Disclaimer – I do not own this series or the characters – Jim Butcher is the rightful owner. I do not make any money with this story. TV Verse

Burnt out

When people say that a house has character, they don't usually mean it quite so... literally.

A/N: this may seem to meander a bit towards the middle/beginning of the end. There is a specific end point though, so bear with it. Also Harry gets whumped twice.

1.

When they had first moved into the shop, Harry and Bob had set up extensive wards. Bob had been positively giddy at the thought of planning and executing a set of household wards from scratch, a challenge he had not been given since before he died. It had been a prestigious task to do this work when Bob was alive, as it put the safety of someone elses family directly in the hands of the ward designer. The Morningway estate had well established wards, and no one had trusted Bob enough to ask that he protect their kin for hundreds of years: that Harry did, had made the Ghost almost ecstatic. It had taken a week of arguing, or planning depending on your point of view, and another week of casting, painting and setting the wards. At the end of it Bob had demanded that Harry walk his skull about the space so he could check that all was to Bob's strict guidance and standards.

It had been, and Bob had pronounced himself satisfied, for now.

For all the hard work, sleeplessness and exhaustion that setting the wards had been, Harry was glad that they had done them now, as he worked frantically to set off the translocation spells built into the filing cabinets, book cases, storage shelves, various trunks and boxes and lab tables while the apartment burnt fiercely around him. He wasn't sure what had started the fire, other than something was shooting balls of flame through his smashed windows. His wand and staff were clasped in the same hand, making spell casting difficult, but there was no way he would drop the contents of his other hand. Bob's skull was clasped fiercely to his chest, his shoulders rounded to try and shield it from the embers and smoke swirling around him. Mister had been shoved into a bookcase and sent away, yowling in fury. He'd be safe for now though and able to get off the bookcase once the spell released.

The last of the translocation spells were triggered and Harry could take a moment to listen to what was happening outside. There were sirens approaching, so someone had called the fire department, and there were shouts and the flash of steel outside the windows as well. The shopfront was completely ablaze, and the heat had driven Harry back to the kitchen, which was also burning around him. A fireball took out the door and he twisted, grunting as burning debris hit him. He had a shield around his torso to better protect Bob, but his arms took several hits. The smoke was too thick and he was going to pass out if he didn't get out of there, so he leapt through the space where the door had been and into the slightly fresher air of the alley way. Three figures leapt for him, and two were cut down by cold steel, the third turning out to be Morgan.

"Dresden! Someone has sent fire demons after you," he shouted while Harry doubled over around Bob's skull, hacking and coughing in the cooler air. It felt like his lungs were burning as fiercely as his home and black spots crowded his vision for a moment. Morgan knotted a fist in his shirt and dragged him away from the door, where fire was starting to reach out towards them.

"It wasn't me," Harry rasped breathlessly, because as far as the Wardens and the High Council were concerned he was the only suspect for every crime ever committed. The cuts from the debris were stinging in the cooler air, and his lungs felt like someone had taken a grater to them.

"I know that you fool, they couldn't cross your wards," Morgan growled, "Hence them standing around outside flinging hellfire at the windows. Once they'd burned enough of the exterior structure down, they also burnt through enough of your sigils to let the fireballs in."

The delay had let a frantic Bob wake Harry, who had been asleep on the couch. Harry had managed to clear the office space before the flames had beaten him back. He'd fallen asleep fully dressed, which was a blessing of sorts now.

"Then why are you here?" Harry gasped for air. Morgan scowled, but before he could reply Harry had swept him back against the bricks, his staff aiming a jet of air like a canon at the fire demon that had been sneaking up behind the warden. The air put out its flames and it guttered and died before Morgan could take its head off and send it back to where it had come from. He gave Harry an appraising look, which Harry ignored.

Sleeping on the couch meant his wallet was still in his pocket, which meant he had coins. There was a payphone down the street and Harry stumbled to it, dropping coins into the slot and calling a number he had memorised.

"Do you know what time it is?" Murphy, it seemed, was not pleased to be called at midnight, though she didn't sound as if she'd been asleep. There was noise in the background, and Harry thought she might be in the bullpen, "Who is this?"

"Murph, it's Harry," he couldn't count on her recognising what was left of his voice, "Someone has set fire to the apartment, are you safe?"

