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.
3.
Harry came back to himself slumping onto the floor of the ballroom, the taste of the potion in his mouth. His head hit the folded towel, which Bob had evidently placed just for that purpose. The vial in his hand rolled away and he made a note to pick it up before it got broken. The effects of the potion hit, and it was like taking a deep breath of the purest air. His aches eased, and his mind cleared to its usual sharpness. He lay on the floor for a moment and just breathed. He could see Bob's skull from where he lay, and he smiled at it on the off chance the Ghost was aware of his surroundings. Possessing people took a lot out of Bob, especially if he was using them to do something specific. He'd have retreated to his skull to recover his own energy and Harry didn't blame him.
Even with the rush of energy, Harry knew better than to try and get up right away. He stared up at the ceiling instead, looking at the mural painted on it, clouds and cherubs and all that sort of nonsense. When he was sure he could move without falling over again, Harry sat up slowly, gathered the towel and then stood. He put the towel on the stool and used it to steady himself as he bent to pick up the empty vial. On the lab table there was a bottle with the lid off, full of potion, beside a note in Bob's own handwriting.
'Get something to eat at once and then rest, darling. You'll need to take another dose this evening, and then tomorrow morning as well.'
Bob had been still concerned then. Well, he'd have known how much trouble Harry was in anyway, what with inhabiting his body. There was a floating spell nearby, and Harry squinted at it until he realised it was his vital signs. They were dangerously low at the time of the reading, and he shook his head before turning away. It was late afternoon and there was movement at the door, which turned out to be Mister, his orange fur marked with soot. Morgan stood behind the cat, glaring at him through the gap in the french doors.
"You let the Ghost possess you?" Morgan hissed as Harry came nearer, bending to make encouraging noises to Mister, who strolled in and allowed himself to be picked up.
"I was dying," Harry gestured to the spell floating behind him, "Bob was the only one of us with the strength and clarity of mind to make the potion I need to repair the damage to my lungs. Hellfire did a real number on them."
Morgan scowled, "Let me in Dresden."
The wards, it seemed, had reverted to family only in the wake of Justin's second death. Or maybe they had been that way since the first one, and he'd made an exception for Tara, Bob's thief. Either way, he was in no shape to defend himself, so he shook his head and shut the door firmly. Morgan shouted something at him, but Harry couldn't hear him with the wards fully closed, and he turned back to the table. He refilled the vial and stoppered it, slipping it into a pocket, then Mister climbed onto his shoulder and balanced there while he picked up Bob. Careful not to disturb the cat, Harry headed back to the kitchen, and the food he'd left there.
He'd picked up supplies for Mister too, though he had no doubt the cat could hunt his own food in the garden. He put the cat food out first, then heated soup from a tin and ate a handful of crackers. He made a sandwich too and wrapped it in wax paper before stripping off his burnt clothes and pulling on a t-shirt and a pair of thin track pants.
When Harry had been a child, the cook had had a pet cat, and a cat door had been installed with proper warding into a section of the kitchen door. Harry showed the cat door to Mister and then scooped Bob's skull up once more, shutting the kitchen door behind him. He didn't want the cat roaming the house until he knew what the wards were like, but with access to the outside and the human food safely sealed away, he had no qualms about leaving Mister to survey his new domain. A brief detour to the small room that served as a linen press for the rest of the house netted him a blanket, pillow case and pillow, which he carried to the classroom where he and Bob had spent so much time. He put the sandwich and potion on the low table near the couch, slipped the pillow into its case and lay down on the cool leather, dragging the blanket over his legs.
The schoolroom had always been the safest room in the house, even if his uncle could walk in at any time. He wasn't sure why it had felt so much safer than his own room, unless it was because he associated it with Bob and the lessons they had together. The memory of Bob knocking him out hadn't tarnished it, as what had come after had at least explained why. Either way, he closed his eyes and dozed, letting the potion work its way through his system. It was dark when he finally stirred, his head beginning to ache a little, and he took the second dose of potion, lying back until the rush had passed.
Once he was sure he'd be steady, he walked out to the guest bathroom, located just off the hallway, drinking water from the tap after he'd washed his hands and peering gloomily at the mirror. He looked like death warmed up, as Bob would say, although he felt alright at the moment. He heaved a sigh and walked back to the school room, waving a hand to light the candles that still lurked there and sitting down on the couch again. The sandwich was eaten unenthusiastically and then Harry heaved himself up once more, going back to the ballroom to refill the vial for the mornings dose, and peeling back the dressings on his cuts and burns. There was a salve he kept to hand for this sort of injury and he spent a few minutes under the light of the chandelier, anointing each wound carefully then putting the dressings back into place. He stoppered the now cool potion, to keep it fresh, and tidied the lab table a little, heading back to the schoolroom when he was done.
The house still felt morose. In fact, he felt like he was being watched closely. That could be paranoia, or just old memories of living under his uncles critical eye. He made a note to mention it to Bob, who was still recovering, and extinguished the candles once more. With the darkness, the feeling of being watched subsided a little, as if something had decided that he was no threat, or at least wouldn't be moving around much. The moroseness didn't lessen though, and Harry wondered if it was his imagination. As a child certain parts of the house had always been more welcoming than others. The schoolroom had felt the most protected, he'd been safe in his bedroom, and there was a small study in a far corner of the house that he'd used for homework that had felt familiar and welcoming. Bob had come with him to that room several times, until his uncle had put his foot down about the Ghost remaining in the schoolroom, and that was the end of it. Bob himself had urged obedience, in terms that Harry had accepted as necessary. His uncle's study had always felt forbidding, even when the man was in it, and there was a part of the cellar that Harry had never dared to enter. The kitchen had been neutral, and the large dining room made him wary.
Harry had always put those feelings down to the people in the house, the uses of the rooms and who he saw the most often in each room. As a child, he'd come to, if not love, then respect his uncle, but Harry had always felt his presence in a room. Now his uncle was gone, for good if Bob's understanding of the matter was to be believed. Harry wanted to believe. What Justin had done to his family, what he'd made Harry into, was an everlasting mark that he'd never recover from. But now, as he drifted off to sleep, Harry began to wonder if there was more to the way he felt in this house than his uncle.
