I don't own Harry Potter.
...
Scrimgeor read Harry's message, astonishment warring with anger on his face.
"I'll be honest, Minister. I haven't liked ministers or ministry workers so far, because Fudge tried to manipulate me as a political piece and he repeatedly told me that my own memories of Voldemort's return were wrong. Add that to Umbridge nearly literally torturing me, and my having a trial because I defended myself against dementors, and you can't expect me to love the Ministry. You'll have to prove yourself to me if you want my respect."
Scrimgeor finally got his facial muscles under control as he read Harry's message. Harry had just withdrawn his notepad when Hermione and Ron entered, followed by the other present Weasleys.
Scrimgeor looked up and maintained a neutral expression at their arrival.
"Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, I need to speak to the two of you along with Mr. Potter here regarding the will of Albus Dumbledore." The Minister informed them. They both took seats, Hermione looking surprised.
"What is there to speak of, Minister? I would find it surprising if he left anything to us, just three of his students. But I cannot think of anything else that you would need to discuss with us." Hermione said. She glanced at Harry and quirked an eyebrow.
"I don't like him." Harry informed her in sign, quickly.
"Suck it up." Hermione signed back, a little more slowly. The Minister raised an eyebrow at their exchange, but did not point out that it had been rude for them to engage in conversation that he was not privy to in his presence. But, then again, he probably had no idea what they had actually been doing, and that they had been communicating.
"I apologize for the interruption, Minister. Harry had to tell me something." Hermione said. Harry, out of the corner of his eye, saw that the other Weasleys were leaving the room.
"Mr. Potter was…'telling' you something?"
"Yes, it's called sign language. It was invented by the muggles so that people without their hearing or the ability to speak can still communicate. It isn't widely known in the magical world because most injuries here are able to be fixed. Harry's injuries were too severe to be mended, however, so we've all been learning sign language." Hermione said, pleased to share her knowledge.
"Really? That is quite interesting. I am sorry for Mr. Potter's injuries, of course. Unfortunately, things like that do occasionally happen. Regrettable, of course, but not unheard of.
"Now, down to business. I was quite surprised when I heard that Dumbledore had indeed left items for the three of you. They are quite odd; I can't imagine why he even thought of them when writing his will.
"First, to you Ms. Granger. He left this copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard." Scrimgeor produced an old, worn book from inside his robes and handed it to Hermione. She examined it briefly, no doubt trying to discern some hidden purpose behind the book.
"And to you, Mr. Weasley, Dumbledore left you this. I believe he called it a 'Deluminator.' Quite an interesting item, invented by Dumbledore himself." The Minister now pulled from his robes an item that looked similar to a muggle lighter. Ron took it and examined it, turning it over in his fingers.
He found a little catch at the top and pushed it; all the light in the room flew into the deluminator, and Ron stared at the little device in amazement. He pushed the catch again, and the lights returned to their original sources.
"Yes, a very interesting device, Mr. Weasley. Probably quite valuable, too. But, back to business. Dumbledore left a snitch to you, Mr. Potter. Do you know why he would leave any of you these things?" Scrimgeor handed Harry a simple golden snitch as he spoke, not giving Harry a glance.
"No, Minister. Other than the Deluminator, these items seem a little mundane. I wonder why he left them to us." Hermione replied, still examining her book.
"Tell him that even if we did know it is none of his business anyway. If Dumbledore left us these things, then that was his choice. Why does the minister need to know about private affairs?" Harry signed, furiously. Ron held back a chuckle, but Hermione was astounded. With a furtive glance at the curious minister, she replied.
"Harry, that is rude. I can't tell him that!"
"Then Ron can do it. Come on Ron. Be my translator. It's what I would say if I could say it."
"No way, mate. I don't want those a-u-r-o-r-s coming after me!" Ron signed back, a little panicked at the idea of saying something so rude to the most politically powerful wizard in Britain.
The Minister cleared his throat.
"My business here is concluded, so I shall be off. I have a war to run, after all!" Scrimgeor stood.
"Tell him he's not the one fighting." Harry signed.
"Harry, stop!" Hermione signed back.
"What? It's true! He's a bloody coward!"
"Goodbye, Minister. Good luck." Hermione said, now ignoring Harry while Ron grinned.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Granger. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, I wish you a good day."
Then the Minister, and his aurors, had gone.
"Harry, that was brilliant!" Ron exclaimed once the guests were a safe distance from the Burrow.
"What was brilliant?" The twins asked as they led the rest of the Weasleys back into the living room.
"Harry! He called the Minister a 'bloody coward' because 'he's not the one fighting'!" Ron informed them.
"Harry! You didn't tell him that, did you?" Mrs. Weasley fretted.