They were working a case together at the moment, one that involved his spooky stuff, as she called it. He didn't think the person involved would have sent fire demons after him, but it paid to be safe rather than sorry, "Is Kirmani with you?"

"Harry, Jesus, you sound horrible, where are you?" Murphy was clicking her fingers at someone and Harry coughed painfully.

"Payphone up the street," there were firefighters running around, evacuating buildings and setting up perimeters while hoses played on what was left of his home, "Are you both safe?"

"We're safe," Murphy said firmly, "Kirmani's right here. I'm coming to you, don't move."

"Ok," Harry frowned and hung up the phone, sinking down to lean against the pole supporting it. He tucked the hockey stick under his feet, jammed the drum stick in a belt loop, and wrapped both arms securely around Bob. He'd ordered the Ghost into his skull, even though the smoke and flame wouldn't have hurt him: he was in for a lecture at least as a result of this. Knowing that Bob was a ghost didn't mean Harry wouldn't protect him, something that he wouldn't mention as it just made Bob madder. He hated to be reminded of the power he'd once lost. Morgan crouched down next to him, impatience all over his face.

"What are you working on?" Morgan demanded and Harry frowned at him. The High Council wouldn't tolerate demons running around setting fire to people's houses, even if it was his. Maybe they would take care of the mess for him. He felt too parched to do it right now.

"Old people being scammed: they get a letter that compels them to empty their bank accounts, post the money in a pre-addressed and stamped envelope and then destroy the letter compelling them," Harry watched as a firefighter detached from the mob and headed his way. Murphy must have radioed in with the information of where he was. He was glad of that, he didn't want anyone to be hurt looking for him. Two medics jogged after the firefighter and Harry hoped they had some water. He was thirsty.

"One of his victims had dementia, she thought she'd completed the demands in the letter but she hadn't. Her mind undid the geas by accident. Her kid has a friend who is a cop, who referred it to Murphy. I had a part of the letter because Murphy called me in to look at the runes. Bob and I were going to use it for a tracking spell."

"Sir, is that your apartment?" the firefighter, a fit young woman with blond hair, had reached them now. Morgan jumped and stepped back while Harry nodded. She waved the medics over and they dropped their gear beside him.

"Were you alone in the house?" the firefighter crouched down, her tone urgent. Harry nodded, clutching Bob tightly to him. He wasn't about to tell them he hadn't been alone but it was ok cos he had the Ghost with him and his cat was currently roaming crossly through a manor on the other side of the city, they'd want to lock him up for sure. Morgan had disappeared and Harry let the medics look him over, cleaning the gashes and pulling a couple of pieces of glass out of his upper arms. They had water, which he drank gratefully, and he let them settle an oxygen mask over his face. His head had cleared by the time Murphy arrived, striding over to them quickly and dropping to a crouch beside him.

"Dresden, what happened?" she asked quickly and he frowned, gesturing to where flames were still visible, though under control now. The fire hadn't spread to his neighbours, though he doubted that they'd be able to go back in until the smoke and heat had dissipated. She rolled her eyes and made as if to slap his arm, halting when she noted the bandages there. He had some burns too, all things he could heal with a few potions, provided the spells had worked properly and his lab had gone where he meant to send it.

"Firebomb," Harry rasped, his throat no less painful after the water and oxygen. Murphy nodded and patted his knee gingerly, before standing up.

"Let me talk to the fire captain, I'll come back. Does he have to go to hospital?" this last was directed at the medics, who informed her that he had refused to go. She rolled her eyes at him and pointed to the ground in a 'stay put' gesture. He nodded wearily and let the medics check his vitals again. They waited with him until Murphy came back, unhappy, but willing to accept that she would take responsibility for him for the rest of the night.

"I can sleep in the jeep," Harry grated once they were gone and she shot a look at him that shut him up.

"Is there something wrong with my spare room?" she snapped and Harry shook his head silently. He let Murphy tug his staff from under his feet and painfully struggled upright, unwilling to unwrap his arms from Bob. Although the staff was more valuable in terms of defence and earning his livelihood, there was comfort from knowing where his only family was, and that Harry was protecting him still. Murphy didn't say anything, putting him into the car and fastening the seat belt for him without fuss. She tucked the hockey stick into the foot well and then went to the drivers side, opening the door and letting in the night air while she called her partner to check in.

"Kirmani says there is no sign of anything suspicious at his place or mine," she informed Harry as she got the car started and turned it away from the fire, "Looks like it was just you targeted. Do you think its our guy?"

