Despite the obvious rapport Harry and Bob have in the series, I felt like there were still things slightly awkward between them until "What About Bob?" kind of cleared up where they stood with one another. So, this is just a short take on the somewhat rocky start of Harry having ownership of Bob's skull after his uncle got "self-defensed to death."
"Harry, get up!" Bob commanded, willing his voice to remain calm. Unable to actually assist the other man, he hoped sounding militant might do the trick. "You must get up. You need to go."
From his place on the floor, Harry bled a little more and stared almost stupidly up at the ghost. The small cloth doll fell from his now slack hand, landing soundlessly. The ring, once Harry's father's and until recently Justin Morningway's, clattered on the wooden floor and morbidly rolled toward the already cooling body of its last owner.
"The wardens are coming," the ghost informed.
"Go…?" asked Harry, though he was making some effort to get to his feet, which Bob took as good progress. The wizard stared down his uncle's body. "Oh, god."
"Listen to me, you need to leave. Go," Bob reiterated, trying to break his former student out of his horror-induced stupor.
"I…go where?" Harry said, looking confused. Actually, the man looked concussed. His eyes were glassy, the blood on his forehead sharply contrasting the pallor of his face. Bob knew all Harry wanted to do was just lie back down and go to sleep so he could hurry and wake up from the nightmare he seemed to having. But the ghost also knew that if Harry stayed, his future would last about six more minutes. Bob couldn't be sure if the High Council was going to give Harry a fair trial or if they'd blast him on sight and right now, he wasn't about to play the odds.
"Go anywhere you can hide," he advised. "The wardens will find you eventually, but you need to give yourself some time. They'll come here first and I'll tell them what happened."
"I used black magic," Harry nearly whispered as if just realizing it.
Biting back a frustrated sigh at the slow pace, the ghost stuck out a hand and waved it through Harry's shoulder. At the chilling touch, the wizard jumped and nearly fell back down. "Harry! Pay attention!" Bob snapped. "Turn around and walk out the door. You have no time left. Go!"
Lurching himself backwards, the wizard finally began to stumble toward the front door. His feet crunched already broken wooden splinters of the smashed table as he nearly tripped over his uncle's body.
Watching Harry finally exit out the door still in a daze, Bob wondered if it would be the last time he'd see his former student.
After the last few days wherein the entire house had been filled with wardens and then later police investigators, the sudden emptiness felt almost eerie. If he hadn't already been dead and a ghost himself, Bob might have been a little apprehensive about being the only soul left in the Morningway Estate.
Due to the location of his skull, now left on a mantle in the main living area thanks to one of Morgan's wardens, the ghost had limited sight of the front entrance. From his place, he could see the now clean hallway that had only a few days ago been littered with splinters of a smashed table, spots of Harry's blood and the very dead body of Justin Morningway. The wardens had been thoughtful enough to remove the first two. The police, called in on a "tip" had taken care of the body.
Everything looked rather orderly considering some black magic and a death had occurred.
Moving as far as his invisible bindings would allow, Bob walked just to the tall French doors that led out to the gardens. He wondered if Harry would be coming back. While no one had told the ghost anything, he'd watched as the wardens carefully removed all trace that Harry had ever been at the house. Bob also knew that Morningway in all his so called generosity, had made his nephew his sole heir. The house and everything in it was now Harry's and seeing as how no one had come in the last few days, Harry was most likely still alive and acquitted from the High Council's death sentence.
Having gone through several owners, the ghost was acutely aware that the Council moved fast in dispersing out belongings left behind by deceased wizards. The lack of activity suggested that the fate of the estate and of the cursed skull was now in Harry's hands.
By now the wizard would have had a chance to regroup and perhaps digest everything that had happened. And come to a few realizations in regards to his former tutor's role or at least the ghost's knowledge of how his father had died. Slipping silently back into his bony prison, it occurred to Bob that the next time he saw Harry, it might be with a hammer in his hand, ready to smash his skull into fragments.
"Come out. Now."
While still formless, Bob inwardly winced at the cold order as he pushed himself out of the skull.
There was Harry. And while there was no hammer in his hand, the hardness of his eyes didn't necessarily cut a smashing out of the picture. They were still in the main living area, though now several pieces of furniture were covered over and all the window draperies had been taken down. Bandages and bruises still decorated Harry's head. And despite the tiredness lined into the thin face, he looked determinedly strong.
