blackcurlsgreeneyes

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

@heartscfvalor

The Reluctant Victor, inspired by The Reluctant Bride by Auguste Toulmouche - I just thought that this painting was SO perfect for Katniss and I had to draw it!

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

@heartscfvalor

"So what do you recommend to encourage affection?"

"Dancing, even if one's partner is barely tolerable"

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

Draco's most beautiful rose 🥀

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

Harry could finally understand why people often looked at him with confusion, as a teenager, for having lived as if he did not have the means to get things done. Because once he sat down with an adult mindset and looked at his finances properly, well, he was set for life.

And what was Harry James Potter if not a man who would take that kind of inherited wealth, and use it for others?

He smiled as he showed Draco the room he'd made of his guest space at Shell Cottage, a room specially added with this in mind. "It's sound-proofed, as well," he said. "But I will be home all night. If you need me, you need only pull the cord there, by the door. It will alert me that you're asking for help."

@blackcurlsgreeneyes: [ PREPARE. ] sender helps receiver prepare for the full moon

(*)

He'd never had anyone do this for him before. Usually for full moons, Draco just...locked himself away somewhere and grit his teeth. The Wolfsbane potion helped him to keep his mind, but what good was that when you were tormented by flashbacks and the physical pain of transformation?

When Harry had found out what Draco did every month, he worked to change it, insisting on Draco spending the night at his house for the full moons. Draco dragged his feet on it for a while before Harry finally wore him down, and so the day before, he arrived with an overnight bag, only to be surprised by the room that Harry had prepared, covered with soft pillows and blankets, a radio in the corner, the fireplace crackling merrily.

"....Wow," was all he could say about it.

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

Harry smirked as he noted that Draco did continue reflexively tracking anything he touched, and the space he occupied, protective of his work. If there was anything his short foray into the Auror training had taught him, before Harry realized it wasn't the right field for him, it was that every situation deserved paying attention to what you might bump or jostle.

And hell, he'd lost enough points for Gryffindor over ridiculous, made up offenses according to Snape that he fully respected the sensitivity of a potions lab.

"Now, see, that depends on how you're categorizing creatures," he teased. "House elves are bipedal. Most winged ones are technically on two feet, when they're not flying. ....are merfolks' tails considered a leg appendage? Hmm." He shook off the distraction, still watching Draco. "What do you do? Lock yourself in your room?"

@blackcurlsgreeneyes: "Are you still bipedal ? As a wolf, I mean.❞

(*)

Draco was so focused on his potion that he didn't even realize what Harry had asked right away. He was being careful measuring the root powder -- too much could cause the potion to turn into slime, too little might have it burn a hole through his cauldron -- so it took a long moment for the words to register in his head. Then he paused, rewound the question, confirmed that he had not heard it incorrectly, and put his vials down, turning to stare at Harry in bafflement.

"Correct me if I'm wrong and I so rarely am where you're concerned," he drawled, "but didn't you see Lupin's transformation in third year? So you should know the answer to this question, unless all the head trauma you've accumulated over the years have finally caught up with you."

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

Hermione had used to say that she was certain Harry might enjoy potions making once it was not in the context of Snape's classes. She conceded that Ron might never, but she was sure that it was a subject Harry could actually enjoy. He didn't know about that, but...he could admit.....that a potions laboratory was much pleasanter to sit about in when you liked the man running it.

He was perched on one counter in Draco's little study, watching his hands as he worked. He'd always found them lovely, and he was well-aware that that was rather creepy.

"Arrogant sod," he said fondly. "...I was preoccupied that night, I'd just met my godfather and found out he was innocent, and then met the fucking rat who did kill my parents." He picked up a miscellaneous root from the supply shelves beside him, tossing it in one hand. "So. Yes?"

@blackcurlsgreeneyes: "Are you still bipedal ? As a wolf, I mean.❞

(*)

Draco was so focused on his potion that he didn't even realize what Harry had asked right away. He was being careful measuring the root powder -- too much could cause the potion to turn into slime, too little might have it burn a hole through his cauldron -- so it took a long moment for the words to register in his head. Then he paused, rewound the question, confirmed that he had not heard it incorrectly, and put his vials down, turning to stare at Harry in bafflement.

