Disclaimer – Jim Butcher is the rightful owner of the characters I am playing with. I am gaining only satisfaction with playing with them, and nothing else. TV Series 'verse. Bob's POV mainly.
A ghost and his wizard
1.
Harry had had a case, a paying one, involving several missing children. They both hated cases that involved children, Harry because he was so driven to protect the innocents around him and Bob because he'd first met Harry as a freshly bereaved child and couldn't help wondering what would have happened to the young orphan if a cranky, cursed, caster of spells (he alliterated when irritated) hadn't been there to shield him as best he could from the Monster.
Also known as his Uncle Justin. Killing him twice had not been enough. Bob would have done it nightly, given his druthers.
It didn't bear thinking about, so Bob tried not to. The horror of watching a child with so much potential, so much kindness and basic decency in him, perverted by the monster was a nightmare Bob didn't want to contemplate. An incorporeal being such as he was given to brooding and imagining the worst, which put him in a foul mood, which caused floating objects and arguments with Harry. Arguing with Harry was a form of hell in itself, as he always snapped out of it after something he'd said had caused pain.
Harry had left early that morning, with a tracking spell and a pack of various items he might need, including his wand and staff (or drum and hockey sticks) with him. He'd snatched some tea and toast in the kitchen, washed the dirty plates afterwards and left with a quip on his lips, raising the wards as he left. Bob had puttered about in the lab for a while, then retired to his skull. Harry had said he would be late back, and Bob knew better than to expect his student to return until the children had been found and the dangers passed. It was his way, and Bob both admired and hated him for it.
Time did not pass for Bob in the skull the way it did out in the world. He was aware of it, but not connected in the same way. Harry had left his skull on the bookcase that backed against the wall of the lab, which meant he could walk through the walls to see out of the windows when he emerged and had access to the books around him. On top of the bookshelf was a series of large exercise books, full of spell notations in Harry's handwriting. He would copy the ghost writing that Bob did when trying to solve one of the many magical conundrums he liked to contemplate, a way to make a permanent record of Bob's discoveries, even if they couldn't be shared with the broader magical communities. He'd burned Bob's grimoire when he was thirteen to keep the knowledge from his uncle, and while Bob understood why the boy had done it, the loss of his work had stung a little. This was Harry's way of being kind, replacing the burned book with new knowledge. Of course, Bob would have preferred a book that looked more the part, leather binding and vellum leaves, but Harry couldn't afford that sort of thing anyway.
He was more than a little shocked when the next voice he heard was not in fact Harry, but the Warden Morgan, accompanied by that of Lieutenant Murphy. They were arguing about something, and as he was forbidden to reveal himself to those who were not part of the world Harry inhabited, he stayed where he was, until...
"Come out Ghost," Morgan activated the geas and Bob was forced to comply. He emerged through the wall of the lab, into the main office space. Morgan stood to the side, brooding as usual, while Lieutenant Murphy gasped and stepped back in shock. That was not what took his primary focus though. The rooms were dusty, and un-lived in.
"How long has it been since Harry left me?" Bob demanded, not at all impressed with tall-dark-and-brooding in his corner. Morgan sneered and Bob dismissed him, turning to Murphy instead.
"The last time I saw him was early in the morning, he was planning to meet you," Bob barely kept the accusation from his voice, "How long has it been?"
"A month," Murphy said quietly and the pain in her voice, and her eyes made him step back as if struck, his world beginning to tilt to an alarming angle. Pressure built in his head and chest, but he had to ask, had to know the worst.
"Dead?" he could barely choke the word out past the hands pressed to his mouth and she shook her head sharply.
"Not yet," Morgan spoke up finally. There was a studied cruelty in his tone and Murphy turned on him in a flash. Bob was used to it, the High Council and the Wardens would have destroyed him long ago if not for the knowledge that keeping him around was much worse a punishment. Plus, Morningway would never have allowed the High Council to take such a dark and valuable tool away from him. He'd been bound to the family for generations, since his curse began. They wielded him like a child wields a knife, and some had been cut deeply for their carelessness. Not Harry, though, never his Harry.
"There's no need to be unkind," Murphy snapped at the Warden and then turned back to Bob, her tone much kinder, as he imagined she would speak to the distressed loved one of a victim. It grated on Bob's nerves immensely, though he knew it was kindly meant, "We haven't been introduced, I'm Lieutenant Connie Murphy."
"Bob," he replied, "Harry speaks very highly of you. Please forgive my manners, but I must know, what has become of Harry?"
"Hrothbert of Bainbridge be silent," Morgan commanded, forgetting perhaps that he was standing in Harry's home, Bob's home, and was not in fact able to command the ghost beyond the banishing and summoning geas. That was tuned to anyone who knew the right words. The rest were tuned to Harry, and Harry alone.
"You forget where you stand, Warden," Bob said coldly, his voice ringing with some of his former power. Morgan's eyes widened in shock and he took pleasure in seeing it. "In my home. In the home of the child I raised: Harry Dresden. You have no authority to command me so long as he lives."
"Bob," Murphy put her hand out, and it went through his sleeve, making them both jump, "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"
"No, dear lady, you cannot," Bob did his best to control his temper. She was doing her best, ignorant as she was. If he didn't get an answer to his question soon though, even the Lieutenant would not be spared his wrath.
"Harry isn't dead," Murphy said, "He disappeared. We got separated chasing down a lead. In the end, something brought me to a cellar and the missing children, a gibbering mad man and a whole bunch of candles and graffiti. There was no sign of Harry except for that hockey stick and drum stick he carries around. The kids insisted he'd saved them, and that something had taken him, but there was no trail I could follow."
"Why have you waited a month to come here?" Bob hissed at the Warden. Candles and graffiti were a common mundane descriptor for the arcane symbols and trappings of ritual. Had they come to him sooner Bob could have instructed them in spells to recover his Harry, especially if the Lieutenant had his wand and staff. The pressure in his body was growing, the anger and bitterness at the missed chances to act sooner, to have Harry back safely, building and feeding it, as did Morgan's practised indifference to his pain.
"This morning, Harry reappeared, in the morgue. He's alive, but hurt badly," Murphy said it firmly, "I guess you know how electronic stuff behaves around him, they got him to the ambulance, but it won't start and then Morgan here showed up and started demanding he be allowed to take Harry away."
"What?" Bob hissed, and speared the Warden with a look. Morgan was beginning to look alarmed, which was good, as he was also powerless. He'd crossed Harry's active wards without invitation, which never ended well for those who relied on magic for so much of their daily lives. Murphy might have let him in with the key given to her for emergencies, but she didn't control the wards.
"You forget yourself Ghost," Morgan drew himself up in an effort to impose his will on the situation and it was all Bob could do not to laugh directly in his face.
"I have not forgotten who I am, Warden of Chicago," Bob drew himself up too, distantly aware that the candles around the room had flared to life and that several objects were rattling where they rested as the pressure in him flowed out in waves of sheer, impotent fury, "But you clearly have forgotten who you stand before. The Ghost of Hrothbert of Bainbridge, yes indeed. But also, Master of the Black, controller of Demons, the strongest Necromancer, Thaumaturgist and Sorcerer the world has ever seen. Damned for all eternity I may be, cursed to obey the owner of my skull, but helpless I am not."
He was whispering by the end, the coldest most poisonous tone he'd ever used when he was alive. This tone had killed the living, simply because that had been his intention at the time. The flat was awash with his emotion, even the furniture floating in response to the emotion pouring off him.
"Bob," Murphy's voice was quiet, level, and most surprisingly of all, not afraid, "Harry needs you."
It was the only thing that could have reined him in, and it worked. Hrothbert was all the things he had described, but it was Bob who lived here with Harry, Bob who was respected and trusted and even loved, and it was Bob Harry needed most. Chances were that Morgan was correct: if Harry had thrown up some sort of defensive ward, Bob could breach it using the ties that bound them together. The furniture settled and Bob hoped he hadn't broken anything expensive in his fury. Under the right (or wrong, depending on your point of view) circumstances a ghost could become a poltergeist. A ghost that had once commanded the kind of power Bob had, was able to summon quite a lot of fury if so needed.
