Sorry for the wait on this chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't know anyone out there who still thinks that after seven stories of disclaimers, I still own Harry Potter, but still. I don't. (:

There was silence in the room, broken only by gentle thuds as Hermione continued to throw books onto one pile or the other. Ron sat watching her, and Harry looked around at them silently. Eric shouldered his way back out of the room, and Levina returned to the book stack with Hermione.

Through the silence came the muffled sounds of Mrs. Weasley shouting from four floors below.

"Ginny's probably left a speck of dust on a poxy napkin ring," said Ron. "I dunno why the Delacours have got to come two days before the wedding."

"Fleur's sister's a bridesmaid, she needs to be here for the rehearsal, and she's too young to come on her own," said Hermione, as she pored indecisively over Break with a Banshee.

"Well, guests aren't going to help Mum's stress levels," said Ron.

"What we really need to decide," said Hermione, tossing Defensive Magical Theory into the bin without a second glance and picking up An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, "is where we're going after we leave here. I know you said you wanted to go to Godric's Hollow first, Harry, and I understand why, but... well... shouldn't we make the Horcruxes our priority?"

"If we knew where any of the Horcruxes were, I'd agree with you," said Harry.

"Don't you think there's a possibility that Voldemort's keeping a watch on Godric's Hollow?" Hermione asked. "He might expect one or both of you two to go back and visit your parents' graves once you're free to go wherever you like?"

This had not occurred to Levina. Not once had she ever visited her parents' graves before (She felt slightly guilty inside), and it would be the perfect opportunity to do it. While Harry struggled to find a counterargument, Ron spoke up, evidently following his own train of thought.

"That's a distinct possibility," said Levina.

"This R.A.B. person," said Harry. "You know, the one who stole the real locket?"

Hermione and Levina nodded.

"He said in his note he was going to destroy it, didn't he?"

Harry dragged his rucksack toward him and pulled out the fake Horcrux in which R.A.B.'s note was still folded.

"'I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.'" Harry read out.

"Well, what if he did finish it off?" said Ron.

"Or she." Interposed Hermione, and Levina rolled her eyes.

"Whichever," said Ron. "it'd be one less for us to do!"

"Yes, but we're still going to have to try and trace the real locket, aren't we?" said Hermione, "to find out whether or not it's destroyed."

"We can't just go by assumptions, Ron," said Levina.

"And once we get hold of it, how do you destroy a Horcrux?" asked Ron.

"Well," said Hermione, "I've been researching that."

"How?" asked Harry. "I didn't think there were any books on Horcruxes in the library?"

"There weren't," said Hermione, who had turned pink. "Dumbledore removed them all, but he—he didn't destroy them."

"Wait, what?" said Levina.

Ron sat up straight, wide-eyed.

"How in the name of Merlin's pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux books?"

Levina shot him a weird look. "'Merlin's pants'?"

"It—it wasn't stealing!" said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron with a kind of desperation. "They were still library books, even if Dumbledore had taken them off the shelves. Anyway, if he really didn't want anyone to get at them, I'm sure he would have made it much harder to—"

"Get to the point!" said Ron.

"Well... it was easy," said Hermione in a small voice. "I just did a Summoning Charm. You know—Accio. And—they zoomed out of Dumbledore's study window right into the girls' dormitory."

"Oh. That." Levina felt like slapping herself upside the head; she had recalled that day when a bunch of books had zoomed into the dorm through the window, shattering it and startling the hell out of Levina, who was packing her stuff up to leave school.

"You told me you were just summoning some books you'd accidentally left at the funeral!" said Levina hotly.

"I knew you would get upset and accuse me of stealing Dumbledore's stuff," said Hermione apologetically. "You were already pretty rattled."

"But when did you do this?" Harry asked, regarding Hermione with a mixture of admiration and incredulity.

"Just after his—Dumbledore's—funeral," said Hermione in an even smaller voice. "Right after we agreed we'd leave school and go and look for the Horcruxes. When I went back upstairs to get my things it—it just occurred to me that the more we knew about them, the better it would be...and I was alone in there, besides Levina...so I tried...and it worked. They flew straight in through the open window and I—I packed them."

She swallowed and then said imploringly, "I can't believe Dumbledore would have been angry, it's not as though we're going to use the information to make a Horcrux, is it?"

"Can you hear us complaining?" said Ron. "Where are these books anyway?"

Hermione rummaged for a moment and then extracted from the pile a large volume, bound in faded black leather. She looked a little nauseated and held it as gingerly as if it were something recently dead.

