Hi there! Sorry this is so long, but I kept writing and writing, and then I was like, you know what? I should end this soon... Anyways, this is now the newest chapter for this story! This time around, it's Bob who gets the action scenes, so please enjoy it! Yay!

ch.7

Bob was panicking. He did not do this often, being beyond the point of caring to this extent. Or so he thought. Now, however, he wasn't so sure. Harry was thrashing and trying hard to scream, but it was as though something was preventing him from doing so too loudly. Like an invisible hand was pressed over his mouth, though it left enough room for said mouth to open and shut as per usual. He was doing his best, he really was. Normally, if there were such points in time when Harry was having a nightmare, he would easily be able to wake him by simply passing a hand through his face. Not roughly, as though hitting him, but softly. At the very least, if it didn't wake him it soothed him a bit. Right now, no matter what he did, this sort of gesture was having no effect and he was beginning to be very worried. If something happened to him and he could tell no one...

The door opened. He tensed unnecessarily. "Harry?" Oh, thank God.

"Morgan! Morgan, he's up here, come quickly!" He leaned over the rail, or rather slightly through it, and gestured wildly. "Please! Something's wrong!"

Needing no further encouragement, the warden bounded up the stairs, drawn by Bobs' expression. When he got up there, he went straight through the ghost, ignoring the sensation, which usually made Harry shudder a bit, (Which always annoyed Bob a little, he didn't think there was anything wrong with it.), and headed straight for the bed. To his shock and further concern, Bob noticed that the thrashing and screaming, or attempted screaming, had subsided a little, but not enough that it was completely gone. "What happened to him?" Morgan demanded, rounding on him like it was his fault. "I have no idea, he just went up here to take a nap, and a few minutes later he was like this. It was worse before, though..."

"Have you tried waking him up?" He gave him a look, trying to will the ghost into calming down. He didn't seem very calm right now.

"Of course I tried waking him up, what do you think I've been doing?" he asked angrily.

"You tell me."

This response was so utterly unexpected and completely confusing that Bob couldn't say anything else, the shock apparent on his face.

Morgan said nothing further in regards to this, and set about trying to wake Harry. "Dresden. Wake up." He shook him slightly. This seemed to have no effect. He tried harder. "Wake up, Dresden." The firmness in his voice made it louder, but this was still providing no results. He began calling to him and shaking him as hard as he dared, but to no avail.

"What's wrong with him? What's wrong, has something got hold of him?"

"Stop talking, Bob."

"But the case, what if— "

"Bob!" Bobs' mouth snapped shut. "Stop. Talking."

Reluctantly, he did as he was told, nodding.

Morgan left the room momentarily, ignoring the obvious wish to protest and the frantic glaces between himself and the man on the bed. He came back in with a glass of water and dumped it on him. Nothing. He put the glass down and attempted to try and gently tap the sides of his face, although gentle was a bit the wrong word. Nothing. Taking a breath, he sat straight, and took out his sword. Bob began to say something, but this was ignored, and he began trying some spells. One after the other, he tried them, and when they didn't work he tried more, different ones, beginning to try and detect what was doing this to Harry. All to no avail.

Giving up, he sat back and looked at him. By this time he had gone completely still, but not in a way that suggested anything good. This stillness was too still, and too quiet. After staring at him some more, listening with little interest to Bob jabbering away his concerns in a frantic manner at his side, he came to a conclusion. He waited for a break in the panicked speech before speaking.

"Bob," he said, his voice very quiet, demanding attention.

"Y—yes?"

He looked carefully at him. The man seemed utterly terrified. How touching. "Something has a hold on him that I cannot break."

If it was possible for a ghost to go pale, this one did so. "What?"

"I don't know. But there is a way to get him out."

"Which is?"

"You."

This received a confused stare. "What can I do?"

"You need to go inside his mind, find him in his dream state, and bring him back out."

This was even more frightening than he would have thought. "What?"

"You are capable."

"Well, I suppose, but—"

"And you are his friend. He trusts you. He doesn't trust anyone as much, and even if he did, you are still the only one capable of doing this. He needs to be brought out, Bob. Before he's killed like the others." He had gone ahead and said this much so that there would be no room for protesting, or so he thought.