"Harry," the voice was stern and strict, and he struggled to obey the summons, "Harry, you must wake up."
"Five mo minutes," he rasped, throwing his arm over his eyes to block out the daylight. His head was killing him again, and his chest felt as if bands of thorns were slowly squeezing it. His skin prickled in the cold of the air around him.
"Harry Dresden! Get up!" the voice snapped and Harry dragged himself into a sitting position, "Harry, you need to get to the ballroom and the potion there!"
Bob, Harry identified, and panicking again. He squinted at the table, then patted his hip, locating the vial he'd refilled in his pocket. It was harder than it should have been to uncork it and swallow the contents down, and he gasped with relief as the thorny bands snapped and disappeared and the ability to breathe easily returned. Bob sighed in relief.
"Oh good boy," Bob murmured from where he was crouched, "Well done Harry."
Harry smiled at him but didn't bother to reply, drawing in even and deep breaths. His head was clearing rapidly, and the rush from the potion was slowly passing. The room felt warmer now and he relaxed against the couch for a moment while Bob stood up and stepped back, into the table. The Ghost didn't usually walk through furniture, so this was another sign of how disturbed he was by all of this.
"Planned ahead," Harry told the man who'd raised him, and then coughed against his abused throat, "Who knew I was listening to you all those years ago?"
Bob rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh at him, stepping out of the table and folding his arms in mock sternness.
"If that is all I managed to teach you, I should have quit the title teacher a long time ago," he snapped back, and Harry grinned before getting slowly to his feet. Bob frowned and stepped forward again, and Harry held up a hand to preempt the lecture.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," Harry informed him, "And then I'll come right back. I want to refill the vial and get something to eat, and you'd better come with me to check I've stored the potion correctly."
Bob nodded, clearly unhappy at their brief separation. Harry mused that he was evidently not the only one disturbed by their latest brush with almost death, and made a note to dig the satchel he sometimes carried Bob around in out of the desk drawer to make it easier for them both to stay together.
It was the second thing he did after Bob supervised the pouring of Harry's next dose and approved the storage of the potion that was repairing his lungs.
"Will we need to make more?" Harry asked as he slipped the strap over his head and settled it over his chest. He tucked the vial into a small pocket on the outside of the satchel, then carefully nestled the skull into the canvas bag. The set of Bob's shoulders eased, and Harry patted the skull before closing the flap.
"Let me see," Bob came and placed both hands on Harry's chest, pausing a moment before putting them into his body. Harry shivered but didn't complain as Bob moved his hands around carefully before turning and casting up his second spell, the first still hovering in the air. Harry looked at it thoughtfully, and hummed a little.
"Your lungs are recovering, though you are not out of the woods yet. The dose you just took should prevent another attack like the one you had this morning. You'll need six more doses, including the one you've just poured, and we have enough for that," Bob mused and Harry nodded in agreement and relief, "Your throat could do with a potion of its own though. I'm worried about scarring there. And you need to salve those wounds again."
"Ok, lets go get breakfast and check on Mister, then we'll brew up," Harry nodded, "And thank you, Hrothbert of Bainbridge, for saving my life."
He gave the Ghost a small bow as he said it, given that he couldn't just hug the other being in thanks, and it was the sort of gesture that was more common in Bob's day anyway.
"Your humble servant," Bob smirked at him, though his expression showed how much it meant to him, being acknowledged and thanked. It had come to him so infrequently before Harry's tenure as his putative master, that the slightest acknowledgement now meant everything to him.
Harry took his bowl of cereal and stood in the middle of the kitchen so Bob could wander around and investigate the place thoroughly. The cook hadn't known anything about magic, so Bob had never had a chance to enter her domain, let alone the laundry rooms etc behind it. There were entire parts of the house Bob had never seen and Harry made a mental note to go exploring later, if only to give Bob something new to experience.
He washed the dishes, including from last night, which let Bob step out through the wall and out into the kitchen courtyard, bordered by the kitchen gardens. Mister came sauntering through Bob as Harry finished up and he snorted as the Ghost snarled at the cat before slipping back into the kitchen. Harry refilled the cat's dish and straightened up the bags of clothes still resting on the kitchen counter.
"We should take those to the schoolroom for now," Bob mused, "I will suspend the rule about not using it as an auxiliary wardrobe."
"Thank you, your ghostliness," the old childhood nickname slipped out without thinking. Harry hadn't called Bob that since before he'd left to travel Europe on Justin's little errands. Being back in the house was bringing up all sorts of memories for him, which maybe accounted for why Harry felt like there was something in there with them, watching. Bob turned away to conceal his smile and Harry carried the bags back to the schoolroom, putting them neatly under the coffee table where he wouldn't trip over them.
The potion for his throat wasn't demanding, but it was a long brewing, and Harry had to take another dose of his lung potion before it was complete. He also, under Bob's close supervision, reapplied the healing salve, which had already done a good job in taking the redness out of the wounds and burns. The potion was done mid afternoon, and Harry took it, then ate a sandwich and went to lie down again while Bob walked around the schoolroom, ostensibly inspecting it. Once he was sure the wizard was asleep, Bob came to sit on the coffee table and watch over him.
He had come so close to losing Harry. They were supposed to have decades and decades together. To helplessly watch his boy die in the smoke and fire would have been the thing that sent Bob howling right into madness, unable to seek revenge for the death, restrained by the curse, losing the one person who treated him as family to the agony of a fiery death… it would have been an unbearable torment.
Instead he sat on a low table and watched the boy sleep, wheezing slightly through the damage in his lungs, and tried to settle his raging emotions back to calm. Harry needed him now, and was still alive, and Bob would have to content himself with the knowledge that his wizard would recover.
4.
The fire had occurred on Tuesday night, and by Friday Harry figured he'd better get on with tracking the scammer down. He couldn't afford to lose the business of this last case, so after his morning potion he and Bob had cast the tracking spell that would mark on a map where the owner of the envelope flap lived.