"This is the one that gives explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux. Secrets of the Darkest Art -it's a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when Dumbledore removed it from the library...if he didn't do it until he was headmaster, I bet Voldemort got all the instruction he needed from here."

"Why did he have to ask Slughorn how to make a Horcrux, then, if he'd already read that?" asked Ron.

"He only approached Slughorn to find out what would happen if you split your soul into seven," said Harry. "Dumbledore was sure Riddle already knew how to make a Horcrux by the time he asked Slughorn about them. I think you're right, Hermione, that could easily have been where he got the information."

"And the more I've read about them," said Hermione, "the more horrible they seem, and the less I can believe that he actually made six. It warns in this book how unstable you make the rest of your soul by ripping it, and that's just by making one Horcrux!"

"Well, he is a pretty unstable guy," said Levina.

"Isn't there any way of putting yourself back together?" Ron asked.

"Yes," said Hermione with a hollow smile, "but it would be excruciatingly painful."

"Why? How do you do it?" asked Harry.

"Remorse," said Hermione. "You've got to really feel what you've done. There's a footnote. Apparently the pain of it can destroy you. I can't see Voldemort attempting it somehow, can you?"

"No," said Ron, before Levina could answer. "So does it say how to destroy Horcruxes in that book?"

"Yes," said Hermione, now turning the fragile pages as if examining rotting entrails, "because it warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make the enchantments on them. From all that I've read, what Harry did to Riddle's diary was one of the few really foolproof ways of destroying a Horcrux."

"What, stabbing it with a basilisk fang?" asked Harry.

"Oh well, lucky we've got such a large supply of basilisk fangs, then," said Ron. "I was wondering what we were going to do with them."

"It doesn't have to be a basilisk fang," said Hermione patiently. "It has to be something so destructive that the Horcrux can't repair itself. Basilisk venom only has one antidote, and it's incredibly rare—"

"—phoenix tears," said Harry, nodding.

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Our problem is that there are very few substances as destructive as basilisk venom, and they're all dangerous to carry around with you. That's a problem we're going to have to solve, though, because ripping, smashing, or crushing a Horcrux won't do the trick. You've got to put it beyond magical repair."

"So let's just pick up some basilisk fangs," said Levina with an offhanded shrug.

"Not that simple," said Hermione.

"But even if we wreck the thing it lives in," said Ron, "why can't the bit of soul in it just go and live in something else?"

"Because a Horcrux is the complete opposite of a human being."

Seeing that Harry, Levina, and Ron looked thoroughly confused, Hermione hurried on. "Look, if I picked up a sword right now, Ron, and ran you through with it, I wouldn't damage your soul at all."

"Which would be a real comfort to me, I'm sure," said Ron. Harry and Levina laughed.

"It should be, actually! But my point is that whatever happens to your body, your soul will survive, untouched," said Hermione. "But it's the other way round with a Horcrux. The fragment of soul inside it depends on its container, its enchanted body, for survival. It can't exist without it."

"That diary sort of died when I stabbed it," said Harry, and Levina remembered the ink pouring like blood from the punctured pages, and the screams of the piece of Voldemort's soul as it vanished. She gave an involuntary shudder.

"And once the diary was properly destroyed, the bit of soul trapped in it could no longer exist. Ginny tried to get rid of the diary before you did, flushing it away, but obviously it came back good as new."

"Hang on," said Ron, frowning. "The bit of soul in that diary was possessing Ginny, wasn't it? How does that work, then?"

"While the magical container is still intact, the bit of soul inside it can flit in and out of someone if they get too close to the object. I don't mean holding it for too long, it's nothing to do with touching it," she added before Ron could speak. "I mean close emotionally. Ginny poured her heart out into that diary, she made herself incredibly vulnerable. You're in trouble if you get too fond of or dependent on the Horcrux."

"Hence why you just shouldn't make them," said Levina, shaking her head. "Wizards these days…"

Harry laughed. "But I wonder how Dumbledore destroyed the ring?…Why didn't I ask him? I never really..."

His voice trailed away.

The silence was shattered as the bedroom door flew open with a wall-shaking crash. Hermione shrieked and dropped Secrets of the Darkest Art; Crookshanks streaked under the bed, hissing indignantly; Levina sprung up a foot in the air, drawing her wand; Ron jumped off the bed, skidded on a discarded Chocolate Frog wrapper, and smacked his head on the opposite wall; Harry dove for his wand before evidently realizing that he was looking up at Mrs. Weasley, whose hair was disheveled and whose face was contorted with rage.