"But, I can't... I don't... I could hurt him!"

"Yes. You could. But I don't believe you will."

There was a very long, or what seemed like a very long, stare shared. Morgan waited, while Bob turned everything over very quickly in his mind. There was no choice. There really was no choice. He looked at Harry. He was pale. "No... I don't believe I would, either." He said it very quietly, the look on his face a mix of sadness, fear, and worry. He would never, ever, even dream of hurting him.

He took a breath. "Very well. I suppose there isn't any other way." With this, he moved closer to the side of the bed. He paused and looked at Morgan uncertainly. Morgan nodded. Right. Right...

A few more deep breaths were taken, and then he did it. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out a hand and hovered it over Harrys' sweaty brow. He looked at Morgan again, who widened his eyes at him in a silent, pointed manner, and then back. He hoped this didn't hurt... He lowered his hand and slowly turned into a swirling orange and black fog, which disappeared just as slowly into Harrys' body.

Morgan leaned his elbows on his knees, steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, and waited.

X

Bob didn't want to open his eyes, he was worried about what he might see. There was a tingling sensation all over his body. There was a breeze playing with his hair.

Wait.

Tingling.

Breeze.

He hadn't felt those things in a very long time.

He was now further aware that he appeared to be able to actually feel the clothing he was wearing. Loose, but not uncomfortable. Not, he guessed, his usual suits. He weighed the object in his hand. It appeared to be something with a handle, or something straight and narrow. He could feel this as well. It wasn't heavy, but it wasn't light, either. Should he open his eyes now? Probably. He did so.

He looked around himself, and noted that he was in the park, the place where they had found the body of a werewolf a few months before. It seemed wider, and there was no street around it. No cars, either, just a wide, open valley, which somehow also housed the same features as the park within it. It seemed brighter here than it had been in reality.

He looked down at his own body. Harry had been watching too many movies, when the TV didn't foul up on him. He was dressed in the standard this-movie-takes-place-hundreds-of-years-ago garb. White, loose fitting shirt, with an open neck which would have been closed by two strips of fabric hanging from it, and which had slightly puffed sleeves, though not puffed enough to suggest this had been a womans' shirt. This was met at the bottom by a pair of dark, also loose, trousers, closed only with a few buttons, and which were tucked into a pair of boots, which were rather nice, he had to admit. Comfortable. Out of the top of the right boot stuck the handle of a blade of some kind, which he pulled out to inspect the state of. Not bad, but a bit bigger than was necessary in his opinion. Then again, in life he had only used knives to cut food and to carve random pieces of scrap wood into little figurines of sorts if he felt like it. He had never used a blade against a human being.

With this in mind, he looked to the weapon in his left hand, thinking it may have been a sword, but was relieved to see that it was simply an intricately carved staff. Staffs he had used. His brother had taught him how to wield one, and he had learned well. This would be fine for both magic and melee combat. The strange twisty knob on the end didn't need to be there, but oh, well. Sighing, he replaced the knife, and set off in a direction he thought looked promising.

For quite some time, nothing happened. He was simply wandering around, and couldn't see any signs of a break in the landscape. It had no edges, just went on and on. This was getting tiresome. Alright. Seeing as this was Harrys' mind, and not his own, he decided to try and pause, closing his eyes again. Perhaps if he tuned himself, he might be able to sense certain things. He tried it.

At first, there was nothing. Just the simple feeling of being in a park with your eyes closed on a breezy day. It was warm, and there were birds. Closer attention was needed, then. He paid it. Tuning out all outside noises and the feel of grass beneath his feet, and, of course, the wind, he focused outside of those things. It took some time, but he was able to get something. It was barely there, which worried him. He had been looking for some way to know where Harry was. Some sense of him, whatever that might have been. He picked it up, held that thought, and very slowly opened his eyes, stared at the ground for a few seconds, and then looked to his left, and a bit ahead. He smiled. The air in this area was shimmering slightly. It was barely decernable, but he could see it. "There you are, dear," he said quietly to himself, totally ignoring the fact that he had added the word dear at the end of that sentence. With that, he walked confidently forward.

