Hello! Another chapter comes your way. This one is a bit long and doesn't really have any precious Harry and Hermione moments but we really need to get moving along plot wise so this is more or less cannon compliant. I did take some liberties with the conversation with the Minister and Harry. Also, some will probably notice that I have changed the time line very slightly - the wedding takes place on the eve of the Harry's birthday celebration (so please, no flames, I know I made the change).

Dumbledore still has a surprise for Harry, but it will be a while before that comes to paper (or digital copy for the rest of you).

As always, none of this is mine. Well, other than the manipulations I suppose, but I won't be getting paid for those, so it's a moot point.

Chapter Eleven: The Minister's Visit

It was just after ten in the morning when Harry and Hermione Apparated into the Weasley fields where the Burrow stood in the near distance conjoined with a large pavilion tent. It took them only a minute of walking to emerge from the fields and even less to walk up to the door. They were greeted by a very relief-stricken Mrs. Weasley.

"Harry! Hermione! Oh thank Merlin you're safe," she said, wringing them both into a tight hug. "Come, come, I've saved you both some breakfast."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, but we've had breakfast," said Harry quickly.

"Right, well then, come inside."

Sitting at the kitchen table (still groaning under the voluminous breakfast Mrs. Weasley had prepared) were Fred and George conversing loudly Bill about current Goblin affairs and finance regulations, Mr. Weasley surprisingly hunched over a chess board across from Ron, while Ginny was noticeably absent. It was not until the distinct sound of the door latching did they look up and notice that Harry and Hermione had arrived.

"Excellent," said Mr. Weasley. "Make yourselves comfortable, plenty of breakfast to go around."

"That's alright, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione, "we've already had breakfast."

"Alright then," said Mr. Weasley. "Why don't you two freshen up – not much left for wedding preparations to do other than a few odds and ends. Guests will start to arrive later this evening around five." Harry and Hermione nodded and went upstairs. Hermione was first into the bathroom while Harry returned to Ron's room to get his own change of clothes ready.

A minute later Ron came in with a loud "ahem". For a moment, they both simply looked at each other before Ron left the doorway and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Listen, mate," said Ron, not quite able to look Harry directly in the eye, "I'm sorry you had to hear mine and Hermione's argument yesterday. I know I said some things that you probably didn't like, and er, well, probably made you think I don't want to come along, but, I want you to know that it's not true. I'd be lying if I said I'd rather go looking for Hor—well, you-know-whats—instead of going back to Hogwarts. I definitely let myself get carried away with Hermione and I said some pretty horrible things. I'm going with you mate, and I promise to try and not have so many arguments with Hermione while we're out there."

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was grateful that Ron still wanted to come despite everything that had happened.

"So, how did your mum take it," asked Harry.

"Bloody hell terrifying it was," said Ron as he recalled the morning. "I'm sure half of Britain heard her yelling. It was even worse for Dad—I've never seen her so upset—she almost whacked him upside the head with a frying pan. It was scary mate."

"Sorry I caused it," said Harry guiltily.

"Not your fault," said Ron quickly. "It was ours, Harry. Well, mostly mine I guess. Hermione and me really know how to get under each other's skin."

"Promise me you're going to try to be better with her," said Harry seriously. "She deserves nothing less."

"Yeah, I know," said Ron. "I'll work on it. Anyway, got a couple things still do for the wedding if you want to help, after you shower, of course." Harry nodded. As Ron left the room, Harry couldn't help the small smile gracing his face. He really didn't have to do it alone.

() () ()

As noon approached, Harry, Ron, and Mr. Weasley put the final touches on the Champaign table under the reception tent while Hermione helped Mrs. Weasley finish with the heating charms that would activate when the temperature cooled later that night. Ginny was inside preparing the cutlery for the night's feast while the twins were "making special preparations" that neither appeared willing to divulge when pressed.

"Now, Harry dear, why don't you three wait outside a moment," said Mrs. Weasley, pointing to the trio. "I have one more thing I need to do before you come inside."

"Of course, you probably already know what," said Ron when his mother was out of earshot.

"Yeah, but I don't want to ruin this for her," said Harry. "I wouldn't want to disappoint her."

"So when are we leaving," asked Ron in a lowered voice.

"Well, I suppose there's no reason we can't leave tomorrow morning," said Harry, turning to Hermione. "What do you think?"

"I see no reason to stay beyond that," conceded Hermione. "What I'm worried about is do we tell them we're leaving, or do we sneak away?"

"Well, I don't think that Arthur will care," said Harry remembering his conversation from last night. "In fact I'd feel pretty bad not saying goodbye first. It's Molly that has me worried," he added looking to Ron, who gave him an understanding nod.

