"Ease your grip, Harry. No, not that much," Bob instructed as the wooden stick left the boy's hand and bounced silently on the library carpet. The ghost waited patiently as his student picked up the stick again and held it gingerly by his fingers. "You need to hold it in a way that's comfortable to you. It's not a stick of dynamite. Alone it can't do anything."

"Why do we even need wands?" asked Harry, looking dubiously at the pale piece of timber. "I can move stuff with my hands. And anything else you can do with potions, right?"

"Wrong," Bob corrected. "Wands are integral for any wizard. They help channel your powers and even magnify them if you wish. The effects are to an even greater scale for a wizard's staff. But you won't have to worry about that for another eight years or so."

It had been nearly two years since Harry had moved into the house and next week the boy would be turning thirteen. Like any burgeoning wizard, his thirteenth birthday was a significant year and marked Harry receiving a wand for his future career. But in order to receive one, Harry would have to first prove he was ready to wield one with a certain level of confidence. Watching his student handle a practice stick, the spirit realized the amount of work ahead of them.

"Do all wands look like this?" Harry asked, holding the stick with a bit more ease.

"You can make wands out of anything," said Bob. "They are only conduits of a sort to store your magical reserves and amplify them should you need some assistance during any sort of spell. What you're holding is merely a practice tool. I believe it belonged to your uncle when he was your age."

A small frown appeared on Harry's face at the mention of his uncle, but he remained silent and instead looked to Bob for instruction. While the ghost noticed the grimace, he also noted the stubborn look Harry sported whenever he wanted to be secretive and knew it was pointless to press the boy into talking. Instead, he moved on with the lesson.

"Holding the wand -"

"Practice tool," Harry interrupted.

"Wand," Bob continued, firmly. "in your hand, focus in on the object," he said, gesturing to a small world globe that sat on a large wooden table a foot away from them. "Draw up your power as you would if you were merely using your hand, but channel the energy through your fingertips, into the wand."

Harry nodded and pointed the makeshift wand toward the globe. He felt the familiar sensation of energy flow from the core of his body, through his arm to his hand. But unlike before, it felt as if something was blocking his fingers, preventing the energy from flowing out. Frowning in concentration, he pushed at the energy to get it to move into the wand with little success. Watching him, the ghost circled around to stand next to Harry.

"Don't force it. Just feel for the barrier to dissolve and let your magic sink and entwine into the wand," he instructed.

"It's not going," Harry complained.

"Patience."

Keeping his eye on the globe, Harry clenched his teeth and refocused. This time, he felt a small trickle of energy flow into the wand, but little else. "Move," he muttered to the stationary globe. "This is so much harder with the wand."

"Yes, it is," Bob agreed. "Hence why one earns a wand."

Harry dropped his arm and looked at his teacher with an impatient glare. "Why do grown ups make everything harder on themselves?"

Bob heaved an exasperated sigh. "For the same reason why children your age insist on being so recalcitrant. We just do."

"Re what?"

"Recalcitrant. Stubborn. Unmanageable," Bob defined.

"Then why didn't you just use one of those words?" Harry demanded, rolling his eyes. "See what I mean about adults making things difficult?"

"Harry, we can discuss human habits later. Right now you need to focus on the lesson."

Releasing a sigh of his own, Harry re-took his previous stance. This time, he felt it was a little easier to push his magic into the wand, but like before, the energy just stayed put in the wooden stick instead of pushing out to move the globe.

"You're not concentrating," Bob assessed.

"I am!"

"No, you're being frustrated. There's a difference. You need to relax and concentrate."

Getting a better grip, Harry nearly drilled a hole into the globe with all his staring before dropping his pose in defeat. "It's useless. This thing's just blocking the magic."

"You simply need to get used to it," the ghost assured. "It worked perfectly well for your uncle and will do so for you."

"That's Uncle Justin, not me," Harry replied with a scowl. Unconsciously, he gestured vaguely with his hand that held the wand in the general direction of where his uncle's study was located by the side of the library.

"Harry, be careful where you point that-"

Before Bob had a chance to finish, a bolt of blue light streaked out with surprising force from the wooden tool in Harry's hand and shot across the library to hit the ancient skull that had been innocently sitting on a small end table. In a flash, the skull bolted up into the air and crashed through the library window, sailing into the gardens, toward the woods.

Bob managed to get out a deeply irritated, "Oh, for Merlin's sa-" before he felt the familiar yank on his wrists and he was gone, dragged out behind the airborne skull.