"Doesn't matter," Harry coughed and winced at the feeling, "Couldn't take the risk either way… No more talking please?"

"Yeah," Murphy nodded, "Ok. That's fair. You sound like someone took a sandblaster to your throat."

Harry nodded and gave her a thumbs up in agreement, leaning his head forward to try and relieve the ache.

2.

Murphy's apartment was a small three bedroom place, not too far from the station. One of the doors was decorated with drawings and 'keep out' signs that could only have belonged to her daughter. She insisted that Harry shower at once, which he did cautiously, Bob's skull resting safely in the bathroom basin. She had a pair of track pants that fit in the waist, but not the legs, and an oversized t-shirt that he could sleep in. The track pants were hot pink, and he knew he looked ridiculous from the smirk on her face when she caught sight of him. She replaced the wet bandages from an impressive first aid kit, plied him with aspirin and tea dosed with a liberal amount of honey and then showed him into the small spare room, with its single bed and office space.

Once he was sure the door was closed and Murphy was no longer outside, he curled onto the bed and lowered his mouth to Bob's skull.

"Its safe to come out, Bob," he whispered. These were not the words that would usually have triggered the geas, but the longer they'd lived together the less the formal words had mattered. Bob's smoke and sparks rushed hurriedly from the skull and the Ghost looked around quickly. Harry saw him take in their surroundings at once and then swing around to look at Harry, who was wrapped as tightly as he could around Bob's skull on the narrow bed, feeling like crap. Bob dropped to his knees beside the bed, his hands hovering over Harry's arms.

"You stupid, stubborn, irresponsible, imbecilic, idiotic, total twat," Bob hissed, fury in every word. He always alliterated when he was mad, and even though he'd been expecting it, Harry felt tears brim in his eyes, at the end of his endurance. Bob's eyes were also suspiciously shiny, and he shushed when he realised what his words had wrought.

"Oh darling boy, what have you done to yourself?" Bob murmured, "Let me look Harry."

The more affectionate he was, the more terrified for Harry's health Bob was, so Harry nodded, sniffling and miserable, as Bob put his hands into Harry's chest, eyes partially closed as he concentrated on Harry's insides. Harry shivered, the sensation of Bob's worried emotions and the curse that was pinning him in place running through him. He always described it as the heebie-jeebies, but in reality he didn't want Bob to be even more exposed than he was by the curse. There was no privacy when they touched, each received the others feelings.

"You've got smoke damage in your lungs and throat, and your lungs have burnt," Bob spoke softly, his hands moving carefully even though he couldn't actually cause harm to Harry like this, "And the burns and cuts of course. We have salve for the wounds in the lab, and a potion to fix your lungs and throat will be easy enough to make with the ingredients to hand."

"Provided the lab landed safely," Harry whispered and winced. Bob shushed him again, putting his hand into Harry's throat, the cold of his essence soothing the pain a little. Harry closed his eyes, tightening his arms around the skull for a moment, sighing as the pain became more manageable.

"You should sleep dearest," Bob glanced around, "You'll be more comfortable if you put me on the bedside table…"

Harry shook his head, tightening his grip further and curling around the skull. He wasn't letting Bob out of his reach ever again, if he could help it. This was not negotiable.

"Alright then," Bob gave up, "I'll keep watch, you sleep Harry. Things will be better in the morning."

Harry nodded, letting his eyes close. He could still smell smoke, and for a moment the crackle of the flames sounded, but Bob shushed him as he tensed, humming softly under his breath. He drifted to sleep to the sound, and missed it when he woke with the sun peeking around the edge of the curtains.

Murphy had knocked on the door, waking him, and now the door was opening.

"Hey," Harry croaked and she came all the way in, a cup of something hot steaming in her hand. His throat didn't like that single word at all, and he winced, shifting carefully upright.

"Tea with honey," Murphy told him as he sat on the edge of the bed, "And I washed these last night for you."

These' were his clothes, soot and blood free though the tears and burn marks were still there. The tea helped ease the dryness of his throat and he drank it down gratefully in one go.

"Thanks for last night Murph," he rasped, "And the washing. You didn't have to do that."

"I know," she informed him with a smile and took the empty cup away, "Get dressed and I'll have more tea ready for you. Think you can eat something?"

