Nova's

IT was Harry's birthday today and we were  arguing in the morning. He was telling me to stop being friends with Arriana can somebody believe this guy . We would have broke up if Molly hadn't called us down . Later that evening when we were celebrating Harry's 17th birthday.
A streak of light that came fly-
ing 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 peer-
ing 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 another 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 they
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 , Miss Hermione Granger and Miss Blackwood.”
“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.”
I saw Mr. Weasley exchange a worried look with Mrs.
Weasley as I , harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up. As they led the
way back to the house in silence, I knew that the others
were thinking the same as he was: Scrimgeour must, somehow,
have learned that the we  were planning to drop out of  Hogwarts.
Scrimgeour did not speak as they all 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 cozy room. Scrimgeour sat himself in
the sagging armchair that Mr. Weasley normally occupied, leaving I, 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 four of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. If you three ” — he pointed at me, 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.” I said
Scrimgeour gave Harry and me  a cold, appraising look. Harry had the impression that the Minister was wondering whether it was worth-while 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 Dum-bledore’s will.”

Third person POV

Nova,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 Nova, 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 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 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. Ron looked startled.
“Me? Not — not really . . . It was always Harry  who . . .”
Ron looked around at Harry and Hermione and Nova, 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 exception-ally 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 Delumi-
nator 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 three. Why is that? 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.’ ”
Scrimgeour now pulled out of the bag a small book that looked very ancient Hermione took it from Scrimgeour without a word. 
“Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?” asked Scrimgeour.
“He . . . he knew I liked books,” said Hermione .
“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.
“And if the Ministry hasn’t found any hidden codes in this book in
thirty-one days, I doubt that I will.”
She said.
‘To Nova Cathrine Blackwood, I
leave  diary of the four elements of harmony , in the hope that she  will remember Her unique Friendship when she reads it ’ ” says Scrimgeour "I fucking don'tknowwhy he felt this to me so don't bother asking questions" she said dangerously
“ ‘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 perse-
verance and skill.’ ”
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. Nova, 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.
“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.
“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 placed 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, Nova 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 prise 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,Nova 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 mall to contain it.
“So where is it?” Harry askedsuspiciously.
“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, and started a very heated argument it lasted till
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 be working 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 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. 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 contents of his will.”

Nova's POV
"Molly I am not hungry I am going to bed " I said
I was still angry at harry when I entered my bed room I opened the book it contained 4 books in it and I knew who I am supposed to send it to .