Year Five - Chapter Twenty-One

What can the Harvest hope for, if not for the care of the Reaper? What can Boggarts hope for, if not exterminatus?

The last of the boxes rumbled and grumbled, but I growled back as I finished packing them all in a neat corner of the entrance hall, thick chains bounding them together to keep the boggarts from escaping. Near the wall, the portrait of Walburga Black shrieked from the moment she woke up to the moment she went to sleep, and did so whenever she saw someone step inside the house and the canvas that covered her fell from a gust of wind or a strong breeze.

Thankfully she didn't seem inclined in leaving her portrait, which was a blessing by itself.

The carpets in certain areas of the house were so dirty that the scourgify and tergeo charms didn't clean them; they outright vaporized them from existence. The wallpapers on the walls had to be purged with blasting charms, and while a couple of toilets were in working conditions, a few more required the use of specialized Assault Equipment for Biohazard situations.

"We are Blackwatch, we are the last line of defense," I muttered as I had a bubblehead charm over my head, wand in hand. "We will hold the line. It is the last line we will ever hold!"

A couple of hours later saw me actually come down for lunch, smelling faintly of ozone and charcoal, but with a satisfied smile on my face. "First floor's third and fourth bathrooms have been cleansed from impurities and Nurgle infestations," as I said that, Harry snickered.

"Didn't think you bought into the Nargles' thing Lovegood has," as he said that, I belatedly realized that indeed, the names were actually quite similar.

"Nurgle, not Nargles, it's from a miniature game-" I replied, "But let's talk business," I looked at the kitchen, "What about lunch?"

"Sirius' out with Remus," Harry said, "We've got free reign of the kitchen, or we can go eat out."

"Well, it was nice to give me free reign of the kitchen, but I don't know what we have in the cupboards or in the fridge," I answered.

Harry gingerly showed me the vast emptiness of a bachelor's fridge, and the relative void of a bachelor's cupboards and drawers, and I sighed. Technically there wasn't a fridge, as much as a larger cupboard charmed to keep things cold within. It worked just as well, I reckoned, and without an electricity bill. "Well, today's going to be takeout with a side of supermarket trip," I said. "When's the last time anyone had vegetables in this place?" I asked, already dreading the answer which Harry didn't give me. He simply looked sideways. It was nice to know he had the ability to lie of a toddler. Silly dunderhead, veggies are important. Tomatoes and lettuces are a must in any diet.

"We'll buy them after lunch, come on, I know this burger place that makes delicious fries," Harry said instead, refusing my judgmental gaze. Think about your cholesterol levels, Harry. What you eat in your youth will determine what you will become in your middle-age!

The burger joint did, indeed, make hamburgers. They made them on greasy grills, using ample amounts of butter, and I knew that my cholesterol would not tolerate eating the half-burned stuff. I understood it was good, and it tasted good, but I went with the option that had Harry snort in my direction in disbelief.

"A salad," he muttered, looking ashamed, "You picked a salad."

"The only hamburgers I eat are those I cook, or the ones I tell the house...help how to cook," I replied airily. "A bit of olive oil, a delicate massage, a spruce of salt, and that's all a good healthy hamburger needs to be tasty. Perhaps a cheese slip over it, but only when one feels like splurging!"

"You should be the last person in the world to speak about healthy food," Harry said, biting into his own burger with gusto. He munched on it, and swallowed before speaking again, "You think nobody sees the way you eat at Hogwarts?"

I picked at the salad with a roll of my eyes, "Well, of course, because at Hogwarts it's a battle for the choice picks. Speed, precision, determination...without those, there is nothing to go by but the remains, which nobody wants, but until the platters are empty they aren't refilled, so..."

I took a bite of the salad, sighed, and then wondered briefly why the olive oil tasted sweet. Who the hell made this oil? Why? Why couldn't they accept the superiority of Italian cuisine and bend the knee to the Mediterranean's diet might? I had no choice but to destroy Britain's cooking system. Yet, as my thoughts on an international food war remained in the realm of thoughts, I finished eating my healthy meal and proceeded to pay for the lunch.

"Hey, I was about to offer-" Harry said, only for me to roll my eyes.

"You'll be buying proper food at the supermarket," I said with a smile, "Keep the money for that."

The nearest supermarket was a quaint place, filled with shelves of long-term perishables and canned stuff. Bottles of water lined the corners, and beer and alcoholic drinks were clearly labeled for adults only. I sighed as I ignored the pang in my heart for the beer, and the red wine. They'd have to wait a few more years, unfortunately.

I hummed as I went through the usual things that one might need for a full week of lunches and dinners, "And now we'll have to bring it back home with good old muscle power," I remarked with a grin.

Harry didn't share my enthusiasm. He couldn't understand why I'd bought frozen vegetables, or canned peaches, or fresh fruit.

He'd understand. Given time, all would bow to the might of a proper healthy meal.

It was as we made our way back through the bustling London streets, talking about what movies to go watch, or whether it was feasible or not to get a television to work at Grimmauld Place, that I heard the backfire of a car near us. I thought it was related to the nearby bustling streets, to the London cars going about their daily motions.

