"Happy birthday, Harry!" said Hermione, hurrying into the kitchen in front of Johnny. "This is from Johnny and I. It's not much, but we hope you like it."

"What did you get him?" Johnny asked Ron, who seemed not to hear him.

"Come on, then, open theirs!" said Ron.

Johnny's and Hermione had bought Harry a new Sneakoscope. The other packages contained an enchanted razor from Bill and Fleur ("Ah yes, zis will give you ze smoothest shave you will ever 'ave," Monsieur Delacour assured him, "but you must tell it clearly what you want...ozzerwise you might find you 'ave a leetle less hair zan you would like..."), chocolates from the Delacours, and an enormous box of the latest Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes merchandise from Fred and George.

Johnny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't linger at the table, as the arrival of Madame Delacour, Fleur, and Gabrielle made the kitchen uncomfortably crowded.

"I'll pack these for you," Hermione said brightly, taking Harry's presents out of his arms as the four of them headed back upstairs. "I'm nearly done, I'm just waiting for the rest of your underpants to come out of the wash, Johnny-"

Johnny's splutter was interrupted by the opening of a door on the first-floor landing.

"Harry, will you come in here a moment?"

It was Ginny. Ron came to an abrupt halt, but Johnny took him by the elbow and tugged him on up the stairs.

"Do you want to go see what they're up to?" Ron asked five minutes later as they sat in awkward silence. Johnny and Hermione held a silent conversation with their eyes, and by the time they went to refuse for Harry and Ginny's sake, Ron was already out the door. The door banged open and Harry and Ginny jumped apart.

"Oh," said Ron stupidly. "Sorry."

"Ron!" Hermione and Johnny caught up to him, slightly out of breath. There was a strained silence, then Ginny had said in a flat little voice, "Well, happy birthday anyway, Harry."

Ron's ears were scarlet; Hermione and Johnny looked nervous.

"I'll see you later," Harry said, and followed Ron, Hermione and Johnny out of the bedroom.

Ron marched downstairs, though the still-crowded kitchen and into the yard, and Harry kept pace with him all the way, Hermione and Johnny trotting along behind them.

Once he reached the seclusion of the freshly mown lawn, Ron rounded on Harry.

"You ditched her. What are you doing now, messing her around?"

"I'm not messing her around," said Harry, as Hermione and Johnny caught up with them.

"Ron-"

But Ron held up a hand to silence Hermione.

"She was really cut up when you ended it-"

"So was I. You know why I stopped it, and it wasn't because I wanted to."

"Yeah, but you go snogging her now and she's just going to get her hopes up again-"

"She's not an idiot, she knows it can't happen, she's not expecting us to- to end up married, or-"

"If you keep groping her every chance you get-"

"It won't happen again," said Harry harshly. "Okay?"

Ron looked half resentful, half sheepish; he rocked backward and forward on his feet for a moment, then said, "Right then, well, that's... yeah."

As Harry's birthday dinner would have stretched the Burrow's kitchen to breaking point even before the arrival of Charlie, Lupin, Evan, Tonks, Evelyn and Hagrid, several tables were placed end to end in the garden. Fred and George bewitched a number of purple lanterns all emblazoned with a large number 17, to hang in midair over the guests. Thanks to Mrs. Weasley's ministrations, George's wound was neat and clean, but Johnny wasn't yet used to the dark hole in the side of his head, despite the twins' many jokes about it.

Hermione made purple and gold streamers erupt from the end of her wand and drape themselves artistically over the trees and bushes.

"Nice," said Johnny, as with one final flourish of her wand, Hermione turned the leaves on the crabapple tree to gold. "You're really brilliant, Mione."

"Thank you, babe," Hermione beamed at Johnny, kissing him quickly.

"Out of the way, out of the way!" sang Mrs. Weasley and Evelyn, coming through the gate with what appeared to be a giant, beach-ball-sized Snitch floating in front of her. It was Harry's cake.

"That looks amazing," said Harry in awe.

"Oh, it's nothing, dear," Evelyn said fondly, kissing her nephew on the forehead.

By seven o'clock all the guests had arrived, led into the house by Fred and George, who had waited for them at the end of the lane. Hagrid had honored the occasion by wearing his best, and horrible, hairy brown suit.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Tonks said, hugging him tightly.

"Seventeen, eh!" said Hagrid as he accepted a bucket-sized glass of wine from Fred. "Six years ter the day since we met, Harry, d'yeh remember it?"

"Vaguely," said Harry, grinning up at him. "Didn't you smash down the front door, give Dudley a pig's tail, and tell me I was a wizard?"

"I forge' the details," Hagrid chortled. "All righ', Johnny, Ron, Hermione?"

"We're fine," said Hermione. "How are you?"

"Ar, not bad. Bin busy, we got some newborn unicorns. I'll show yeh when yeh get back-" Johnny avoided Harry's Ron's and Hermione's gazes as Hagrid rummaged in his pocket. "Here. Harry- couldn't think what ter get teh, but then I remembered this." He pulled out a small, slightly furry drawstring pouch with a long string, evidently intended to be worn around the neck. "Mokeskin. Hide anythin' in there an' no one but the owner can get it out. 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 muscled 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, motioning towards Evan. "Harry- I'm sorry - we'll explain some other time-"

Evan, Lupin and Tonks quickly walked 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 recognisable 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.

"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 Mr. Johnathan Grindelwald."

"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."