The two stared at each wordlessly before the wizard finally broke the silence.
"They ruled it self defense."
Bob nodded. He'd thought as much. It was the truth after all. And for once, the High Council got it right.
"He left me everything," Harry continued, contempt dripping from his words. A few more moments passed where the only sound was of the birds chirping outside in the garden, blissfully ignorant. "Say something!" Harry finally shouted. His voice clashed against the high walls, echoing away.
Mulling over several things he wanted to say to his former student, Bob landed on, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry? Sorry about what?" demanded Harry. "What do YOU have to be sorry for?" The accusation hung in the air.
"I'm sorry that this is happening to you," Bob replied, quietly.
"How long did you know?" When the ghost hesitated, Harry advanced forward. "Don't make me order you. Really, don't."
"I was never sure," the spirit answered, ordering his voice to remain even. "I'd seen the doll same as you. Only it was a few months ago. But I never asked."
"But you suspected," Harry spat. "You suspected and you never told me!"
"You were already gone, Harry," said the ghost.
The wizard shook his head. "No, that's not it. Even if I'd been here you wouldn't have said anything. You had a choice and you didn't tell me!" Bob didn't argue. "How could you do that?" Harry asked. The anger was still there, but it was heavily colored now by genuine sadness. "You of all people. I'd trusted you with everything."
Yes, me of all people, Bob thought at the irony. Don't you know I'm the last one to trust? Everyone knows that, he wanted to tell the wizard. Centuries of being the one everyone feared and distrusted, it was more than apparent to Bob that he'd forgotten how to be someone a person believed in and counted on. He'd failed Harry who'd been naïve and so painfully generous enough to extend that faith to him.
At the ghost's prolonged silence, Harry's anger flared back. "Well? Are you going to answer me? Don't you fucking CARE?"
And while Bob cared more than anything to beg Harry forgive him for being so careless with Harry's confidence in him, years of conditioning took hold of him and choked the ghost from explaining himself.
"I'm sorry," he only repeated.
Harry snorted in disgust, turning his back on the spirit for a moment. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing the tiredness that was creeping up higher on him. "Fine," he said, flatly. "I have to make arrangements for this house so I'm going to give you your options."
"Options?"
Harry turned back around to face the confused ghost. "I promised you once that I'd never treat you the way my uncle did," he said. "And I don't go back on promises. So I'm going to give you a choice." Bob wondered if the gesture had more to do with Harry wanting to be as far away from any behavior resembling his uncle's as possible than being a thoughtful extension. He didn't think he deserved one in any case.
"I'm not going to live here," Harry informed. "I'm closing it up. The furniture is staying here. All of the books and the rest of his…things are going in the bonfire."
"You're going to burn his entire library?" Bob interrupted. "Certain books yes, but there's a world of helpful information in there. You'd be hobbling yourself if you didn't utilize the knowledge they had to offer."
"Shut up," Harry ordered, coldly.
"Right."
"The High Council told me I don't have to keep you. There're apparently a few other wizards who'd be all too glad to take you in. But if you don't want to serve anyone anymore, you can just stay in the house. You'll be alone, but you won't have anyone bothering or ordering you around," Harry finished.
So those were apparently his options. Stay in the empty estate until the place crumbled or Harry died and he switched ownership again, whichever came first. Or go back to getting auctioned off like before when Morningway had claimed him.
"May I…have a few days to consider the options?" he finally asked, politely.
Harry stared at him and something passed by the wizard's face that Bob couldn't quite figure out. He had looked strangely hurt by something. "Fine," the wizard allowed, sighing. "You bought me time with wardens so I'll return the favor. I'll be back at the end of the week," he said.
Turning his back on the spirit again, Harry left, the sharp snap of the locking door his only goodbye.
Despite asking for the time, Bob didn't find himself using any of it to weigh his options. The fact was, both choices were about the same to him. Yes, new ownership meant he'd have some interaction with the outside world. But in the end, he'd feel just as alone as he would should he stay shut away in a dead man's old house. At one point he'd been used to the solitude. But that had been before Harry.