"You never said he was a slave!" Murphy snapped at Morgan, who had backed up against the nearest post and was apparently relying on it for support. She stepped between Bob and the stunned man, a protective gesture that was quite sweet, if pointless.
"I am not," Bob drew a deep breath, the habits of the living calming him, "I have been in the past, a slave to the one who has possession of my skull. But with Harry, I am not. Even as a child, he has treated me as a person: his teacher and mentor at first, and then friend and confidant. The longer we have been together, the more his kindness has shown."
"Good," Murphy muttered, "I'd hate to have to arrest him."
"How is it that you have introduced me to the Lady Murphy?" Bob frowned over at Morgan, who had found his feet and composure once more. Pity.
"There is some sort of shield surrounding Dresden," Morgan replied sourly, "We can't get to him. The mundanes can't either. Maybe you can."
"That does not answer my question," Bob used his sharpest teacher tone, the one that even Harry trying to conceal a transgression would confess to. Morgan was not impervious.
"I can't remove you from his custody," Morgan said, "Which means I can't carry you over his wards. Lieutenant Murphy here is named as Dresden's next of kin, and her daughter after her, in perpetuity. That means she can carry you over the wards."
Harry had found a way to remove him from the clutches of the Morningway's. The knowledge stunned him. He'd wanted it for a long time, but to know that Harry had planned it…
"Very well," Bob recollected himself and turned to Murphy. Harry would probably outlive her, Wizards lived a really long time, but the registered Will with the High Council had saved him from their clutches already, "Harry has a small knapsack, he keeps in his desk drawer…"
Murphy followed his directions and collected the knapsack, then followed Bob to the entrance of the lab. She was not squeamish about handling the skull, though she did give it a second look. Before Morgan could draw breath to order him inside, Bob returned to his prison. That way he would be able to emerge again on his own terms.
2.
He could sense Harry. His very essence was painting the ether around him, and Bob left his skull quickly, needing to see…
Even as he was manifesting, he was dimly aware of the small space, the modern medical nature of it and that Murphy had climbed in behind him, but all he could see was Harry, laid on a narrow wheeled conveyance of some kind, bleeding and torn and barely breathing. Harry was reaching out and Murphy slid Bob's skull under that shaking, bloodied hand. The addition of Harry's blood to the wards and runes that covered his skull caused an unwelcome jolt in Bob's very essence, but he ignored it, focused only on the horror before him.
"Harry, my boy," Bob moaned and dropped to his knees beside the one man who'd ever treated him with love, "What has been done to you…"
"Bob," Harry rasped and Bob reached out futilely, wanting so much to be able to touch him…
Instead of his hand passing through Harry's head it touched his hair, and Bob folded over, cradling Harry's face between his tenderly, stroking his temples with his thumbs and kissing his forehead. There was power crackling around them, and whatever it was, it was allowing him to become tangible, though the manacles of his curse still weighed heavily on his wrists. He didn't question this miracle, merely put everything he had into soothing Harry back to calm.
Morgan shouted and lunged and Murphy elbowed the Warden back, shouting in return. Bob couldn't spare more than an iota of attention on them though, wiping Harry's pained tears away and turning to look at the damage done to his body. There were Runes carved deeply into Harry's skin and Bob had no more than a few seconds of furious outrage to register them when Morgan shouted again. Murphy had one hand on Bob's skull, her hand resting over Harry's, and the other pointing her gun at the Warden when the spell took hold.
A transportation spell, Bob realised, even as Harry's eyes widened and he screamed in agony. One moment they were in the medical metal box, and the next a stone floor was beneath Bob's knees and Murphy was scrabbling to catch the falling skull while Bob shifted to cushion Harry's fall.
"It wasn't supposed to take you," Morgan sounded shaken and Bob spared a glare for the Warden, before looking back at Harry's body. The runes were for power raising, using the life force of the being they were carved into. Harry had essentially been made into a battery for the second time in his life, and this time would be equally fatal. And Bob was unable to undo it, to cast even the smallest of spells to ease Harry's pain or give him comfort.
Given that Harry's power actually rivalled Bob's, without the demonic enhancements, whatever ritual he'd been intended for would have been catastrophic. If only because the caster didn't realise the fatality of hooking up such a powerful wizard to whatever spell they'd intended to cast. Certainly he was spilling enough power in the air to overpower any spell cast in his vicinity, even without a ritual circle.
Murphy tucked the skull back under Harry's hand, and his fingers tightened on it, hooking into the orbital sockets to ensure that no one could summon it away from him.
"This is kidnapping," Murphy stated, standing to face Morgan angrily, holstering her gun, "He needs a hospital."
"In his state, he'd destroy the life support of every patient there, and every other machine in it," Ancient Mai stepped out of the shadows. Harry convulsed once and then coughed, blood spattering his lips. Bob pulled his kerchief from its pocket and wiped his face carefully, tucking it into his palm when done.
"I'll wash that for you," Harry rasped and Murphy turned, moving to his other side and joining Bob in holding Harry propped up off the cold stones. It freed Bob to shift a little, so Harry didn't have to strain to see him. He was pressed against Murphy from shoulder to hip, and Harry was a heavy weight against his shoulder. He hadn't had so much sensation in centuries, but right now all he could focus on was the man in his arms and the emptiness that was to come.
"I'll add it to the rest of the pile," Bob told him drily, striving for normality, if only for a moment. Harry was dying, and if all Bob could do was hold him gently and show him the physical care he'd always wanted to bestow, then that is what he would do. Harry would know that Bob loved him, at least. After all, Harry had comforted Bob in those last moments in the morgue, and wept when he believed Bob had died. Sarcastic comments aside, Bob truly had been touched.
"You do that," Harry whispered, his eyes closing slowly.
"Do something, then!" Murphy ordered. Bob wondered when the last time was anyone had dared to speak to the High Council member in that tone of voice. He would cherish the look on Mai's face for a long time.
"He has participated in a Black ritual," Mai replied, "That is punishable by death."
"Not willingly," Bob snarled, "This was done to him."
Harry's breath hitched and Bob turned his attention to the dear boy, realising he was holding him too hard. In the corner of his vision, he could see Morgan distancing himself from Mai, a disturbed look on his face.
"Apologies, Harry," Bob murmured, "I didn't mean to cause you pain."
"I was probably owed for all the times you wished you could clip my ear as a kid," Harry grinned weakly, his voice a pained rasp. Murphy snorted even as Bob forced a small smile.
"Hey Bob, next time, let me know. I'd be glad to help," clearly she could see what was coming and wanted to ease Harry's way as much as she could.
"Can I have some water?" Harry asked, then coughed again. Bob wiped his chin again, and glared at Mai.
"Here," a new voice said, and a woman stepped out of the shadows, "Here is some water, Harry."
She was tall and slender, dark hair braided in a single plait that rested over her shoulder and fell almost to her waist. She wore dusty work boots, faded linen trousers and shirt, and a canvas waistcoat. Her skin was olive, but her eyes were the greenest colour of freshly cut grass. In her hand she held a crystal glass, full of a clear liquid.
"Elder!" Mai did not sound happy to see the Elder responsible for the North and South America's. She crouched down next to Harry and held his gaze, taking a sip from the glass before handing it to Murphy. Bob raised Harry's head a little and Murphy helped him take small sips from the glass. The Elder watched closely, her eyes flickering over Harry's body for a moment, and then sharing a long look with Bob. Morgan took several more steps to the side, away from Mai, who glared at him in wordless threat.
When Harry had had enough water, Murphy put the glass to the side and the Elder stroked Harry's face for a moment before standing and stepping back.
"Ancient Mai, why are you not healing this victim?" the Elder had not been part of Harry's trial after the death of Justin Morningway, and Bob had never been sure if that had played in their favour or not. Now he was sure. Harry would not have been at risk of beheading if the Elder had been involved.
"He's hardly a victim," Mai scoffed, "He's a Morningway, they're addicted to the Black."
