The air was cool at dawn, the early light just beginning to filter through. Harry was walking along a mountain path. Below him, shrouded in heavy mist, was a hazy little town. Was the person he sought down there? He needed him, desperately. That person knew the answer... the answer to his question...
"Hey, wake up."
Harry opened his eyes.
He was still lying on the camp bed in Ron's dim, cluttered attic room. The sun was only just rising, and the room remained dark. Pigwidgeon was sleeping soundly, his head tucked under one tiny wing. Harry's scar throbbed sharply on his forehead.
"You were talking in your sleep."
"Was I?"
"Yeah. You kept saying 'Gregorovitch.' Over and over."
Harry wasn't wearing his glasses, and Ron's face was just a blur.
"Who's Gregorovitch?"
"How should I know? You were the one talking in your sleep."
Harry rubbed his scar, deep in thought. The name felt familiar, though he couldn't quite remember where he'd heard it before.
"I think Voldemort is looking for him."
"Poor guy," Ron said, grimacing.
Harry sat up, still massaging his scar, now fully awake. He tried to recall the scene from the dream, but all he could remember was a stretch of mountains and a small village nestled in a deep valley.
"I think he's abroad."
"Who, Gregorovitch?"
"No, Voldemort. He's somewhere overseas looking for him. It didn't seem like Britain."
"Well, maybe we can ask Anne, uh, Scrimgeour, about it when he arrives today. He's supposed to be coming by."
"Oh? That's good." Harry reached for his glasses and put them on.
"You should get up. Mum wants to pitch the tent today and start setting up the wedding site. The Delacours are coming over."
It was well past lunchtime, but Mr. Weasley still hadn't returned.
"I wish Dad would come back already. Mum's starting to get on edge," Ron whispered to Harry and Hermione. The three of them were seated in the living room. From their spot, they could peek into the kitchen and see Mrs. Weasley anxiously glancing at the clock on the wall as she bustled about.
After a moment, she called into the living room, "I suppose we'd better not wait for Arthur. Let's eat now, he's probably just been held up, "
"Move!" Ron sprang to his feet and hissed, "If we don't get to the dining room quickly, it's over."
Just as they stood up, Fred and George thundered down the stairs. Charlie, who was last to arrive at the table, earned a sharp reprimand from Mrs. Weasley.
See? Ron gave Harry and Hermione a look as he passed the soup.
They both chuckled under their breath.
But halfway through the meal, a streak of silver light shot across the yard and landed on the table, transforming into a glowing silver mole that rose up on its hind legs and spoke in Mr. Weasley's voice:
"The Minister for Magic is with me. Scrimgeour is here as well."
The Patronus vanished instantly. For a moment, everyone at the table stared at each other in confusion.
Mrs. Weasley looked utterly bewildered.
"The Minister? But why? I don't understand, "
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all put down their spoons.
Before they had time to ask further, three figures suddenly appeared in the yard. Mr. Weasley was flanked by Rufus Scrimgeour and Anne.
They strode briskly across the yard toward the dining area.
Scrimgeour looked gaunt and haggard, his expression grave. Anne followed beside him, lips pressed tight, looking exhausted.
"Sorry to interrupt," Scrimgeour said as he limped to the table. His eyes scanned Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "I'll get straight to the point. I'd like to speak with you privately."
He focused on Harry as he spoke, then turned to Ron and Hermione. "Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger as well."
The trio instinctively looked to Anne. He gave a slight nod.
Scrimgeour glanced at Mr. Weasley. "Is there somewhere private?"
Mrs. Weasley frowned, clearly about to protest and insist they finish eating first, but Mr. Weasley stepped in.
"Yes, of course," he said quickly, visibly nervous. "The living room should do."
"You lead the way," Scrimgeour said to Ron. "Arthur, no need for you to join us."
"Oh, right," Mr. Weasley muttered, rubbing his hands as he sat down, subtly glancing at Anne. Anne nodded again and followed the group inside.
