Despite having served under countless wizards, none of them had ever charged the imprisoned spirit with the task of tutoring a child. But trust Justin Morningway to surprise a centuries old ghost who thought he had seen it all.

Before Morningway's orphaned nephew arrived to the house, the wizard summoned the spirit out of his skull to explain the situation and what he expected from his ghostly servant.

"You are to teach him all the magic he will need to know to impress the High Council when he is grown."

"Raising a child is not my area of expertise," the ghost stated.

"Did I say you were to raise him?" asked Morningway. "You are to teach him. He has a lot of untapped talent that must not go to waste." The man smiled. "He'll do the family name proud."

The ghost remained silent, though his disapproval at this assignment was obvious.

"When you meet him," Morningway continued, "I highly suggest you tone down your usual off-putting demeanor."

At some point in the past few centuries, vibrating out waves of darkness that quietly raged his cursed state had been a reflexive move on the spirit's part. It usually inspired most people to avoid the ghost as much as possible. Not that it had done much good against Morningway. But Morningway wasn't most people.

"After all, the poor boy just lost his father," said the wizard. "We don't want him frightened, do we?" It should have sounded considerate. But nothing Justin Morningway said sounded anything but tactical.

The ghost found his new pupil to be a contradictory person. At times the boy was skittish and sensitive to every word spoken to him and then other times he was unreasonably personable and blissfully unaware of even of the strongest acerbity the spirit threw his way.

"Are you really called Hrothbert of Bainbridge?" Harry asked on their first day of lessons.

"Yes, that is my name," the ghost answered shortly. Although to be fair, very few of his previous owners and even his current one actually addressed him by it. Usually the orders were just dispatched.

Harry immediately looked contrite, proving the ghost's first point about the boy's sensitivity. "I'm not saying it's a bad name. It just feels like kind of a lot to say."

"If you find it so very taxing, you may address me however you see fit."

"Okay," Harry agreed, completely missing the sarcasm in the ghost's tone, proving the ghost's second point about the boy's irregular obtuseness. "How about Bob?" he suggested after giving it some thought. "That's not long. And it suits you."

The ghost stared at him.

"No good?" asked Harry, meekly.

The spirit sighed. It's not like it was any worse than what he'd been called in the past. Truth be told, it was probably an improvement from what his master before Morningway had often called him. "Fine," he replied. "Whatever pleases you. Now shall we get started?"

While prolonged concentration wasn't Harry's strong suit, it was in the newly christened ghost's opinion that the child was progressing nicely. They had yet to tackle any practical application to the magic Harry was reading about, but in a short span of time, he was able to write out a long number of spells from memory.

Morningway nodded his approval when Harry demonstrated his knowledge on the chalkboard. The man had just returned from a business trip to England and had wanted to see the result of the first week.

"Impressive, Harry," Morningway said with a smile as he studied Harry's careful penmanship on the chalkboard. "You learn quickly."

"Thank you, Uncle Justin," returned the boy, shyly. "Bob's a good teacher," he added.

The older man glanced at the ghost upon hearing the new name. A smirk hit his lips and the ghost knew how funny Morningway felt it was that the once all powerful sorcerer was now reduced down to being called by such a simple moniker. The spirit made a mental note to himself not to let it on to his keeper that he was beginning to like the new name.

"I think it's time Harry tries his hand at what he's been reading about," Morningway stated.

"You're not concentrating," said Bob.

"I am!" Harry protested. "It's just not coming."

The ghost walked around his student, who currently had one arm outstretched toward a pillow that was lying across the room. Harry had been attempting to call the object to him for the past twenty minutes.

This is ridiculous, thought the spirit. The item is in plain sight, he doesn't even have to picture it in his mind.

"Are you focusing on the object?" he asked.

"Yes," said Harry through his teeth. He flexed his hand again. The pillow didn't even twitch.

The ghost fought back a sigh. The entire week had been marked by this kind of failure. The spectral teacher had expected his student would be awkward at first in getting a handle on applying what he'd only been reading about to actual action, but he hadn't expected Harry to not be able to do anything at all. They'd started out with scrying and after a day of nothing had scaled down to try a simple spell of merely conjuring the image of the sought after object. Failing that, they now were trying to cast the simplest spell one could do of summoning an object from across the room. And still nothing was happening.