"I'm so sorry to break up this cozy little gathering," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm sure you all need your rest...but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help."

"Oh yes," said Hermione, looking terrified as she leapt to her feet, sending books flying in every direction. "we will...we're sorry..."

With an anguished look at Levina, Harry, and Ron, Hermione hurried out of the room after Mrs. Weasley.

"Brings back bad memories of Aunt Ashby," said Levina, returning her wand to her pocket.

"It's like being a house-elf," complained Ron in an undertone, still massaging his head as he, Levina, and Harry followed. "Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this wedding's over, the happier, I'll be."

"And with clothes," said Levina. "Although I'm not sure Dobby was exactly happy when he was working for the Malfoy's—" Levina's voice shook on the last word. Harry looked sidelong at her, studying her face.

"Yeah," said Harry, "then we'll have nothing to do except find Horcruxes...It'll be like a holiday, won't it?"

Ron started to laugh, but at the sight of the enormous pile of wedding presents waiting for them in Mrs. Weasley's room, stopped quite abruptly.

…

The Delacours arrived the following morning at eleven o' clock. Harry, Levina, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and even Destiny were feeling quite resentful toward Fleur's family by this time; and it was with ill grace that Ron stumped back upstairs to put on matching socks, Harry attempted to flatten his hair, and Levina gave in to Destiny's pleas and used some makeup and hair curlers. Once they had all been deemed smart enough, they trooped out into the sunny backyard to await the visitors.

Levina had never seen the place looking so tidy. The rusty cauldrons and old Wellington boots that usually littered the steps by the back door were gone, replaced by two new Flutterby bushes standing either side of the door in large pots; though there was no breeze, the leaves waved lazily, giving an attractive rippling effect. The chickens had been shut away, the yard had been swept, and the nearby garden had been pruned, plucked, and generally spruced up. Levina half-missed the presence of the usual gnomes running around.

She had lost track of how many security enchantments had been placed upon the Burrow by both the Order and the Ministry; all she knew was that it was no longer possible for anybody to travel by magic directly into the place. Mr. Weasley had therefore gone to meet the Delacours on top of a nearby hill, where they were to arrive by Portkey. The first sound of their approach was an unusually high-pitched laugh, which turned out to be coming from Mr. Weasley, who appeared at the gate moments later, laden with luggage and leading a beautiful blonde woman in long, leaf green robes, who could be Fleur's mother.

"Maman!" cried Fleur, rushing forward to embrace her. "Papa!"

Monsieur Delacour was nowhere near as attractive as his wife; he was a head shorter and extremely plump, with a little, pointed black beard. However, he looked good-natured. Bouncing towards Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving her flustered.

"You 'ave been so much trouble," he said in a deep voice. "Fleur tells us you 'ave been working very 'ard."

"Oh, it's been nothing, nothing!" trilled Mrs. Weasley. "No trouble at all!"

Ron relieved his feelings by aiming a kick at a gnome who was peering out from behind one of the new Flutterby bushes.

"Ah, and 'ow is my dear Dez-teeny?" said Madam Delacour. Destiny looked slightly frightened as the woman approached her, kissing each of her cheeks. "I 'ave not seen you since you were just a child! You look lovely, dear."

"Merci," said Destiny, flushing red.

"Eez your father 'ere?"

"Oui, Papa is in the kitchen," said Destiny. "He'll be looking forward to seeing you again."

Levina raised her eyebrows at Destiny, who added, "Oh, our parents met when they picked us up from Beauxbatons Academy. We had dance class together, remember?"

"Right," said Levina. "Old friends, then?"

Destiny nodded. "Don't worry, they're not that bad."

"Dear lady!" said Monsieur Delacour, still holding Mrs. Weasley's hand between his own two plump ones and beaming. "We are most honored at the approaching union of our two families! Let me present my wife, Apolline."

Madame Delacour glided forward and stooped to kiss Mrs. Weasley too.

"Enchant'e," she said. "Your 'usband 'as been telling us such amusing stories!"

Mr. Weasley gave a maniacal laugh; Mrs. Weasley threw him a look, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appropriate to the sickbed of a close friend.

"And, of course, you 'ave met my leetle daughter, Gabrielle!" said Monsieur Delacour. Gabrielle was Fleur in miniature; eleven years old, with waist-length hair of pure, silvery blonde, she gave Mrs. Weasley a dazzling smile and hugged her, then threw Harry a glowing look, batting her eyelashes. Ginny cleared her throat loudly and Levina covered a smirk.