"Correct me if I'm wrong and I so rarely am where you're concerned," he drawled, "but didn't you see Lupin's transformation in third year? So you should know the answer to this question, unless all the head trauma you've accumulated over the years have finally caught up with you."

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

@sorryimnotthatkindofdoctor

Marvel Shuffle | “It’s nice to see your roles reversed once in a while.”

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

"As an infant?" Gellert repeated quietly. "A miracle, indeed." His mismatched eyes dropped, shame touching his features. "I am afraid that I did not always honor the sanctity of human life as I ought to have. There is innocent blood on my hands, even that of children." To leave the room and allow a lieutenant to perform the task did not lessen Gellert's responsibility for it being carried out.

Moving past that sad thought, he returned his gaze to Taylor's face. "You say that that was Albus' belief; do you disagree?" he asked curiously. "I confess, I must give credit to his upholding that ideal to the end. I do not know if I would have survived my final arrest without his conviction that he could not see me killed."

As for Harry's survival, Gellert smiled knowingly. "The love of parents is a unique power, when it is genuine," he noted. "Though tragic that it cost your man his parents, and as a baby no less. I imagine his life has been very difficult."

Taylor's blush when he called out her feelings for Harry made Gellert chuckle. "Then I hope to meet him, as well," he murmured. "To be worthy of one with your power, he must be very special."

When she clasped his hand and implemented her Vow, Gellert's gaze did not leave hers. The torches flickered from the magic at work, and when Taylor outlined her terms, he nodded subtly, tracking each bullet point of his new obligations. A smile touched his lips at the requirement that he aim to kill, pleased that she would not leash him against her enemies.

"I accept this bond and this Vow," he replied steadily. "My service and my wand, should I have one, are pledged to you, Taylor Borelli. So long as I live, let it be to support you, and to further your cause."

He trailed off in his reminiscing on his past with Albus, and then he seemed to register her expression. Gellert chuckled. "Forgive me, I did not mean to subject you to whimsical thoughts of him," he apologized, offering a charming smile. "I wanted you to understand how I myself have changed, and I'm afraid that my 'great lost love,' as some will say in the history books, was instrumental in the reflections that led to that transformation on my part."

Love changed people. It did not matter if it was familial, platonic, childlike and innocent, romantic, sexual, unrequited, broken....love was a force like no other, and to feel it for another was redefining for a person's soul.

Her description of Riddle's followers being just as cruel as he was--perhaps more so, in the case of this woman she described--made Gellert curl his lip condemningly. "That is violence for violence's sake," he murmured. "That, even I have always abhorred."

When she spoke of Harry, Gellert tilted his head, and then he chuckled knowingly. "Ah," he said softly, "I see that I am not the only one with a great love to bolster the heart. You are his, then, and he yours?" His smile curled coyly. "A lucky man, then, this Potter."

As she continued, he straightened again. "Oh," Gellert realized, "I have heard of it, though only by eavesdropping. I have heard that name. It was immediately hushed, the speaker forced to say 'you know who,' which....is ridiculous." He scoffed low. "It does reflect well on the fool himself. I more than understand your ire against him."

Riddle's reasoning to chase the wand made him scoff again, scorn clear on his face. "Power is one thing, political gains another. Immortality? I pity the man."

He stepped back when she reached for the cell lock; when it burned away, Gellert's shoulders straightened, and as the magic shimmered and changed, he inhaled deeply, visibly recharging as his own magical core was undampened.

Taylor's words made him stare back at her for a long moment. Then he straightened his plain white shirt as if he was in a full suit ensemble, and he nodded, reaching out to accept her hand. "Set your Vow," Gellert affirmed, fingers firm around Taylor's. "Whatever service I can be to you and your young hero, I will do so gladly."

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

He trailed off in his reminiscing on his past with Albus, and then he seemed to register her expression. Gellert chuckled. "Forgive me, I did not mean to subject you to whimsical thoughts of him," he apologized, offering a charming smile. "I wanted you to understand how I myself have changed, and I'm afraid that my 'great lost love,' as some will say in the history books, was instrumental in the reflections that led to that transformation on my part."