"Bob! Bob!" Harry shouted. The fledgling wizard had been running for what felt like nearly half a mile into the woods where he'd last seen the ghost disappear. The stone path he'd been on when he'd first dashed out into the gardens after the skull had soon given way to grass and dirt as he'd entered into the thick of the trees. Despite his panic, he did his best to stay in a straight line to avoid getting lost.

"Bob!" he called again. Any longer and he'd soon have to return to the house and ask for his uncle's help in locating the missing ghost. "Bob!"

"Over here," finally came a reply.

While Harry could hear the murderous annoyance in his teacher's tone, he felt a rush of relief regardless. Running to where he'd heard the familiar voice, Harry soon found Bob standing next to a large tree, at the base of which was his skull. The ghost, despite his hasty departure, looked as immaculately dressed as ever without a single wrinkle or stain to his outfit, not that Harry expected anything less.

"Oh, jeez. Bob, I'm sorry," Harry apologized, picking up the skull. Using his sleeve, he wiped at the mud that stuck to the decorated bones. "I didn't know it was going to do that. I wasn't even trying-"

"Yes, yes, alright," Bob waved off the rush of apologies. "Thank you for my wonderfully undignified exit. And you're getting dirt on your clothing," he reprimanded.

Harry stole a glance up at his teacher and saw that while severely irritated, the ghost didn't look half as furious as he'd thought. More importantly, there was a lack of hardness in Bob's eyes that always appeared whenever he was in front of Uncle Justin. An observation that eased Harry's mind a little. "Sorry," he said again.

"Honestly, Harry," Bob criticized. "You're lucky my skull has more protection charms on it than the Crown Jewels or else you'd be picking up fragments."

"I'm really, really sorry," Harry repeated, sincerely. "I wasn't looking where I was- wait…there's a spell on the Crown Jewels?" he asked, suddenly.

Bob sighed. "Never mind. Shall we just return to the house?"

Nodding, Harry carefully held onto the skull, despite having just learned how well protected it was from damage. The boy took it as a positive sign that Bob wasn't too angry when his teacher chose to walk next to him as they made their way back instead of vanishing into the skull. Harry took measured steps to not get ahead of the ghost as they began to walk. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking," he said again.

"Not about the lesson, no," Bob agreed. "Care to explain where your mind is?"

"It's just this birthday thing," Harry answered with a frown. "You know Uncle Justin's throwing me that huge party."

"Yes, how vile," the ghost commented, drolly.

"It is," Harry nodded, missing the sarcasm. "He's made it this big thing. All these grown ups that I don't know are coming and he said I need to dress up in a suit and be there. What's the point? It's not like the party's for me."

"It is for you, Harry. Your uncle has been very pleased with your progress and only wishes to celebrate an important year in your life with your peers," Bob assured, though he half agreed with his student that most of the fanfare was just Morningway's usual, narcissistic style.

"He wouldn't even let me do what I wanted on my own birthday," Harry muttered.

"Which was what?" Bob asked, curiously. He moved to step around a tree, despite the pointlessness of the gesture.

"I wanted to visit my dad," the boy answered, quietly. "Just for the afternoon. He said he couldn't spare the car, but maybe we'd go later in the month." Harry's tone made it clear he didn't believe his uncle and Bob wasn't convinced either that Morningway would allow for the fieldtrip. If the ghost recalled correctly, the last time Harry had had a chance to visit his father's grave had been over a year ago. In the beginning, Morningway had been a little more lenient in allowing his nephew to mourn the loss of his father. But as time had passed, he'd quietly, but relentlessly pushed and blocked the boy from the memories of his lost parent.

Harry randomly kicked a loose stone as they hit the path in the expansive house gardens and the large mansion loomed in front of them. As they got closer, a large hole in the library window where the skull had slammed out of was clearly visible.

"Uncle Justin's going to be pissed," Harry noted when he saw the damage.

"It was an accident," Bob assured, absently, his mind still on Morningway's refusal to allow Harry to visit his father. "I'm sure your uncle will understand."

Harry gave him an incredulous glance. "Um, Bob? Have you met Uncle Justin?"

A week later, Harry's skills with the practice wand had markedly improved. Along the way there had been a few more broken windows and a terrifying moment when Harry had thought he'd evaporated Bob's skull, only to find out he'd accidentally transported the skull up to his uncle's ancient attic. But by the time of his birthday party, the young wizard was able to competently show his talents to the party's guests, using the finely crafted wand his uncle had given to him as a birthday present.