"Well, come in, do!" said Mrs. Weasley brightly, and she ushered the Delacours into the house, with many "No, please!"s and "After you!'s and "Not at all!'s.

The Delacours, it soon transpired, were helpful, pleasant guests. They were pleased with everything and keen to assist with the preparations for the wedding. Monsieur Delacour pronounced everything from the seating plan to the bridesmaids' shoes "Charmant!" Madame Delacour was most accomplished at household spells and had the oven properly cleaned in a trice; Gabrielle followed her elder sister around, trying to assist in any way she could and jabbering away in rapid French.

On the downside, the Burrow was not built to accommodate so many people. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were now sleeping in the sitting room, having shouted down Monsieur and Madame Delacour's protests and insisted they take their bedroom. Gabrielle was sleeping with Fleur in Percy's old room, and Bill would be sharing with Charlie, his best man, once Charlie arrived from Romania (Eric had called him and his apprentice in). Opportunities to make plans together became virtually nonexistent, and it was in desperation that Levina, Harry, Ron and Hermione took to volunteering to feed the chickens just to escape the overcrowded house.

"But she still won't leave us alone!" snarled Ron, and their second attempt at a meeting in the yard was foiled by the appearance of Mrs. Weasley carrying a large basket of laundry in her arms.

"At this rate, we'll have to send owls to each other," said Levina with a heavy sigh.

"Oh, good, you've fed the chickens," she called as she approached them. "We'd better shut them away again before the men arrive tomorrow...to put up the tent for the wedding," she explained, pausing to lean against the henhouse. She looked exhausted. "Millamant's Magic Marquees...they're very good. Bill's escorting them...You'd better stay inside while they're here, Harry, Levina. I must say it does complicate organizing a wedding, having all these security spells around the place."

"Er...sorry, I don't mean to complicate things," said Levina apologetically.

"I'm sorry," said Harry humbly.

"Oh, don't be silly, dears!" said Mrs. Weasley at once. "I didn't mean—well, your safety's much more important! Actually, I've been wanting to ask you how you want to celebrate your birthday, Harry. Seventeen, after all, it's an important day..."

"Oh yeah!" said Levina, turning to smile at Harry. She'd forgotten about him turning seventeen, what with everything that had happened.

"I don't want a fuss," said Harry quickly, envisaging the additional strain this would put on them all. "Really, Mrs. Weasley, just a normal dinner would be fine...It's the day before the wedding..."

"Oh, well, if you're sure, dear. I'll invite Remus and Tonks, shall I? And how about Hagrid?"

"That'd be great," said Harry. "But please, don't go to loads of trouble."

"Not at all, not at all...It's no trouble..."

She looked at him, a long, searching look, then smiled a little sadly, straightened up, and walked away. Levina watched as she waved her wand near the washing line, and the damp clothes rose into the air to hang themselves up.

…

"What? You're telling me that you're just frickin' pulling my leg again? What the hell is wrong with—?"

"That's not what I meant!" said Draco quickly.

"Then what? Just spit it out already!" said Levina hotly.

But Draco didn't say anything. Instead, he did something different. Much different. He moved slowly forward, his cloak billowing about him, so that they were face-to-face, and leaned in, his head inclined toward hers.

"DRACO!"

Snape's voice echoed through Levina's head and she jerked upright in her bed. She was lying on the floor, tangled up in her sheets, in Ron's dingy attic room, and someone had been shaking her side. The sun had not yet risen and the room was still shadowy. Pigwidgeon was asleep with his head under his tiny wing. Levina's face was damp with sweat, hot from Draco's breath—

"I wasn't dreaming anything!" she said defensively.

Ron quirked an eyebrow at her. He was standing over her; evidently he was the one who woke her up. "I didn't say that you were…?"

"Oh. Oh…well, right." Levina shook her head twice, trying to clear it. She was beginning to grow sick of the constant dreams about the blonde Slytherin boy, sick of all the memories…

Harry did not have his glasses on, but he was staring at her nonetheless silently. She was thankful that he didn't interrogate her—in fact, he hadn't brought up Draco once to her since the incident, hadn't rubbed it in her face. She almost wished that he would; maybe she would feel better if he did. She had, after all, ignored his many claims that Draco was up to something, and had heavily defended him time and time again.

Letting him know that she was dreaming about the Slytherin practically every night probably wouldn't go over well.

"Happy birthday, Mr. Seventeen," said Levina vaguely as she pried herself out of her bedcovers.

"Thanks," said Harry, beaming over at her.