Love changed people. It did not matter if it was familial, platonic, childlike and innocent, romantic, sexual, unrequited, broken....love was a force like no other, and to feel it for another was redefining for a person's soul.

Her description of Riddle's followers being just as cruel as he was--perhaps more so, in the case of this woman she described--made Gellert curl his lip condemningly. "That is violence for violence's sake," he murmured. "That, even I have always abhorred."

When she spoke of Harry, Gellert tilted his head, and then he chuckled knowingly. "Ah," he said softly, "I see that I am not the only one with a great love to bolster the heart. You are his, then, and he yours?" His smile curled coyly. "A lucky man, then, this Potter."

As she continued, he straightened again. "Oh," Gellert realized, "I have heard of it, though only by eavesdropping. I have heard that name. It was immediately hushed, the speaker forced to say 'you know who,' which....is ridiculous." He scoffed low. "It does reflect well on the fool himself. I more than understand your ire against him."

Riddle's reasoning to chase the wand made him scoff again, scorn clear on his face. "Power is one thing, political gains another. Immortality? I pity the man."

He stepped back when she reached for the cell lock; when it burned away, Gellert's shoulders straightened, and as the magic shimmered and changed, he inhaled deeply, visibly recharging as his own magical core was undampened.

Taylor's words made him stare back at her for a long moment. Then he straightened his plain white shirt as if he was in a full suit ensemble, and he nodded, reaching out to accept her hand. "Set your Vow," Gellert affirmed, fingers firm around Taylor's. "Whatever service I can be to you and your young hero, I will do so gladly."

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

Her matter-of-factness seemed to please him, and Gellert nodded thoughtfully. As Taylor continued, he bowed his head, expression calm and contemplative, hearing her out without interrupting. Only when she owned up to having bloodied hands, as well, did he look back up at her, and his eyes softened at the edges.

"When Albus won our dual, I was taken into custody, not for the first time," he told her. "But it was the first time that I considered myself defeated. No words I said, no approach I took, dissuaded him from considering me fallen beyond reach, and yet I saw how he continued yearning, unable to bring himself to strike a fatal blow. He overpowered me for the sake of the world, and then he put his own ambitions on the line to convince the International Magical Confederation to choose incarceration over execution. I was locked away here, my home remodeled and reduced to be nothing but a cage, and I have been left to be forgotten to the ages. Albus was convinced he could not save me, but he could not destroy me."

Gellert took a deep breath. "And that, somehow, opened a window that I had previously never considered. I have stood in this cell for decades upon decades, learning of the world through scattered newspapers and rare conversations with kinder guards, and I have revisited my own life story over, and over, and over, through reminiscing. I have consumed myself in waking and dreaming thoughts with trying to understand how Albus loved me, yet feared me, and could never confront that dichotomy. And finally I realized....exactly what you have described. Something that he learned, too, but unlike yourself, Miss Borelli, Albus let his guilt for past thinking fetter him."

He raised his chin, meeting her gaze squarely. "I have abandoned pureblood ideology. I have rotted in this box, seeing snippets of a world growing and improving....twenty years ago, a Muggleborn wizard among my guards made efforts to be civil with me, and I would dare say we had something of a bond, before he was cycled out as they all are. I do not perceive the world as I once did."

That she moved forward to match him was pleasing, and he kept his hands at his back, wordlessly assuring her safety. Gellert listened to her explanation of the new wizarding war, and shook his head in dismay. "And no doubt he has garnered many followers who think as I did once, and serve as wand arms with no clue the real damage they do."

The change in Taylor's eyes made him blink, but he did not draw back from her. "Horcruxes," Gellert echoed softly. "That is Dark magic, indeed. This Potter of yours; is he young as you appear? I recognize the name, but alas, even those willing to speak to me are not going to provide a detailed summary of current affairs."

