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“Have you found the Malfoy boy’s bomb, Potter?”
Harry was working in the dark, unfortunately. He felt it with one of his two hands, dangerously close to passing out. “Found it,” Harry reported. “What to I do next?”
“Disarm it.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Are you a wizard or a mouse?! Do it!”
“Okay. ” With a tentative wave of his magic wand, Harry disarmed the Patronus Bomb and disassembled it into its constituent parts with his other hands. “Done,” Harry reported querously. “Can I back off now?”
“Sitrep.”
“Huh?”
The adult groaned melodramatically in Harry’s ears. “Tell me what you see, Potter.”
That was easy. “Nothing.” The Instant Darkness still had not faded away, so Harry could not see his even hands, not even if he’d brought them up to his eyes.
“Tell me what’s happening!”
Harry wished that his aunt Petunia was here, not to comfort him of course, but because she’d always had the courage to yell at everyone, even policeman officers when they intruded into her demense. Dumbledore’s new pet paramilitarian would be no match for her scorn.
Unfortunately, Aunt Petunia was many yards away, in Privet Drive, while Malfoy’s bomb and Dumbledore’s man were right here.
“Uh,” Harry said. “It’s shaped like the one you showed in class? It feels warm still. I really don’t want to stay here, it feels unsafe.”
“Fine. Get out.”
Harry swiftly evacuated from the Instant Darkness, leaving the bomb where it was.
As he did so, Harry wished for Lockhart back for the very first time. At least Lockhart had been too incompetent to actually teach them anything; Harry might have learned little in those lessons last year, he thought, but at least Lockhart had never armed Harry’s enemies with bombs.
In Harry’s opinion, Draco Malfoy did not need bombs.