Phoenix

Late Night Talks

"Do you have any clue what they are talking about?" asked Charlie quietly.

I shook my head. "No idea."

Soon we heard raised voices from the room. I quickly drew my wand and rushed towards the door. Charlie and Mrs. Weasley were right behind me. I threw it open and saw Scrimgeour holding Harry by the collar.

"Minister, Do you usually threaten students?" I asked coolly.

"We thought we heard raised voices," said Mrs Weasley apologetically.

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

"It — it was nothing," he growled. "I . . . regret your attitude," he said, looking Harry full in the face once more. "You seem to think that the Ministry does not desire what you — what Dumbledore — desired. We ought to be working together."

"I don't like your methods, Minister," said Harry. "Remember?" He held up his hand that was scarred with the words I must not tell lies.

"We should get back to the party," said Charlie. Charlie glared at the minister as the man limped away.

We went back to the party, which was now very rushed. We hurriedly are food and gulped down cake throwing out a happy birthday when there was time. While we were cleaning up Harry told us to meet him in his room after everyone went to sleep. So that night Hermione and I snuck into his room.

She had told me the the minister was giving them things from Dumbledore's will. I was a little stung that I wasn't left anything even though Ron and Hermione were, but I didn't mention it.

"Muffliato," 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 it up in front of him, he clicked it. The solitary lamp they had lit went out at once.

"The thing is," whispered Hermione through the dark, "we could have achieved that with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder."

There was a small click, and the ball of light from the lamp flew back to the ceiling and illuminated them all once more.

"Still, it's cool," said Ron, a little defensively. "And from what they said, Dumbledore invented it himself!"

"I know, but surely he wouldn't have singled you out in his will just to help us turn out the lights!"

"Actually that is really useful," I said. "Think about it. We could sneak into anywhere, hide from anyone at the drop of a hat."

"I suppose," said Hermione.

"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."

". . . why he couldn't have given us a hint when he was alive?" asked Ron.

"Well, exactly," said Hermione, now flicking through The Tales of Beedle the Bard. "If these things are important enough to pass on right under the nose of the Ministry, you'd think he'd have let 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, his pulse quickening as he raised the Snitch in his fingers. "I wasn't going to try too hard in front of Scrimgeour, was I?"

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.

"The Snitch I caught in my first ever Quidditch match?" said Harry. "Don't you remember?"

Hermione looked simply bemused. Ron, however, gasped, point-ing frantically from Harry to the Snitch and back again until he found his voice.

"That was the one you nearly swallowed!"

"Exactly," said Harry, and with his heart beating fast, he pressed his mouth to the Snitch.
It did not open.

"Writing! There's writing on it, quick, look!"

He 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, slanting handwriting that Harry recognized as Dumbledore's:
I open at the close.

Though we all pondered it for some time, none of us could figure out what it meant.

"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, Ron. None of us grew up knowing we were wizards," I said.

"But—but they're classics!" Spluttered Ron.

Hermione sighed. "We didn't hear stories like that when we were little, we heard 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs' and 'Cinderella' —"

"Even Kendra?" said Ron is disbelief.

I smiled slightly thinking of all the times Coulson read to me. "Yeah, even me."

"So these are children's stories?" asked Hermione, bending again over the runes.

"Yeah," said Ron uncertainly, "I mean, that's just what you hear, you know, that all these old stories came from Beedle. I dunno what they're like in the original versions."

"But I wonder why Dumbledore thought I should read them?" Something creaked downstairs.

"Probably just Charlie, now Mum's asleep, sneaking off to regrow his hair," said Ron nervously.

I couldn't help but laugh.

"All the same, we should get to bed," whispered Hermione. "It wouldn't do to oversleep tomorrow."

"No," agreed Ron. "A brutal triple murder by the bridegroom's mother might put a bit of a damper on the wedding. I'll get the lights."

And he clicked the Deluminator once more as Hermione and I left the room.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*..*.*.*.**.*.*..*.**.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.**.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.**.*.*.*..*
Hey Everyone, I'm just going to say it. It sucked that Charlie wasn't in the movies.

Forever and Always,

Me.