To his annoyance, the shimmer in the air kept staying exactly the same distance from him. He stopped walking and squinted at it. It stopped where it was. He moved forward again. Apparently, so did it. Hm. He sped up. Barely any change, but enough so that he became confident once more. Alright, so that was how it was going to be? Fine. He slowly went into a run, gathering speed as he went, and when he got close enough, he leapt. He made it through with his eyes squeezed shut, sideways, and landed on his side. It hurt. It actually hurt. He was almost pleased with this. He stood, brushed himself off, and took a gander at his new surroundings. Ah. Well. This was unusual.

He had no idea where he was. All he did know, however, was that he needed to keep going. This was... What was this, exactly? A boiler room? An alleyway? Some dark warehouse? The floor was cold. Also, the shimmer that had indicated Harry was nowhere to be found. That was disconcerting.

"Hello, Bob."

He stopped moving and stared at nothing for a second, then carefully moved only his eyes, tilting his head a bit over one shoulder. He turned around. Oh, hell. He took a breath and let it out. "Justin. You're looking well for a dead man."

Justin Morningway stepped out of his position in the shadows. He was wearing an altered version of his usual suit, it looked a bit torn up. He also had on a hat, which did not suit him. "Coming from an equally dead man?"

"Equal? No."

"It's very nice to see you again." He stepped closer to him, and Bob stood his ground, hoping to conceal the fact that he was about to break into a smirk.

"Of course. And what exactly are you doing here?"

"Oh..." He made a sort of shrugging gesture that indicated the general lack of activity. "Just... Hanging around."

"How nice of you."

"Well, there isn't really anything left to do, is there? So I, you know, give him a few nightmares every so often. When I feel like it. Although lately I've been having trouble getting to him." He stopped, and gave Bob a thoughtful look. "Something's been occupying his mind a lot lately..." There was a lot of meaning in the combination of this phrase and the way he was looking at him, but Bob failed to recognize this because he had spotted the shimmer again, behind this apparition. Also, he was impatiently waiting for him to get just a bit closer so he could handle this easily. He wanted to give him something he felt was deserved, and since he was in Harrys' dreamscape, he felt it would be quite alright.

"Well," Bob said as politely as he dared, "I'm sure I'd like to stay and chat, but I need to go, sorry." With this, he tried to go around the man. He got in his way.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Oh, yes. Very much so." Just a little closer... He moved the other way, and acted exasperated when he was once again blocked. Just...

"You know, I'm sure it wouldn't be too much trouble." He came closer again.

A little more... "And I'm very sure it would be, now, if you don't mind..."

Ah. Don't smile yet, effect, you know... "Why would that be?"

"I'm trying to reach Harry, and you're hindering me. I wouldn't do that, you know."

"Really?"

Now he smiled. "Yes, really."

He then punched him in the face. Hard.

My, it was satisfying to see him go down. Granted, he had very little experience with such things, but it worked rather well. He stepped over him, casting a smug look upon the form, and was pleased to see he didn't need to jump into the shimmer again. He simply walked toward it, and was completely surprised to find himself somewhere else entirely. He hadn't even noticed he'd reached it. He stiffened. The feeling he was following was stronger here. This place was also, apparently, burning. Outside, inside, building or forest, he couldn't tell. It wasn't actually on fire, but smoldering. It looked as though the scenery around him was turning inwards on itself, as though it were a picture that had had one corner placed into a flame. Whatever was behind it was completely white. Cursing, he sped up and tried to find a way out. It was difficult, very difficult. He nearly fell off the edge of the picture at one point, or at least was given the impression that was so. When he finally managed to stumble his way into another dreamscape, it was because the last one fell completely from under his feet, and he had to make a leap for the edge of the next area. Scrambling up onto it with a heave, he spun around, panting, and watched the remains of where he had just been standing float downward into nothing. He stared at this for a bit, now absolutely certain that he needed to get to Harry soon, or he didn't like to think what would happen.

Getting up, he turned... and was looking at a black, brown, and white landscape. It may have been a city, but he wasn't sure. It looked weather worn, stained by age, and decrepit. Like a scene in an old shadow box, actually. A wooden one, though the background wasn't the best to confirm this. It was all vertical lines, splotches, and dots. He looked around. He could see nothing of interest here. That didn't mean there was nothing there, of course. So he looked. He needed to, to see if Harry was here. Taking a breath, he walked on, not feeling very happy about the silence, or the stillness, or the fact that everything seemed to be creaking, not only underfoot, but on it's own as well.