He relaxed his arms, seemingly knowing that Taylor did not fear him, and tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the bars between them. "Did you come only for insights on the wand? If I may be of other assistance in your efforts against this....you said Riddle? I would gladly be." Gellert thought it over. "I don't recognize the surname, but he must not be Muggleborn if he is compelling others to hatred in the name of pureblood elitism. Do you know his lineage? Does he know of the Elder Wand?"

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

"You are no teenage witch," Gellert remarked, watching her with more and more delight in his mismatched eyes. "I certainly hope we come to put the enemy business behind us, and I will be so fortunate as to get to know you better, Miss Borelli."

The atmosphere became more charged when she revealed the Elder Wand, and Gellert's eyes lingered on it for a long moment before returning to her face. He did not react to learning how she had received it, merely blinked, and then nodded at her stating that she could not explain at length just now.

"A talent of his," he did note, when she called Dumbledore's actions a complication. Gellert's smile was half-sad, half amused. "I find myself torn between thinking he hoped to arm you for whatever you face, and knowing that he most likely did have a sense of humor behind the action. Was he aware that he was your enemy? If so, yes, I am sure that he was smirking as he wrote you into his will."

He watched the magic flare from the wand, lifting a hand to brush one of the purple lights before it vanished. "It is, I think, the most intelligent wand I have ever met," Gellert said thoughtfully. "If you have earned it, then I know something of your character. Or your sheer magical strength. Either way, it undeniably sets you apart from all others."

Her inquiries made his gaze sharpen, and he leaned against the bars again as if trying to be closer to Taylor. "You are wise," Gellert complimented her, "and ask the right questions. I believe I am correct in telling you tat yes, you may wield it. This wand...." He glanced at it again, but the intensity had faded, the longing fading in place of simple admiration. "It does have its own sentience, but I do not consider it inherently dark. I believe it....neutral, in the way that--and I hope you will understand my meaning--Albus himself was. Trying to be receptive to all information before forming a decision, taking a path. In my hand?"

He sighed, gesturing vaguely. "It produced incredible magic, and it committed atrocious acts. Because it had chosen me, and it accepted my pursuits. In Albus' hand? Well, you may have hated the man, but I think you will agree that he was a powerful wizard. It was a tool of learning and discretion in his care."

Gellert paused, unmatched eyes settling on her again. "You said 'winning this war.' I learn only from what newspapers my guards grant me, and that is not consistent. What darkness does the wizarding world face now? What kind of savior of the magical world do you need to be, Miss Borelli?"

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

"Your eyes reflect an understanding of my words that goes beyond mere empathic comprehension," Gellert observed with a faint smile. "Something tells me that I would greatly enjoy future conversations with you in the future, Miss Borelli. You may just be the most interesting person I have met in half a century."

She was discreet in giving him a moment to examine the letters, and feel his grief and nostalgia as he carded through the top few documents, the final letters exchanged before ideological and social difference drove them to stop being able to communicate directly.

He gazed for a moment at the final date, the ink so faded on parchment that was still intact by magic more than quality, then let it go, closing the box and setting it aside. Sweet memories, but memories nonetheless, and not something to lose his mind by dwelling on too longingly.

Taylor's words brought another slight smile to his lips. "I am going to deduce from context that you mean you were gathering intelligence on Albus," he noted, "rather than myself, although I can understand why you would by allegiances consider me one as well." Gellert sighed, angling his body and leaning one shoulder against the bars, interlocking his fingers in front of himself. "I have no wish to be anyone's enemy, any longer."

When she got to the point of her visit, his brows both rose. "Deceptive youth, indeed," Gellert said softly. "Most your age either do not know the tale at all, or presume to be just that, and fiction. But you know its truth." He eyed her more closely, eyes glittering. "You know that they are all true." Straightening away from the bars, he faced her squarely. "My last concrete knowledge of it was Albus' taking possession, when he defeated me in dual. But now he is dead. Is the wand entombed with him, or did it meet another fate? I will tell you what I know of it gladly, I wielded it for enough years to consider it a friend, but....much like losing track of a friend, not knowing its whereabouts over the decades sometimes makes the heart ache."

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

Grindelwald allowed her silent study of him in turn, either because he was unsure of why--and how--she was there, or because he could tell that he surprised her, and was inclined to let her reset her assumptions. At her words regarding her own youthful appearance, he chuckled.