"I didn't know that we were writing people off based solely on their bloodline," the Elder replied mildly, "A dangerous precedent to set, Dragon."
Mai stepped back sharply. The Elder returned to their side, and sat down beside Bob's skull, seemingly unbothered by the cold stones beneath them. Harry gazed at her blankly, clearly not fully coherent. Bob had a moment to wonder if there had been something in the water, but the Elder would not break her word. She had said it was water in the glass, and sipped the contents to prove it. He resolved not to let his hatred of the High Council colour his view now. If Harry was to be saved, Bob had to keep his wits about him.
"If you are not going to heal him, why is he here?" the Elder asked, looking at Morgan now, who looked as discomforted as it was possible beneath his impassive exterior. It was a good effort, but Bob could see his fear, as could the Elder.
"I brought him here to be healed," Morgan disputed, "And to gather his testimony."
"And yet he has to beg you for water," the Elder's voice was cold now, and forceful and Morgan stepped back as if slapped. Harry roused, and she turned her attention to him at once, dismissing the other two in the chamber.
"The rest of the High Council are here," she told Harry, "Mai summoned them. I have instructed that they are to listen only, not pass judgement. Anyone with clear vision can see you did not do this yourself. There are wards of restraint on you."
"Is that why I can't move my legs?" Harry asked, his voice less harsh, though not much stronger. There was a note of despair in it, and Murphy stoked his hair in comfort while Bob pressed his lips to the beloved boys temple in horror.
"Yes," the elder stroked his cheek briefly. Bob sensed the spell imparting energy to Harry, giving him strength to endure a little longer, "I can remove them though. Give your testimony and we will send the Council on its way. Not too far though. I can see there are matters, and members, that need correction."
A simple statement, that was also clearly a threat. Mai bowed her head and Morgan visibly shook. He wasn't a member of the Council per say, but as its Enforcer any sanction handed to them was also applied to him. Bob hoped whatever it was hurt, a lot.
"Murph and I were working a missing kids case," Harry glanced at Bob and smiled a little, "It's always personal when it's kids. I had a tracking spell that got us close. The building was abandoned but it was warded and spilling magic. I disabled the wards, and then Murphy and I split up. I sent her in the direction of least magic, and went after the source."
"Dammit, Harry," Murphy muttered into his hair, "I'm gonna kick your ass when you're better."
Harry smiled, leaning into her touch, and then coughed again. There was more blood this time, though Bob wiped his chin carefully and Harry took a few more sips of water when they were offered. Once he was breathing more easily, he looked back at the Elder.
"There were two men, a skinny guy and a big guy," the descriptions would be useless in court, but Murphy didn't object to them. Bob remembered Murphy saying she'd arrested a gibbering madman, back in Harry's home, "And the kids were in circles all around the room, with an empty circle in the middle. It didn't take much to realise the kids are all magic, just not manifesting their powers yet, and the skinny guy was possessed by a minor demon."
"A joy rider?" Bob murmured in surprise and Harry nodded, sharing a long look with his ghost. His eyes slid closed for a moment and Bob and Murphy shared a look of their own. He was weakening, they could both feel it.
"He was going to use the kids as batteries and summon something bigger," Harry resumed the tale before either of the people holding him could protest he needed to be healed first, opening his eyes and grimacing, "So I broke their circles and got them into one of my own."
"A protection circle?" the Elder asked, no accusation in her voice. It was refreshing, Bob had to admit, that she wasn't throwing accusations about.
"Yeah, I drew it up before I stepped out," Harry nodded, "And I managed to use one of the broken circles to amplify my staff and banish the demon from out of the skinny guy. I was going to try and get it into an entrapment circle, but before I could the big guy hit me. I saw it take him and then… lights out. I don't know where I was when I woke up, but it wasn't in this realm, and the big guy was kneeling on my hands and carving the runes into my chest. I couldn't move my legs, I guess he started there first."
Bob wanted to be sick at the dry, factual tone Harry was using to recount his torture. He and Murphy were both rocking Harry gently in their arms, trying to impart whatever comfort they could. It wasn't much.
"He tied my hands to stakes," Harry grinned suddenly, "He used mundane knots though. Dad taught me how to slip out of knots without using magic at all when I was six, so the moment he'd stepped away, I got loose. He transported us back to this realm, and we were bang in the middle of some ritual space… but I had enough time to read the runes around me and change them. I broke the circle again, ruined the one he was intending for the summoning and when he came after me with that knife… I hit him with a fireball."
"You do so love fire," Bob murmured, hoping that Murphy wouldn't take this confession of murder amiss. She didn't seem to, if the way she kissed Harry's temple was any indicator.
"How did you return home?" the Elder asked, not batting an eyelash at this confession either. Once possessed by a joy riding demon the human soul and mind were gone, the body essentially already dead, sustained only by the demon. Even if the demon was banished the vessel would be a gibbering mad thing, easily possessed by the next demon to notice it, and therefore it would need to be properly destroyed. Fire was a good way to do both.
"I drew myself a transportation spell," Harry muttered, "But I freaking suck at those."
"Language!" Bob scolded, though his heart wasn't in it. It earned him a weak smile though.
"I've heard worse," Murphy said drily.
"Much worse," the Elder agreed, sharing an amused look with Murphy, "Rest Harry. Try to drink some more water. Let me send the Council on their way, and then we'll get you better. This won't take me long."
The Elder stood and Mai followed her into the shadows, trailed by a very subdued looking Morgan.
"Sorry Murphy," Harry muttered, "I know you hate it when I send you on a goose chase."
"It saved her life, Harry," Bob spoke before she could, giving her a stern look. Now was not the time for new age feminism. While he supported the rights that women had demanded over the centuries, chivalry was a trait that ran deeply in Harry. It was as endearing as it was frustrating.
"We'll talk about it later," Murphy said and offered the water glass again. Harry sipped once then turned his face into Bob's chest. Bob shushed comfortingly, touched that Harry would seek him out in such a way. He could sense power being deployed in the shadows around them, the Elder making her will known.
"How long was I gone?" time moved differently in the other realms, and Harry was well aware of that.
"A month," Bob said reluctantly, "Although, the High Council did not appear to be looking for you in that time. I am certain the Lieutenant looked for you."
"I never stopped, Harry," Murphy promised, "I figured you'd be around somewhere. I found your sticks at the scene, and kept them safe for you. Never occurred me to check the morgue though."
"Must have scared Butters," Harry muttered, "Sorry about that."
"He'll recover," Murphy soothed, and they all looked up as the Elder returned. She smiled and sat beside Bob's skull again, putting her hand over Harry's where it rested possessively on Bob's prison. Bob felt the touch, more as a jolt of power as the Elder's magic mixed with Harry's and the runes on the skull.
"Now Harry," the Elder smiled gently, "Lets get you better."
"Ok mom," Harry muttered, his eyes glassy. The Elder smiled, not at all offended, and looked at Bob.
"Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I need your help," she said, her tone becoming formal.
"Elder, you have it," Bob replied. He'd do anything at this point to help Harry and he was well aware they were running out of time.
"Give your son to his lady and join me here," the Elder instructed. Murphy shifted to take all of Harry's weight, not quibbling about the descriptors being used. Harry made a noise of discontent that tore at Bob's heart as he let go and joined the Elder: the heat of Harry and Murphy's bodies leaching away into the coldness of the chamber. He hadn't noticed how cold it was before, and realised this was probably due to the wards and compulsion spells placed around them, which he could sense now he was not clutching Harry to him.
"I am millennia old," the Elder informed him, "With at least another two to go. I think I can spare Harry here a couple of years of life force. It will heal his injuries entirely. His life will return to its normal span. I can supply the power, but you must supply the spell. Doing both at once is too dangerous."
"I cannot cast," Bob hated to admit it, "The curse…."
"Harry is leaking so much power into the air around us that you have become tangible again," the Elder interrupted, "And it is to your credit that you haven't questioned this reprieve of your curse. You will be able to cast. It will need to be the All Heal, with a cleansing ritual to start with. I suggest you use the one you yourself once employed when consorting with demons."
