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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 three. 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 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. Harry saw that the title was in runes; he had never learned to read them. As he 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, and Harry’s insides contracted with a sudden excitement, “‘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 Harry could not help feeling a definite sense of anticlimax.

“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?”

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1. A door to his left flew open and Professor McGonagall emerged from her office looking grim and slightly harassed.
2. A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard.
3. A motherly-looking Healer wearing a tinsel wreath in her hair came bustling up the corridor, smiling warmly at Harry and the others.
4. Aberforth Dumbledore stood blocking the corridor ahead, his wand held ready.
5. As she swept over the threshold toward him, Mrs. Weasley was revealed, bobbing along in her wake, looking rather cross.
6. At once, Hermione Granger’s voice seemed to fill his head, shrill and panicky.
7. Both Ron and Hermione shook their heads frantically, looking at Harry.
8. But he looked neither angry nor worried. On the contrary, he was looking at Harry with distinct pride.
9. But his cheerful mood didn’t last long. At the top of the stairs to the dormitory, he met Neville Longbottom, who was looking frantic.
10. But Marietta gave another muffled wail and shook her head frantically.
11. But Marietta would not speak; she merely shook her head again, her eyes wide and fearful.
12. Dean left, looking as though he was not sorry to depart the scene.

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