"Indeed, faces often do," he mused. "You clearly knew who you were coming here to see, yet seemed to find me not at all what you expected. I imagine you anticipated me to match my years, as so many of my contemporaries do?"

His smile turned a touch bittersweet, and he lifted one hand to stroke a finger along his jawline. "An interesting aspect of powerful magics. Some years before my downfall, I relied on many strange maneuvers to conceal myself and alter my looks, to avoid disruption of my plans....I moved well beyond such untenable options as Polyjuice potion, and now, I think there are lingering effects. But, one really can never complain about looking younger than one is, at my age."

He watched her expression change, looking at him with a deeper, seemingly private sorrow, as if he reminded her of someone. Grindelwald did not speak until she moved her hands; at the flare of purple magic, he made a low noise of astonishment, and stepped forward until he was nearer touching the bars, watching closely.

When she explained the box, his face tightened. He leaned back, not quite taking a step; then he blinked, reaching through the bars--the magic shimmered against his arm, but seemed to recognize that he was not trying to leave, and did him no harm--and accepted the box, bringing it to his chest to open, and rift through the top of its contents.

" had heard," he said quietly, "of his passing. The guards do not speak to me, afraid of my somehow finding a wandless means of controlling or harming them...but the day that the newspapers reported it, they chattered constantly." Grindelwald grimaced slightly. "I do not know if they had forgotten that such information might mean something to me, or simply did not care. I was fortunate to be able to ask one of the less hostile among them if I might have the paper with my dinner. But a news article....it does not do justice to learning such things."

His fingers traced over one of the letter headings, Dumbledore's delicate writing spelling out his name, and then Grindelwald closed the box and set it on his table, refocusing on Taylor. "How did you find those?" he asked her, folding his hands again. "How did you know that there was more to our story than the infamous rivalry, and dual?"

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

Taylor blinked back at him, and Harry dipped his head in a nod, disguised as looking at the snitch again. This was on track, and when she knew it was the right time, she'd let him know what he needed to in order to work with it. That comforted Harry immeasurably, and he felt his heart settle, more able to relax with the confidence that things were under control as much as they could be.

How he'd done this without Taylor in the story that she knew, Harry could not begin to fathom. It sounded unbearable.

And in the meantime, they had a wedding to celebrate. The girls left the room quietly, and Harry and Ron brushed their teeth, then climbed into bed, Ron clicking the Deluminator to cast them into darkness.

(~)

Nurmengard had been a magnificent fortress in its heyday. The wrought iron gates were elaborately designed, but long-since rusted, the N at its center was chipped, with small pieces actually missing here and there. Be it time, or stray spells from battles past, it was clear that this was no longer an estate in its full glory.

All doors but one were boarded up, the western tower the only one still in use. The lanterns were lowered for the night, the only real light coming from the banked fire in the kitchen below, and then the torches in the topmost chamber. They were only in the space before the bars, making it dimmer in the cell itself, but not so much so that the lone occupant could not see at all.

When Taylor opened the heavy wooden door to the tower room, he raised his head from leaning on his hand as he sat at the window, watching the stars. He only turned when she spoke, one silver brow rising at the sight of someone decidedly new from his usual guards approaching the bars.

For a moment, he did not answer her. Grindelwald rose from the stool by his window, crossing to stand where the torches could better illuminate them both, examining Taylor intently with one dark eye, and one pale, pale blue one. Despite the run-down state of the castle around him, he was well-groomed, clean-shaven, his plain clothing in decent condition.

"Borelli," he said at last, his voice quietly accented. "An Italian name, no?" He looked her over slowly. "You must be only recently finished with Hogwarts, you are very young." Grindelwald tilted his head, then gestured towards a stool on her side, before folding his hands neatly at his back. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I apologize that I cannot offer a proper chair. What advice could an American witch in Europe require from a notoriously accused war criminal?"

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

Harry tried to double up his energy for the remainder of the party, because the Minister's crashing it had the the rest of the guests rather subdued. And it worked, getting them through to saying goodnight with genuine smiles, before the teenagers all headed upstairs to prepare for bed, ready for their busy day tomorrow.