Johnny saw Mr. Weasley exchange a worried look with Mrs. Weasley as he, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood up.

Scrimgeour didn't 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; Johnny 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, Johnny sitting on the arm beside Hermione. 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 Johnny, Harry and Hermione, "-can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald."

"We're not going anywhere," said Johnny, while Hermione and Harry nodded vigorously. "You can speak to us together, or not at all."

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

Johnny, 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, her eyes turning purple. Johnny rubbed her shoulder soothingly, and her eyes turned back to their usual brown.

"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. Johnny growled at the redhead and he shut up instantly. Scrimgeour's eyes flickered toward Johnny 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 and Johnny who..."

Ron looked around at Johnny, 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 Johnny knew, Ron and Dumbledore had never been alone together, and direct contact between them had been negligible. However, Scrimgeour didn't 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 Johnny and Harry had seen before: It looked something like a silver cigarette lighter, but 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 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 four. 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.

"Mr. Grindelwald, he seemed to be very fond of you," said Scrimgeour, glancing up. "'To Mr. Johnathan Grindelwald, I leave the pendent his Grandfather and I crafted many years ago, in hopes he remembers me and his Grandfather in the years to come. I have also confided in Professor Minerva McGonagall and Professor Horace Slughorn, so that when Professor Slughorn retires, Mr. Grindelwald will take up the post of his desired position of Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'"

Scrimgeour reached into the bag once more, and pulled out a silver pendant with a diamond encrusted in the centre. He handed it over to Johnny, who looked it over intently. Scrimgeour didn't ask Johnny unnecessary questions, and hastily moved onto Hermione

"'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. Johnny saw that the title was in runes; he briefly remembered when he took Runes in Third Year. As he looked, a tear splashed onto the embossed symbols.

"Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?" asked Scrimgeour, back in the questioning mood.

"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. Johnny pulled Hermione into him, and hastily wiped away her tears. 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, and Johnny noted the look of anti-climax on Harry's face.

"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?"

Johnny laughed sarcastically.

"Oh, it can't be a reference to the fact Harry's a great Seeker, that's way too obvious," said Johnny, bringing a finger to his chin. "Oh my god! 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, Ron and Johnny shrugged, Hermione, however, answered.

"Because Snitches have flesh memories," she said.

"What?" said Johnny, Harry and Ron 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, noting their silance. "Perhaps you already know what the Snitch contains?"

"No," said Harry.

"Take it," said Scrimgeour quietly.

Harry 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, Johnny, Ron, and Hermione continued to gaze avidly at the now partially concealed ball, as if still hoping it might transform in some way.

"Well, that was dramatic," said Johnny coolly. Harry, 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, .

Scrimgeour didn't bother to read from the will this time.

"The sword of Godric Gryffindor," he said. Johnny, Hermione and Ron stiffened. Scrimgeour didn't 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 and job offers 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- Johnny and  I was nearly two of them- Voldemort chased us 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: Johnny jumped to his feet too, pushing Harry behind him. Scrimgeour limped toward Johnny and jabbed him hard in the chest with the point of his wand; It singed a hole in Johnny's T-shirt like a lit cigarette.

"Oi!" said Ron, jumping up and raising his own wand, but Johnny 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 Johnny's face. "Remembered that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave yours and Potter's insolence and insubordination? Potter may wear that scar like a crown, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job! It's time you all learned some respect!"

"It's time you earned it." said Johnny, his eyes red.

The floor trembled; there was a sound of running footsteps, then the door to the sitting room burst open and Evelyn and Mrs. Weasley ran in.

"We- we thought we heard-" began Evelyn, looking thoroughly alarmed at the sight of her son and the Minister virtually nose to nose.

"-raised voices," panted Mrs. Weasley.

Scrimgeour took a couple of steps back from Johnny, glancing at the hole he had made in Johnny's T-shirt. He seemed to regret his loss of temper.

"It- it was nothing," he growled. "I ... regret your attitude," he said, looking over Johnny's shoulder at Harry. "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?"

Harry 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; They heard her stop at the back door. After a minute or so she called, "He's gone!"

"What did he want?" Evelyn asked, looking around at Johnny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione as Mrs. Weasley came hurrying back to them.

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

Outside in the garden, over the dinner tables, the four objects Scrimgeour had given them were passed from hand to hand. Everyone exclaimed over the pendant, 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 Evelyn examined the Pendant 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?"

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 and Johnny, while they helped Mrs. Weasley restore the garden to its normal state. "After everyone's gone to bed."

Johnny and Hermione tiptoed through the door one hour later.

"Muffiato," Hermione 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 Johnny. "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 and Johnny and old pendant-  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. Johnny, 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 didn't open. Frustration and bitter disappointment welled up inside them: He lowered the golden sphere, but then Hermione cried out.

"Writing! There's writing on it, quick, look!" Harry 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 they recognised as Dumbledore's.

I open at the close.

They had barely read them when the words vanished again.

"I open at the close.... What's that supposed to mean?"

Johnny, 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?" said Johnny.

"And why couldn't he just have told us?" Harry said quietly. "Johnny and 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?"

"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!"

Johnny 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 Johnny, Harry to Hermione. "You must've heard of Babbitty Rabbitty-"

"Ron, you know full well Hermione, Harry and I were brought up by Muggles!" said Johnny. "We didn't hear stories like that when we were little, Mamma and Papa read me '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 and Johnny left the room.