"I'm surprised you didn't wake up sooner; he keeps sending all my stuff flying around the room, now that he's allowed to do magic."

"Oh, nice. Having fun?" said Levina, grinning as she scanned the room, where clutter lay strewn about now. "When I turned seventeen, the first thing I did was finally clean my closet. It went a lot quicker."

Lilypad lay curled up on the floor, under a fallen newspaper, looking incredibly annoyed, with raised black hair. Noticing Levina's raised eyebrows, Ron added, "Yeah, he also moved your cat around a bit."

"She didn't mind it," said Harry quickly, but Levina merely laughed.

"It's all right, Harry. She deserved it; yesterday she bit my finger when I tried to take Draco's shoelace from—" She broke off, her eyes darting to Harry as though she thought he might suddenly begin using "I-told-you-so's" about Draco.

Merlin, she was really losing it…

Harry seemed unfazed. "So, presents?"

"Oh yeah! I got you this," said Levina, passing him a large parcel draped in ribbon. He eagerly tore into it, and his expression brightened.

"Some treacle tarts," said Levina, shrugging. "And a quaffle signed by our entire Quidditch team. No biggie."

"Wow! Levina, this is amazing!" said Harry, picking up the quaffle and turning it over and over again, examining the signatures. She'd gotten Fred, Ron, and George to sign it as well, and she even managed to get Oliver Wood to sign it; being the cousin of a wealthy girl who knew a lot of people through her father tended to pay off. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Levina with a grin. Harry moved on to Ron's gift.

"A book?" said Harry as he took the rectangular parcel. "Bit of a departure from tradition, isn't it?"

"This isn't your average book," said Ron, sheepishly looking over at Levina. "It'd pure gold: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Explains everything you need to know about girls. If only I'd had this last year I'd have known exactly how to get rid of Lavender and I would've known how to get going with...Well, Fred and George gave me a copy, and I've learned a lot. You'd be surprised, it's not all about wandwork, either."

Levina rolled her eyes. "Really, Ronald?"

"Hey, I'm sure you'd be glad if you had one on charming wizards!" said Ron defensively.

"Don't need one. I've already somehow managed to 'charm' my own wizard," she said with a wink, thinking of Fred.

When they arrived in the kitchen they found a pile of presents waiting on the table. Bill and Monsieur Delacour were finishing their breakfasts, while Mrs. Weasley stood chatting to them over the frying pan.

"Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, beaming at him. "He had to leave early for work, but he'll be back for dinner. That's our present on top."

Harry sat down, took the square parcel she had indicated, and unwrapped it. Levina peered over his shoulder. Inside was a watch very like the one Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had given Ron for his seventeenth; it was gold, with stars circling around the race instead of hands.

"It's traditional to give a wizard a watch when he comes of age," said Mrs. Weasley, watching him anxiously from beside the cooker. "I'm afraid that one isn't new like Ron's, it was actually my brother Fabian's and he wasn't terribly careful with his possessions, it's a bit dented on the back, but—"

The rest of her speech was lost; Harry had got up and hugged her. She patted his cheek clumsily when he released her, then waved her wand in a slightly random way, causing half a pack of bacon to flop out of the frying pan onto the floor.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" said Hermione, hurrying into the kitchen and adding her own present to the top of the pile. "It's not much, but I hope you like it. What did you get him?" she added to Ron, who seemed not to hear her.

"Come on, then, open Hermione's!" said Ron.

She had bought him 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, assorted candies and a some enchanted shoes from the Levesques ("They're made to guarantee that you'll never have sore feet again, nor any blisters," said Destiny cheerfully), and an enormous box of the latest Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes merchandise from Fred and George.

Harry, Ron, Levina, and Hermione did not 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 three 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, Ron—"

Ron'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 Hermione took him by the elbow and tugged him on up the stairs. Levina followed closely behind them, grinning down at Harry as he nervously followed Ginny.

"Oh, Ronald, leave them be!" groaned Hermione as Ron attempted to push past her.

"I don't—trust them—" said Ron crossly, pulling her arms away. "What's he doing—messing around with her now—?"

"Ron, you can't keep your sister from doing what she wants," said Levina, annoyed as she took him by the shoulders, holding him back.

"Harry broke things off with her already—he shouldn't be—"

"Harry's your best mate," said Levina reasonably. "Do you really want to ruin their moment, on his birthday?"

Ron hesitated, and for a moment it seemed he might actually re-consider. Levina let go of his shoulders, and the second he was free, he bolted back down the stairs.