At Hermione's prompting, Taylor produced the wand, and Harry again felt his heart tugging. He hadn't thought of this wand, really looked at it, since the night that Dumbledore died. Seeing it again was surreal enough; seeing it in his girlfriend's hands, as her property? It was weird. When she sat beside him, he slid an arm around her waist, holding her close.

“D’you think he knew the Ministry would confiscate his will and examine everything he’d left us?” Harry asked her. “Definitely,” Hermione confirmed at once. “He couldn’t tell us in the will why he was leaving us these things, but that still doesn’t explain...” “ ...why he couldn’t have given us a hint when he was alive?” Ron asked in agreement. “Yes, exactly,” Hermione sighed, now flicking through the 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?”

"It's Dumbledore," Harry offered lightly. "Even the obvious is never what it seems." Taylor answered Hermione about the snitch, and Harry grinned at her, glad they'd reached the same realization.

Ron gasped as he caught up to it. “Oh right! That was the one you nearly swallowed!” “Exactly,” Harry smiled, and he lifted the snitch to press it against his lips. It did not open....but then Hermione pointed excitedly. “Writing! There’s writing on it, quick, look!” She was 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.

"What on earth does that mean?" Hermione asked, perplexed. They all repeated it, emphasizing different words, but nothing came to mind.

“And the sword,” Ron said finally, when they had at last abandoned their attempts to divine meaning in the Snitch’s inscription. “Why did he want Harry to have the sword?” “And why couldn’t he just have told me?” Harry grimaced. “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?" He glanced at Taylor, silently, knowing she would give a cue to confirm or deny if this was canon, and she could tell him later why he needed the sword.

“And as for this book” Hermione mused, not noticing how he watched Taylor, “The Tales of Beedle the Bard...I’ve never even heard of them.”

“You’ve never heard of The Tales of Beedle the Bard?” Ron asked in incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?” “No, I’m not,” Hermione looked at him in surprise. “Do you know them, then?” “Well, of course I do!” Ron looked around at them, bemused by Harry Hermione's blank expressions. “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’...” “Ron, we three were raised by Muggles!” Hermione reminded him with a fond smile. “We didn’t hear stories like that when we were little, we heard ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ and ‘Cinderella’—” “What’s that, an illness?”

“So these are children’s stories?” Hermione said, ignoring that as she bent again over the runes. “Yeah,” Ron said, shrugging. “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, and all four stilled. “Probably just Charlie, now Mum’s asleep, sneaking off to regrow his hair,” Ron suggested nervously. “All the same, we should get to bed,” Hermione whispered. “It wouldn’t do to oversleep tomorrow."

“No,” Ron snorted. “A brutal quadruple murder by the bridegroom’s mother might put a bit of a damper of the wedding. I’ll get the lights.”

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

Harry recognized the device Ron was handed, and knew that Scrimgeour was right about it being Dumbledore's invention. It was quite the honor that he passed it to Ron, regardless of his reasoning. They may never have spent excessive time together, but Harry was sure that Ron would cherish the gift.

Hermione absolutely would. Harry could tell that if she were not incensed by the Minister's every word, she would be curling in an armchair to poke through the book already. He'd have to assure her after cake that she was welcome to, even on his birthday.

He had a singular burst of fear over the snitch, and Scrimgeour's intensity as he handed it over. But it did not open; at Harry's touch, its only indication that it knew him was that the wings uncurled from the ball, waving feebly as if to say hello to the Seeker who had first caught it.

Harry had a flashing memory of Occlumency lessons with Snape, and a memory that he had accidentally broken into, in which he'd observed a fifteen-year-old James Potter enjoying post-O.W.L.s air by the lake, playing with a snitch. If this one still flew, Harry had a feeling that he had a new little companion.