"Take a breath. Focus. And try again," the ghost instructed.

Letting out a frustrated breath of air, the boy breathed in, locked his eyes on his target and slowly raised his hand toward it.

Nothing.

If it had been any other case, the spirit would have simply deemed Harry devoid of any magical talent. There were plenty of people in the world who could memorize every grimmoire in existence and still fail to cast a spell. But Morningway had been adamant that his nephew had talent and the ghost couldn't believe someone like Morningway could be so delusional. There had to be something else.

"Alright, stop, Harry," Bob ordered.

Harry dropped his arm. He looked apologetically at his teacher. "I'm sorry, Bob. I'm trying, really."

"I simply don't understand," said the ghost. "You know how to do this."

"Maybe I'm just not good at doing this stuff."

"You told me yourself you were able to move objects even before you came here."

"Maybe I lost it?" ventured the boy.

"You don't lose a skill like that, Harry," said Bob.

"Maybe you do," Harry persisted. "My dad had the same thing. He used to be able to do this really cool trick where he could break out of handcuffs. Real ones, not even trick ones," he continued brightly, recalling the memory. "He used to have me cuff him all the time so he could show me. Then one day, it's like his wrists got too stiff or something and he couldn't do it anymore. But he could still-"

"We are talking about an inherent power you were born with, not parlor tricks," said Bob, darkly. "It's not something you simply drop due to aging."

Harry's eyes fell to the floor at the frustrated words of his teacher. "Sorry," he said, quietly. "I just…I can't seem to do it."

Bob looked at the boy who suddenly looked a lot smaller than his 11 years and heaved a quiet sigh. He'd upset Harry. After 500 plus years of helping over achieving wizards in their search for the darker arts and assisting in countless amounts of spells that ruined people's lives, Bob didn't think he could feel bad at simply hurting someone's feelings. But apparently he could.

"It's alright, Harry," he said, gently. "I apologize. I shouldn't have interrupted you. You were telling me about your father."

"It's not important," Harry murmured.

"No, go on," Bob encouraged. "I'm interested in your life before you came here."

At that, the boy looked back up at him, his twin brown eyes shining with some disbelief. "Really?"

"Yes," said the ghost. "Why don't you tell me about the shows your father played." Bob recalled Harry having gone off on tangents in the past that often involved talking about the cities he and his father traveled to when it was just the two of them. It seemed to make the boy happy to recount such memories and at the moment, the ghost hoped to get rid of the sadness currently stamped on the young face.

"Um…well, I don't know how interesting it'll be for you," Harry said, awkwardly. "I mean, I loved it, but it's not like we saw anything you've seen."

"Harry, I haven't seen the world beyond the walls of your uncle's house for the past 15 years," stated the ghost, wryly. "Believe me, your stories will be interesting."

A slow grin spread on Harry's face. "Okay."

For the rest of the afternoon, Bob listened as Harry described several of the shows his father performed as they made their way from one end of the country to the other. By dinner time, Bob had seen every sleight of hand trick in the senior Dresden's repertoire, as demonstrated by his son.

"What is causing this block?" asked Justin Morningway. His tone didn't sound particularly upset, but at this stage of their working relationship, Bob knew better than to be fooled by that.

"I'm not entirely sure," replied the ghost.

"The boy has talent. I've seen him myself," stated Morningway. "While his father could barely juggle with his hands, Harry's been able to maneuver objects with his magic long before you became his teacher."

"As I've said," said Bob, stiffly. "I don't know what could be causing the problem."

"But you have a guess," said Morningway, shrewdly.

The ghost shifted a little from where he stood. It was true he had a theory, but he was reluctant to share it with the other wizard. He would rather speak to Harry about it privately first. But seeing the hesitation, Morningway robbed his spectral servant of any other option. "Tell me what you think is causing his problem, ghost," he ordered. "That is a command." A look came over Bob's face that would most likely have worried Morningway had the man not known with absolute confidence the spirit couldn't touch him. "Well?"

"It's his father," said the ghost, reluctantly. "From what Harry has told me, his father never had him demonstrate his talents for fear of exposure to danger should anyone notice."

"And? Harry is in no danger from showing his talents now," stated Morningway. "I am encouraging him to use them."

