermione, while Harry and I roared with laughter. "Never married, for some reason," said Ron.

We were all laughing so much that none of us noticed the latecomer, a dark-haired young man with a large, curved nose and thick black eyebrows, until he held out his invitation to Ron and said, with his eyes on Hermione, "You look vunderful."

"Viktor!" she shrieked, and dropped her small beaded bag, which made a loud thump quite disproportionate to its size. As she scrambled, blushing, to pick it up, she said, "I didn't know you were — goodness — it's lovely to see — how are you?"

"VICKY!" I greeted him happily, hugging him. "Surprised to see you here" I said, cocking my head in confusion, glancing at Krum's invitation "Fleur invited me," said Krum, eyebrows raised. "Fair enough, come on I'll show you to your seat"

His appearance was causing a stir, particularly amongst the veela cousins: He was, after all, a famous Quidditch player. While people were still craning their necks to get a good look at him,

As soon as I got him seated Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George came hurrying down the aisle. "Time to sit down," Fred told Harry and I, "or we're going to get run over by the bride."

So we hurried and took our seats in the second row behind Fred and George. A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of amethyst coloured robes with a matching hat.

A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with large white roses in their buttonholes. Fred wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling from the veela cousins.

Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons. "Ooooh!" said Hermione, swivelling around in her seat to look at the entrance and almost elbowing me in the head.

A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow.

While her radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everybody it fell upon. Ginny and Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual, and once Fleur had reached him, Bill did not look as though he had ever met Fenrir Greyback.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said a slightly singsong voice, the same small, tufty-haired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore's funeral, now standing in front of Bill and Fleur. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls . . ."

"Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely," said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. "But I must say, Ginevra's dress is far too low cut." I sighed at her as the ceremony went on.

"Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle . . . ?" In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace.

Trumpetlike sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. Hermione turned and beamed at me; her eyes too were full of tears. ". . . then I declare you bonded for life."

The tufty-haired wizard waved his wand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiralling around their now entwined figures.

As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst: Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" called the tufty-haired wizard. "If you would please stand up!" We all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waved his wand again.

The seats on which we had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that we stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside.

Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the centre of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth around it, and the golden-jacketed band trooped toward a podium.

"Smooth," said Ron approvingly as the waiters popped up on all sides, some bearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and firewhisky, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.

"We should go and congratulate them!" said Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Bill and Fleur had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers and pulling me by the wrist. And so I was dragged into a crowd of people to see the bride and groom.

After we congratulated them, I stuck around Fleur for a bit. "What are you doing?" Enquired Hermione, "Waiting for the bouquet." "That's for bridesmaids' genius." I sighed, "What's the point in being so tall if I never get to use it to my advantage?" I sulked.

She just chuckled and pulled me off to see the others, by the time we found them, they were on the other side of the marquee, most of the tables were occupied: The emptiest was the one where Luna sat alone.

"All right if we join you?" asked Ron. "Oh yes," she said happily. "Daddy's just gone to give Bill and Fleur our present." "What is it, a lifetime's supply of Gurdyroots?" asked Ron. Hermione aimed a kick at him under the table, but caught Harry instead.

The band had begun to play. Bill and Fleur took to the dance floor first, to great applause; after a while, Mr. Weasley led Madame Delacour onto the floor, followed by Mrs. Weasley and Fleur's father.

"I like this song," said Luna, swaying in time to the waltzlike tune, and a few seconds later she stood up and glided onto the dance floor, where she revolved on the spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving her arms. I shook my head "And she said she didn't like dancing"

Viktor Krum had dropped into Luna's vacant seat. Hermione looked pleasurably flustered, but this time Krum had not come to compliment her. With a scowl on his face he said, "Who is that man in the yellow?" "That's Xenophilius Lovegood, he's the father of a friend of ours," said Ron.

I didn't hear the rest of the conversation, I took Hermione's hand, "You. Me. Dancefloor?" I posed the question, she nodded quickly, and we sped off to dance the night away.

We danced for around ten minutes, it was nothing flashy, just a few swaying movements, but we got much closer then we did during the Yule Ball and shared a few simple kisses as the night went on.

As we got back, I noticed something out of place, "You alright Ron, you look all mopey." I said, concerned, he shrugged, "Is Lavender about?" I said, scanning the crowd, "Nah, couldn't make it, her parents are going mental" I sighed, feeling bad for him.

"Never mind mate, you could always ask Muriel for a quick snog" I nudged him, he didn't even register it and just put his head down. "Dance with him for a minute I have an idea" I whispered into Hermione's ear.