The topic turned to Taylor....and the revelation of what Dumbledore had left her had the other three struggling not to let jaws drop. Harry felt his heartrate accelerate without knowing why. What was the message here, what did Dumbledore mean by this? Taylor looked gobsmacked--which didn't shock Harry, this had to be out of the norm to her knowledge, she hadn't exactly been here to receive the wand in the story she knew--and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Hearing her be blunt that she had hated Dumbledore, saying it to the Minister's face, made Harry's lips twitch. Her own business, indeed. Scrimgeour was so far out of the circle of people who could know, could understand, the depth of Taylor's feelings about Dumbledore that it was laughable.

The sword, though....Harry could see both sides, Taylor was right, he had earned that blade, but it did seem the sort of thing that belonged to Hogwarts as a whole. What was Dumbledore telling him? What could he need a sword for?

He should have remembered that once anger started, Taylor was going to rapidly hit the ceiling. She was yelling at Scrimgeour a moment later, and the Minister....did not take it well. Shocker.

Harry backed Hermione up, holding onto Ron, who both heard Hermione's warning, and clearly remembered who Taylor was, because he had already backed down before Scrimgeour's snarled words. The threat just made Harry curl his lip at the man, derision flooding his veins. Taylor was right. It was time the Ministry fucking earned respect from the people actually fighting this war.

Molly and Arthur's entrance at least made Scrimgeour compose himself, rather than facing off to dual four teenagers. Harry scoffed quietly at his words, though he didn't waste breath replying. The Ministry didn't want what he wanted, they didn't even know what he wanted. The Horcruxes were too great a secret. Harry had to question if Dumbledore had been right, doing it that way...but it was done. They could only continue onward.

Scrimgeour paled slightly at Taylor flashing her hand at him, jaw flexing, and Harry wondered where Umbridge was now. Did the Ministry acknowledge that she was a fucking sadistic criminal, or was she indulged still?

Scrimgeour turned away without another word and limped from the room. Mrs. Weasley hurried after him; Harry 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 the four teenagers as Mrs. Weasley came hurrying back to them. “To give us what Dumbledore left us,” Harry replied. “They’ve only just released the contents of his will.”

They rejoined their family at the garden dinner table, and the three objects were passed from hand to hand. Everyone exclaimed over the Deluminator 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. Cake was finished hurriedly, and after a hasty chorus of “Happy Birthday,” the party broke up. “Meet us upstairs,” Harry whispered to the girls while they helped Mrs. Weasley restore the garden to its normal state. “After everyone’s gone to bed.” Upstairs, Ron continued examining his Deluminator, and Harry filled Hagrid’s mokeskin bag with those items he most prized: the Marauder’s Map, the second of Sirius’s enchanted mirrors, and R.A.B.’s locket. He pulled the strings tight and slipped the purse around his neck, then sat holding the old Snitch and watching its wings flutter feebly.

At last, Hermione and Taylor tapped on the door and tiptoed inside. “Muffliato,” she whispered, waving her hand in the direction of the stairs. “Thought you didn’t approve of that spell?” Ron asked teasingly. Harry's stomach twisted, remembering the truth of who the Half-Blood Prince was, but he said nothing. “Times change,” Hermione sighed. “Now, let's talk about these gifts.” She turned wide eyes to Taylor. "He left you his wand. Any idea why?"

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

Harry startled from staring at where the otter had disappeared to look over as Remus leapt up, his brow furrowing. "Wait--" But they were hastening out of the warded yard, Disapparating as soon as they could. Looking over at Sirius, now on all fours, Harry's shoulders tightened. "Don't draw attention to yourself," he requested, and his godfather huffed at him, staying close.

Everyone stared openly as the Minister arrived with Arthur, and Harry glanced at Taylor when she rose, glaring the man down. He loved how fearless his girlfriend was...but now and then, he was reminded that he could still fear for her, too.

He didn't acknowledge the birthday wishes, but frowned and stood when Scrimgeour stated his business. Instinct made him want to refuse....but curiosity was stronger, and Harry took Taylor's hand reflexively as they followed Ron inside. He did not let go when he wedged onto the couch beside Hermione, Taylor standing by the arm.

The very idea of parting them had Harry opening his mouth as well; but Taylor had it handled. Scrimgeour glanced at Harry, who merely smiled idly. Yeah. She spoke for him, too.