To keep Bob happy, he packed the last potion dose, a small tin of salve and an energy potion into Bob's satchel, as a sort of emergency kit. He was going longer between doses now, and didn't anticipate being out and about long enough to miss the last dose, but Bob was fretting in that cranky endearing way of his, so Harry packed accordingly. He'd taken clean clothes into the bathroom he'd been using, along with the toiletries he'd bought, and when he emerged he was clean shaven and tidy again, if still too pale for Bob's liking. The long sleeved cotton tunic from the thrift shop hung to his thighs, the light blue contrasting with the darker blue of the jeans. The shirt was collarless, and had a placket that was more in line with the clothes Bob had worn when alive. It emphasised his lean height, and Bob blinked at him in astonishment for a moment before smirking.
"Really Harry, if you stand sideways no one will be able to see you," he was informed drily, "You truly need to put a bit more weight on."
"Thanks, Bob," Harry rolled his eyes, "I'll keep that in mind."
He hooked the strap of Bob's satchel over his head, settling it comfortably and checking he had his wallet and the keys to the jeep. The keys to his destroyed place of business/home sat on the table, and he made a note to get rid of them at some point.
"I'm headed to the station," he told Bob, "It might be best if you travel inside."
He didn't want to order the Ghost back into his skull, especially in his uncles house. Bob sniffed at him and folded his arms stubbornly. Apparently Bob felt the same way about being given orders in this house, if his expression was anything to go by. He'd had a lot of freedom in their former home, even if he couldn't affect it, and Harry reminded himself to ensure that freedom extended here as well. The apartment had been small enough that Bob had been able to move from end to end of it easily, something he couldn't do here. In fact their apartment would have fit into the schoolroom easily, which was maybe why Harry felt safer in this room than any others.
"I'll walk you to your car," he informed Harry firmly, and Harry nodded in acceptance. The feeling of being watched increased in the hall as usual and Harry made a note to call Bob to ride shotgun on the way home so he could discuss it with the Ghost. If there was something watching, it would be better to discuss it away from the watchers reach.
Ancient Mai and Morgan were both waiting at the front door. Mai was scowling as usual, and Harry wondered how they'd known that he was about to leave. The scroll in Morgan's hand dispelled that bit of paranoia quickly. Although why Ancient Mai would come along to deliver mail was mind boggling. Bob bristled at the sight of them and stepped so his shoulder was in front of Harry's: a protective gesture that Harry appreciated, even if it was fruitless. The feeling of being watched increased, as well as a sense of animosity that wasn't his.
"Ancient Mai and Warden Morgan," Harry sighed, "What have you come to accuse me of now?"
"What have you done?" Mai retorted sharply and Harry rolled his eyes tiredly. She never missed an opportunity to blame him for other people's bad choices and he was frankly over it. He'd been unwilling to disrespect the High Council so far, but those days were coming to a close. He didn't invite them over the threshold, and leaned on the door jamb wearily.
"Nothing, Mai, as usual," Harry folded his arms over his chest, "Out with it, I have things to do."
"Morgan says you let the Ghost possess you," Mai sneered, "To make a potion. Unable to make your own, Dresden?"
"I was dying Mai," Harry said flatly, "Morgan here may have mentioned the six fire demons throwing hellfire into the apartment? Hellfire that scorched my lungs? I was in no state to brew by the time I got here, so Bob brewed for me. He saved my life."
"Why didn't you come to us for assistance?" Morgan, it seemed, had taken a naivety potion today and Harry did his best not to laugh in the other man's face.
"Why didn't I go to the people who would rather accuse me of every crime ever committed in Chicago and its surroundings, than investigate said crime properly? Why didn't I go to a council who is led by someone who wants me dead at any cost and has been blatant about it at every turn?" Harry's tone dripped with scorn and Bob sneered at them soundlessly in agreement, "Well, gee, Morgan. Let me get back to you on that."
"Are you saying we'd have killed you rather than healed you?" Morgan bristled and Harry nodded wearily.
"Yes," Bob said, his tone making it clear that it was obvious, and if it wasn't he'd be glad to point that out again and again until it was. Mai looked at Morgan, and Harry caught a flash of discomfort in her glance.
"It's not just me, is it?" he wasn't a PI for nothing, "The rest of the community have started avoiding your so called help too, haven't they?"
Mai snarled at him and stomped off, getting into the sleek restored roadster parked near Harry's jeep and gunning the engine. Gravel sprayed as she took off and Harry couldn't say he was sorry to see her go.
"Well hell, Morgan," Harry shrugged, "I guess you've made a problem for yourselves there. Also, it appears your ride has abandoned you."
"We didn't come together," Morgan pointed to the sleek Mercedes parked out of the way of the potential gravel spray, "I'm here to tell you about the fire demons. Can I come in?"
"No," Harry replied, feeling the interest in the air around him tighten with negativity, "I really am on my way out, and I don't have a lot of energy to waste right now."
"Fine," Morgan gritted his teeth and passed over the scroll, "It seems that your issue with the Council and the way they do things is more widespread than we ever thought. A wizard was planning to commit a series of crimes, leading to their own enrichment, and they thought that taking you out first would ensure they got away with it."
"In other words, your incompetence as an investigator is well known," Bob spoke up spitefully as Harry unrolled the scroll, "Because otherwise the attack would have been against you, and not Dresden." Morgan ignored Bob, which was unusual as the Warden never missed an opportunity to try and put the cursed sorcerer in what the Warden considered his place.
"His wife was aware of his schemes, but didn't come to us, or to the Warden that has been a friend of her sister for many years. She left him, and we managed to find him before he killed her, although she needed to be … healed afterwards," failure had evidently left a bitter taste in Morgan's mouth, "She said in her statement that she would have gone to you, had her husband not already tried to kill you. She felt you would have turned her away. I made it clear that … you wouldn't."
Harry's breath caught, and even Bob seemed astonished. This was unexpected indeed. Morgan never had a good word to say about Harry unless Harry had just finished doing something to his benefit. Harry wouldn't have turned her away, provided of course that he'd been well enough to talk to her in the first place. He'd spent a lot of time asleep the past few days, waking only to take more potion or eat under Bob's watchful eye.