"Yeah, she'd probably try to put you under an immobilization jinx or two. Trust me, she knows a few, just ask Fred and George."

"I think Harry's right," said Hermione. "They've always opened their home to us; we shouldn't disappear without saying anything. Maybe we can let them know in private tonight so we can avoid any issues tomorrow." They all nodded in agreement as Mrs. Weasley called out to them from the kitchen window.

As Harry entered the kitchen, he was greeted by a large chorus of voices.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!"

A considerable gathering of people were waiting for him, all standing beneath a large banner that read: Happy Birthday, Harry. A large snitch shaped cake was on the table as was a surprising pile of presents. Despite the darkness that awaited him outside the Burrow walls, Harry allowed himself to forget his burdens in the presence of friends and family.

"Mine first," said Tonks as she stepped forward and handed him a small package. Inside was a wand holster.

"It's a safer place for your wand than your pocket," said Tonks. "This one's a bit better quality than the standard issue for Aurors. It repels summoning charms and disarming jinxes, and it has a small potions compartment for storage—usually a vial of Blood-Replenishing Potion—standard for an Auror."

"Thank you," said Harry who immediately started to fasten the holster to his wrist.

"No problem. Simply flick your wrist to the right and the holster will propel your wand to your hand and no further." She then handed out two similar packages to Ron and Hermione. "These are for you two, they're not as good as Harry's, but they function the same way, and will also repel summoning charms and disarming jinxes."

"So no one can disarm or summon our wands unless they are in our hands," Hermione clarified.

"You got it," replied Tonks.

"Wicked," said Ron.

Remus was next and handed Harry a hastily wrapped package. A book: Spells to Combat the Darkest Arts. Following Remus was Hagrid, who hadn't bothered to wrap his. It was a pouch of a hideous brown color and slightly furry.

"Mokeskin Pouch," said Hagrid. "Rare, them are; hide anythin' in there, ain' no one but the owner can get it out."

"Thanks, Hagrid."

"Here, Harry," said Fred, shoving a box into his hands. "Prototype invention from our Desperate Distraction line—"

"—Which we won't be making available to the public until the war is over," said George

"—wouldn't want Death Eaters with these—"

"—Anyway, simply wind them up and they will multiply and make one heck of a ruckus."

"And this is yours as well," said Fred, handing another small box. "Don't open it here, though. You'll know what it is."

"Thanks, guys," said Harry. Kingsley was next. He handed Harry a large package.

"This is actually from Alastor," said Kingsley. Harry dropped the package back on the table in shock. He bowed his head not really wanting to open the package. He had done his best to push aside the guilt of the Auror's death.

"It's alright, Harry," said Hermione with a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We're here. You know Mad-Eye wouldn't give you something unless he really thought you'd need it. He wouldn't accept you feeling guilty either. Now open your present." Harry nodded and pulled away at the twine and wrappings. Harry pulled the item from the box, revealing a midnight black flowing robe. It was incredibly soft, much like his invisibility cloak. It was trimmed with the slimmest gold around the sleeves and hood. Inside was lined with soft felt-like material. It was incredibly comfortable.

"Dueling robes," said Hermione.

"Not just any dueling robes," said Kingsley. "This belonged to Alastor himself, and it is one-of-a-kind. You can't tell it by looking, but it's lined inside with dragon hide, charmed to be as flexible as the wearer. You'll never by too hot or cold and dragon hide, as you know, is impervious to minor jinxes and hexes. It also has a minor cushioning charm to prevent minor injuries from falls or what have you."

"I can't take this," said Harry immediately. "Why wasn't he wearing this that night?"

"It wouldn't have saved his life, Harry," said Kingsley solemnly. "Even dragon hide will not stop the killing curse. You need dense, solid objects to do that, and those are usually destroyed in the process. And if you knew Mad-Eye, you can bet that coat of his had the same sort of enchantments. He was insistent you receive this on your seventeenth birthday."

"Why," asked Harry. "It's not like we were close."

"He never had anything less than praise for you, kiddo," said Tonks. "Whenever your name came up his magical eye would stop twirling about and he'd get this ridiculous smirk on his face and he'd say the same thing: If everyone had half the vigilance Potter did, the Dark Lord would have a hell of a time. I think if he'd had the chance he would have taken you as an apprentice." Harry was lost for words as silence fell on the room. Kingsley walked up to Harry, placed a hand on his shoulder and said:

"Harry, we all wished Mad-Eye was still here, but he isn't. What you can do now, is to honor him and take every precaution to not meet the same fate. Constant Vigilance."