They made their way through the crowded kitchen and into the Burrow's living room. Scrimgeour remained silent as he entered. As soon as he sat down in the worn armchair Mr. Weasley usually occupied, he waved his wand, casting a charm. A shimmer of transparent light flickered briefly around the room.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed onto the couch opposite him. The moment they settled, Scrimgeour spoke, not to them, but to Anne.
"As per our arrangement?"
"I guarantee the Order of the Phoenix knows nothing of this," Anne said calmly, settling onto a high stool in the corner. His tone was unreadable. "Your Legilimency is second to none among Aurors, you know I'm not lying. Besides, you already checked, didn't you? Don't worry, I'll just sit here and keep quiet."
Scrimgeour gave a dismissive snort and turned to the trio.
"I have a few questions for each of you, and I'd prefer to speak one at a time. You two, " he pointed at Harry and Hermione ", wait upstairs while I talk to Ron first."
"We're not going anywhere," Harry said firmly, and Hermione nodded emphatically beside him. "Either talk to us all or not at all."
Scrimgeour scrutinized Harry coldly. After a long pause, he gave a slight shrug and cleared his throat. "Very well, all together. I'm here regarding Albus Dumbledore's will."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged surprised glances.
"You look surprised. Didn't it occur to you that Dumbledore might've left something to you?"
"I, we all got something?" Ron asked. "Even me and Hermione?"
"Yes, all three of you, "
Harry cut him off.
"Dumbledore's been dead for over a month. Why wait so long to give us what he left?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione snapped before Scrimgeour could answer. "They've been examining the objects. You have no right to do that!"
"I most certainly do," Scrimgeour said disdainfully. "Under the Decree for Justifiable Confiscation, the Ministry is authorized to seize items in a will, "
"That law was meant to stop Dark artifacts from being passed along," Hermione said. "You need solid proof that the items are illegal to confiscate them! Are you suggesting Dumbledore left us something dangerous?"
"Planning a career in magical law, Miss Granger?" Scrimgeour asked.
"No," Hermione replied sharply. "I just want to do some good in the world."
Ron burst out laughing. A flicker of a smile briefly passed over Anne's face.
Scrimgeour glanced at him, then turned back to the trio.
"I've brought the items with me," he said. "First, Ron."
He pulled a drawstring pouch from his cloak and removed a rolled-up parchment, which he read aloud:
"I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore… leave my Deluminator to Ronald Bilius Weasley. May it remind him of me whenever he uses it."
From the pouch, Scrimgeour pulled out a silver object resembling a cigarette lighter. He handed it to Ron, who stared at it in astonishment.
"It's a very valuable item," Scrimgeour said. "Possibly one of a kind. Dumbledore likely invented it himself. Why do you think he left it to you?"
Ron shook his head, bewildered.
"There have been thousands of students under Dumbledore. Yet he left something only to the three of you. Why?" Scrimgeour pressed. "What did he think you'd use the Deluminator for, Mr. Weasley?"
"Probably… to put out lights?" Ron mumbled.
Scrimgeour said nothing, squinting at Ron before turning to the will again.
"To Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, hoping she finds it entertaining and instructive."
He produced an old, battered book from the pouch and handed it to Hermione, who took it silently and stared down at the faded cover.
"Why do you think he chose this book for you?"
"He… he knew I liked books," she murmured, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
"But why that book?"
"I don't know. He must've thought I'd like it."
"Did you and Dumbledore ever discuss codes or methods for transmitting secret messages?"
"No," Hermione said quietly. "And if the Ministry couldn't find anything in it after thirty-one days, I doubt I can."
Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes but moved on.
"To Harry James Potter, I leave the Golden Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill."
From the pouch, he produced a tiny gold ball with trembling silver wings.
"Why this, Potter?" Scrimgeour asked.
"Maybe… for the reason you just said. To remind me what comes from perseverance."
"So you think it's just a symbolic keepsake?"
"I guess so," Harry replied.
Scrimgeour leaned in closer. "The Snitch is an excellent place to hide something small. Do you know why?"
Harry shrugged. Hermione answered.