He continued on, though, looking in, through, or around buildings, hoping for some sign of anything at all. He found it in the form a familiar little boy, who he saw peering at him from around a corner, very carefully. He couldn't see his entire face, but he would have recognized it if he had been a hundred miles away. "Harry?" The little boy ducked behind the wall he'd been peering around. This should have been a warning, but he failed to heed it. He followed him. "Harry? Wait!"

He followed him through alleys, through places he didn't know about, and in and out of some of the buildings. He was so busy doing this that he never noticed that, little by little, they were being followed close behind by a growing group of black, shapeless creatures which looked as though they had been cut out of the same stuff the houses and things here were made of. They were very quiet, but if he had been listening, he would have head a soft whispering in their wake.

At last, Harry ducked into one last building. When Bob got there, he was standing in the middle of a very large and empty room, his hands folded in front of him at his waist. "Harry? Are you alright? Listen, we need to—" But he was suddenly interrupted by the floor around Harry exploding into a horde of the small black creatures that had been following them. They launched themselves at him in a tidal wave, and he lost sight of the boy. They sounded him like a flock of birds, or a huge amount of bats, rustling, chattering, squeaking...

He fought them. What else could he do? They clawed and scratched at him, made him bleed, (Blood! He had blood here!), but he fought them as best he could, even though he didn't have time to think about what to do. It was a long time before he hit one, and when he did, it was with his staff, and he got one across the middle. It ripped into paper. This seemed to Bob to happen in slow motion. The whole time, he had been worried they were invincible, that they were just a solid mass of something he had yet to decipher, but they were paper. He knew what to do now, and it wouldn't be hard.

As soon as he could gather enough power, as soon as he could properly hold the staff he had been given, he erupted. Every creature that had been piled on him was blown away, torn to shreds and scattered. But they weren't all gone.

He had just enough time to note that there was a wall in front of him, one that turned to a cliff halfway up, and continued up to a sort of ledge. There. His doorway was there. Thrusting away even more creatures, he ran forward, his intent clear in his mind. He had no time for strategising. He needed to move now. So he did. Using a stump or a barrel of some kind, it was impossible to tell what the thing was in this color scheme, he launched himself to a handhold. Clambering up and fighting the creatures off as he went, he continued on. He then noticed that instead of burning, this scene was crumbling, falling apart like wood. Some of the creatures still on the floor, the ones who hadn't begun to climb over the others, were lost to it, falling into more whiteness. And then the crumbling process began to hit the wall he was on.

It did this slowly, as though taunting him in it's own way, and he climbed faster. If he looked down, he saw the creatures falling to their deaths with what little scenery there was left. If he looked up, the wall seemed to stretch higher. Damn. Damn it all. He sped up even more, though he was reaching his speed limit. He used a mix of window ledges and jutting stones to pull himself. Eventually, the windows lessened, and then it was just rocks, which began to lessen as well. The creatures behind him were no longer paying him any mind, they were too busy climbing over and around him, trying to escape their fate. When there were more of them than there were handholds, he began using them to climb over as well, being left with no choice.

He threw himself weakly at the shimmer when he got there, just before everything that had been there crumbled away, the last of the beasts tumbling down after it.

Here he lay on the ground, breathing heavily, not daring to open his eyes lest he see something wretched. He needed to gather his breath and his strength again before he could handle that. This... This was not good. He felt it wasn't Harry doing this to him, but whomever or whatever it was that had him chained here, and he wanted to find out fast, defeat it if necessary, and get Harry out, safe. He hoped the rest of it would be easy, or he might not be able to do it.

Alright, then. He felt nothing unusual here, and it felt very much like it had when he had first arrived. He hoped it wasn't that he was back where he started. That would be miserable. When he finally felt he was back to normal, he slowly opened his eyes, and found himself staring at a blue sky. There was even a bird or two that flew past. As he lay and stared at this, something else flew into his vision. It passed him, but it had been long enough for him to note that it had been either a fairy or a dragonfly. It seemed to have been swimming back and forth between these two images.