"He is still grieving the loss of his father," said Bob, patiently, wondering if it was a waste of time to even try and explain this to Morningway. "He is honoring his memory and doesn't want to disappoint his father by disobeying that request. That reluctance is affecting his magic."

Morningway took off his glasses and rubbed his nose bridge. "Even from the grave that man manages to hinder me," he muttered. "Fine," he said, replacing the frames. "Talk to the boy. Get him to snap out of it."

"It's not as simple as that."

"He is grieving, I understand," said Morningway, pedantically. "But his father is dead and he is alive and I am offering him a whole new life filled with possibilities. He needs to understand that he cannot hold onto the past. If he does, he will miss his chance at a bright future."

Bob narrowed his eyes at the words. "And what does that mean?"

Morningway shrugged as he rose from his seat to leave his office. "All his potential is of little use to me. I need him to be able to use his skills. Have him channel his pain toward something productive. I expect results in two weeks when I return from Prague," he said with a small smile. "Who better but you to show him how dangerous it can be to dwell on lost loved ones?"

Sometimes Harry felt like Uncle Justin was more of a ghost than Bob.

Back before when his father was still alive to soothe away bad dreams, Harry had always imagined ghosts to be entities, devoid of any warmth or affection. Strangely, that seemed more descriptive of his uncle than his teacher.

It wasn't that Uncle Justin was ever mean to him. In fact, his new guardian was very generous in providing for him. Before, Harry had worn his clothes to the point of threadbare. Now, his uncle had provided him with enough wardrobe that Harry suspected he hadn't worn the same shirt twice since moving in. The refrigerator was always generously stocked with any kind of food he could ever want and unlike before when he'd almost always had to share a bedroom with his father when they traveled, he had an entire room all to himself. The size of which would have comfortably fitted in two of the last apartment he'd lived in with his father.

And while Uncle Justin wasn't a hugging type of person, he did often put a parental hand on Harry's shoulder and smiled, telling him he was pleased with his nephew's progress whenever they discussed his studies. All in all, no one could accuse Justin of being a bad guardian.

But whenever his uncle looked at him, Harry could swear he was not really seeing him but something past him. It was like his uncle was imagining the person Harry might be in ten years as opposed to the person he was currently. And his real attention and love seemed focused on the grownup version of his nephew than the 11-year-old one standing in front of him.

Ironically, Harry actually thought his uncle was an open book when it came to his emotions. His guardian's sparse gestures of affection were not due to any awkwardness on his uncle's part from being around a child for the first time. It's just that Harry felt that's all he had to offer. Past the standard words of encouragement and pride at Harry's achievements, his uncle was devoid of anything else. The coldness in the green eyes masked nothing. His uncle was just...empty.

By contrast, Bob was a wealth of emotions as yet unseen. Despite his often curt behavior, Harry suspected the ghost's stilted attitude was more due to him having to rein in his feelings than having none to show.

Currently, Harry could tell his teacher was trying desperately hard not to appear aggravated at the lack of progress he was making.

The pillow continued to remain in its place as Harry practically sweated from his efforts to call it over. When his arm was nearly numb from the strain, the ghost finally called an end to the failed attempt.

"It's no use," said Harry, tiredly. "I just can't do it. I can't feel it like I used to be able to."

"How was it before?" asked Bob. Despite Morningway's vague threat of what would happen should his nephew not improve by the end of the fortnight, the ghost was reluctant to basically strong arm the poor child into breaking ties to his father's memory. If honoring his father by complying with the man's wishes, albeit unconsciously, is what made Harry happy, then why shouldn't he? If it wasn't for the fact that it seemed Harry's welfare now depended on him learning how to tap into his magic, Bob might have been perfectly willing to let the boy lead a normal life without every casting one spell.

"I used to be able to feel something inside of me when I did stuff like this," Harry explained. "It was like I had this energy that I could use to pull things toward me or push things away, depending on what I wanted." The boy grinned as he recalled a memory. "The first time I did it, my dad was making us dinner and knocked over a jar of tomato sauce and I caught it in midair before smashed on the floor." The smile slowly faded.

"Your father was unhappy at what you did," said Bob, knowingly.