There was steel to her tone now, and with her hand on Bob's skull he could feel the compulsion to obey. The Elder was stronger than he had been, and certainly as strong as Harry. Fortunately, her wish was his hearts desire, and capitulating was a joy not a burden.
"Lieutenant," the Elder smiled, "I know that you would not normally be so exposed to magic. If you wish to leave…"
"No," Murphy interrupted firmly, tightening her grip on Harry a little, "You couldn't prise me away from him. I can't help, but I can stay."
"You're here," Harry muttered, "That helps."
"Rejoined us, have you?" Bob used his archest tone, and won the little smirk that Harry had been using on him since he was a child, "Harry, I am going to cast a cleansing spell on you, and then the All Heal. It will not be painless, and I am sorry for it more than I can say, but I prefer you alive, so you will have to bear it."
"If I must," Harry grumbled, though Bob could read the gratitude in his eyes.
"Take a deep breath, dear boy," Bob leaned over and touched Harry's face one more time and then dropped his hand over the two already on his skull and began.
3.
They were not able to heal all of the wounds seamlessly. During the cleansing ritual, the Elder altered the deepest two enough that they would protect rather than harm, and would not be able to be manipulated by outside forces. The All Heal had to begin in the marrow of the bones and work its way out of the skin, lest scarring be left under the skin that would slowly drain away the life of the afflicted.
Harry's screams towards the end had Bob in tears, and Murphy too from the look of her face when it was over, but the final light of the spell faded and Harry's body was left unblemished except for the two faint white scars of the protection runes. As Harry lost consciousness, Bob felt himself fade, the stones beneath his knees disappearing.
"Hrothbert of Bainbridge, return to your skull," the Elder said quietly, and Bob had no choice but to obey. It gave him the privacy to weep at least.
He was emotionally drained and quite numb when Murphy called to him again, and found himself at Harry's bedside, in their home. His skull was on the bed under Harry's hand and Harry was asleep, colour creeping slowly back into his face. Evidently there had been a more successful transportation spell.
"The Elder said it worked," Murphy said from where she was sitting beside Harry, "She said you did well. He'll sleep for a while and then need to eat. I need to call in and tell them I won't be in until Monday, he can't be left alone."
'He is not alone, I am here,' Bob did not snap, knowing that an intangible being would not be able to prepare a meal or support Harry down the stairs. The curse once again had him in its grip and it seemed crueller now than ever.
"The Elder will be over with groceries later on, she wanted to check on something first. Can you watch over him, please?" Murphy looked up, her face still marked with tears. Bob forced himself to smile at her and nodded.
"Always," he replied and Murphy offered the saddest smile Bob had ever seen. She hurried downstairs and through to the shop front, seeking the privacy of the desk phone there. Bob stood in the dim light and looked Harry over. The amount of power he'd channelled had stolen weight from his frame he couldn't afford to lose. He was still naked, although Murphy had pulled the blanket over him when she stood. Evidently she'd called Bob out the moment they arrived, and he was grateful for the consideration. He bent to ensure that Harry was breathing easily and then paced for a few moments, trying to come to terms with all that had happened. He suspected it would take quite some time. Although he knew Harry was as mortal as his other masters, he had been looking forward to many decades more time together, before old age claimed the wizard. Today's close call had shaken him considerably.
The room was almost dark when Murphy reappeared, a glass of water in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She put the water on the bedside table and turned on the lamp, which decided to cooperate. Harry's power was quite low then, not surprising given that he had essentially powered his own healing spell. That wasn't supposed to happen in magic, but even the High Council couldn't claim any sort of intent to break the rules on Harry's part. Murphy came to stand beside Bob, sipping at her coffee. It was the mug Harry had used the morning he left, and would have been sitting in the rack waiting to be put away.
"You're going to have to show me where things are," she murmured after a while, "I don't want to go poking through your cupboards."
"I'd be honoured, though the cupboards are quite bare," Bob replied just as quietly, "He tends to prioritise his own health and comfort below other things. Not that he is frivolous. He doesn't spend money on things that aren't necessity, its just that not all his clients can pay him."
"Does he get the chivalry from you then?" Murphy asked, glancing through her lashes at Bob, "I've always wanted to know where it came from."
"From his father, actually," Bob smiled fondly, "I never met the man, but Malcolm Dresden taught Harry to be a good and kind man, even when he was a child."
Which had made his uncles plans all the more repugnant, and Bob all the more determined to undermine them at every step of the way. Bob would not mention that Harry himself felt that he needed to atone for taking the Monster's life, accident as it had been, which drove his need to protect the innocents, and sometimes just ignorant, that came across his path.
"If you two are going to natter, can you do it elsewhere? I'm trying to sleep here," Harry groused from the bed, opening his eyes as they exclaimed and hurried to his side. Murphy astonished them both by kissing Harry soundly and he squinted at her when they broke for air. Bob folded his arms, cocking an 'I told you so' look at his stunned charge.
"You gonna slap me now too?" Harry asked and Murphy snorted, an inelegant sound that had Bob concealing a smile with difficulty.
"When you're better," she promised, "And only if you ask nicely."
This time it was Bob's turn to snort. Harry smiled, his eyes already closing, clearly exhausted.
"You need to eat something, and I fear all the food in the house is … unpalatable at the very least," Bob told Murphy. Clearly he would need to assume the role of host for a while, as his wizard was in no state to do so, "Harry has an impressive array of delivery menu's, that I can recommend."
"Thanks Bob," Murphy headed for the stairs, "They in the kitchen?"
He gave her directions to the correct drawer, relieved she hadn't pulled his skull from under Harry's hand and dragged him with her (and it would have been drag, because Bob was not ready to leave Harry's side at all, and may never be again).
Murphy chose to sleep on the empty side of Harry's bed that night, and Bob retired to his skull long enough for her to fall asleep before emerging again to watch Harry sleep. To watch him breathe. As a child Harry had suffered nightmares in the early days of his loss and he'd taken to sleeping near Bob's skull. It had taken a month for him to gain the courage to gather the skull up and carefully transport it to his room. He'd slept with the skull in his arms at first, although after a while that was reserved for nights that his uncle had been particularly careless in disguising his true nature, or when Harry himself had been haunted by an anniversary. Harry had become used to sleeping with Bob's presence in the room, though Bob hadn't hovered over the child. He'd spent the time working on spell formulation or looking out of Harry's window at parts of the grounds he couldn't see from the downstairs study.
This had spurred Harry into taking his skull outside now and then, walking him around the grounds. It could only be done when his uncle was away and they had to be careful the servants didn't see them, lest they be reported on, so it was a rare treat indeed.
Daylight lit the edges of the room and Murphy stirred, prompting Bob to retreat to his skull lest she realise he'd been watching all night. Harry wouldn't care, but he had no wish to make Murphy uncomfortable. Bob would be somewhat reliant on her for the next few days, until Harry regained some strength. It would behove him not to scare her off.
The next time he emerged he was resting on the kitchen table and it was Harry's voice that called to him. Still pale, Harry was dressed in sleep wear, and had apparently showered. Murphy was wearing a set of Harry's clothes and the ancient washing machine tucked in a cupboard in the corner of the kitchen had apparently revived itself to run a load. If they were very lucky, the equally unreliable dryer would behave itself too. Murphy put coffee in front of Harry and sat down with her own.
"Any of those delivery menu's in your desk do breakfast, Harry?" Murphy asked drily, "I threw out all the funky stuff in the fridge last night, I was worried it would come up the stairs and eat us."
Bob chuckled, and Harry grinned wryly. Before either could answer there was a knock at the kitchen door. The Elder stood there, with two bags of groceries in her arms. Murphy got up to open the door and Harry welcomed her in across the wards.
"I brought food," the Elder stated, "I'm guessing yours is… a bio hazard."
"Thanks," Harry frowned, "I can pay you back…"
"Nonsense child," the Elder interrupted, "That's what mom's are for."