I saw the glinting of the crimson, dazzling orb only a second later, as it detonated with a thunderous impact against the wall by my side, having missed me by inches.

If it had struck me, I would have died.

Yet, rather than strike me, it had struck the wall and thus exploded, with a ripple of force, a deafening shockwave, and the sudden, swift motion of the mantaguard vestments to cover my body from the deadly shrapnel.

I still fell down face first, the sudden blast, the echoing screams, everything woozy around me as my body pressed against the ground, quietly being overwhelmed by the increasing Mantaguards pouring out from beneath my clothes, in a cheap replica of a certain Iron Man's suit-up act.

It wouldn't work against a point-blank powerful Bombarda. If anything, it would merely bring about the immediate destruction and shredding of my entire body. The building by the side began to collapse, my eyes trying to focus on the figure ahead of me. I could see Harry Potter's slumped form trying to regain some of his bearings, but even so it proved fruitless. I could barely hold my stomach's worth from retching, the shrill high-pitched whistle in my ears damning me.

Glass cannons. Wizards were truly the most wretched of glass cannons.

The people were screaming, some were running away, a few were staying to watch the scene. I could feel a warm trickle down my side, perhaps blood.

Was I going to be the first significant character death at the end of the Fifth Year? Seriously?

The thought made me laugh. I shouldn't have been laughing. This was no laughing matter. This was anything but something I should have laughed at, but I couldn't help it. I was at the mercy of whoever had thrown that first spell, and while my ears still ringed, and my vision still remained blurry, all I could hope for was that they believed me dead or knocked unconscious from the impact.

"Get them," a voice curtly snarled, "Pray they still live, or the Dark Lord will not be pleased."

"This one's in stone," a voice spoke from over me. "What curse did you throw at him, Walden?"

"Don't say my name like that, Crabbe," the one known as Walden hissed back. "It's nothing of mine."

I had called them Mantaguards for a very simple reason. It wasn't just because they resembled mantas with their appearance, but also because of another peculiar characteristic I had given them. It was, after all, the main defining feature of the animal known as the Sting Ray, but in the end, gargoyles didn't need to follow biological imperatives.

When the hand neared, the man screamed as sharp, steel-like spikes ruptured from the stone and dug into his flesh deep to the bone. Then, they hopped off on their steel wings. As the swarm of seemingly tranquil gargoyles turned into a virulent shredder-like tornado of spikes and sharp, steel-like wings, I thrust my left hand upwards with a valiant scream, the concrete pavement of the road shattering and rising up to the impromptu Rocket-Charm thrown at it.

The Death Eater atop the pavement sailed high in the air, screaming a curse as I got back on my feet, wobbling my way to the half-unconscious Harry Potter.

I gave a brief glance to the man behind us, and the blood that sprayed across the pavement. I should have felt revulsion, but I couldn't really be arsed to care about a Death Eater. "Your first mistake," I grumbled, "Was to think I would allow a second chance to my would-be murderers."

I grabbed hold of Harry's shoulder, and tried to pull him up. I heard a crackle again, but this time I was ready and pushed Harry away, jumping back as a jet of brilliant violet light passed in the spot I had been a second before.

I turned towards the source of the jet, seeing the masked man with his wand raised that I had ejected upwards seconds before. He had re-apparated nearby, and he didn't look pleased. Behind me, the screams of his comrade had died out.

I raised my wand, my arm trembling and my breath short. "You thought we wouldn't be prepared, huh," I hissed out, feeling the blood on my tongue. "Well, come on!" I swung my wand, a brilliantly red stupefy leaving its tip in the man's direction. "Bring it!"

The man dodged the blow, swinging his wand for a purplish curse, which my own Expelliarmus parried and threw against a nearby wall. The wall imploded on itself, shards of ice grinding it to dust.

I twisted my wand in a swift circle, a spinning wheel of fire rushing forth with glittering sparkles, which the Death Eater cut in half, a purplish fire headed right for me. My own Protego came just in time, my heart ceasing its beat from the closeness of the attack in question. A second later, a muttered snarl turned into a curse, and the Death Eater disapparated just as a few pops announced the Hit Wizards and the Aurors taking the scene.

I slumped my shoulders in relief. "Took your sweet time," I grumbled, trying to shake my head clear from the ringing.

With a twitch of my fingers the Mantagargoyles scuttled their way cutely back towards me, taking on their soft, stone-like appearance and diminutive size. There was a brief disgusting sensation running across my leg as some were, indeed, bathed in the blood of their enemy.

Still, I couldn't help but feel vindicated.

I knew that my paranoia would be justified in the end.

What I couldn't justify was the fact I apparently needed to head to Saint Mungos to get my inner bleeding checked. It was obvious that blood was supposed to be inside my body, so, really, there was no need to head to a hospital.

A couple of Episkeys would heal me right proper, without a need to see a wizard doctor about it.

What do you mean I'm behind on my Wizarding Vaccinations?

Wait. No. The bigger the needle does not equate to a better cure!