"We need to do something about this … situation," Morgan pressed, and Harry handed the scroll back.
"Not my problem, Morgan," he told the Warden, "You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me and that you would be more than happy to present my head on a platter to Mai. I'm not interested in sorting out your little PR problem right now. Maybe when things are settled and I'm back on my feet."
Harry stepped forward, pulling the door shut behind him and re-locking it with a small burst of will. Locks were a speciality of his; his father had taught them to pick them manually, and Bob had found that the one area where Harry had finesse and control was his ability to pick a lock magically. Morgan stepped back reluctantly, watching as Harry crossed to the jeep and stowed the bag with Bob's skull securely between the seats.
"I'd appreciate it if you left first," Harry said to him firmly. He didn't want the Warden to watch Bob return to his skull, he wasn't sure why. He and his Ghost watched the Mercedes purr to life and roll down the drive, and then Harry turned to Bob with a frown.
"Unbelievable," was the Ghost's opinion, and Harry grinned reluctantly.
"But not unexpected," Harry replied, pleased when Bob looked startled, "I've been thinking for a while that my client list is growing with people who should have gone to the council and didn't. It's clear that their cut off your head first, determine guilt last policy isn't exactly going to enamour them to the people they are supposed to be protecting."
"True," Bob mused, "I'll think on it while you chauffeur me around and complete your errands."
He shot Harry a sly grin and returned to his skull in a flurry of sparks and smoke. Harry snorted in amusement and got into the jeep, turning it towards the station and Murphy.
He got several more startled looks than usual as he walked through the squad room towards Murphy's desk, making him wonder if the change of clothes was responsible. He had regained a bit of colour in his face now that his lungs were almost working properly, and the satchel at his hip wasn't covered in runes or anything weird to attract attention. Murphy was on the phone when he got there, so he hung back, pulling the folded map out of his back pocket and tapping it between his fingers. They'd managed to get a pretty close location of the scammer, and he was hoping it would be enough with whatever other evidence Murphy had to close the case.
"Dresden,' Kirmani said from behind him, and Harry turned to Murphy's partner, who was fidgeting with a cup of coffee and not scowling at him for once.
"Murphy says you were worried about me, night of the fire," Kirmani wasn't asking a question, but Harry could hear what the other man wanted to know. He wasn't sure what story the fire department was going to come up with, but since he hadn't known at the time that he was the only target, he stood by his decision to include Kirmani in his initial warning.
"You've got kids too Kirmani," he replied, "If the guy who firebombed my house also knew where you two were… it doesn't bear thinking about. Just cos I don't like you doesn't mean I wish you or your family harm."
"Same goes for me," Kirmani scowled, moving to his desk and Harry turned to see that Murphy was off the phone.
"How touching," she smirked at him, but there was no heat in the look, which he appreciated. He rolled his eyes at her and handed her the map.
"You look less dead," she continued, accepting but not unfolding the map, "Is there no phone at your uncles place?"
"Uh, I don't think so," Harry frowned, "At least if there was, it's been cut off long ago."
He wasn't paying a phone bill for a service he'd never use, so the phone in Justin's study had indeed been disconnected. Murphy tutted at him, and unfolded the map, locating the spot the spell said their caster was located.
"The fire investigator has finished their report," Murphy handed what was clearly a copy to him, "Your scum landlord hired an arsonist."
"What?" Harry frowned, "Are they sure?"
Murphy gave an unamused laugh as he flipped through the file, "Apparently the guy was pissed that the landlord had hired more than one person to do the job and turned him in. Something about only being paid when the insurance cheque cleared. He's in custody. The landlord, not the potential arsonist. We didn't have anything to hold him on since he never took any money and didn't actually burn your building down. Whoever it was used some sort of special mix to get the place to really burn."
"Well it worked," Harry sighed and closed the file, deciding to not say anything about the demons or cause of the fire, "Case closed, I guess."
Murphy nodded, but she didn't look happy about it. Given that catching the person didn't make his house any less destroyed, Harry could empathise. Murphy had caught the wrong person, but the next tenant wouldn't have Bob to save them, and so Harry wasn't too upset by the man being arrested.
"We had another letter turn up, this time to a deceased person," Murphy frowned, "His son wasn't affected."
"The letters themselves would only work on someone who didn't have a really firm grip on their faculties," Harry murmured, "Which makes what they're doing even more despicable."
"Mmm,' Murphy sat back and frowned at him, "We sent the letter back anyway, with a cheque that they won't be able to cash. It's flagged so we'll know when they try to present it. Thing is, the address is a post office. One where the mail is put into post boxes for people who don't like to receive mail at home. We staked it out, and no one went near our target mail box until this morning, and when we stopped them, they didn't have the letter."
"That makes sense," Harry mused. The spell wasn't wrong, he was sure of it. He may not be up to his usual strength, but the location spell had been supervised closely by Bob, who was certain Harry had cast it correctly, "If it was a postal worker."
Murphy's eyes widened and she started yelling for Kirmani. Apparently she had someone in mind, and Harry left her to it. He drove to the bank and deposited most of his money, keeping some on hand for emergencies, since it was that kind of week. He picked up some more groceries while he was out, knowing that Bob's next step would be to nag him about eating more than soup and toast. He'd found a spot to park that was out of the way, and once he was back in the jeep with Bob's satchel secured and the groceries in the back, he patted the bag gently.
"Coast is clear, you can come out if it pleases your ghostliness," he informed the skull. He hadn't missed the poorly concealed delight at the old nickname, and when Bob finished materialising beside the jeep he was smiling. He moved to sit in the passenger seat and Harry grinned at him. He was feeling tired, but not unbearably so.
"You haven't lost any colour," Bob appraised, "I take it your visit with the Lieutenant was fruitful?"
"Yeah," Harry nodded and told Bob about his landlords little plot, which at least closed the arson case as far as the mundane world was concerned. He told Bob about the theory that their scammer was a postal worker, and Bob agreed that his thinking was sound.
"And why are we still sitting here when we could be headed for your uncles home?" Bob asked after a moment. Harry grimaced. He started the car and pulled out though, thinking about the groceries in the back and the warm spring day.