Finally, he sat up, after surveying the area from his position on the ground and finding that insufficient. He had seen grass and dirt, and a few pebbles. Now that he was sitting, he looked around again. He was in a bright, pleasant looking maze, made of both shrubs and rock walls. Here and there was a break, bordered by a couple of long pedestals with round stones on the tops. He sat here for some time, wary of any sound he heard. Until he heard small, sneaker-clad feet dash by behind him. He turned just soon enough to see what was left of Harry as a child duck behind a wall that only looked like it was really there if you looked at it from a certain angle. "Harry?" He got up and followed him.

Too many twists and turns later, he lost sight, and just when he stopped running to stand futilely in the middle of a four way intersection, he heard something. He listened. It was a song being sung about soup. Thinking this was very strange, he made a face that said so, but, feeling he had no other discernible options, he followed the sound for a few miles. The closer he got, the more he could hear the words, and he was surprised to note that he recognized the song, if only because he had been around when the book it was from had been written, and the owners he had had at the time had a little girl, who had been friends with another little girl named Alice. That Alice, yes, and the nanny had doted on her, and had read the book to them. He had never liked the man who wrote it...

He braced himself for what he was about to see, and when he turned into the area it was coming from, he saw what he had thought he would, though it was still unexpected. He couldn't think of what to do or say besides stand there politely and wait to be noticed. He felt like a fool.

After some time of completely failing to be noticed, he cleared his throat. Nothing happened, and so he cleared it again.

Eventually he said, "Excuse me?"

The singing continued.

"I said, excuse me? Hello?" When there was a break, he said loudly, "Look, could you tell me—"

The singing still continued.

"Oh, for Gods' sake... Hello?" When nothing continued to happen, he gave up being nice and stormed right on over to the little rock on which the singer was standing, and lifted the little turtle-ish thing in one hand, looking right up into it's now terrified eyes. "There. Now..." He put the little fellow down when he felt bad for making him begin to cry, but decided sympathy would not help him right now if taken any further.

"Was there really a reason for that?" demanded the larger figure.

"Well, look, I am sorry, but I'm in a bit of a hurry, and I had tried to get your attention, but—"

"You shouldn't be apologizing to me, you should be apologizing to him!"

Closing his eyes and sighing, he decided that if he was going to get anywhere, he should do it and get it over with. "I'm sorry," he said to the turtle, a little stiffly, but after a stare, the apology was accepted.

"Very good. Good man. Now, what is it?" said the gryphon.

"I was just hoping you could tell me which way to go."

"Well, I have no business telling you that, that's your own choice."

"I don't need a choice, I need an answer. It's rather urgent."

"Oh, urgent is it? Urgent? You come here and interrupt our song, and say it's urgent! Well, if any of the old professors heard that, they would have none of it!"

"I'm sure. All I need to know, however, is where to continue on to, if you wouldn't mind..."

"And if I do mind?"

Bob stared at him, eyes wide, and clearly now very angry. He couldn't take this foolishness any more. Taking a breath, he let himself turn nasty. He really didn't care.

In a flash, he had the gryphon pinned against the nearest wall, his staff held stiffly across his neck, and he growled, "I don't very much care whether or not you mind. I don't care about your claws, I don't care about your talons, I don't care about your beak, your size, or your strength. All I want to know is what the hell is the right way to go."

"Well, I have no control over that," the gryphon said calmly, not frightened, but not even looking as though he would do anything to him. "That is entirely up to you."

There was a pause. And then Bob got angrier. "Oh, really? Well, then, how about this?" He took one hand off the staff, using the rest of his weight to hold it in place, and lifted it in the direction of the mock turtle, greenish electricity traveling along it dangerously. "If you don't tell me what I want to know, your little friend is no more." This was very cruel, and he almost felt badly for it, as the target of his anger burst into predictable sobs, but he was done playing.

The gryphon didn't seem to have any reaction to this, however, and merely gave him an uncomfortably serene smile. "But I can't, you see. I've never even left this area." The stare he next received would have frightened even the most tranquil. "However," he said quietly, before the ensuing outburst could emerge, "The boy... Went that way." And he pointed with one claw in the direction of a very narrow split in the hedging that Bob would have normally missed.