"Not really," Harry grimaced, queasy at the thought of trying to swallow anything that wasn't a liquid. She nodded and patted his pink clad knee, getting up off the bed and heading for the door.

"Oh for a camera," she teased as she reached the door and he pulled a face at her, grinning at the jibe. Bob was placed carefully on the bed and Harry dressed himself slowly before scooping up the skull and heading to the kitchen. His wand was on the table, with his staff propped up beside it and he sat where Murphy pointed, blinking at the banana she handed him.

"It's soft, it won't hurt your throat," she told him, "You need to eat, Harry, a mild breeze could knock you over, right now."

He quirked a smile at her and ate the banana in small careful bites while she finished her toast and coffee, reading the paper and trying to ignore the skull sitting on her table with Harry's hand resting beside it when it wasn't occupied. When she'd finished her breakfast and disappeared to brush her teeth Harry started washing the mugs and dishes, which got him an eye roll from his hostess. He had no issue leaving clean plates to dry beside the sink, but he hated leaving dirty ones sitting out.

"You can stay in my spare room," Murphy said as she dried the washed things, "You're welcome to stay for as long as you need."

"Thanks," Harry rasped, "But I can camp in my uncles house for a bit. You've got Anna this weekend."

The calendar on the fridge said that, and he nodded to it when she looked startled. He was a PI as well as a wizard and more than capable of putting clues together. Magic only got you so far. He also didn't want to have to hide Bob away for so long, and if he was being targeted for something other than the scam that Murphy had called him in for he didn't want to bring that trouble to her door; especially if Anna was there.

"Ok, well I'm gonna be checking on you," Murphy put the dishtowel up and folded her arms. Harry nodded, fairly sure that she didn't have the estates address. There wouldn't be a working phone there either.

"I'll take you back to the jeep, and the fire department arson investigators will want to talk to you," Murphy sighed, "I'm sorry about your place Harry."

"It will be ok," Harry scooped Bob up, tucking him close to his chest. He'd probably look a bit odd walking around with a skull under his arm, but there was no where he could leave Bob, especially as the only wards they had now were Harry's pentagram and his mothers shields. Bob was staying within the meagre protection Harry still had left. He was trying not to think of what he'd do if the spells hadn't worked, or if Mister was missing when he got to the estate.

"I have an old towel," Murphy remembered and Harry frowned, not understanding what she meant until she returned and held it out next to the skull. Harry smiled and wrapped Bob up carefully. The cloth wasn't en-spelled so Bob would still be able to sense what was happening around him, and the bundle wouldn't cause people to look more than once. Also if he was jostled and the bundle dropped, the towel would protect Bob a little from the impact.

Harry's home of six years looked worse in daylight. It was completely gutted, though the buildings on each side were not damaged beyond the soot and a few burnt spots on their signs. Hellfire was surprisingly neat when it burnt, taking its target and only its target. Smoke still drifted from inside the ruin, or perhaps it was ash being kicked up by the investigator who was moving carefully inside, taking pictures. Harry's landlord was also standing outside, furious if the expression on his face was anything to go by. He'd bought the building last year, but Harry was six years into a ten year lease so the man hadn't been able to evict him or raise the rent. He didn't like Harry though, and Harry didn't like him very much either.

The moment he spotted Harry he started yelling. Harry wished he hadn't left the hockey stick hidden in the jeep, but knew better than to menace his landlord with it when there were witnesses. He ignored the threats of being sued and arrested and all the other nonsense the man was spewing at the top of his lungs in favour of moving closer to where the front door had hung, peering in.

"Stay out please," the investigator snapped. It was the firefighter from last night, he realised, though she was wearing a mask against the ash and dust she was stirring as she moved. He nodded and stayed where he was, trying to identify anything in the mess that might be harmful to her, magically speaking. He mostly stored the tools of his trade in the furniture and trunks that he'd moved with a spell last night, though there was always a possibility that he'd left something out and it hadn't been saved.

He couldn't see anything though and stepped back, looking at the scorch marks on the pavement outside. A few looked like footprints, left by the fire demons when Morgan had beheaded them. He'd seen three last night, and there were three more sets of prints out here, which meant a covert of six had been sent after him. The investigator joined him on the pavement, camera dangling around her neck and respirator pushed up onto her forehead. Behind him, Murphy was shutting up his landlord using only her best belligerent tone, and he made a mental note to buy her a nice dinner or something in thanks. He'd had more aspirin at her house, but his head was still aching fiercely. The noise hadn't helped.