"I think there is something in the house. I feel… watched, in certain places. And there are times when I feel a certain amount of moroseness or interest that seems to be coming from outside me," he said it evenly, not wanting to sound like a child afraid of the dark, "I was wondering if you had noticed anything? You're a lot closer to the other plane than I am."
"Hmm," Bob mused, "There have been moments when I felt a heightened state of emotion, that couldn't be explained by your injury alone. And if there is something lingering there, you are wise to bring it up where it can't hear."
Harry rolled his eyes a little, but didn't kick at the decidedly backwards compliment. Bob was at least taking him seriously, and not telling him it was because he'd been hurt.
"When we spoke to Ancient Mai, there was a feeling of resistance to her presence. I put it down to your own, the two of you never got along before… the Incident, and she has had it in for you ever since…" Bob stroked his chin, thinking.
"Was Mai working with Justin? I know he was making a power play, but even he wouldn't have been a real match for her. I assumed that she was in on his plots, and that is why she needs me dead so badly," Harry
glanced at the Ghost, worried he would discover that Bob had also been in on the plot. He could compel a truthful answer from him, but doing so went against every thing they had worked towards together. Bob gave him a grave look.
"While your uncle did request certain knowledge from me, and there were times I thought he may have been speaking to a co conspirator, he did not take me into his confidence regarding the initial blow to be struck against the council. I believe he wanted to keep me in the dark so I would be unable to counsel you effectively. Once he had enacted his initial plan he would have finalised his hold on you, Harry. Only then I would have been privy to the deeper plot," Bob shook his head, and Harry sighed.
"So you think he knew you weren't completely loyal to him? I mean, he held the geas, but you and I loosened them a bit when I Named you," Harry frowned, and Bob chuckled. He had two Names now, and Hrothbert of Bainbridge was only the one he was born with. Harry called him Bob, and while Bob was a part of Hrothbert, Hrothbert was only a very small part of Bob.
"You make it sound as if you did so knowingly," Bob teased, "Instead of insisting on a nickname easier for your lazy tongue to pronounce."
"In my family, Bob, we all have nicknames," Harry repeated what he had said as a child, and Bob sighed, affection spreading across his face.
"I couldn't have had a better son," he acknowledged, and then cleared his throat and sat up again, "As to the house, Harry, the wards are formidable. Mai expected to be able to cross without invitation, I could tell by her expression. If they can keep Mai out, then they can keep almost anything out."
"I did wonder if they had reverted to 'family only' when uncle Justin… died," Harry stumbled over the word, hating that he was effectively the cause of death, even though he'd no intention of killing his uncle, "Morgan couldn't come in, but the simulacrum could. He must have had an exception in place for Tara that time, which means he could have let anything in. Or anyone."
"We should check the house wards," Bob decided, "We will be able to tell what is what when we have done so. Do you feel under threat?"
"No," Harry mused, slowing for the turn into the driveway and rolling the jeep forward as slowly as possible to prolong their discussion.
"Then it can wait until tomorrow when the last of the potion has been administered and I am convinced you are well," Bob decided, "I will keep watch over you, dear boy. You know that I wouldn't let you be harmed if I could avoid it."
"I know," Harry grinned, "I trust you."
Not that Bob wouldn't work behind Harry's back for his own good. It was unspoken by either of them, but Harry knew full well that Bob would omit a solution to a problem if he thought it too dangerous for Harry to implement. It was the cause of their most bitter and heated arguments. Bob would defy his geas as best he could to preserve Harry, and Harry couldn't bring himself to punish him. Bob knew that the death of an innocent because he had omitted a choice would destroy Harry, and that threat was enough to help walk the very fine line he was playing with.
5.
Bob forbade him to do any 'major' magic until 12 hours after the last dose of his potion, which meant no checking of the wards. A tracking spell was a combination of potion and a small amount of will, so Harry had been permitted by his ghostliness to do that, both of them well aware they needed the fee the closure of the case would bring. Harry grumbled all the way to the kitchen, knowing his potion wasn't due until that evening, and put away his groceries.
He wasn't feeling so terrible now, so he gathered his dirty clothes, and the unworn ones, and ran a wash in the laundry, taking a walk around the 'back of house' rooms that would let him check that everything was ok, and let Bob see the rooms he'd never seen before. Bob didn't have any association with Justin in these rooms, and Harry was pleased to see that his only family remained relaxed and carefree as they wandered around. The small study that Harry had used as a child was also there and Bob spent some time checking the sheet swathed bookcases, something he'd confessed he'd not had an opportunity to do before being permanently returned to the schoolroom. He found several books he wanted to read, and Harry toted them with him back to the laundry, stacking them to one side while Bob nattered at him in the bright interested tones that Harry only heard when they were working a magical conundrum together, or Bob was explaining a solved theorem. The atmosphere was relaxed as Harry transferred his clothes to the drier and once the machine was running he brushed his hands together lightly, and suggested they look around upstairs.
There were the bedrooms, a whole wing of them, with attendant bathrooms and in his uncles case a private sitting room, which Harry ignored. There were a few small reception rooms, which Justin had used to entertain people according to some ranking system that Harry wasn't sure he'd ever understood. The atmosphere became more oppressive as Harry approached his uncles study, and Bob took a deep breath as Harry put his hand on the handle.
"You can wait in the doorway, if you like," Harry told the Ghost, "I know you don't like the memories associated with this room."
"I endured several punishments in this room," Bob confessed, arms folded over his chest, "When the geas first passed to Justin he liked to make a point of asking for things I could not provide."
Harry kept his face as blank as he could, though the temperature around them was plummeting and he was furious to hear about Bob's early torture at the hands of his uncle.
"It was his way of showing me his power, and his way of imposing his will upon me to an extent that was greater than the curse itself," Bob wouldn't look at Harry as he said this, his head bowed slightly, "I learned quickly how to best head him off when he was in the mood to cause pain. And then, when he was sure I was cowed, he told me he knew how to make me mortal once more. I was too stunned to defy him, and my reaction lead him to believe that I had accepted him wholly, and without reservation. Once he was certain of his hold on me, he began to confide some of his plans and frustrations, and I would suggest courses of action to … distract him from taking those frustrations further out on me."
