When Darkness Threatens - Moment by Moment Book #5 (Harry Potter, Drarry)

Time for Implementation

The rumour-mill, as hoped, worked overtime on the fall of the Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter was a practical vegetable, catatonic, he didn't say anything unless during violent outbursts when he could use elemental magic. Poppy Pomfrey was struggling to contain him: he'd burnt several staff, and some of his supposed friends. This rumour had been backed up by several of Poppy's most trusted members of staff running out of the isolated room in which Harry was being kept, with various items on fire. Further, the rumours stated that the only person who didn't get hurt was Draco Malfoy, who could dominate Harry and make him do as he said. This one was pure fiction, worked up by the imaginations of those involved in the rumour-mill, but it all added to the cocktail of stories that, according to external reports, had leaked out into Britain.

The truth was that, by all accounts Llewelyn had been doing a good job of setting Harry up, and Harry, himself, had begun climbing the walls in a matter of hours, as long as it had taken his shock at the extreme brainstorm to wear off. Since he was meant to be a wall-starer, books or games or other distractions were too risky, so he was left with only the conversations of his friends, who 'had all volunteered to try and bring their troubled comrade back from insanity'.

Twenty-four hours into the isolation and it was Minerva's turn to sit with Harry. Thus, he was pacing up and down the small room, while she sat calmly by and watched.

"Do you know how long it'll be before it's all decided?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too agitated: Minerva had only been in the room five minutes and he'd already snarled at her twice.

"The spell has begun," Minerva answered with the patience of age.

Harry stopped pacing and made a face, but resisted saying anything. His mentor looked evenly back at him, her gaze saying she saw his sentiment with or without words.

"You, My Boy, began all this. You must now put up with the results," the woman intoned with Gryffindor honesty.

Harry glared at the unwavering opinion, but didn't know quite what to say. The frustrated part of him wanted to yell and be obnoxious, but Minerva's directness also spoke to the part of him that knew only too well this was his bed to lie in. In the end, he just showed his conflict in his expression, and, only then did his companion respond, by patting the mattress closest to the chair in which she was sat. Immediately, Harry went and sat down and confessed his disquiet with, "Have I bitten off more than I can chew, Min?"

"Always, Harry," his friend assured him, a small smile adding a twinkle to her eye.

The unexpected humour lightened the burden somewhat, and Harry sighed, "Me and my bright ideas, I should leave them to the Ravenclaws and Slytherins."

"What a terrible thought," Minerva made her own face and Harry laughed.

The laughter didn't last long, but it put a little perspective back inside the bare walls for Harry. Everything had been so much of a fluster since Voldemort's ultimatum that Harry had not had the chance to talk with Minerva at any length. There was no fire, or heather tea, but Harry wanted to know what thoughts lay behind the slightly guarded expression that settled on his companion every time there was a pause in the conversation.

"What do you think of everything that is going on?" he asked.

Minerva looked uncomfortable for a moment, but then he saw the honesty return to her eyes and she told him, "I am very much afraid people are going to die."

The worry in the woman's face told Harry the 'people' to whom she was referring, and he took her hand as he replied, "I'm not going to run into Voldemort's arms, neither is Draco. The risk we are taking is no greater than Remus, or Hermione, or Ron, or Severus when they go to Azkaban."