"Mr Dresden?" she asked, and when he nodded she put her hand out to be shaken, "Ellie Paterson, we met last night?"

"I remember," Harry shook her hand, "Thank you for getting it under control. Were my neighbours ok?"

"Yes, they were fine," she turned to squint at the ruins, "We got them all out, although a couple needed treatment for smoke inhalation. How are you? Can you give me a statement?"

"Sure," Harry coughed and she moved him back to the curb, away from the ashes. He'd been thinking on the way over, and had a pretty firm idea of what to say that would make the evidence match what happened without dragging his spooky stuff into it.

"I woke up on the couch," Harry told her, "Fell asleep after dinner."

It had been a very hectic and therefore profitable month. He'd had back to back cases, one client after another, some requiring more work than others, and by the time Murphy had arrived with her scam, he'd been feeling a little tired. Bob had suggested he rest before trying the location spell, and promised to wake him after an hour or so. Evidently the Ghost had decided that Harry needed more than a nap.

Or he'd gotten distracted by a bodice ripper and lost track of time reading.

"The windows were breaking out the front and it looked like someone was throwing fire inside," Harry continued, "I needed to get my cat, and that's why I was in there so long. He's around here somewhere."

"Firebombs," Murphy said, while the landlord blustered beside her, "When you called me, you said firebombs."

"I was fairly addled," Harry gave her a crooked smile, "The windows were breaking, things were going bang, it sounded like bombs. By the time I found my way out the back, Mister had run off, and I was barely able to breathe. I could hear sirens out front, so I called you, not the fire department."

"Why would you call her?" Paterson asked, and Murphy pulled her badge, introducing herself properly. Before Paterson, who'd been noting down Harry's statement, could do more than nod, his landlord hauled off and punched Harry in the face. He went down like a sack of rocks, Bob's skull rolling from his grip. His vision went dark for a moment and then he managed to force himself back to consciousness, grabbing for the wrapped skull and pulling it back to his chest even as Paterson tried to get him to lie still and Murphy slapped her cuffs on his shouting landlord.

Paterson would soon discover that the man had hired an arsonist to get Harry out of the building and claim some insurance, though Morgan was adamant it wasn't him that had sent the fire demons. That information wouldn't come his way for a few more days though, and Harry concentrated instead on getting back to his feet, arms wrapped tightly around Bob while Murphy handed the landlord over to the uniforms who'd been sitting outside the scene in their patrol car.

Paterson made him sit down again, and Murphy joined her in checking Harry over. His head hurt even more now, but he couldn't afford to take much longer before going to look at the manor and seeing if his things had arrived. Also, if he was going to camp at the manor for a few days he needed groceries and a few changes of clothes: once he got there he wasn't planning to go out again and his wallet had his last cash payment from his client, which he hadn't had time to transfer to his desk. Hopefully the desk, with its stash of cheques and another cash payment, had made it to the manor as well. He'd tried to make sure nothing was on fire before sending it, but towards the end that had been harder to ascertain.

It took some doing, but he managed to convince the women that he wasn't badly hurt, and walked steadily back to the jeep, which had been undamaged due to parking further up the street. Bob and his towel came into the thrift shop, where he found three cotton long sleeved tunics and a couple of pairs of jeans for ten bucks, and then onto a Walmart where he could get underwear and socks, as well as something to sleep in and the groceries he'd need for a few days of basic meals.

When he'd donated his uncles fortune to charity, there had been certain funds that he couldn't touch, due to inheritance laws. One account he was using to pay maintenance and taxes on the manor. Someone came by once a month to check that the place was still in good repair, and not infested with anything; and another team came once a month to maintain the gardens, which were extensive. There had also been a trust fund for his mother, that would come to him when he hit 50. It was earning a nice percentage rate at the moment, and he'd considered keeping the money when it came to him, if only because the security of it would help with the business. He wasn't always living on the breadline, but there were months when he struggled, just as his dad had. Harry was used to it, but lately he'd started to wonder if keeping some of his family inheritance for the lean times was such a bad idea.

His head was buzzing by the time he pulled the jeep up to the front door, and he slumped over the steering wheel for a long moment to catch his breath. Given that the last time he and Bob had been here, Bob had been abducted, made mortal and then knocked Harry out with magic in order to bring his uncle back from the dead, prior to killing him one last time, Harry called Bob out of his skull without even leaving the jeep. He didn't want his only family broadsided by the manor.