Harry nodded.

"Good. Now, I'm afraid I must return to the Ministry. Happy Birthday, Harry." And without another word, Kingsley left the kitchen. An uncomfortable quiet fell upon the kitchen once more.

"Here, Harry, this one is from Arthur and I," said Mrs. Weasley, breaking up the silence. It was a watch like the one Ron had received on his seventeenth birthday, but it was clearly previously owned.

"It's now new, like Ron's, I'm afraid, but it's traditional to give a wizard a watch when he turns seventeen, and this one belonged to my brother Fabian," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'm afraid he didn't really take care of his possessions all that well but—" Harry immediately hugged her and tried to say all the emotions coursing through his body without words. He knew Fabian had lost his life in the last war.

"Okay, next one," said Ron, handing Harry the next package. "It's from me, mum and dad, Bill, Charlie, Ginny, and Fred and George." Harry opened the package and pulled out three tickets to the next Quidditch World Cup.

"Something to look forward too, you know, when this is all over," said Ron. "It's being hosted in the States two years from now—special agreement between our ministry and theirs—you know, because of You-Know-Who and all." Harry grinned and thanked everyone.

The lunch hour passed by quickly as everyone enjoyed conversation. Harry, Ron and Hermione had mostly stuck together not really wanting to be involved with the more serious conversations the others were engaged in. They knew it would be soon when they would set out on the most important task of the war and they couldn't help their perceived small indulgence of selfishness to be normal young adults without the weight of the world on their shoulders. However, their carefree time was cut short when Arthur made a sudden announcement.

"The Minister has just arrived," said Arthur looking out the kitchen window.

"I didn't know to expect him," said Molly as she made a mad swipe of her wand towards the dirty dishes which began to clean themselves.

"I wasn't aware of the visit," admitted Arthur.

"Mr. Weasley—"

"Arthur, Harry—"

"Yes, er, Arthur, do you mind if I or, we," he said indicating to Hermione and Ron quickly, "disappear? I'm not exactly on friendly terms with the Minister right now."

"Regardless, Mr. Potter, I must insist you do nothing of the sort, at least until I have conducted the Ministry business I am obligated to carry out," said Scrimgeour from the doorway. "I can assure you it will be relatively brief and unfortunately, is not a particularly happy circumstance. And I will also require the presence of your two friends here, Mr. Ronald Weasley, and Miss Hermione Granger. Arthur, is there somewhere we may settle down for a few minutes, in private?"

"Yes," said Arthur quickly. "You may use the sitting room. It's been set aside for the wedding gifts. No one will disturb you."

"Thank you," said Scrimgeour as he turned his gaze to Harry. "If you'd lead the way, Mr. Potter?"

Once they were all seated, Scrimgeour opened his briefcase and pulled out a rather thick stack of blank parchment and laid it upon the living room table and looked at Harry.

"I trust you know what this is," said Scrimgeour briskly, diving right into the reason of his visit. "Or at the very least, have your suspicions as to what this is?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but all I can see is a bit of parchment," said Harry, before adding, "but I'm sure it's a lovely stack of parchment—Ministry's finest I'm sure."

"You can dispense with the humor, Mr. Potter," said Scrimgeour. "For the record, it is fine parchment indeed, arranged by Albus Dumbledore." Harry's eyes widened. Scrimgeour pulled his wand from his jacket and tapped the parchment twice. Immediately, the stack of parchment unfolded itself and levitated into the air. Scrimgeour turned his head and began reading as the letters of the parchment began to reveal themselves.

"I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, being of exceptionally sound mind, failing but operable body, and with high spirits all things considered, affirm this last will and testament, amended on the fifteenth day of the month of May in this year of 1997, do hereby dispense the remnants of my earthly possessions (and last minute advice for those who would humor an old man and hear it) with the following instructions:

"Firstly, to Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator in hopes that when darkness descends around him, it will show him the light. Additionally, should he have ears willing to indulge an old man's rambling, I would remind him that life can be wasted in the attempt to achieve what those before us have already achieved and it does not make us great; rather, glory awaits the one who sets out on his own path."

The Minister paused, reached into his briefcase and pulled out a neatly cloth-wrapped cylindrical object and presented it to Ron. Ron took it, pulled away the cloth to reveal a small, silver cylindrical tube that Harry thought looked a great deal like an oversized muggle lighter.

"Brilliant," said Ron. He examined the Deluminator in his hand before looking back to the Minister. "What er, does it do, exactly?"

"You don't know," asked Scrimgeour with a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"No idea," replied Ron.