"He wasn't mad at me," Harry said, quickly. "He said I got that from my mom and that she'd be proud. But he made me promise not to do stuff like that in public. He was worried people might see and I'd be taken away."

The boy lapsed into silence as he fingered the bracelet that encircled his wrist, lost in his thoughts. Bob kneeled down to where Harry sat, facing him.

"Your father was quite wise," observed the ghost. "He was protecting you."

"Yeah…he did." If anything, Harry sounded sadder.

"Harry," Bob began. "Your father was correct in having you hide your abilities when it was too dangerous for you to show them. But things have changed."

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes glued to his lap. "I…I want to do well. I want Uncle Justin to be proud of me," he said, softly. "I want you to be proud of me."

Bob smiled and shook his head. "No, don't do this for your uncle. And certainly not for me. You must learn for yourself." That seemed to get the boy's attention, who raised his glance. "The world you are about to grow into can be a fascinating place. But it can also be dangerous. It is vital that you have the skills with which you will be able to protect yourself."

"Protect myself from what?"

"Whatever might come in the future."

Harry bit his lip, thinking over his teacher's words. "Do you think my dad would agree?" he asked.

"I don't know." The ghost couldn't be sure. It was obvious from what he'd been told that the man had adored his son and had only thought to shield him from the harsher aspects of the world as any parent would. But had the man any clue to the true depths of what was happening? And what may happen? Bob knew that in order to survive, Harry would have to learn to use his powers. But it should never have to be at the cost of cutting ties to the person who had been his entire world. And it seemed by the desperate look that lurked behind the child's dark eyes, that was the decision he was wrestling with.

"You don't need to abandon him, Harry," advised the ghost, gently. "You love your father. He is important to you. Don't let anyone try and force that from you."

The boy nodded, turning his head away from the ghost to hide the tears that were threatening to fall. He looked over at the pillow across the room. "Should I try again?" he asked, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

"In your own time," said Bob, lightly.

"Can we stop for today, then?"

"We can move onto something else if you like. I believe you still haven't finished telling me about your time in Florida."

Harry gave the ghost a watery smile.

Late that evening, Harry dreamed. His father was in it. As was Bob. Only the ghost was solid and was listening with interest as Harry's father explained a card trick to him.

"Try it out," the older Dresden suggested, cheerfully. "Harry, be his volunteer."

Harry knew how this trick worked from having done it with his father countless times. So without instruction, he took a card from the deck that Bob wordlessly held out to him. After glancing at it, he wrote his initials on its corner and ripped the card into shreds. He then stuffed the pieces into a matchbox that was provided to him and handed it over to the ghost.

"Don't forget to say the relevant magic words," instructed Harry's father.

"The relevant magic words," Bob recited, dryly. He tapped the matchbox once against the palm of his hand and then slid it open. From the inside, he pulled out a neatly folded, very intact, five of diamonds that bore Harry's initials on the corner. "Is this your card?" he asked, holding it out.

Harry nodded with a grin. He heard his father clapping. "Hey, not bad!" the stage magician congratulated. As Harry reached out to take the card from Bob, he woke up.

The details of the dream already began to fade as the boy sat up in his bed. Judging by the pitch black outside his window, it was still late at night. But he pulled on his robe to protect against the chilly air and silently padded downstairs to library. Pushing the door open, he could easily see the outline of the familiar skull by the pale light thrown down by the moon.

At the sound of his approach, Bob materialized out in a swirl of sparks and smoke.

"Harry, are you alright?" he asked, noting the hour.

The boy stood a few steps away from the ghost and his skull. "I'm fine," he assured.

"It's late. What are you doing awake?" inquired the ghost.

Despite his assurances that nothing was wrong, Harry could still see the concern lacing the ghost's features. He'd only seen that look before on his father's face whenever he'd woken up from a nightmare, calling for him. Seeing it again brought a pang of sadness in Harry. But strangely at the same time, he felt extraordinarily lucky that someone was looking at him like that again. It made him feel safe.

He reached out an arm toward the skull that sat on the polished table. It immediately floated across the four paces separating it from the fledging wizard who easily caught it in his arms.

The ghost blinked in surprise but soon smiled as the boy held the skull to his chest. "Very good, Harry," he said, softly.

"Thanks, Bob."

THE END