Bob looked at this section with his eyes only, keeping everything else still. He looked back. "And that's the right way, is it?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never gone through."

He looked at him, then at the turtle, then back at the gryphon before stepping back and removing the staff, dropping his other hand and canceling the spell. With one last look between them, he slowly continued to step backward, then turned without another word toward the opening, which he needed to turn slightly sideways to go through.

After this, the turtle said to the gryphon in an accusing manner, "You... bastard! You were going to let him do it, weren't you? You were going to let him kill me! You bastard!"

The gryphon laughed and said, "My dear fellow, no matter how well his aim, you are much too small for even the most skilled marksman to hit."

The ensuing argument went unheard by Bob, who found himself running after Harry once more, who had apparently been waiting for him to catch up on the other end of the pathway.

It was tiresome. This whole thing was dreadfully tiresome. And then, of course, Harry had to, just had to disappear into a wall, didn't he? He stopped running, exhausted, and said, "Oh, come on..."

"Hello!"

"What?" He looked around.

"Well, I said hello, didn't I?"

"Yes, but... I'm afraid I can't see you..." This wasn't happening...

"I'm just down here, there you are!"

Bob had looked down to where the voice was coming from, and was now staring at what appeared to be a fuzzy blue caterpillar sitting on a rock in one of the walls, just in front of a hole in said wall. It was wearing a scarf. "Hello, there!"

"Er..."

"I know, I know, bugs can't talk! Ha! Proved you wrong, then, didn't I?" When no reply seemed to be forthcoming, he continued. "After that little kid, are you? Well, then, I think you'll have some trouble there!"

"What kind of trouble?" Bob asked carefully, trying not to think too much about the fact that he ws talking to a caterpillar.

"That young fellow is after him. I don't think you'd like to tangle with him, would you?"

"What young fellow?"

"Now, don't you worry yourself too much, deary, just why don't you come on in and join me and my wife for tea, eh? Do you a load of good, you look dreadful. I'm sure we could get you to fit on in here somehow..."

Bob sighed, looked at the thing, looked back toward where Harry had disappeared into, and then said to him, "No time, thanks. Good morning!" And he gave him his most polite smile, while trying not to look strained, and turned and went through the wall, wondering why in the world he had just said good morning instead of good bye, though it had meant the same thing, when he didn't even know what time it was to begin with.

Over the next four hours, or what seemed like it, he made his way through twists and turns, argued with the occasional dream creature, and eventually got to a point when he once again had lost sight of Harry. This, however, was of no consequence, since he was now walking along the most peculiar beach he had ever encountered. He was apparently walking on the water, which was staying still, while the buildings on the horizon did the washing up and down. He looked around at this in confusion, then decided it would do no good to ponder it, and prepared to go on. Ignoring the strange monkeys chasing him from a fair distance with a typewriter, he finally came to a hill, which he climbed.

He stopped at the top, and stared at the shape of a little cottage in the distance, in front of which was lying the boyhood body of Harry Dresden, wearing pajamas with cars on them. He ran to him, and dropped to his side. "Harry? Harry, can you hear me?" He turned him onto his back, and tried to wake him from his apparent state of unconsciousness. He had been beat up pretty badly. "Harry?" When this didn't work, he gave up trying to wake him, and instead prepared to lift him.

And then there was singing.

He suddenly found he couldn't move. He couldn't look up, he couldn't speak, he couldn't think. He knew that song, and he knew the voice singing it. When he finally did manage to force his muscles into some kind of action, he looked toward the house. His house, he realized with shock. And there she was. She was tending the flowers in the front garden, wearing her favorite dress, and singing her favorite song. She looked as breathtaking as ever. Oh, God.

Tears welled up, and he didn't know what to do. As he knelt there, she looked up at him. She seemed not to have noticed the boy on the ground at all. "There you are, Roth. I was wondering when you would come home."

"Winifred..." he breathed, unable to do anything but sit there and stare at her. Everything felt painful and pleasant all at once.

"Of course." She came over to him, and held out a hand, which he took as though in a daze, suddenly having no control over his actions. "Come along inside, it looks as though it will rain."

He stood, and left his staff on the grass. He followed her. "Yes, it does..."

"The dog misses you, you know. He's been sitting like a lump in the house, whining."