"Give it a click," offered Scrimgeour. Ron did as instructed and clicked the Deluminator once. Immediately the lights in the sitting room were pulled from their fixtures and disappeared inside the canister of the Deluminator.

"Wicked," said Ron. He clicked it again and the lights flew from the Deluminator back into their respective fixtures, returning light to the room.

"A very unique item," said Scrimgeour, "possibly one-of-a-kind and certainly one of his own design. Tell me, Mr. Weasley, were you and Dumbledore close? I should tell you that Dumbledore named very few people in his will; the majority of his bequeaths were directed to Hogwarts, which most predominately contained his vast personal library. Yet, he names you three personally in his will over those who have known him much longer, and with the exception of Mr. Potter, were much closer to him than either you or Miss Granger. Of course, Dumbledore was an exceptionally private person so I may be hasty in my assumption."

"Well we've talked a few times," said Ron. "Usually just small chatter and Dumbledore was always very friendly to my family, especially dad and mum. He once awarded me fifty points for beating McGonagall's chess set." Scrimgeour gave Ron a calculated look before returning to the will.

"To Miss Hermione Jane Granger, I leave my own personal copy of "The Tales of Beedle the Bard," trusting she will find it most illuminating and will serve as a reminder the rewards of diligence, scrutiny, and intellect. To her I also offer this small tidbit of advice; knowledge is powerful and worthy of pursuit; however, I would likewise stress the importance of never discounting a theory or any story regardless of its absurdity until proven false. Many wise and knowledgeable people have missed what is right before them simply for the reason that the facts did not line up as they thought they should."

Again, Scrimgeour reached into his briefcase and presented a small leather bound book.

"I would ask the same to you, Miss. Granger, as I did young Mr. Weasely. Would you consider yourself close to Dumbledore?"

"Perhaps not as close as others," said Hermione as she opened the book, "but certainly closer than others. I've had several personal conversations with the headmaster, and frankly this gift does not surprise me; he knew I loved to read."

"Indeed, so it would seem. But what do you make of his advice? Why the cautionary warning to you, and the reminder to Mr. Weasley about choosing his own path? Hidden messages perhaps, or simple encouragement for a secret task to not be discouraged?"

"Or perhaps it's simple advice to living a good life," said Hermione briskly. "He was a professor, was he not?" Scrimgeour gave Hermione a quick nod before once again returning to the will.

"To Mr. Harry James Potter, I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match to serve as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance, courage, and skill. To him, I owe more than simple advice or the ramblings of an old fool who has made many mistakes in life, some, regrettably, that have had adverse effects to his own life. Your parents are undoubtedly immeasurably proud of you and the man you have become, as am I. I have left a letter to be presented to you to read on your own time (please do not do so now). It is enchanted rather skillfully (if I do say so myself) to remain sealed until you open it. No one else will be able to do so; therefore you do not need to fear that it has been read by prying eyes."

For the third time, Scrimgeour reached into the briefcase and presented Harry firstly with the letter and finally, held out the Snitch in his outstretched hand. Harry reached for the Snitch and held it in his hand. Scrimgeour eyed the Snitch intently as though waiting for something to happen while Harry gave the Minister a confused look.

"Interesting," said Scrimgeour once it became apparent nothing miraculous was going to occur.

"What's interesting," asked Harry.

"Snitches have flesh memories," said Hermione. "Remember Harry? They only open when touched by the Seeker who caught it."

"Precisely, Miss Granger," said Scrimgeour, looking triumphant.

"But it didn't open it when I touched it," said Harry. "Maybe it's broken."

"Perhaps it won't open until it's supposed too," offered Scrimgeour. "Dumbledore was without question the most gifted wizard of our time, possessing prodigious skill. None-the-less, it makes one wonder what Dumbledore thought so important as to conceal it within an unsuspecting item such as a Snitch." At last they had come to it, thought Harry.

"There is yet one other item that Dumbledore left for you, Mr. Potter." Scrimgeour turned once more to the will and continued to read.

"Finally, I leave the Sword of Godric Gryffindor to Harry James Potter as a last reminder of the value of bravery and loyalty."

"Dumbledore left me the sword," asked Harry truly beside himself.

"Yes, unfortunately, the sword of Godric Gryffindor is not Dumbledore's to give," said Scrimgeour with another look of triumph. "As an important historical artifact, it belongs to—"

"To Harry," said Hermione. "It chose him; he was the one who found it. The Sorting Hat presented it to him."

"According to various historical sources and the opinions of Ministry professionals, the sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor," said Scrimgeour. "I do not mean to imply that Mr. Potter is not worthy of such a weapon, only that the sword presenting itself to him does not make it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, regardless of what Dumbledore may have intended." He turned his attention from Hermione and rounded back on Harry.