In the first several years of his cursed state, the ghost had thought being so ineffectual had been the crux of his hell. And then as he'd passed through more hands and served more wizards, the lack of will he could exercise became a new source of misery. And at some point he'd embraced his inability to make choices as a tool to remain as detached from the living world as much as possible.
But in doing so, it seemed he'd injured the first person to treat him with any sort of care. He could have told Harry about his suspicions. Advised him to go to the High Council and seek out justice the proper way. But he hadn't. Because doing nothing, being ineffectual, had at some point gotten to be second nature. It had just been easier to tell himself he was useless.
Now it would be the guilt of that betrayal that could be the latest form of torture his curse would have to offer.
As he said, Harry returned at the end of the week. The wizard looked a little better, though his clothes left much to be desired. The creased jeans and layers of rumpled shirts gave off the impression the wizard had leapt into a pile of discarded clothing and walked away with whatever had stuck to his body.
"The High Council can pass me onto whoever wishes the skull," said Bob when Harry called him out.
The wizard looked at him. "That what you want?"
The ghost shrugged. "It's what I am used to."
"That wasn't my question," said Harry, roughly. "What do you want?"
"That wasn't exactly your question either," Bob pointed out.
"Why do you always do that?" Harry demanded. "You never answer a simple question with a simple answer!"
"What is the question?" asked Bob, his forced calmness a contrast to the visibly irritated wizard.
"Do you want to go to someone else? Is that what you really want?"
Before the ghost could tell himself that he didn't spend a week of self-reflection to fall back to old habits of aloofness, he heard his own voice saying, "Technically, those are two questions."
Growling out a frustrated sigh, Harry swept his hands in front of him in a defeated gesture. "Okay, never mind. I don't know why I'm even doing this."
"You could just order me to answer truthfully," Bob said, while mentally slapping himself to stop it.
"Why would I do that?" Harry exclaimed. "Why would I force you to tell me how you feel? What would that do? That was never the point. But it doesn't matter to you if you stayed with me or got bounced to someone else. So fine, I'll tell Morgan. They'll come and collect you later. Thanks for everything. Goodbye," he stated, bitterly.
He turned to leave and suddenly, the ghost felt a grip of panic. "Of course it matters," he called after the retreating wizard.
Harry stopped, though he didn't return. Instead he cast a glance over his shoulder. "What?" he asked, warily.
"Of course it matters to me whether I go with you or someone else," said Bob, quietly.
The ghost somehow found he couldn't look at Harry as he walked back to him. "So what do you want?"
"I want to go with you."
Bob remained studying a spot on the floor while Harry moved past him.
"Get inside."
Turning around, the ghost saw the wizard now held his skull in his hand and was holding it out toward him. "What?" he asked, looking vaguely stunned.
"You heard me. Get inside. You're coming," he said, gruffly.
"Just like that?"
"No, not just like that. You don't get off that easy," Harry snapped. Still the wizard's face softened briefly as he heaved a sigh. "But you made a decision. You told me what you want so you're coming. We'll talk about stuff later. Right now, I've got tons of things to do. So inside. Wait…actually, hang on," the wizard said just before the ghost had begun to de-form back to smoke. "Show me which books to take first."
"Books?"
"Yeah, Bob. Books," Harry said, sounding irritated. "You were bitching about not burning all of them so show me which ones I should save." He already began to walk toward the library, nearly dragging the ghost behind him. "Just point them out. But all of your spell books go in the fire. No arguing."
"Of course."
Harry nodded. "Good."
Sometime later after Harry had packed the chosen books in silence, Bob felt himself being carried out of the estate he'd spent the last few decades in. He knew Harry was still angry with him and rightfully so. But he'd also forced Bob to not allow himself to be abandoned. And in an awkward way had silently confessed his own desire to have a familiar presence with him as he began a new life. Once again for Harry Dresden, the world as he knew it had been taken away from him, as it had been when he was a child. And like before, the one to keep him company as he forged ahead would be the cursed spirit.
Bob heard the sound of a car door opening and grimaced at the sound of very old, fragile tomes being carelessly thrown inside. But then he felt his own skull being gently lowered onto one of the seats and pressed slightly in so that it wouldn't be jostled out during the ride. A thread of hope uncurled within him at the gesture. It might be awhile from now, but Bob hoped that one day he'd be able to give Harry cause to trust him again as before.
THE END