Oh, yes. The dog. His name had been Rolland, hadn't it? He had been such a good dog... "Has he?"

"Yes, of course. He does love you ever so much."

He smiled. He was right back where he was meant to be. Right here, with Winifred, and Rolland, and... Harry. Wait... Harry. He said something to this effect, and turned, trying to look back, but she wouldn't let him.

"Oh, don't mind him. He will be fine, darling, now just come along inside."

Wait... She was speaking English... A thousand years ago, they hadn't spoken English, at least not where they had lived... Perhaps it was just because it was the only language Harry knew.

But, wait. That wasn't right, either. This was Harrys' mind, and he could only come in contact with things Harry knew, and he had never told him about his house, or his dog, or what Winifred had looked like. Something was wrong... "No. No, I... I need to get him..."

She tugged on his arm, trying to keep him from looking back. "No you don't, he's fine. He will be fine, don't you worry. Just let him sleep. Look, Rolland is barking for you."

He heard the barking, and turned toward it, that feeling that he wasn't in control any more sneaking up again. He shook his head. This wasn't right. "At least let me get my staff..." He tried to pull away again. She held tighter.

"Don't be silly, you don't need it! Come along, quickly, I've a surprise for you!"

"I just... I just want my staff... He made it for me." He wrestled himself out of her grip, stumbling and turning to where Harry lay. The black, shapeless creatures from the city were surrounding him. "Harry!" He ran toward them, and they scattered, never trying to resist his flailing arms. He grabbed Harrys' shirt and tried to pull him up, but something was holding him down.

"Roth, please! Look, you've scared them away! They were only trying to help him, they can take care of it, honest. Please do come inside." She had moved closer now, and was standing nearby, reaching to him. But he knew now that this was all wrong. He knew it even more so when he looked at her and saw something he should have before. "Please," she said again, her voice hypnotizing.

He looked at Harry, and then nodded. "Alright." He went to her, and she wrapped her arms around him, smiling.

"I've missed you..."

"As I have you," he said quietly. And his fist rammed itself into her stomach, knife in hand. "But she never had yellow eyes," he growled into her ear, his voice deep and shaking with the absolute rage he felt at how this creature dared.

Her countenance changed. It went from the usual shock and pain a person felt at being stabbed, to angry, and teeth were bared from a rapidly changing mouth, her skin tone darkening to a sort of blackish gray. She was shoved away from him, and he held out his empty hand, the staff on the ground flying to it. "Try to remember that next time," he said, and attacked.

Whatever it was that had taken on her form was vicious. It lunged at him, and was a mass of claws and teeth. Wings spread out from it's back. The dress tattered and fell away, and the form kept changing further. He was knocked down, and found himself looking up at what must be another one of those things Harry had said had attacked him. It looked like one. It was in the air, and shook off any remaining scraps of clothing before letting out a roar and launching downwards, as the scenery around them darkened.

Bob wasn't sure what happened next. It was a combination of all sorts of things. He had to attack the creature with wings, was attacked by what turned out to be a hell hound, and at the same time, needed to keep the shapeless creatures from stealing what remained of Harry away. It was much more difficult than he liked.

He used the same spell he had before on the shapeless creatures, more than once, and once again, they turned to scraps of paper, bursting into nothing. There were no more joining them this time. This did not make the fight any less difficult, however. He still had a hell hound and a Harpy to deal with at once.

The latter attacked him again, and he was wrested to the ground, his knife lost. When spells had no time to be formed, or at least not big ones, he resorted to his terrible fist fighting skills. The Harpy didn't change tactics at all, and he was soon on the ground, on his back, using the staff to hit it. He managed to give it a glancing blow, but he was soon being held down, his face being pressed into the softening earth. From the way his face was turned, however, he could now see that the hound was dragging Harry away by the shirt. Letting out a roar, he got one hand free and blasted the Harpy, then punched it, rolling them over. Ignoring the fact that this meant nothing, he leapt off her, and launched himself at the dog, knocking it off of it's prey and rolling some way before having to fight it as well.