"Ron!" Levina and Hermione shouted after him indignantly. They made chase behind him, closing in at his heels, but it was too late; Ron flung Ginny's bedroom door open, where inside, Ginny and Harry were locked together in a passionate kiss. They broke apart almost instantly.

"Oh," said Ron pointedly. "Sorry."

"Ron, you arse!" Levina barked, skidding to a halt beside him.

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 looked nervous. Harry looked as though he wanted nothing more than to slam the door in their faces, but instead, he said to Ginny, "I'll see you later," and followed the other three 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, Levina following closely, Hermione trotting along behind them looking scared.

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 Levina 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—"

"Ron, be reasonable—"

"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."

Ginny did not seek another one-to-one meeting with Harry for the rest of the day, nor by any look or gesture did she show that they had shared more than polite conversation in her room. Nevertheless, Charlie's arrival seemed to come as a relief to Harry. It provided a distraction, watching Mrs. Weasley force Charlie into a chair, raise her wand threateningly, and announce that he was about to get a proper haircut.

As Harry's birthday dinner would have stretched the Burrow's kitchen to breaking point even before the arrival of Charlie, Lupin, Tonks, 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 Levina was not yet used to the dark hole in the side of his head, despite the twins' many jokes about it.

Destiny made the best of it, laughing along with the jokes and affectionately running a finger along the edges of the hole in his head, saying, "Now you can't switch places on me anymore, Georgie."

Fred mockingly dragged his index finger around Levina's own ear, causing her to giggle and play-punch him away. She was glad that she could finally relax around him now, and it was much easier to talk with him, alone or not. It felt almost like old times.

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

"Nice," said Ron, as with one final flourish of her wand, Hermione turned the leaves on the crabapple tree to gold. "You've really got an eye for that sort of thing."

"Thank you, Ron!" said Hermione, looking both pleased and a little confused. Levina turned away, smiling to herself She had a funny feeling that, if she were to read Harry's new book on charming witches, she would find a chapter on compliments.

"Out of the way, out of the way!" sang Mrs. Weasley, coming through the gate with what appeared to be a giant, beach-ball-sized Snitch floating in front of her. Levina realized belatedly that it was a cake, which Mrs. Weasley was suspending with her wand, rather than risk carrying it over the uneven ground. When the cake had finally landed in the middle of the table, Harry said, "That looks amazing, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, it's nothing, dear," she said fondly. Over her shoulder, Ron gave Harry the thumbs-up and mouthed, 'Good one'. Levina grinned.

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, bringing back bad memories of Levina's fourth year, with the smell of his horrible cologne. Although Lupin smiled as he shook Harry's hand, Levina thought he looked rather unhappy. It was all very odd; Tonks, beside him, looked simply radiant.

"Happy birthday, Harry," she 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', Ron, Levina, Hermione?"

"Always am," said Levina.

"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—" Levina avoided Ron's, Harry'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, side-by-side in conversation with Eric, 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, and Levina smirked.

"Even I know how, Hermione—"

"They're a lot more vicious," said Charlie, rolling his eyes at Levina. 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.

"So, when's Miss Mira-Mira getting here?" said Charlie, elbowing Eric in the ribs. Eric scowled at him, but he was half-smiling.

"Shut up. She's not getting here till the wedding you know that, mate—"

"Ah, right. Sorry, must have slipped my mind, you know, when Mira-Mira was supposed to arrive."

"I'm going to jinx you so hard that—"

"I think we'd better start without Arthur," Mrs. Weasley called to the garden at large after a moment or two, cutting across Eric. "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.

"Wait…what?" said Levina, simply bemused.

"We shouldn't be here," said Lupin at once. "Harry—I'm sorry—I'll explain some other 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. Levina 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 dully.

"I require a private word with you," Scrimgeour went on. "Also with Mr. Ronald Weasley, Miss Levina Snowpetal, and Miss Hermione Granger."

"What for?" said Fred, drawing a protective arm around Levina's shoulders.

"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."

Levina saw Mr. Weasley exchange a worried look with Mrs. Weasley as Ron, Hermione, and Ron got to their feet. When Fred didn't lessen his grip on her, Levina pulled away, placing one hand on his arm reassuringly.

"It's all right," she said, looking him directly in the eye. "I promise I won't lose my temper."

"I know…This just seems suspicious." Fred released his arm from her shoulders and she followed the trio into the house silently. The only thing Levina could think of was that Scrimgeour must have, somehow, learned that the four of them were planning to drop out of Hogwarts. She swallowed a nervous lump in her throat.