"Because it has flesh memory," she said.
"What?" Harry and Ron both looked surprised.
"Correct," said Scrimgeour. "Snitches are enchanted to remember the first person who touches them with bare skin, so there's no dispute about who caught it. This one—" he held up the Snitch "—remembers your touch, Potter. Dumbledore might've charmed it to open only for you."
Harry's heart pounded. He was sure Scrimgeour was right. How could he touch it now without revealing anything?
"You're quiet," Scrimgeour said. "Do you already know what's inside?"
"No," Harry replied, thinking fast. He wished he could use Legilimency to hear Hermione's thoughts.
"Take it," Scrimgeour said softly.
Harry met the Minister's gaze. He had no choice. He reached out, and Scrimgeour gently placed the Snitch in his palm.
Nothing happened.
Harry wrapped his fingers around it. The Snitch's wings fluttered briefly, then stilled. Scrimgeour, Ron, and Hermione watched expectantly, but there was no change.
Anne remained still, quietly observing.
"Very dramatic," Harry said coldly. Ron and Hermione both laughed.
"That's all, right?" Hermione asked, struggling to stand.
"Not quite," Scrimgeour said, glancing again at Anne, who returned the look with an unreadable expression. Scrimgeour now seemed agitated.
"Dumbledore left you one more thing, Potter."
"What is it?" Harry asked, his pulse quickening again.
Scrimgeour didn't look at the will this time.
"The Sword of Godric Gryffindor."
Hermione and Ron gaped. Harry turned to look for the ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimgeour made no move to retrieve it.
"It's not here?" Harry asked.
"Unfortunately," Scrimgeour said, "Dumbledore didn't have the authority to bequeath it. The Sword of Gryffindor is a historical artifact, "
"It belongs to Harry!" Hermione snapped. "It chose him! He pulled it from the Sorting Hat, it came to him, "
"Reliable historical sources confirm that the sword presents itself to any worthy Gryffindor," Scrimgeour said coolly. "That does not make it Potter's property, regardless of what Dumbledore wanted."
He scratched at his unshaven face and stared at Harry.
"Why do you think—"
"—Dumbledore wanted to give it to me?" Harry interrupted, holding back anger. "Maybe he thought it would look nice on my wall."
"This isn't a joke, Potter!" Scrimgeour roared, leaping to his feet and jabbing his wand at Harry's chest.
Harry stood too.
"Minister," Anne said in a calm, low voice.
Scrimgeour was breathing heavily. He stared at Anne for a long moment, then slowly lowered his wand.
"I… I apologize for my conduct," he muttered.
Harry said nothing, face cold and unreadable.
Without another word, Scrimgeour turned and limped out of the room.
Anne glanced at his watch and gave Hermione a small nod.
The two men left through the Burrow's back door and Disapparated into a narrow alley that connected to the Ministry.
Scrimgeour looked at Anne. "You really don't know what Dumbledore had planned?"
"All I know is the Order's mission: save lives, help people, and survive."
Scrimgeour stared at Anne for a long while, then sighed.
"If it were possible, I'd like to join you."
"You were once a fearless Auror. Then Head of the Auror Office. Now Minister for Magic. I don't think you need to join us," Anne said. "Besides, you never liked Dumbledore."
Scrimgeour froze for a moment, stunned.
"I'd nearly forgotten," he said quietly.
"Forgotten what?"
"That I'm an Auror," he said. The look he gave Anne had shifted, less anxious, more resolute.
Anne raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"I wonder how Dumbledore found you," Scrimgeour mused.
"Let's take that as a compliment," Anne replied. "Our arrangement still stands, but let me remind you again."
"No written records. No leaks. Only I will know," Scrimgeour said. "Stay vigilant, you're doing well."
"Caution never hurts," Anne replied. "That's everything for today. I have other matters to attend to. By the way, good job securing the Muggle railway yesterday."
"Praise from you is rare."
"Likewise," Anne said. "Until next time."
And with that, he disapparated before Scrimgeour could reply.
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