Harry locked his jaw shut, his breath misting with each exhalation. He was sure that this was only the tip of the iceberg, but he knew better than to push. Bob had so little privacy, so little in his existence that was under his control. He should be able to choose the time and place of his confidences, if Harry could at all help it. He closed the door to the study and walked away from it.
"Harry?" Bob moved swiftly to stay with him, "If you wanted to check the study…"
"It can wait," Harry forced a light tone, glad that Bob wasn't in a position to see his face just now, "I was just wanting to check the cloths were all in place, but I'm sure they're fine. I grabbed all the papers out of his desk when we left here the first time."
The air didn't warm much until they were downstairs, and Harry took them out into the gardens instead. He'd look in the small library upstairs later, and the larger library downstairs could also wait. It was a pleasant day, so he strolled slowly, letting Bob see the garden in daylight, something he'd only done in glimpses through the windows. Harry had taken him outside at night as a child, ostensibly to stargaze, but Justin had put a stop to that as well eventually. The gardens were extensive and Harry was sure he could spend the majority of the day walking slowly around them.
Bob nagged him to go and eat a meal eventually and Harry gave in, putting the skull on the kitchen window sill. Bob stayed out in the small courtyard, giving Harry time to get a better grip on himself. Bob didn't want his pity, and needed his support. Justin was dead, at Bob's own hand this time, and Harry had to hope in some twisted way that besting his former master gave Bob some form of comfort for the pain caused.
Twilight was drawing in before Bob came back inside, and Harry had folded his clean clothes and taken them back to the schoolroom, stacking them on a bookcase that was partially empty. He ate a final meal, and then allowed Bob to shepherd him back to the schoolroom, where he took his last dose of potion and lay down. The energy rush dissipated more quickly now, and he felt tired afterwards.
"We need to sort out the ballroom tomorrow," Harry gave Bob his best raised eyebrow, meaning that he also wanted to get the wards looked at, but not willing to say it in the house itself. The feeling of melancholy had returned, and now that he knew it wasn't from him, he wanted the source of it gone, "Get things tidied up and check for damage."
"Yes," Bob hummed, preoccupied with the books Harry had brought in with his washing, "I want to check you over one last time as well. Now that the hellfire damage has been healed I want to be sure there isn't any other nastiness hanging over your health."
"Alright," Harry gave in, "But only to please you. I'm gonna sleep, ok?"
"Good idea, that way I'll be able to get on with my reading," Bob replied absently, then looked up in surprise at Harry's chuckles. Harry didn't mind though, and he rolled over to hide his face against the back of the couch, blocking out the light from the candles. Bob could read in the dark, but after this afternoon's confession Harry was more in the mood to treat his oldest friend with a bit more coddling than he would have ordinarily.
He woke with Bob's hand in his chest; the contact giving him the feeling of Bob's intense concern and fear. He twitched but didn't object as Bob moved his hand slowly through his torso, and then up into his head.
"Good morning your ghostliness," Harry yawned, "That's one way to wake me up."
"I wanted to check on you before you got up," Bob pulled his hand from Harry's chest, "You know I was worried."
"I do," Harry agreed and sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees, "And are you satisfied?"
"I am," Bob straightened and folded his arms over his chest, his most forbidding scowl on his face. Evidently now he was sure that Harry was well enough, it was time for his lecture. Harry leaned back and let Bob have his say. The Ghost had been constrained from expressing his opinion about Harry ordering him into his skull from the time they landed in Murphy's spare room, until Harry's health was back to normal. This particular scolding had been brewing for the better part of a week and Harry heard Bob out silently, nodding at appropriate intervals and meeting Bob's eyes whenever his oldest friend paused in the pacing and gesticulating to glare in Harry's direction.
"… and if you are ever so foolish again I will retire to my skull permanently, am I understood?" Bob finished, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring hard enough to set Harry's hair on fire.
"I understand," Harry nodded, "I never wanted to hurt you."
"No," Bob slumped a little and turned away. Harry stood, folding the blanket onto the couch. Sensing his Ghost needed a moment of privacy, Harry excused himself, collecting clothes and heading to the bathroom. He took his time, and returned to find Bob at the window, arms folded and a sardonic expression on his face. Ember was on the other side of the window and she brightened when she spotted Harry returning.
"Has she spoken to you?" Harry was curious, because of the wardens that had sheltered in his apartment when Mai had dragged them into Hell, she was the one least likely to kill him on sight just for being in the wrong spot at the wrong time.
"She has not," Bob replied drily, "She has mostly ignored me."
"Pity," Harry sighed, coming to the window and opening it, "Warden, how can I help you?"
"Morgan sent me to check on you," Ember replied, "Can I come in?"
The temperature in the room dropped sharply, and Harry almost shivered in response. Whatever was in the house with them really didn't want anyone connected to the High Council to come in at all. Even Bob noticed the drop in temperature and turned to look at the room sharply, resting a hand partially in Harry's arm as he did. Harry also looked around carefully, then turned to Ember.
"I'm sorry, that wouldn't be a good idea right now," he told her, ignoring her frown, "Bob and I have some things we need to do today, and the house isn't ready to receive guests. If Morgan is really interested, please tell him I'm recovered."
The temperature warmed back to normal, and Harry took his hand off the window, intending to swing it shut. Instead it slammed and bolted itself. Bob startled quite badly, his hand going through Harry's arm as he tried to pull him back.
"Did you catch your fingers?" Bob asked, his tone alarmed, and Harry shook his head. Ember looked startled and then concerned, but she backed away from the window.
"You should eat breakfast before we look around some more today," Bob reminded Harry, more for their unseen audience than Harry's benefit. Harry nodded and moved to the table, picking up Bob's skull in its satchel and strolling to the kitchen.
Mister was waiting for them, and Harry fed the cat, musing that if there was something dangerous around, Mister would likely not be as relaxed and unconcerned as he was. Bob also studied the cat with a hooded gaze, then sent Harry a meaningful look. They were on the same page then, and Harry nodded, eating a bowl of cereal and then going to the schoolroom to collect his staff and wand.