"Yes," Bob said morosely, once he'd taken in his surroundings and Harry's slumped form, "I did think we'd have to shelter here again."

"Maybe it won't be so bad," Harry croaked. Bob frowned and hurried to his side, sticking his hand unsolicited into Harry's chest again. Harry shuddered but didn't protest, not having the voice to start a fight.

"Oh dear," Bob murmured, "Harry, we really need to get that potion made, sooner rather than later."

Harry grinned weakly at him, and Bob stepped back, watching as Harry gathered all the bags, groceries included, and headed to the front door. The simulacrum had locked it, but Harry sent a surge of his will into the door, opening it without putting anything down. The foyer was gloomy and the overall feel of the house was morose, but Harry put that down to his own state of mind.

With Bob's skull tucked into the bag with his thrift shop clothes, Harry led the way down to the kitchen. He put away the few items that needed a refrigerator and left everything else except Bob on the counter.

"I've never seen the kitchen before," Bob mentioned, wandering around the stainless steel and white tile chef's kitchen that Justin had of course had to have, despite the fact that he'd never cooked a meal in his life. Harry leaned over one of the counters, head hanging low as it throbbed in earnest. Bob walked through the counter to his side and put a hand on his arm. Harry couldn't feel it, which meant Bob wasn't truly touching him, but the gesture spoke of the Ghost's concern and Harry felt a little better knowing it.

"Come Harry, we need to get to the ballroom," he urged and Harry snagged the bag with his skull, taking the towel wrapped object out and hugging it to his chest. He wouldn't unwrap Bob until he was sure he wouldn't drop him, but he followed the Ghost to the most ostentatious and silly room in the house, the ballroom.

In life, Justin had entertained of course, and all the really large parties had been held there. He'd even held a masquerade ball one year for some charity event. It was the only room in the house that was large enough to take Harry's furniture and lab gear without said furniture trying to occupy the same space as an existing couch or desk. Of course he had no idea what he'd find when he pushed the doors open. Bob didn't wait for that to happen though, walking right through them. Harry had to jiggle the ornate handle to get it to open, and by the time he'd cracked the door Bob was waiting for him.

"It's all here, and in good order," Bob reassured him, smiling in relief, "The spells worked beautifully, Harry."

The spells had been a bit experimental, working as they did as constantly active low level spells that needed a small trigger to send the objects on their way. Bob had been contemplating them for a century and Harry had been ok with trying them out, given that the alternative was to lose everything if he needed to get out in a hurry. He hadn't been thinking of fire demons attacking his home, but this was as good a proof of concept as any.

"Mister?" Harry croaked. The cat should have been in here too. Bob shook his head as Harry weaved around the oddly placed bookshelves and storage shelves. His desk, and the rug it had been standing on, was against a wall at the end of the ballroom, too far away to put Bob safely. He found the lab table and put the skull there, unwrapping it carefully and folding the towel to one side.

"There is an open door to the garden. The house wards would have let any animal trapped in here out, to preserve the parquetry," Bob waved a hand, his voice a mixture of soothing and uncaring. He'd never really liked Mister and his habit of walking through the Ghost, though he tolerated the cat for Harry's sake, "He'll come in when he's ready."

"My head is splitting," Harry slumped on the lab stool that had transported with the table, "I don't think I can do this."

"You must, dearest," Bob crowded close, "A large part of your current malaise is because you're not taking in enough oxygen. Your lungs need help, and the breath-of-life potion will do the trick."

"Autopilot me?" Harry turned to face Bob. He called it autopilot, because he disliked the word that went with this particular power the Ghost had. Bob knew what he meant though and never minced words.

"You want me to possess you?" Bob almost squeaked. Harry nodded. He knew he didn't have the clarity of mind to make the potion properly, and Bob was right, the way he was slowly losing the ability to focus was reinforcing his point. Bob would retain his own mind and clarity, while using Harry's body. It was an enormous show of trust, and of all his masters one that only Harry had ever shown him, and only the once before at that.

"Are you sure, dearest boy?" Bob was once again showing his concern through endearments and Harry nodded.

"Hrothbert of Bainbridge, you may possess me to make the required potion," Harry stated it formally, so that the High Council's alarms wouldn't go off.

TBC