"Crap, I thought I hallucinated that," Harry winced, "Elder…"
She laughed at him and Murphy helped unpack, looking to Bob for direction on where to put things. It was a consideration that only Harry had shown him in the past and he was intensely grateful for it now. Breakfast was not a large meal, and they put Harry back to bed when it was done, with the Elder sending Murphy upstairs with some books to read while she sat opposite Bob's skull.
He disliked being so far from Harry, but did not dare to offend the Elder now, not after all she had done.
"We need to talk, Hrothbert of Bainbridge," she informed him drily, "And before you panic, there is nothing too frightening in our discussion for you or Harry."
"Perhaps you should be talking to him," Bob said, but sat in the chair she kicked out for him, restraining the urge to bite his lip or wring his hands. He gripped them together in his lap and took a steadying, if pointless, breath.
"Part of last night was devoted to checking on your geas, Hrothbert of Bainbridge," the Elder informed him, "For lack of a more elegant phrase, there was a lot of magic sloshing around in that ritual space, not to mention the wards on your skull and your kerchief absorbed some amount of the blood of your … son."
Bob gave her a sharp look. The kerchief was back in his breast pocket, folded carefully to avoid showing the blood stains. He did indeed love Harry like a son, and it had been that love that had compelled him to cast as he did last night, despite the pain to Harry and the cost to himself. It was not something that Hrothbert of Bainbridge would have ever considered doing. Harry had changed him, just by being Harry, and Bob was all too aware that of the two of them he had gained the most.
"Harry's life span was under a geas, placed by his uncle before you ever met the child," the Elder stated, and Bob was grateful not to be corporeal lest he smash his fists into something in fury. Were they never to be free of that foul mans machinations, "It is gone now, and he will live the full original span of his life. It won't be quite as long as mine, and he is not immortal: he can still get himself killed if he is careless enough. But he will need you, Hrothbert, as those he loves will live a lot shorter life spans."
Bob nodded, his mind whirling. He knew all too well the danger of grief, it had damned him in its own way. If Harry were to live for a millennia, as the Elder was implying, he would need someone to be a constant in his life, to anchor him to the world.
"In about 50 years or so, he will finally have matured enough to start learning the finesse he is currently lacking. I would prefer you to teach him what he needs to know, as you have already built a strong rapport with him, and I can't imagine him trusting another not to lead him astray or leave out vital information," the Elder continued mildly, "If you have difficulty, I will attempt it myself. I am not a patient teacher though. You would be better suited."
"Of course," Bob breathed, and hoped fervently that he and Harry were still as close then as they were now. He found his resolve to continue to teach and tend to Harry strengthening even further.
"He is also to take the seat on the High Council that Ancient Mai has denied him all these years," the Elder smirked, "Although it won't be in the traditional way."
"Oh?" Bob wondered why that smirk struck him as dangerous. The Elder was mostly a benign person, and had only helped them so far, but with all things magic, there was always a debt.
"The High Council rules with an iron fist. There is good reason for that. They have forgotten that this is a world of shades of grey: even fairy tales are not black and white. However… there are many elements of our world that will not go to the Council, even when they should, for fear of that iron fist and inflexible attitude. Therefore they will become the counsel of last resort. I'm sure you can guess who I intend to be the first counsel," the Elder raised an eyebrow at him, and Bob sighed. Harry already tilted at windmills for those who came his way. It looked like it was about to get worse. Bob didn't hold out much hope that these people would be paying customers.
"The Wardens need retraining, so I will be in town for a while."
"Morgan will be pleased," Bob drawled in his driest tone.
"I don't care if he's pleased or not," the Elder replied shortly, her impatience with the Enforcer and his attitude clear, "He will be reporting to Harry as well as the High Council, so try to help Harry balance him out."
"Of course," Bob nodded. He was sure he could always go poltergeist again, if Morgan got too difficult.
"Harry's position comes with a stipend," the Elder added, "Hopefully that will help with…" she waved a hand, "All of this. It is not enormous, but he will be able to live stably on it."
"That is good news indeed," Bob relaxed a little, sensing the talk was about to end, and on a positive note too.
"As to your curse," the Elder stood and began gathering her coat, "You will find your… reach has lengthened a little. And while you still will not be able to cast magic there may another side effect that Harry himself can effect for you. I'll be speaking to him about all this later in the week, we'll go over it then."
Stunned at the news that he could travel further from his skull, Bob nodded automatically, standing politely as the Elder shrugged into her canvas coat. A thought struck him suddenly and he stepped forward to stop her from leaving.
"What of Lieutenant Murphy? She is not… part of the community. The High Council would normally erase her…."
"Bob," the use of Harry's name for him brought his stammering and inelegant petition to a halt. No one from the High Council or the Council of Elders had ever called him by anything other than his full name, if they bothered to name him at all.
"I will speak with Murphy tomorrow, after I have sorted out the High Council today. If she wishes, she can have her memories bound. If she wants to remember, she will. Either way, I will protect her from the High Council," the Elder said it firmly and Bob had no doubt this would be the case. He didn't think Murphy would want to forget what had happened, to do so would be to lose Harry forever. He'd never be able to share his life with her after such a rejection. Murphy was a smart woman though, and she'd make the right choice, Bob was sure of it.
"It is good to see you finally coming into yourself, Bob," the Elder paused at the door, and smiled at him, "Harry is a lucky man."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Bob stunned in the sunlit kitchen. He divined her meaning at once of course. Her use of Harry's name for him made her meaning quite clear. He had been Hrothbert for much of his imprisonment: still the angry, addicted user of the Black, bitter over his punishment and determined to do everything he could to end his Master's plans, and sometimes their life, whenever he could. There were ways around his geas, and Hrothbert had exploited every loophole he could, to the detriment of his Master. But then he had met Harry. Harry who'd named him Bob, and treated him as family. Bob had known Harry would inherit his skull, and this was the first and only Master that Bob had wanted to preserve. He'd been bound to teach the magics that Justin Morningway decreed, but supplemented those lessons with mitigating magic and protective spells. Harry had effectively created Bob, and Bob's bitterness and fury had begun to recede, morphing into a kind of jealousy. Harry was jealously guarded, counselled to preserve himself, taught to protect himself. The power of his bitterness and fury had waned a little, channelled into more productive routes.
Not entirely of course, as Morgan could attest. It would help him keep Harry safe. Had he realised the ability when the skin-walker had hurt Harry in front of him, the outcome of that evening would have been very different indeed. They might not have needed the doom box at all. Bob put aside that train of thought for now, intending to explore it when he had the leisure and space to do so.
Instead, he turned to a much more pressing question. How far did his reach extend now?
A question that was answered when he successfully materialised beside Harry's bed, his skull still down in the kitchen. Now this, had possibilities.
4.
Harry was deeply asleep again when the Elder returned late in the evening to speak with Murphy. Bob had attended the meeting, as Murphy was not familiar with the world of magic and its many hidden pitfalls. He didn't want her to agree to something that she didn't understand, and the Elder was not constrained to treat her by the same lore that the magical community was used to.
Murphy was not nervous, though she was wary. Bob approved of this. Harry had always described Murphy as perceptive, which made her so very good at her job and had made concealing magic so hard from her.
"Well, Detective Murphy," the Elder sipped the beer that Murphy had offered her, watching Murphy sip her own. She was still dressed in borrowed clothes from Harry, and it suited her. Bob liked to see this small claim of possession had been accepted, though he suspected that Murphy would view it in another light entirely. Harry probably did too, come to think of it.
"Well, Elder?" Murphy's tone had a little bit of a challenge to it, and Bob tried not to look worried.
"I won't sugar coat things," the Elder said firmly, "Nor will I exaggerate. Harry Dresden is an addict, and the addiction tempts him every day. He has used the Black, and as Bob here will tell you, once an addict, always an addict."
Bob nodded glumly. His addiction to the Black had been the end of him as a man, and every day that his Harry struggled against it was a small point of triumph for the ghost. Murphy had paled, her grip on the beer bottle tightening as the Elder continued without pause.
