Harry was late for his lessons.
Glancing at the clock that sat on the mantle piece, Bob sighed in frustration at his inability to leave the confines of the library to go in search of his missing student. While the ghost deplored tardiness in general, the fact that he'd have to deliver a progress report to Morningway later today only deepened his irritation at Harry's lack of punctuality. Standing orders of full disclosure from Harry's uncle meant the necromancer would have to tell Justin of his nephew having been nearly 20 minutes late to his lesson. And considering he'd been forced to tell the older wizard only last week that Harry had remained easily distracted during his studies, he didn't relish the idea of delivering another unfavorable report.
At this stage in their teacher/student relationship, the ghost was well aware that Harry was not untalented. But the boy had problems with focusing and so much of the magic he was learning depended on investing oneself heart and soul. And these days it seemed Harry's heart seemed more focused on the life he'd left behind, two years before coming to live in the Morningway estate. More often than not the spectral teacher often caught his student idly doing a sleight of hand trick learned from his father. Yet another piece of information he'd been forced to reveal to Justin.
"He obviously requires more motivation," Justin had stated. His tone was casual, almost flippant, which to Bob meant the wizard was extremely aggravated by his nephew's lack of progress. Like most storms, Morningway tended to look calm before he unleashed a destructive force.
Pacing soundlessly around the carpeted area of the room, Bob was more than willing to give his student proper motivation if only Harry would show up for his lessons. As 20 minutes late became 30 minutes late, the ghost considered just returning to his skull when the doors of the library flung open with an audible bang before a dark-haired blur came rushing through.
"You're late," Bob reprimanded severely. "How many times do I need to tel- what are you doing?" The last of the chastising got lost as the ghost noticed Harry rushing to all corners of the room, frantically lifting up books and scattered papers. "Harry?"
"I can't find it!" exclaimed the younger wizard, shoving aside a pile of books to look behind them. "It has to be here somewhere! I looked everywhere else!"
More pages and books toppled over and Bob shifted his foot out of the path of one large tome that would have sailed harmlessly through his spectral shoe. "Harry, if you would just calm down a moment and- Harry!" The ghost finally raised his voice to get the boy's attention. Harry finally stopped his near dismantling of the library furniture to look over at Bob, who winced inwardly as he saw the naked panic in the boy's eyes. "What is going on?" the necromancer asked in a quieter tone.
"I lost it," said Harry, mournfully. "The picture of me and Dad. I can't find it anywhere." For a brief moment, the ghost felt a twinge of irritation that the younger man had nearly destroyed the library to locate out a mere photograph. But as quickly as the annoyance came it was gone as he realized Harry was now trying desperately to keep his face from crumbling. It was only a photograph, yes. But to Harry it represented something significantly more. "It's the only photo I have of him. Bob, you have to help me. I can't lose it!"
Seeing that Harry was close to losing his fight to keep tears at bay, the ghost quickly moved to assure him. "It's alright, Harry. I'm sure it's within the house somewhere. Where do you normally keep it?"
The young wizard's face looked nearly ashamed at the question. "I…carry it around sometimes. I don't always put it back in the same place," he admitted, quietly. "But I could have sworn it was on my nightstand yesterday when I went to sleep."
"And you looked everywhere in your room?"
Harry nodded. "Twice," accounting for why he'd been a half hour late for his class. "It's not there."
"Did you ever take it outside?" Bob asked.
"I…I can't remember," Harry said, looking pained again at his carelessness. "I don't think so, but I can't be sure." Slumping down onto the leather couch, Harry looked up at his teacher, "What if I can't find it?" he asked, tearfully. "What if it's gone?"
The ghost automatically opened his mouth to assure Harry the missing picture could be found when his mind tacked onto something. Lost in his own misery, staring down at his feet, the boy missed the dark expression that crossed his teacher's face. Biting back a sharp sigh, Bob unclenched his hand that had balled itself into a fist as he connected the dots in his mind. By the time Harry looked back up at him, the ghost looked as he always did, calm and reserved with his hands neatly tucked behind his back.
"We'll find your photograph," Bob assured again, giving Harry a small smile that he hoped looked more comforting than strained. "I take it you can recall what it looks like in your mind?" The boy nodded, mutely. "Then there is a spell you can do to locate the object. If you would open the Heimell Text to page 73, I can show you."
The words were barely out of Bob's mouth before Harry was rummaging through the books he'd knocked over earlier, a determined expression on his face. Once the appropriate book was found, it took the ghost awhile to explain the spell to Harry, but the boy only needed to hear it once as he listened with undivided attention. With concentrated effort, the younger wizard cast the location spell which led him almost immediately to the gardens. Underneath the rose bushes that lined the back of one stone bench, lay the missing framed picture.
And while Harry didn't think he'd ever taken the treasured object to this part of the grounds, he was too relieved to ponder on it and instead profusely thanked Bob as well as Heimell and his location spell.
Later in the evening, long after Harry had gone to sleep, Bob wrapped up delivering the day's lesson to Justin. The ghost detailed out Harry having performed a somewhat complicated location spell successfully on his first try, a report that brought the expected half smile to Morningway's face.
"Very good," Justin stated from his seat. "I take it the rest of the lessons went well?"
"Very smoothly," Bob reported. He stared at the smiling face of his owner for a moment before adding, "Do you intend on frightening him before every lesson to ensure he pays attention?"
The smile on Morningway's face didn't waver at the contemptuous questioning. "As I'd said, he needed proper motivation. Heimell's spell is by no means an easy one, but you can sure he won't readily forget it."
"And what exactly will you do when it comes time for his lessons in transmutation?" Bob demanded. "Steal something else of his father's to mutate in hopes he readily learns a spell to restore it?"
"Don't be melodramatic," Morningway ordered with a dismissive wave. The pleased smile shifted into a colder one. "I believe you are growing rather soft on my nephew. Tolerable if you were his guardian, which you are not. But compromising if you are his instructor, as evidenced by his poor progress before. You may consider a healthy distancing of your emotions."
While Bob privately never felt any shame at realizing any parental affection toward Harry, he silently hated himself for making it obvious enough that Morningway was now aware. If there was anything the ghost had learned in all his years of switching hands from owner to owner, it was best if your keeper knew as little about your feelings as possible. Better that they see you as a cold, dead entity with only disdain as an emotion, rather than see you capable of valuing something or someone other than yourself. Such a thought gave them even more leverage than they already had over his soul.
"You have given me orders to train your nephew," Bob stated, neutrally. "I cannot disobey you. And I go about my task as I see fit. And terrifying a student into attending to his lessons is not a method I find useful for the long term. My own emotions or lack thereof do not play into the matter."
The cold smile was now a condescending smirk and the ghost would have given anything if he could just have five seconds of mortality so he could strike it off Morninway's face with his fist. But it remained only a fervent wish as he only continued to stand stiffly, incorporeal and powerless.
"I had no desire take time out of my day to interfere in how you run your lessons," Morninway stated. "Nor do I wish to in the future." Typically, the placating statement sounded more like a warning. "Unless I need to, of course. Will I need to?"
"No, of course not," Bob replied, practically through clenched teeth.
Morningway gave a nod. "Good. I look forward to your next report then. Dismissed."
De-materializing into smoke, the ghost returned to his skull. From within his prison, he thought on Justin's words. The wizard was right. He was getting soft on Harry. And perhaps it did compromise a certain rigidity with which he might teach the boy.
But what of it? Bob thought. Someone has to be.
He was fond of Harry. And it would be easier to work with the emotion rather than around it. As he was pretty sure any attempts to successfully distancing himself from Harry were at this point, impossible.
THE END