Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - J. K. Rowling [46]
“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?”
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?”
Harry shrugged. Hermione, however, answered: Harry thought that answering questions correctly was such a deeply ingrained habit she could not suppress the urge.
“Because Snitches have flesh memories,” she said.
“What?” said Harry and Ron together; both 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.”
Harry’s heart was beating rather fast. He was sure that Scrimgeour was right. How could he 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, still wondering how he could appear to touch the Snitch without really doing so. If only he knew Legilimency, really knew it, and could read Hermione’s mind; he could practically hear her brain whirring beside him.
“Take it,” said Scrimgeour quietly.
Harry met the Minister’s yellow eyes and knew he had no option but to obey. He held out his hand, and Scrimgeour leaned forward again and 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, Ron, and Hermione continued to gaze avidly at the now partially concealed