"He has used Black magic twice in his life, and only escaped execution because he was using it to defend himself, or defend another. There may come a day when he is unable to resist his addiction and he will succumb, and on that day he will be destroyed by the High Council. The lore and the law are on their side in this," the Elder took a sip of her beer and looked Murphy over carefully, "That is not all that Harry is though. His mother's family are the Morningway's, a family that has produced more than its share of, for lack of a better term, wrong 'un's. He is isolated from the community of magic because of this, and the High Council encourage the negative perception of him. He is an outcast among his own kind, and amongst yours. Too odd for the non magical, and too dangerous for most of the magical, he has never-the-less decided to apply his skills to assist others. This is in his favour."
Murphy took a mouthful of her beer and nodded to show she was following. The Elder smiled at her kindly, setting Bob's nerves on end. He wasn't sure, but he felt what was coming next was worse.
"Harry was raised by his mother and father, although his mother passed when he was only young. She was killed, by something from the world of magic. No one is sure what it was or why it attacked her. People intimated that she was performing Black magic and it got the better of her, however I don't hold much truth in that. Harry was then raised by his father, who had no magic at all. He was a stage magician and taught Harry much of his morals and values. They were poor, and moved constantly as his father travelled to where the work was. That has also shaped Harry's opinion of …. shall we say… material wealth. With the murder of his father, Harry was brought to the Morningway estate, and there he met Hrothbert of Bainbridge," the Elder turned considering eyes on Bob, who did his best not to show his apprehension at losing Murphy's good opinion.
"We do not say his uncles name in this house," Bob said sharply, instead of protesting what was to come. Harry had come to loathe the name Justin, especially after they had killed the man a second time. The Elder gave him a considering look and then nodded in acceptance.
"Hrothbert of Bainbridge was a very evil sorcerer. He did terrible things, killed hundreds of people, performed acts no sane or moral person would do," the Elder turned back to Murphy, "And for that he was cursed, in perpetuity. The love of his life was killed, and forever banished from this realm. He is bound to the location of his own skull, a repository of knowledge and arcana that not even the finest, most extensive library in the world can match. He was given to his executioners, the Morningway family, and they have wielded his knowledge like a weapon for the last 900 years; though often it destroyed them. Upon arrival at the Morningway estate, Harry's uncle deemed Hrothbert to be Harry's new teacher. But what no one realised was that Harry's unique upbringing would do something that neither those who cursed him or Harry's uncle had imagine possible. Hrothbert of Bainbridge became Bob. Became, if not repentant, than at least less inclined to corrupt and maim."
As if Bob could ever have hurt Harry. Even at their first meeting, when he'd been at his most forbidding, Harry had not been afraid of him the person. Unsure of his first ever meeting with a ghost, certainly, but Harry's father had taught him manners and resilience and while those manners would never be what the uncle had wanted, they had charmed the pants, metaphorically, off Bob.
"900 years," Murphy looked at him with horror, "Can't we do something about that? Surely…"
"My dear, the Elder has been very discrete with her description," Bob interrupted gently, "And my existence is not so terrible. Harry's cases are interesting, and he treats me better than anyone ever did, even when I was alive. I was a very powerful sorcerer in my own right as a child, and the people around me feared me. Eventually, I decided to live down to their expectations, though the temptation of the Black was alluring as well. It still is. I may not be able to affect the world around me, which frankly is a relief to Harry's grocery budget, but that is for the best. Should I regain my body and freedom, the Black would still be there, and I am still a very angry man."
He knew this about himself. Morgan could attest to it, with Bob's previous performance as an almost poltergeist as exhibit A. It was easy to be virtuous when the temptation was handled for you. He wasn't sure he would be able to stay on the straight and narrow otherwise. As he had no desire to lose Harry to his own addiction, and knew all too well the traps that awaited his boy, he could at least try to steer Harry through them safely.
"Bob found a son, and raised him as best he could," the Elder toasted Bob with her beer after a reflective moment, "Despite the uncles' best efforts to corrupt Harry into his way of doing things."
"Ok, so that is who Harry and Bob are," Murphy swallowed the last of her beer, "Now what?"
"You need to make a decision," the Elder turned the beer bottle on the table, her eyes fixed on it, "If you wish, we can bind your memories of magic in a way that will make them inaccessible. You will forget all this. Harry will provide you with a cover story, as he has every other time you have called for his assistance. Or, you can remember in full. Accept Harry and his world. This will come with responsibilities. I will need to induct you into the Wardens, in an honorary position, which means that when the 'magic police' intersect with the mundane police, it will be you who is expected to handle the matter."
Neither the Elder or Bob mentioned that if Murphy rejected Harry and his world now, their relationship would be over. Harry would find it hard to work with someone who couldn't accept him wholly, and the keeping of secrets would drive them apart. If there was to be a more intimate relationship between them, as Bob suspected they both wanted, Murphy would have to take off her blinders and accept the uncomfortable truth that magic existed and was largely out of her purview. Not to mention the dangers to her daughter, who would be seen as a legitimate target by the magical world.
"She has no protection against the importuning or machinations that come with our work," Bob protested at once, "To make her a Warden would be to imperil her. She is a mother, her daughter …"
"I would provide protection to her," the Elder glared at Bob, silencing him. So far she had not been interested in wielding his geas to send him away, but she could if he pushed too hard, "To your daughter as well," she added to Murphy. She reached out and collected Murphy's empty bottle, standing and placing them both beside the sink.
"I will need your answer before you return to work, so I will be back tomorrow. You may discuss this with Harry or Bob as you like," the Elder collected her coat and Bob went to stand by the door. He couldn't open it for her, but he could at least see her out. The Elder slanted him a sly smile and Bob wished he could lock the door behind her. Murphy did that for him and they stared awkwardly at each other for a long moment.
"I'm going to sit with Harry," Bob announced after a moment of vacillation, "Take your time to think about things. If you want to talk, just call me, my skull will hear you."
His skull was on the table next to the couch, a sort of midway point that would allow him to reach all parts of the apartment and office easily. Murphy nodded and Bob whisked himself up to Harry's room, taking a perch on the edge of Harry's mattress and watching closely for a moment to see that Harry's sleep was peaceful.
After an hour or so, Harry stirred and woke, rubbing his face and grimacing.
"How are you feeling?" Bob asked quietly, aware that Murphy was on the couch below, still awake if the rate of her breathing and occasional movement was any indicator.
"My bones ache, and I couldn't light a match, let alone a candle," Harry grumbled. Bob sighed and fiddled with his manacles to keep from reaching out to his wizard.
"Yes, that is a side effect of the All Heal," he stated simply, "The bone ache will disperse in a few more days, I promise. If there had been any other way…"
"There wasn't," Harry looked up at Bob and smiled a little, "I know there wasn't. I don't blame you Bob, I'm grateful. The fact that it was you casting, made it easier for me, a bit. I didn't have to try and track what you were doing, because I trust you."
Bob turned his head, trying to keep his features under control. Harry lay still for a moment and then sighed, dragging himself slowly upright.
"Where are you going?" Bob asked in his sharpest tone.
"Bathroom," Harry gave him the side eye, "If it pleases your ghostliness."
Harry hadn't used that phrase since he was fourteen and Bob smiled at him in surprise. He got up and hovered anxiously as Harry got himself upright, found his balance and moved across the loft to the bathroom. Murphy came to the top of the stairs as the bathroom door thudded shut and looked at it, then Bob.
"He was steady, if slow. I suspect a snail could beat him in a footrace at the moment," Bob said drily. Murphy snorted and straightened the covers of the bed. She had slept there again last night. Being close to Harry was soothing after the horror of his healing.
Harry opened the bathroom door and plodded slowly across the room. The sleeping was helping to restore his strength, but until he reached a certain baseline it would be slow going. He'd expended a great deal of magical energy as a battery, and now needed to recharge. Sleep was the best way to do that.
"You ok Murphy?" Harry asked, opting to sit against the headboard, like the stubborn fool he was, instead of lying down. Murphy joined him on the other side of the bed, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him.
"Sit down, Bob," Murphy gestured to the bed, and Bob joined them, gratified by the courtesy.
"I'm ok," Murphy sighed, "The Elder gave me a lot to think about, that's all."
"If you want to talk it over, I'm here," Harry offered cautiously.