It took me a minute to find the right partner for him, one of Fleurs Veela relatives, she was quite dazzling, her silver hair was shining brightly and she had a brilliant smile. Her figure was phenomenal, her chest was so...I was getting distracted.

But her most important feature was, she didn't know a single word of English. "I've managed to convince her you're the Keeper for England, but you don't speak a word of French...Good luck." I said, shoving him towards her as she batted her eyelids towards him and flipped her hair seductively.

"Thank you..." he trailed off as he took her hand. "Well, it's official, I'm never going back to Hogwarts, because if I do, Lavenders gonna behead me." I said, rubbing my neck. Hermione rested her head on me, "That was nice of you."

In the time it took for the music to die down, I had quite a number of partners, A while after that Fleur saw it fit to grace me with a dance, but she basically just led me around the dancefloor as I sat there utterly dumbstruck at her beauty.

Then to follow in her sisters footsteps, Gabrielle of course insisted that we danced together, and she stood on my feet as we twirled around the dancefloor, she laughed the whole time and had a lot of fun.

Winky also seemed very excited to take a crack at the dancing with me. She had apparently been helping with the serving all day so It was good to see her having a laugh. She was wearing a yellow sundress and looked really cute.

Muriel of course didn't agree with 'dancing with the help' and Hermione had to stop me from cursing the old bat. After that I took a rather flustered looking Mrs. Weasley for a spin and Mrs. Delacour paraded me around the dancefloor, utterly in charge.

Tonks took it upon herself to show me what 'real dancing' was and we spent a chaotic minute or two flapping about our heads and arms to a much faster imaginary beat. Ginny also cut in for about a minute, though I think that was to escape Muriel.

My final dance partner was Luna, figuring she'd be a laugh to dance with, seeing her weird dance with her father earlier in the day. She smiled brightly and nodded, remembering her promise of a dance with me.

By the end of it I was more tired then any other of my partners had made me and found myself looking as If I was batting away mosquitos as I span in a circle and hopped on one leg. But I was right, It was brilliant.

As evening drew in, and moths began to swoop under the canopy, now lit with floating golden lanterns, the revelry became more and more uncontained.

Fred and George had long since disappeared into the darkness with a pair of Fleur's cousins; Charlie, Hagrid, and a squat wizard in a purple porkpie hat were singing "Odo the Hero" in a corner

That's when I found Vicky sulking in a corner glaring at Mr Lovegood, "You alright there mate?" I asked as I passed, he huffed and tore his eyes away "What's the matter." He paused before he answered, reluctant to tell me.

Krum grunted. "Vot," he said, draining his goblet, "is the point of being an international Quidditch player if all the good-looking girls are taken?" I shrugged. "The money, fame and glory I suppose, sounds awful."

He frowned at me, looking at Xenophilius again. "Bad luck mate, I'm sure you can charm someone. Plenty of Veela in the tent as they say" He looked at me utterly bewildered. I tried not to laugh at the fact Ron, the fake International sportsman, was dancing happily while Viktor Krum brooded in a corner.

"Go ask Hermione, I'm sure she wouldn't mind one more dance," I recommended. "I vought you were together" I nodded, "We are, but she can dance with who she likes, I'm not stopping her unless someone gets to enthusiastic" I warned.

His accent became thicker as he got more intoxicated. "And kiss anover mans date?" He said knowingly, "I vold nefer." I chuckled and he smiled broadly. "Then you're a better man then me, I suppose that's why I got to I kiss her first." I chuckled.

He shook his head. I pointed in his face, "But let it be known that I will murder you in front of all these people if you try anything." "There vill be no need for that, she is a good friend. Nofing more, I hav no desire to interfere. Or to be murdered."

Before I could retort, I had a small pair of arms wrapping around my wrist and heaving. "Again!" said a heavy French accent as Gabrielle tried her best to pull me to the dancefloor. "I fink you are being summoned" Krum laughed as he went to speak with Hermione.

"Nice bloke" I muttered as he left. I turned to Gabrielle and held up one finger. "One more." I stressed. Gabrielle nodded excitedly and  led me to the dancefloor for a spin. Gabrielle passed Hermione with a smirk, sticking out her tongue in victory. Hermione looked slightly abashed as Krum asked her for a dance.

This was my fifth dance with Gabrielle in an hour, despite my feet aching and my backside longing for the nearest chair, I just couldn't say no to her no matter how much I tried, she would bat her eyelids and...oh, that makes sense, the cheeky little devil.

So as me and Gabrielle danced to her hearts content...again, I saw Hermione and Vicky dancing respectfully with one another to the music and chatting as they did.

At that moment, something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor. Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers. Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance.

Then the Patronus's mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt. "The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming"