Bad Romance

Chapter 110

Chapter 110: Practical Magic

"It feels violent," Harold commented as he sat across from Rabastan eating lunch a half hour later.

He'd strongly suggested immediate food to restore Rabastan's strength, and that had sounded like a bloody brilliant idea. The elf hadn't spoken for nearly ten minutes as they ate, which had been fine with Rabastan because he was still rather drained. He knew what Harold referred to without having to ask.

"It has to be. You're making the thing to do violence."

"Not just power," Harold asked.

It was weird seeing the little fucker without his plague doctor mask, but, of course, he had to take it off to eat. He just looked like any other elf without the mask which oddly seemed to diminish him somehow in appearance. It took away the mystery and slight edge of creepiness.

"A strong wand is power," Rabastan told him. "Blasting the fuck out of something is nothing other than raw violence."

Harold paused for several seconds, taking another thoughtful bite from the sandwich in his hands. "So Harold must feel violent to refill a blasting rod?"

"You want one, then," Rabastan asked, half flattered and half annoyed. "Damn if every motherfucker in the world isn't going to want one," he complained. "Those are a bitch to make!"

Harold gave him a slightly apologetic look. "Harold may feel safer with one under the current conditions. He would likely feel even more capable of defending the manor. But he was also thinking of refilling those rods that when made shall belong to Mr. Rodolphus, Miss Bellatrix, and, of course, you."

Rabastan's face softened. That was nice. Refilling those rods drained a lot of energy, which he'd made no secret of to the elf, yet Harold was still willing to do that for them without even being asked...because, of course, they never would've asked that.

"Well fuck, that's nice of you," he said a bit gruffly. Then after a moment of thought, he asked "What? You don't like feeling violent? If I had to do boring shit all day like you do, I'd be feeling violence a plenty."

Harold snickered. "Harold finds it peaceful here."

"Before you were here?"

The elf shrugged.

Rabastan gave him a smug, knowing grin. "You could remember that shit and feel violence, then channel it into the blasting rod," Rabastan explained. "Or like if shit wasn't going right in the kitchen one day, and that annoyed you, you could bring that shit up and maybe enlarge it a little when refilling a rod. It'd probably work."

Harold chuckled with a bemused expression. "Things in your kitchen truly present no challenge."

Rabastan grinned. "Okay, but I bet Rod and Bella's bedroom is quite the fright! You've really gotta hate making their bed. I mean, who knows what the fuck you might find... and knowing them, I literally mean that!"

Harold's face became blank as he paused to slowly draw in a deep breath. Rabastan could tell the little shit was struggling not to laugh.

"Their bed only has sheets and blankets," Harold stated gravely. "It seems similar to your own, in truth."

Rabastan huffed an exasperated sigh. "Well, whatever pisses you off, just think about it when you fill your fucking rod that I will eventually make you. Speaking of..." He drained the last swig of tea from his mug. "Thanks for lunch. I'm feeling far better, and now I should get back to work."

"Is there anything Harold can do to help?"

Rabastan considered for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. You can write Mag and tell her I need more of everything, and also someone who can help me drill into the wood."