Scrimgeour did not 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; Harry flicked his wand at the oil lamps as they entered and they illuminated the shabby but cozy room. Scrimgeour sat himself in the sagging armchair that Mr. Weasley normally occupied, leaving Harry, Levina, Ron, and Hermione to squeeze side by side onto the sofa. Once they had done so, Scrimgeour spoke.

"I have some questions for the three of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. If you three"—he pointed at Harry, Levina, and Hermione— "can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald."

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

Scrimgeour gave Harry a cold, appraising look. Levina had the impression that the Minister was wondering whether it was worthwhile opening hostilities this early, and she felt prepared to defend herself if need be, but there was also the fact that she had to keep herself from getting fired up, as she promised Fred.

"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."

Harry, Ron, Levina, and Hermione looked at one another. His will? He'd mentioned her in his will?

"A surprise, apparently! You were not aware then that Dumbledore had left you anything?"

"A-all of us?" said Ron, "Me, Levina, 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.

"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!"

"You don't have to be Sherlock to know basic laws," said Levina.

Ron laughed. Scrimgeour's eyes flickered toward him and away again as Harry spoke, but Levina had a feeling that neither Ron nor Scrimgeour knew who Sherlock was.

"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 who..."

Had they been sitting at a table, Levina would have kicked Ron's leg under it. Ron looked around at Harry, Levina, 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."

"Yeah, you were always one of his favorites," Levina chimed in.

This was stretching the truth to breaking point; as far as Levina 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 Levina had seen before: It looked something like a silver cigarette lighter, but it had, she knew, 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.

Why in Merlin would Dumbledore leave his Deluminator to Ron? Thought Levina, puzzled.

"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.

"'To Miss Levina Nadia Snowpetal, I leave my Wary-Bangle, in the hope that she may learn to be a little more trusting of others.'"

"It…what?" said Levina, staring blankly at him as he pulled out the bag a small bracelet. It was black, with delicate, ancient engravings carved into it. Levina hesitantly took it from his hand, but she couldn't help but feel slightly anticlimactic.

"These are very rare, much more so than the common Sneakoscope," said Scrimgeour, eyeing Levina as though she had known she would be recieiving it. "Much more difficult to come by. Their purpose is to heat up against the user's skin when someone mistrustful is near, making it much more efficient and quieter than the Sneakoscope. Why do you think Dumbledore would leave you such an item, Miss Snowpetal?"

"To…trust people?" said Levina, turning the bracelet over and over again in her hands. It felt like some sort of metal, and it was very cold against her skin. Sure, she wasn't exactly an open book around most people, but she didn't think she was a very suspicious person.

Scrimgeour stared at her, as though wondering whether she was hiding something, then continued the 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 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. Levina saw that the title was in runes; he had never learned to read them. As she looked, a tear splashed onto the embossed symbols.

"Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?" asked Scrimgeour.

"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. They were wedged together so tightly that Ron had difficulty extracting his arm to put it around Hermione's shoulders. 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 Levina couldn't help but feel as though his was the least exciting, considering he knew Dumbledore the best.

"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?"

"What, like a peanut?" said Levina, eyeing the tiny Snitch critically.

Ron laughed and Harry shrugged, but Hermione, however, answered:

"Because Snitches have flesh memories," she said.

"What?" said Harry, Levina, and Ron together; all three of them considered Hermione's Quidditch knowledge negligible.

"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."

Levina's heart was beating rather fast. She was sure that Scrimgeour was right. How could Harry 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.

"Take it," said Scrimgeour quietly.

Harry held out his hand and Levina bit back a cringe; it was all too obvious that the Minister was hoping to see what was quite possibly inside. 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, Ron, Levina, 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. Ron, Levina, and Hermione laughed.

"Very impressive," said Levina.

"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, and Levina's excitement rekindled.

Scrimgeour did not bother to read from the will this time.

"The sword of Godric Gryffindor," he said. Hermione, Levina, and Ron stiffened. She 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 small to contain it. Damn.

"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—"

"He had every right to it, you can't just—" Levina snarled.

"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?"

Levina laughed coldly. "Or maybe a gun? Has seriously no one ever tried that before? Maybe some Muggles should take a shot at him."

"Maybe the Ministry should put some people onto that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators 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—I was nearly one of the—Voldemort chased me 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: Harry jumped to his feet too. Scrimgeour limped toward Harry and jabbed him hard in the chest with the point of his wand; It singed a hole in Harry's T-shirt like a lit cigarette.

"Hey!" Levina shouted, drawing her wand and pointing it at him.