"He didn't actually get one of us to translate those for him, among other rude messages. I wouldn't because he was being rude and Ron didn't because he didn't want to be arrested." Hermione said.
"Yeah, thanks guys. I was trying to give him a taste of his own medicine! You should have heard what he was saying to me before you came in. 'I would like to remind you that as the Minister I could have an assassination attempt on me any day…' the nerve! As if he had any right to…cowardly self-righteous fool! And then he referred to something I said as 'wrote.' He's the one who needs lessons in manners, not me! And he skimmed over my injury as if it were just some minor little accident…Of all the big-headed idiots! Thinks he's too important to pay attention to an ordinary person! He wouldn't even look at me when he handed me the snitch, and he talked about me as if I wasn't there! I'm too small to be worthy of his envied attention, I presume! Too unimportant? Too lowly? Well, he'll get it; with that attitude…he'll be the first in the ministry to go once Voldemort invades…" Harry had been signing, but when he got to his insults he unconsciously started using Parseltongue in his agitation.
Hermione and Ron had both been rushing to translate his signs for the rest of the family, but they couldn't translate Parseltongue. Thank goodness or Mrs. Weasley would scold him for being impertinent.
The others were listening to the translations as Harry finished his tirade in Parseltongue. The elder Weasleys looked astounded; whether it was at the Minister's rudeness towards Harry or at Harry's anger, he didn't know.
"Harry, I'm sure he didn't mean to be rude. He probably just didn't know how to handle the situation…" Mr. Weasley said.
"Even someone who doesn't know how to handle talking to a mute should still know not to claim that his life is in danger daily to someone who's been tried to be killed regularly." Ron translated.
"Yes, that is a good point." Mr. Weasley conceded.
"And he didn't have to act so disdainful of me, like I was beneath his notice." Again, Ron translated.
"Alright, Harry. We understand." Mrs. Weasley said, laying her hands on her shoulders to calm him down. He nodded and closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing.
"We agree with you, Harry! The Ministers are always pig-headed! You can't pay them any mind!" Fred declared.
"Yeah, they always act like that. The title always gets to their heads!" George agreed.
Harry smiled at them.
"Thanks."
...
The next day was Harry's birthday, and he had been shooed up to his room after dinner so that the Weasleys could 'prepare.' So he was contenting himself with studying again, memorizing his silent magic text in the hopes that, come tomorrow, he'd be able to perform magic again.
After he felt secure in his knowledge of silent magic Harry moved onto his Occlumency exercises. He cleared his mind and focused on nothing, letting himself slip into a trance-like state where he was in the world, yet separated from it. Where he was aware of his surroundings and yet didn't feel any emotion connected with them.
These exercises had become so easy that they were beginning to bore Harry, but he kept doing them, knowing that the ability to manipulate his own thoughts would be highly beneficial. He let himself fall from the trance and thought about the occlumency. What steps could he take next? There had to be something else he could do to advance his focus.
Hadn't Snape once said that after Harry had mastered the trance, he would move onto sorting through and organizing his thoughts and memories? Of course, Snape had not been nearly so polite. His words were closer to, "You would be able to organize your mind like a closet if you could just master this one, silly little exercise. However, I doubt you will ever attain that level, no matter how easily it can be reached."
Harry frowned and entered his trance again. Closing his eyes, he focused intently on one single thought, letting everything else fade away: his mum.
He let that one thought float in his mind as he concentrated only on it. Nothing else came through; nothing else registered with his brain. The only thing that existed was...
He gasped and his eyes flew open, jerking him from his trance. But that one single subject of thought had seemingly opened a gate. Memories of his mother had flooded through his mind that he had never remembered. Anything he had ever seen or heard that related to his mother had cascaded over him, even memories from when he had been born.
He now remembered her looking down on him and smiling, a tear leaking from her eye in happiness. His father had been standing behind her, also gazing down on Harry with a proud smile. He could recall her bouncing him up and down on her knee, making silly noises at him. He had loved that, Harry knew, because he could hear his own baby laughter.
He remembered her voice as she sang him a lullaby, and could see a baby mobile decorated with owls over him. He remembered her trying to feed him some orange mush, and him spitting it out. She had laughed, and told him "You don't like that one, do you? How about this one?"
There were countless others as well; conversations he had heard, that he understood now but not as a baby. There was his mother with his dad, with Sirius, even with Peter Pettigrew, along with other people Harry could not recognize. There was so much information about his mother flooding through his brain that Harry could not help it: he started to cry.
He didn't know whether it was in happiness that he remembered her or in sorrow that she was not there anymore. It was probably both. All he knew was that, whether he had intended to or not, Snape had given him the most precious gift Harry had, and ever would, receive. The gift of remembering his parents.