The door to the cellar was disguised as a panel in the hallway. Harry lit the oil lantern at the top of the stairs and carried it with them. Bob brushed through his arm and then walked down the stairs first, apparently thinking he needed to scout ahead. There were lanterns all through the cellar and Harry lit them with a general spell.
The cellar hadn't been covered in dust sheets as there was very little furniture down here. Justin had had an extensive collection of wine and spirits, which he stored in custom racks. They took up a large part of the cellar, and then gave way to storage. Boxes and trunks in all shapes and sizes were stacked in serried ranks, some of them labelled, some not. Harry had a vague idea that some of his parents things were down here, but he'd never wanted to look as an adult.
As a child he'd been forbidden to enter most of the cellar, though oddly not the part that contained the alcohol. Justin kept a workroom down here, and Harry had cleaned it out of ingredients that couldn't be stored, as well as removing any artefacts that could be considered dangerous or dark. The dark implements he'd destroyed, the merely dangerous ones he'd turned over to the wardens.
The house wards were inscribed in a series of intricate circles, laid into the stone floor in heavy bands of iron and copper. They were also carved intricately into the supporting beams overhead. There was a specific safe path that you took to enter the centre of the wards, and Harry followed in Bob's precise footsteps, letting the Ghost guide him to the centre. The already cool cellar got colder the closer they got to the centre, and a feeling of terror gripped Harry as he took the last few steps. Bob crowded close to him, wild fear in the back of his eyes and Harry swallowed down the complaint he'd been about to make.
He closed the circle carefully, and the sense of cold and terror dissipated as the protection rose around him and Bob.
"There is definitely something here," Harry murmured, though he couldn't see anything. He put the lantern down carefully and readied his wand and staff.
"Indeed, there is. And its getting stronger," Bob shivered, the habits of the living still with him even after 900 years, "You want to call the wards into visibility, and then put them on their highest active footing. This will allow us to see what is in the house apart from us and Mister. Once we know what it is, we can decide what to do next."
Harry nodded and widened his stance a little, making sure he was properly balanced before raising wand and staff and starting the first of the incantations that would do as Bob suggested. Warding their last home together from scratch had taught Harry a lot about this sort of thing and he didn't wait for Bob to murmur instructions as the wards glowed into life around them. Once he was sure they were steady, he hooked the controls for the strength into the net his will was weaving and manipulated them to their highest setting carefully. The house was on a ley line, and this was powering the wards, so Harry had to be careful that he didn't try to channel the wards power directly, lest he fry himself.
Once the wards were at their highest, Harry stood still and let them tell him who was in the house. There was his own magical signature, the sign for Mister, and Bob's signature, banded by the curse. And a fourth signature, one that took Harry several long minutes to work out.
The presence he and Bob had been feeling was, in fact, the house.
Bob's sharp intake of air beside him convinced Harry he wasn't misreading the signature. The signature was incomplete, and scarred, and Harry thought that it might be incomplete because there wasn't a 'master' holding the wards, like his uncle had. The death of his uncle wouldn't have scarred the wards, because a set up like this was designed to weather an unexpected event like that, but it did seem the scarring was tied into his uncles signature.
Harry shared a look with Bob, who shook his head. He turned his attention back to the wards and lowered their power to the setting that was normal for a property this size, then allowed the wards to return to their usual invisible state.
"So you were actually paying attention when we warded your apartment," Bob murmured in his best 'I'm impressed but I don't want to say so' tone.
"Of course," Harry replied glibly and opened the circles again, "After you, your ghostliness."
Bob snorted at him, an inelegant sound that made Harry grin childishly behind his back, and led the way out of the circles again, Harry matching him step for step once more. The air was heavy with fear as they stepped out of the circles and Harry took a bracing breath against it before following Bob out of the cellar, extinguishing the lanterns and closing the door to the cellar. He'd pocketed his car keys and wallet before they went downstairs, and now he led Bob to the front door in silence and out to the jeep.
They drove in silence as well, Harry heading for a nearby clearing in the woods where he and Bob had worked on some of his earlier magical exercises. They walked through the springtime woods in silence, and once there Harry drew a circle for privacy and protection with the end of his staff, then sat cross legged on the grass. Bob gave him a dirty look and then also sat down, tutting and brushing at the legs of his suit.
"Bob, you can't get dirty, so don't even start," Harry said wearily, "Was I reading the wards right? The house is sentient?"
"Not precisely sentient, not in the truest of senses," Bob said after a moment of thought, "It is old, and that does lend a certain amount of extraordinary ability and memory to those wards. I remember the house being built and your great great great grandfather took especial care to build certain things directly into the structure. Bricks and beams marked with special runes and wards that tied them into the ley line beneath the house in a special matrix."
"You remember it being built?" Harry boggled at him, "I forget how old you really are sometimes."
"I will take that as a complement, Dresden," Bob informed him, "Though I am not sure it was. Never-the-less, the wards on the house are particularly adaptive. While it cannot think the way you or I would, it can remember and it is able to anticipate the needs of its occupants. I also remember that your great grandmother went unexpectedly into labour in a far corner of the house and it was able to attract attention to her need."
"Did you feel the fear? When we left? I thought I would suffocate on it," Harry sighed. Bob nodded sombrely.
"Yes," he murmured and looked away, "Now that I think on it, there were times when I felt terror in that house that was not my own. It was the emotion I associated most with your uncle. Certainly there was a reprieve from it when he was not in residence. Knowing that the house itself was terrified of the man that held it's wards is… difficult for me. Most recently, when he had me brought to him there after his death, I thought the feelings were my own, but now…"
"Bob," Harry whispered, "God Bob, I am so sorry."
"It's not your fault, my boy," Bob sniffed at him, "And… things changed when you came. The feelings eased considerably."
"It did? The house always seemed a little scary to me, and there were parts of it I wouldn't go anywhere near as a little kid. I was braver as a teen, but only when I was sure my uncle wasn't around," Harry frowned, "I was always frightened of him."
"For good reason," Bob nodded, "I did my best to warn you, to shield you from him, but I was limited in what I could do while he was the possessor of my curse."