Harry was certain that throughout the evening, he'd met every single guest his uncle had invited and the youngest attendee had been thirty years old. The newly turned teenager made it through a good three hours before excusing himself to slip into the library, where the party would not be trickling in.

"Bob? Come out. No one's here." The ghost had been given stern orders to stay out of the guests' sight during the evening. A command Harry was fully aware of. There was a momentary hesitation before the spirit appeared in a swirl of smoke and sparks.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"Being bored," Harry answered. "Man, I never knew wizards were so…."

"Stern?" Bob offered, having an idea of the kind of circles Morningway traveled in.

"Snobby," Harry decided. "Think I can stay here for awhile?"

"I think they'll notice if the guest of honor is not present," Bob pointed out.

"No, they won't," Harry said. "They'll be too busy making sure they look richer and better than everyone else in the room." He slouched down onto the leather couch, never minding his suit jacket getting wrinkled. "This party officially sucks," he announced with exaggerated drama.

A wry smile laced Bob's face at the proclamation. "Well, in spite of the poor festivities, happy birthday, Harry."

"Thanks, Bob," Harry smiled, brightly.

"How does it feel to be thirteen?"

"Feels just like when I was twelve. Only now I can do stuff with a wand," Harry replied, taking out the gift his uncle had given him.

"Very nice," Bob commented, studying the thin black wand. Harry shrugged and put it back in his breast pocket. The ghost stared at the teen for a few seconds before hesitantly continuing. "As it seems your uncle is currently preoccupied, perhaps now might be a good time for me to…"

"To what?"

"Well, it wouldn't exactly be my birthday gift to you as it's not really mine to give," said the ghost, awkwardly. "It actually is already yours and you might like having it returned to you."

"What is it?" Harry asked, feeling interested in something for the first time all evening.

"It's something I saw when I was in your uncle's attic. After you'd transported me there," he added with a faintly reproachful tone.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"In any case, your gift is in the attic. And I'm afraid you'll have to go up there in order to retrieve it as I'm not at liberty to do so."

"Awesome! Sneaking around is totally the most fun I'm going to have tonight. Let's go," Harry said, eagerly getting to his feet to take hold of the skull.

"It's not 'sneaking around', Harry," Bob corrected. "It's merely a retrieval endeavor."

"Yeah, whatever. This is like your 'recalcitrant' thing. How come you never use the normal word for stuff?"

"I see turning thirteen hasn't improved your taste in the finer aspects of life," the ghost noted.

Five minutes later, Harry was stumbling around in his uncle's attic, moving toward the spot Bob was standing in. There was an open trunk in the far corner where a myriad of books and rolled up maps were piled in, lost and forgotten. The ghost pointed to one particularly large, rolled up sheet that had been unceremoniously shoved in with the other documents. Setting down Bob's skull on the floor, Harry carefully extracted the sheet to unroll it.

"What is all this stuff anyway?" Harry asked as he began to unknot the string holding the sheet in place.

"Your uncle has collected and inherited many items over the years," said Bob, spotting an old vanity mirror that he remembered had once been in Harry's mother's room when she'd lived at the house. "He tends to store the non-magical paraphernalia up here and usually forgets he even has them. I'm sure in the end, all of these will eventually become yours, but I thought perhaps you'd like to have this a little earlier."

Finally undoing the knot, Harry got on his knees to unroll the large sheet on the floor. He got halfway before seeing the familiar print of "The Astounding Dresden" at the top. "Dad's poster!" Harry exclaimed, unfurling the rest of it. "I didn't know Uncle Justin had this."

"I believe it came with a few other items left behind by your father," Bob guessed. "Though most of the others were given away."

Having spread out the sheet, Harry gazed at the faded poster and had a sudden strong memory of the first time his father had proudly shown it to him. It was all the boy could do to not take the sheet in his hands and hug it tightly to his chest. Instead, he carefully rolled up the poster and rewrapped it.

"I'll have to hide it in my room somewhere," he planned. "It should fit in my desk. When I move out, I'll have it framed or something and put it up in my house."

"A very good idea," the spirit approved.

"Bob, this is great," Harry said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He truly was overjoyed at seeing the familiar memorabilia again, only the dust in the attic seemed to be clogging his throat and itching his eyes. "It's the best present ever."

The ghost smiled. "The poster has always been yours."

"Yeah, but you found it. Thanks," said Harry. He gently took the rolled up sheet in his hand and held it with great esteem. And when he picked up the ancient skull to go back downstairs, he gave it the same amount of consideration, clutching it tenderly in his free hand.

THE END