This entire situation was baffling. Harry held his tongue as Scrimgeour explained why he was there, and did not show remorse even as Hermione challenged the obvious abuse of power. His mind swirled, though, wondering what Dumbledore had done....was it part of the bigger plan? Items to help them in the Horcrux hunt?

He refocused when Hermione gave a withering retort, which had Ron laughing with Taylor, and Harry didn't hide his smirk again. Two years ago he'd have proudly said that Hermione was bound for the Minister's own job someday....but right now, he shared her ire. He wanted nothing more than to turn his back on their hypocritical, brown-nosing nonsense.

“So why have you decided to let us have our things now?" he finally asked, returning the older wizard's stare flatly. "Can’t you think of a pretext to keep them?”

“No, it’ll be because the thirty-one days are up,” Hermione said 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?” Scrimgeour asked, ignoring Hermione. Ron looked startled. “Me? No—not really.... It was always Harry who...” He trailed off at the sharp stop talking look that Hermione shot at him, but Scrimgeour looked as though he had heard exactly what he'd wanted to. He pounced at once.

“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,” Ron stammered, “I...when I say we weren’t close...I mean, I think he liked me....”

"We've established that we did not know we were left anything, or why we would be," Hermione interrupted testily; Harry knew that in addition to the foundational annoyance over the situation, she did not appreciate being ignored by adults when she was right. "Are you here to give us our overdue possessions, or to interrogate us on our late Headmaster? If the latter, I believe that would require a more legally sound arrangement than a family sitting room."

Harry could have hugged her. She'd have made a good lawyer, were they bound to the Muggle world.

Scrimgeour was scowling. He put his hand inside his cloak and drew out a drawstring pouch, from which he removed a scroll of parchment that 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.’”

He leaned forward and passed the Deluminator to Ron, who took it and turned it over in his fingers, looking stunned. “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 an item so rare?”

“Put out lights, I s’pose,” Ron said, nonplussed. “What else could I do with it?” After squinting at Ron for another moment, Scrimgeous 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.’” Hermione took the offered book without a word, holding it reverently; a tear splashed onto the embossed symbols as she examined it. “Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?” Scrimgeour pressed. “He...he knew I love books,” Hermione said in a thick voice, mopping her eyes with her sleeve. Ron offered her a handkerchief, which she took with a watery smile. “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,” Hermione huffed, now leveling him a cross look. “And if the Ministry still hasn’t found any hidden codes in this book in thirty-one days, I doubt that I will.”

Scrimgeour turned back to the will, seemingly ignoring her emotional state. “‘To Harry James Potter, I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.’” Scrimgeour pulled out the tiny golden ball, and its silver wings fluttered feebly. “Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?” Scrimgeour asked. “No idea,” Harry said, staring at him. “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 is a mere symbolic keepsake, then?” “I suppose so,” Harry sighed. “What else could it be? It's a snitch.” “I’m asking the questions,” Scrimgeour said in a clipped tone, shifting his chair a little closer to the sofa. Dusk fallen outside; the marquee beyond the windows towered ghostly white over the hedge. “I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch. Why is that?” Hermione laughed derisively. “Oh, it can’t be a reference to the fact that Harry’s a great Seeker, that’s way too obvious,” she snapped, her tears drying now. “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?”

“Because Snitches have flesh memories,” she said.

“Correct. 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 the case of disputed capture. This Snitch”—he held up the little 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.” He held it out across the small space between them. “Take it." Harry met the minister’s yellow eyes, feeling a cold rage settle in his stomach that they were being put through this circus. He held out his hand, and Scrimgeour placed 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 stared at it as if still hoping it might transform in some way, but it did not oblige. “That was dramatic,” Harry finally said coolly, and both Ron and Hermione laughed. “Is that’s all, then, we'll be returning to my birthday--"

"That is not all," Scrimgeour said shortly. "There are two more bequests. I did include Miss Borelli in this meeting for more reasons than just her infamous refusal to leave your side, Mr. Potter."

"She's loyal that way," Harry said, his temper flaring just enough to speak when he likely shouldn't. "It's nice to know some people will actually have your back."