"I know you did. The only place that felt secure to me was our schoolroom," Harry sighed, "I should have said this a long time ago, Bob, but I don't blame you. I don't blame you for the spells he used against my father, or for the omissions and lies he made you tell. And I didn't say it at the time, but… that day you were mortal, I wish that there had been another way to kill him. I wish you hadn't had to sacrifice your one shot for me."
"Harry... I hold you as I would a son of my own flesh," Bob informed him regally, "And as long as it is in my power I will protect and care for you to whatever extent this curse grants me."
Harry nodded, looking away to regain his composure. They didn't tell each other how they felt as a general rule. Bob was certainly not trained that way, and while Harry's parents had been demonstrative of their feelings, his uncle had squashed that natural need for connection as best he could.
"Has it really been hell?" the question slipped out of his mouth without conscious direction from him and wanted to swallow the words back into himself at once. The words Bob had spoken in the morgue had haunted him for months.
"You misunderstood me," Bob sighed, "It was hell knowing that the only way to save you from your uncle was to attack you, steal your powers, and make you think I would betray you. It was hell knowing that I could only touch you to harm or restrain you. Believe me, there were things I'd have rather done with my one day of freedom than that. Finding a willing wench would have been high on my list…"
"Stars, Bob! I don't need that image in my head!" Harry sputtered and Bob gave him the grin that said he was hoping for that exact response.
"You're evil," Harry informed him, well aware of the irony.
"Well yes, Harry. If I wasn't, we would not be here together. In fact, we'd never have met," Bob replied, his tone so sarcastic it could have cut through marble. They grinned at each other and let the silence settle comfortably between them.
Harry leaned back on his hands, lifting his face to the sunlight. They needed to decide what to do about the house. Leaving it alone as it was, was clearly making it unhappy, and he needed a place to live, but the house itself was too big for him to live in alone. Bob and Mister didn't need that amount of space either, though all evidence pointed to Mister enjoying his new hunting grounds.
"I don't know what to do, Bob," Harry said after a while, "I don't think leaving the house alone is good for it, and its too big to live there by myself."
"We can't sell it Harry," Bob shook his head, "Not with the wards intact. We'd need to disable them entirely, and given that they are built literally into the walls and foundations… it would have to be razed to the ground, and even then that might not be sufficient."
"Can we live there, though?" Harry dropped his head forward to look at his only family member, "I mean, the beauty of the apartment was that you could reach it from end to end without me moving your skull too much. You had so much more freedom there, but the house is so big you'd be effectively confined to a room again."
Bob stared at him for a long moment, then looked away, swallowing hard and fiddling with the cuffs of his curse. Harry sensed that he'd upset the Ghost a little, acknowledging the conditions of his existence so plainly, but it would be disingenuous to not tell Bob the truth of what he was thinking. He needed Bob to be comfortable wherever they lived. Mister wouldn't really care, he could hunt in the city as well as out on the manor grounds.
"Thank you," Bob's tone was a little strangled, "But I don't see any way around us living there for now. We will need to build your finances considerably if we are to find alternate accommodation, and once the house is aware that we intend to abandon it again, I am certain the atmosphere will be worse than ever."
"It wouldn't be fair to raise its hopes and then dash them," Harry frowned, "And I don't want to be cruel."
"You never do, Harry," Bob assured him, "It's a predominate trait. A bit of hardened indifference to others would certainly make me worry less about you."
Harry sighed, deciding not to get into another argument about his 'tilting at windmills'.
"However," Bob sounded like he was making a proclamation, so Harry paid him the proper attention due, "I am not adverse to our attempting to live there once more; if the house can be persuaded to allow us to do so initially without you taking over the wards. If we decide to make it permanent, then you would have to take the wards on. The level of protection we would gain would prevent another incident like the skin walker, and the wardens would not be able to get to you, should they decide to frame you for some ridiculous crime."
"This is true," Harry nodded, "And I could… I mean if you want, I could wear the satchel all the time. You would be able to come with me when you wanted to, and if you wanted to stay put you'd just have to say."
"That… would be acceptable," Bob said after a moment, his face strictly controlled, "I was never given much freedom in that house. You gave me the most mobility, until your uncle put a stop to it."
"So we should tell the house that, yes?" Harry mused, "Would just talking to the air work? Or should I go back to the rune point, because it was terrified when we were headed for the centre of the circle."
"Talking would work, I think," Bob said thoughtfully, "You'd need to be careful in your wording."
"Ok then," Harry sighed, "And I'll need to get the phone reconnected, using my old number, because that's what's in the book."
"You'll need to talk to the maintenance people as well, and consider hiring cleaning staff. You can't live in the sort of clutter that the apartment lent itself too," Bob sounded judgemental, and Harry pulled a face.
"I'm not planning to open any of the upper floor rooms," he informed Bob, "I was planning to make a bedroom downstairs, in one of the reception rooms. We'll move the bookcases and desk to the schoolroom, and the lab too, I think, unless you object to having those things there?"
"Nooo," Bob drawled, "I would like to reuse that room in a manner more fitting to our current partnership."
Harry grinned, though moving those things was going to be his job alone, and a sweaty, thankless one at that. Bob was surprisingly picky about where furniture went, given that he couldn't properly use it, and liked things laid out a certain way. The schoolroom had been Bob's domain, and Harry had shunted furniture to make it fit his ideas of where things should be as a child. His uncle had rearranged it when Harry left for Europe, but they could make it their own again now.
It hadn't escaped his notice that Bob had called them partners, and he was glad of it. The last week had been very difficult for the Ghost, it was always hard on him when Harry was hurt or out of contact for long periods of time. It made him question his value to Harry, and his place in Harry's life. Harry had come to realise that with the world around him so intangible, Bob tended to hang onto people or places as hard as he could. Harry took a deep breath and reached out, scuffing the circle through and standing up to stretch.
"Well, come on then," he informed the Ghost, "You can help me practice what to say on the way back to the manor."
"Your humble servant," Bob rolled his eyes, but was standing by the time Harry had collected his staff and wand.
TBC