"Why would Dumbledore leave you the sword of Godric Gryffindor? Is it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to destroy the Dark Lord?"

"If it was that simple, don't you think Dumbledore would have already done it," said Harry coolly. "Honestly, Minister, you were once the head of the Auror Department—you should know better than most that something that ridiculous wouldn't work. I hope that's not why you've been shut up in your office all this time, trying to break into a Snitch." Harry could feel he was building steam and was about to blow.

"People are dying and you're chasing fantasy. Voldemort chased me across three countries, killed Mad-Eye, and you're wasting time stripping down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. You're no better than that idiot Fudge."

"You go too far," shouted Scrimgeour, pulling his wand and pressing it hard into his chest where it emitted heat, burning a hole in Harry's shirt. Ron and Hermione stood in response, their own wands raised at the Minister of Magic.

"No," said Harry, waving from them to lower their wands. "He may be incompetent but he's still the Minister of Magic—he can have us arrested."

"Good to know you have a brain, Potter," said Scrimgeour, his voice rising with each word. "Remembered I'm not Dumbledore, who let your insolence and insubordination run rampant. You 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 learned some respect!"

"It's time you earned it, Minister," said Harry in an equally loud voice. He raised his scared hand with the words: I Must Not Tell Lies. "Don't forget the Ministry has itself to blame for how this war is going. I told Fudge he was back. I told the Ministry he was back. I gave them the names of the Death Eaters that returned to him. You want loyalty from me; where were you when everyone was discrediting Dumbledore and me, hmm? The Ministry gave him a year's head start to rebuild all his old ties, to infiltrate the Ministry, to run completely unchecked. I owe you nothing."

"I was not the Minister of Magic at the time, as you pointed out, Potter," said Scrimgeour aggressively.

"And you were the Head of the Auror office, where you not? What were you doing?"

"I had no authority—"

"To wage war, no you probably didn't," said Harry. "But you could have sought out Dumbledore, you had resources to verify, and you didn't." At this, Scrimgeour developed a rather sour look. "You are as much to blame as Fudge. Worse, is that you continue to make his mistakes. Stop lying to people. Stop trying to pretend you have it under control. Do the right thing, not the easy thing."

"You should head your own advice, Potter," Scrimgeour started, but soon the floor trembled, followed by the sounds of several running footsteps. The door of the sitting room burst open as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Remus, and Tonks ran in.

"We heard raised voices," said Arthur, his wand drawn. "We thought, well, it appears we misjudged—sorry Minister." Like a kid caught in the midst of wrong-doing, Scrimgeour took a few steps back from Harry, glancing at the hole he'd made in Harry's T-shirt. He appeared at least, to regret his loss of temper. However, when he spoke, his voice was still full of anger.

"I regret your attitude, Mr. Potter," said the Minister. "You are determined to believe that the Ministry does not desire what you—what Dumbledore—desired. We should be working together."

"I don't like you methods, Minister," said Harry. "And it's not working together you want—it's my face on a poster saying what a spectacular job the Ministry is doing against Voldemort and his cronies." Scrimgeour winced at the name of the Dark Lord. Harry scoffed.

"Don't you get it," asked Harry gravely. "You expect to win a war against someone whose very name terrifies you; if you can't say Voldemort, you can at least say Tom Riddle, can't you? This war is more than just raising a wand against the bad guy, Minister. Voldemort thrives in fear—don't you think he inspires enough without fearing his name as well?"

Scrimgeour's expression hardened. He turned on his heels without another word and limped from the room. Harry called after him.

"Minister!"

"What it is, Potter? I have more important things to do today than continue this irrational argument anymore."

"The sword," said Harry, holding his hand out expectantly. "After all, you, like so many people as you so eloquently put, believe me to be the chosen one. If you believe that and if you have any trust in Dumbledore, then perhaps you should follow his wishes?"

"Be that as it may, Potter, I cannot give you the sword. Its current location is unknown. It is missing."

"Missing?"

"Yes," said the Minister. He once again turned his back to Harry and continued into the kitchen and out of the Burrow.

"What did he want," asked Mr. Weasley.

"To give us what Dumbledore left us," said Harry, "and to make me a poster child once more."

"Well he certainly appears to have failed in that," said Remus bemusedly. "Shall we return to our celebration? We still have a wedding this evening and there is cake to be eaten. With a quick glance to Ron and Hermione, Harry nodded and the three of them (Dumbledore's keepsakes stowed away in their pockets) and returned to the kitchen. They had a lot to talk about later.