"As am I," Bob reminded her, though he wasn't sure she'd want to take the advice of two beings described as addicts, one quite dangerous.
"It's Anna," Murphy sighed, "Whatever I do, she's going to be affected by all this. If I forget, then I lose you Harry, and I don't want to do that. But if I remember, then I get more involved, which makes her a target. I don't even know what to look for to spot the dangers, so how can I protect her?"
"Mmmm," Harry shared a look with Bob, "We can teach you what you need to know, if that is what you choose. Bob's a really good teacher, if a little cranky at times."
"If you please, Lieutenant," Bob made a hand gesture, and Murphy grinned and lightly boxed Harry's ear. Harry yelped and protested and Bob beamed at her, "Oh, I do like this."
He ignored the glare Harry was sending his way easily. The boy wasn't hurt, after all.
"Bob, please call me Connie," Murphy shot him a little grin and he bowed, his best courtly behaviour.
"As to protecting Anna, I could give her an amulet. I'd give her my bracelet, but that seems to have been lost," Harry sighed. Bob realised that both his mothers shields and the pentagon he always wore around his neck were gone, and grieved for their loss. Harry had so few things from his parents.
"I'll check in the evidence lock up for them," Murphy promised, "If they were at the scene where we found the kids, they'll be there."
"Thanks Murphy," Harry smiled sadly.
"If it comes to it, I can show you how to reforge them," Bob said comfortingly, "It won't be the same, but you will need those protections Harry."
Harry nodded, "So if we can get Anna protected, and you, I'm not letting you run around without some wards either, and your home, that shouldn't be too hard as long as we keep them low key, does that help?"
"It does," Murphy agreed, "But then we come to the next obstacle. I've always known you lied to me Harry. Lies are why I have an ex husband. If I choose to forget, then the lies continue, if I choose to remember then they can't. The lies from you were always a bit of a comfort in a way. It gave me deniability."
"And if I keep lying to you for either choice, I'll be an ex friend," Harry summed up. Murphy nodded, and folded her arms. This was clearly non negotiable.
"There are laws, Murphy. I am not allowed to tell people outside the community what is going on inside the community. These laws date back to the Salem witch trials, which got a lot of innocent non witches killed. I had to lie to you, by law. If you choose to remember, then that won't be an issue any more," Harry tipped his head back against the headboard, "But it also means you're gonna come across things that don't… sit well with your… more modern laws. The High Council are draconian, literally in one case, and changing their laws is hard. The Elder has put me in charge of doing that, and its gonna take time. Nothing changes quickly in our community, they are almost fanatical in their clinging to tradition and precedent."
This must have been part of his discussion with the Elder, which Bob and Murphy had not been privy to. Bob found the idea of changing some of the magical laws intriguing, and would be sure to speak up whenever Harry was contemplating putting something forward. Murphy mused on that, thinking it through and filing it into the decision she was so clearly in the process of making. Bob fidgeted with his cuffs and the manacles beneath. Harry was trying so hard not to influence her unduly, which was the right thing to do. Bob would have tried to sway her with promises and honeyed words, Hrothbert would have compelled her with seduction and magic. Harry's way was more ethical, but also more chancy.
"And then there is you and Bob," Murphy sighed after a while, "And your addiction."
Harry actually blushed and looked away, ashamed. He shifted to make room between them and Murphy rolled her eyes, wrapped an arm around him and hauled him back. At his current weight Harry was too light and easily pulled back to her side.
"It's a disease, I know that," Murphy didn't remove her arm, "But I can't have it around Anna."
A very good reason for Harry to stay clean, as it were. He nodded silently, not making promises. This made Bob a little uneasy, but Murphy seemed to understand what wasn't being said.
"Bob is… he raised me," Harry said after a moment, his voice tense and a little pleading, "I won't pretend he's an innocent, and at times he can be downright Machiavellian, but I don't believe he'd ever hurt Anna. And they'd never meet anyway. He's not allowed to show himself to people outside the community, and Anna would still be outside it, even as your daughter."
"Nor will I harm you, Connie," Bob spoke up for himself, "Whatever I have been in the past, I am different now. The changes are small, and some are imposed upon me, but I have no desire to cause you harm."
"Because that would hurt Harry," Murphy said shrewdly, and Bob nodded, reminded once again that she was excellent at reading people, which made her such a good officer of the police.
"And what's with making me your heir?" she asked Harry sharply, who was beginning to droop from exhaustion.
"I don't trust him with anyone else. They'd want to exploit him, or they'd lock him away with no company and he'd go mad. I can't have that Murph," Harry said quietly, looking at his knees, "He can't be freed, and he can't be left to his own devices, so I put him in the safest hands I know. It's the least I can do for the man who raised me."
The arm still around his shoulders tightened, and she kissed his cheek. Bob flushed a little, and looked at his hands. Harry had never said 'I love you' to him, but sometimes the words weren't needed at all. Bob had never said those words to Harry either, but he was sure that the boy knew how he felt.
"Ok, Harry, you need to sleep," the mom tone was clear in Murphy's voice and he rolled his eyes.
"I'm sick of sleeping," he muttered, but moved to lay down anyway. Murphy straightened the covers over him, stepping around Bob carefully. She had made an effort not to walk through him ever since they had returned to Harry's apartment and Bob was grateful for the consideration.
"I'll be back up in a while," Murphy said to Bob, ignoring the grumbling wizard, "If you don't mind sitting with him?"
"… don't need a babysitter…"
"I don't mind," Bob ignored him too, Harry could be petulant when tired, a trait he had not grown out of, "I have some equations to work on if we are to recreate Harry's protections and I should start now."
He got up off the bed, where Harry was already asleep, and moved over to part of the room where he could work without being in the path of the steps or the bathroom. By the time Murphy returned he had quite a bit done on the replacement for the pentagram. Harry would need to transcribe this for him in the morning, but Bob was pleased with his progress.
Harry did indeed transcribe Bob's work, checking it as he went and asking questions about why certain steps or elements were included. It was the sort of technical discussion that Bob thrived on and the two of them became so immersed that they almost forgot Murphy was there as they argued back and forth and Harry suggested edits or changes. Bob was peripherally aware that she was watching them both as they worked through his design, and when Harry had it copied down they went ahead and finished it together. It was an intellectual rush, and Bob relished it. They still had Harry's shield to go, and the amulet for Anna, which would take them at least a week to finalise. It was the sort of work that Bob had been made for, without the Black taking precedent. Pure of intent, this was the sort of task he had been asked to perform only too rarely, and while using the Black would get a quicker result, there was no way that Bob would even hint at it with Harry.
Murphy managed to drag Harry downstairs for a meal before he started up again with Bob, and Bob had to quell a small surge of irritation. Harry's eyes had been bright, and his voice clearer today, signs that he was recovering his usual self. He recognised that Harry would need the sustenance to continue their conversation, perhaps on the couch where Bob had more room to pace and write.
The Elder appeared at the end of breakfast and accepted a cup of coffee, joining them at the table.
"I am sorry to interrupt what has clearly been a stimulating morning," she raised an eyebrow at Bob, who was pacing to expend some energy. Harry kicked a chair out and pointed to it when Bob frowned. The ghost sat reluctantly, "But I need your answer, Detective."
"If I can get protection for my daughter, I would like to remember," Murphy said quietly, "There have been too many secrets. No more."
The last was directed at Harry who nodded solemnly, then gave her a small, shy grin. Bob was also pleased, if only because he would have an ally who would smack Harry when he needed one and Bob couldn't do it himself.
"Then you will need to dress, and come with me," the Elder seemed pleased, and Murphy nodded, getting up. She was still wearing borrowed clothes from Harry, though the clothes she had been wearing were now clean and dry. Murphy got up and headed for the bedroom and Harry waited until she was gone to lean forward, hiding his face in his hands for a long moment. His hands were shaking in relief, Bob judged, and when he dropped his hands his eyes were dry.
"Congratulations," the Elder said quietly, "She will make a good ally for you, one that will make your own task easier."