It bit him, and scratched him, and muscled him to the ground. It's drool hit him, and it burned, and it lifted it's head to bite into his face... And then a loud screech was heard, and the next thing he knew, the dog let out a yelp of pain and was lifted off and away from him. The gryphon from the maze was now above him in the air, the dogs' back firmly in it's claws. "I've got him! Take care of Harry!" it called, and he was briefly shocked to note that he was apparently now speaking in the voice of Harrys' dead father. Before he could say his part, it flew away, leaving him to attack the Harpy one on one.

Very well, he thought, and went after her. She was just beginning to lift the boy into air when he hit her with a spell that tore apart one of her wings. She shrieked in pain, and then made her way toward him, gathering speed. He stood and held out his hands, waiting, and then let her hit him, shooting another spell at her as soon as she did so. She flew through the air and hit a rock, and he stood directly in front of Harrys' limp body and smirked at her. "Didn't think I could hurt you, did you? Come on, then."

She chuckled. "So protective of your wizard, you are," it said, in a voice like wind over water. She got into a fighting stance and flashed some claws.

"Yes, well. I might not have known her very well, but I did promise his mother, you see."

"But that isn't all true, is it? Your precious Winny can't have your whole heart anymore... Can she?"

He made the mistake of glancing at his charge. She bowled into him, claws ripping at his flesh. Screaming in pain, he did his best to fight back, and once he could, he managed to guide them to where his knife lay in the grass, and grabbed it when given the chance. Once under her again, he spun around and used it, taking out an eye and slashing her face at the same time. She howled and covered her injury, stumbling backward, and he took this opportunity to make a run for Harry, grabbing him and holding his head against his shoulder, curling himself around him to protect him from what he was going to do.

The Harpy launched herself at his back, but never got close enough before his staff was raised behind him, and he put a shield up around himself and Harry, at the same time he let out a spell that made her flesh burn, searing her to blackness. When she stopped screaming, he slowly unfolded himself. He turned and looked at her. She was still moving, but barely. Fine. Gently, he lay Harry on the ground, and went to her. As he did so, she turned and let out a raspy laugh. "Foolish man. Stupid man." He kept walking, and paused to look at her where she lay. "You cannot keep him away forever."

"Who can't I keep away?" Bob asked, his voice very quiet and weak from the fight.

"The master. He wants him. He will find him."

"I don't think so," he said, and then reached down and used all the remnants of his strength to lift her and slam her against the large rock wall nearby. "Now you do me a little favor, hm? You probably won't die here, and you'll wake up, or go back to wherever it is you came from, and when you do, you tell your master, whoever he is, that if he continues, if this keeps up, and he keeps coming after Harry... I will end him. Understand? You tell him that from me."

This would have been a nice dramatic ending before killing her, and he would have liked it to be, if only to give Harry a nice show for his dreams, if he could see it, but that didn't happen. The Harpy laughed. She laughed, and it was a horrible laugh, different from the one she had used before. And then she said to him, in a language that he hadn't heard a word spoken of in over a thousand years, "He already knows." He stared at her in horrified shock, completely unsure of what to do. And then she melted back into the wall he was holding her against, and was gone.

He stood there and stared. Just stared.

"Bob?"

The voice was weak, and he turned to it. Harry was opening his eyes, and was confused. He was still a child, though. He went to him. "Are you alright?" he said softly, and ran a hand through his hair when he sat up.

"I think so..." He paused. "Why does my voice sound like this?"

"I don't think that matters right now, does it?"

He looked down at himself. "I'm a kid again?"

"Yes, but not for long. You'll be fine once we get you out of here."

"Okay... But... I'm tired..."

Bob laughed. "For once, I am, too. Come on." He stood, and with a groan, he lifted him up, carrying him.

"Since when can you carry me?" Harry asked as they walked down the hill toward a door that was wavering in and out of focus on the beach.

"Since right now. Though I doubt I'll be able to do so once you wake up. I don't expect I'll be substantial again."

Harry seemed to consider this before laying his head on Bobs' shoulder and closing his eyes, wrapping his arms around his neck. "Why not?"

"Well, because you're dreaming now. You were kind enough to make me solid here."

"Oh. Okay." He nuzzled closer. "Thanks for saving me, Bob."

"You're very welcome."

And with that, they made it to the door, which looked like the entrance to the lab, and Bob opened it and walked out.