"Oi!" said Ron, jumping up and raising his own wand, but Harry 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 Harry's face. "Remembered that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence and insubordination? You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, 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," said Harry.

Ooh, burn! Thought Levina as she lowered her wand a fraction of an inch.

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.

"And I regret yours," said Levina.

Scrimgeour glared at her. "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?"

He 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".

To support Harry's statement, Levina raised her own arm, pulling back her sleeve so that her own thin, long white scars were apparent: "Filthy half-breed."

Scrimgeour's expression hardened. He turned away without another word and limped from the room. Mrs. Weasley hurried after him; Levina 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, Levina, 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 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 Deluminator, the Wary-Bangle, 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 Mr. Weasley examined the Deluminator for the third of 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," Levina heard Harry whisper to Hermione, while they helped Mrs. Weasley restore the garden to its normal state. "After everyone's gone to bed."

Up in the attic room, Ron examined his Deluminator, Harry filled Hagrid's moleskin purse, not with gold, but with those items he most prized, apparently worthless though some of them were the Marauder's Map, the shard of Sirius's enchanted mirror, and R.A.B.'s locket, and Levina finally attached the bangle onto her arm. Nothing.

"Well, it's good to know that I can trust you two," said Levina, giving an involuntary tremble, "but this thing is awfully cold."

Hermione appeared a few minutes later in the doorway.

"Muffiato," she 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."

"Or we could have just shut it off," said Levina. "Y'know, whichever."

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!"

"And is he trying to imply that I have problems trusting people?" said Levina.

"He's not implying it, he's saying it," said Hermione.

"But why? I think it's a weird reason to give me something like this."

"D'you think he knew the Ministry would confiscate his will and examine everything he'd left us?" asked Harry.

"Definitely," said Hermione. "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.

"Or he could have given us this stuff when he was alive," said Levina, fingering the cold bracelet.

"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—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, "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. Ron, however, gasped, pointing frantically from Harry to the Snitch and back again until he found his voice. Levina's eyes widened, and her hands flew up to her mouth in surprise.

"That was the one you nearly swallowed!"

"Exactly," said Harry, and he pressed his mouth to the Snitch.

It did not open. Levina frowned, sighing in disappointment as he lowered it, but Hermione suddenly shouted something.

"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 Levina recognized as Dumbledore's:

I open at the close.

Levina had barely read them when the words vanished again.

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

Hermione, Levina, 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.

"Well, that clarified everything," said Levina, when they had at last abandoned their attempts to divine meaning in the Snitch's inscription.

"And the sword," said Ron finally.

"Why did he want Harry to have the sword?"

"And why couldn't he just have told me?" Harry said quietly. "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!"

Levina looked up in surprise. 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 Harry to Hermione. "You must've heard of Babbitty Rabbitty—"

"Ron, you know full well Harry, Levina, and I were brought up by Muggles!" said Hermione.

"Destiny's mentioned 'The Wizard and the Hopping Pot' before," said Levina. "I imagine she probably has all of the old kids' stories in her library."

"We didn't hear stories like that when we were little, we heard 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarves' and 'Cinderella'–" said Hermione.

"What's that, an illness?" asked Ron.

Levina laughed. "No, but good try. My favorite was always 'The Little Mermaid.'"

"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?"

"Well, when you're done reading it, let me know," said Levina. "It sounds fairly interesting, at least."

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 quadruple murder by the bridegroom's mother might put a bit of damper on the wedding."

"It might be fun," said Levina with a light shrug.

"What, getting murdered?" said Ron, his eyebrows raised.

Levina rolled her eyes. "Yes, Ron, getting murdered. No, I just meant that I've never been to a wedding before."

"Oh."

There was a second cracking sound.

"I'll get the light."

And he clicked the Deluminator once more as Hermione left the room, startling Lilypad, who was crawling out from under his bed.

Hey guys! To make up for not posting in a while, here's an extra-long chapter for you. Whoo!

WingardiumLeviosa1016: Why thank you! I like Frevina moments, too :)

Flower gettin' Lady: Thanks so much! I know, I was really upset when JK Rowling started killing everyone off...it was like she put their faces on a dartboard, threw darts at them, and whichever ones she hit, she decided to kill (Don't get me wrong, I love JK Rowling, but it still made me sad ):) And thanks! I always liked Destiny's and George's relationship, just because they come from such opposite families (Rich, poor). Yeah, I think I bawled the first time when Hedwig died in the book :'(

Thank you everyone! I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as I can, but hopefully this one will hold you for a while (It's a couple thousand more than my usual).