"I just don't want to have to lie or hide from her any more," Harry said simply, "Bob is great, but having another person who knows me, and not my family reputation, will help."
The Elder reached over and patted his hands.
"I will take you home after the ceremony, Murphy," she said as Murphy returned, "Harry is looking much better, and I've decided to move in while I retrain the Wardens, so there will be someone here to watch over him. He should be recovered by the weekend, provided he behaves himself now."
"Yes ma'am," Harry mumbled and shot Bob, who was chuckling, a look.
"Of course, Bob will be responsible for him when I am not here," the Elder shut the chuckles up with her dry tone and her own arch look, "Harry, it is in your best interest to refrain from any and all magic usage."
"Bob and I are working on a project," the words cheered Bob immensely, "We're still in the theoretical stages, so at most I'm gonna be sitting on the couch arguing with him and writing down his scribbles."
"Alright then," the Elder nodded. She gathered Murphy with a look who bent to kiss Harry's cheek and wave to Bob with a smile before following the Elder out into the street.
"Can I at least do the washing up first?" Harry asked as Bob leapt to his feet, "You get a start and I'll be there in a moment."
Bob understood that Harry needed a moment to himself, and nodded, sweeping towards the living room. The freedom to do so was almost enough to make up for his inability to touch, and he relished exercising it.
"Don't take too long," he tossed over his shoulder, and was rewarded with the first laugh he'd heard from his boy for a long time.
"No, your ghostliness," was the smart reply.
Epilogue
Harry didn't take him out often. In the city, the parks and museums and galleries were always busy, and having a toddler melt down because they'd just run straight through the 'weird man' was never fun.
Sometimes Harry had brought him to crime scenes, and Bob had never let on how much he'd enjoyed that. The chance to use his skills and knowledge in a practical way: to use his limited amount of ability to interact with the world and assist Harry in his cases was one he relished. Harry endangered himself so often, and while Bob didn't like the idea of pointing his wizard towards danger, knowing what they were facing together helped Bob to feel more in control and less as if the world was constantly dissolving and reforming around him, forever out of his reach.
Tonight, they were in a park. It was dark, but Bob could see the paths and manicured gardens around them. There were benches and even some tables for people to play chess at. He had played Harry at chess since he was a boy, although sometimes months went between games now.
Harry was standing beside him, Bob's skull peeking out of the satchel across his chest. Harry closed the flap, and waited, letting Bob look around.
"What are we doing here?" Bob asked mildly, and Harry stared at him for a moment. There was something unusually sombre in his gaze and Bob frowned, stepping closer, "Harry, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," Harry replied and jerked his head, walking slowly down the darkened path, "It's been a long time since we walked together, and I'm sorry about that. I thought you might enjoy the change of scenery."
"You've only just been cleared to perform magic again," Bob strolled beside Harry, his hands clasped behind his back, "But thank you."
Harry grunted and walked on slowly. Bob realised this was to give him a chance to take in their surroundings and enjoy the peace of the night, and felt another flush of gratitude. Harry's recovery had been slower than Bob had hoped; the Elder had taken to mixing and foisting potions down Harry's throat. The words malnutrition, and emaciation had been thrown about, and Bob had come in for a lecture on the care and feeding of his wizard.
It took them nearly an hour to circle the park at Harry's deliberately slow pace, the warm dark night a soothing balm to Bob's existence. He couldn't smell the plants around them, nor feel the slight breeze that ruffled Harry's hair, but it was a pleasant experience none-the-less and he stored the memory away carefully.
"Want to ride shotgun?" Harry asked as they reached his jeep and Bob nodded wordlessly, settling into the passenger side of the jeep after Harry had placed the bag with his skull there. Even at night, there was traffic, and people on the sidewalks. This was a different sort of rush, and Bob thought that Harry drove more slowly than was his wont, once more giving Bob time to observe and absorb as much as he could.
"Harry, I must insist that you tell me what is wrong," Bob demanded once they were home and the wards raised once again, "Are you ill? Has the Elder diagnosed a problem?"
"No, I'm fine Bob," Harry put his skull down on the desk and stored the small satchel away, then carried the skull back to the couch and sat down, cradling it carefully between two hands, "It's just… the Elder told me about something that had changed for you today, and I wanted to... I don't know, give you some time outside before we went through it."
Bob frowned and came to stand before Harry, his arms folded across his chest. The Elder had mentioned that Harry might be able to effect a change for him, it had slipped his mind. Bob was wary of the idea though: Harry had redeemed him a little, but not enough to be trustworthy when it came to true wielding of power. That didn't mean he had increased his store of patience, either. It seemed it was time to goad the boy into telling him what was going on.
"The suspense is killing me," he said in his driest, most sarcastic tone, "Oh wait, I'm already dead. I guess it isn't."
Harry huffed a laugh at him and leaned forward to put his skull on the coffee table safely. Harry had never, even as an enthusiastic child, dropped or damaged Bob's skull. He was always carried carefully, and placed on steady, secure surfaces. It was a consideration his mortal flesh had rarely been shown.
"When Murphy put your skull beneath my hand, I bled into the runes adorning it," Harry stated it plainly, his voice flat and factual, as if discussing things that had happened to other people rather than the worst day of Bob's cursed existence. Losing Harry in that manner would have been worse than losing Winifred; would have driven him screaming into madness from which he'd never recover.
"And I bled onto your kerchief," Harry gestured at the square of silk that Bob took especial care to fold so the stains were not visible. He was wearing Harry's blood, and always would, and a small part of him took comfort that he had something so vital, so quintessentially Harry would be with him for the rest of eternity. He'd never say that out loud though. It was thinking bordering on the Black, and Harry was not to be exposed to such things, he was far too precious to Bob. Not that the ghost would ever air such sentiment out loud. He had been Hrothbert of Bainbridge, after all, devoid of such sentiments. He'd never manage to keep Harry safe if people thought he'd gone… soft.
"The Elder thinks that the power we used that night, the fact that you used your former magic to cast onto me, and the ties we have that is now cemented by my blood, will let me … temporarily, and only for short periods … lift another part of your curse," Harry took a deep breath, "So we should see if it works, yes?"
"See if what works?" Bob unfolded his arms, fairly alarmed. Harry had what Bob had privately dubbed his 'tilting at windmills' look on. Harry closed his eyes, placed his hand on Bob's skull and concentrated. Bob watched as Harry sent a small amount of his will into the skull, gasping as a rather sharp tingle ran through him. Harry lifted his hand away and blinked, then got up and walked around the table to where Bob was wavering in place.
"Bob?" Harry asked, frowning a little.
"I felt your will suffuse the runes," Bob frowned, his head swimming a little, "It was quite unsettling."
Harry reached out and caught Bob just above the elbows, steadying him onto his feet. Bob gaped like a landed fish, he knew it, even as his own arms came up and his hands rested on Harry's sides.
"Harry, what have you done?" Bob whispered, staring in awe at his impossible, irresponsible idiot boy (he still alliterated when irritated). Harry grinned shyly at him and tugged him into a hug.
When he wasn't dying, Harry smelled of books, and snow, and wood smoke (he did so love fire). His shabby clothes were soft to the touch, and the textures were not unpleasant. The muscles beneath his skin were strong, whipcord over bone, and he was warm, so very warm and alive. Bob's head fit naturally onto his shoulder, and it was the easiest thing in the world to return the embrace.
"It's not forever, and you won't be able to cast magic," his boy sounded apologetic, though Bob didn't care about that in the slightest, "And I'll need to work on how long I can imbue my will into the skull each time, but… it's something, Bob. A loosening of the curse."
"Your blood…" Bob realised, "Of course."
"At least something good came out of all this," Harry shrugged the shoulder Bob's head wasn't resting on, Bob relished the sensation. The tingling was back though and the sensation about to fade, Bob could sense it. He drew back from the embrace and gave Harry the fondest, most loving smile he'd ever bestowed on the boy…
… and then clipped his ear. Harry yelped as the last of the magic faded and Bob returned to his usual state. The wrenching sense of loss didn't come with it though, he was too busy smirking at his wizard.
"Finally!"
End