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.
6.
Once Harry had made it clear that they would stay for a while, and that their decision to remain longer was contingent on how well living at the house worked for them, the atmosphere in the house improved quite a bit. Bob helped him choose a room to convert to a bedroom, which by no small coincidence was the room off the schoolroom. The fact that you would have to go through the schoolroom to get to where Harry slept was in no way a part of why he recommended the room to Harry or insisted that the other rooms were not suitable.
They were talking over where they would store the furniture in the room, which had been used as a sort of small dining room, or tea room, it was hard to tell, when there was a knock at the door. Bob retreated reluctantly to his skull and Harry went to see who it was. The house felt… curious… about the guests waiting for Harry to answer the door, and he was certainly surprised to see Murphy there, with her daughter Anna beside her.
"Murphy!" Harry gaped, "Uh, hi?"
"I said I was going to check on you," Murphy reminded him as he stepped back, leading Anna into the grand foyer, "This is your families place?"
"Yeah," Harry smiled at Anna, who was staring around curiously, "This is it."
Anna looked quite a lot like her mother, although Harry suspected she was tall for her age. Not that there was anything wrong with that. She had an athletic build, and a graceful way of moving, which made him suspect she was a dancer or a gymnast. Murphy's curls had been passed to the daughter, who wore her hair long enough to pull back into a ponytail that dangled between her shoulders. She wore jeans and a t shirt like her mom, and carried a canvas satchel that was bulging in books.
"Anna, this is Harry Dresden. He's a wizard," Murphy rolled her eyes, "Harry, this is Anna."
"Gymnast?" Harry asked as he held out a hand to shake hers. Her eyes widened and she stared at her mom as they shook hands.
"Can he read minds too?" she squeaked and Murphy frowned.
"He's hopeless at that," she informed her daughter, and Harry supposed she was right as he had no idea what cue he'd missed from his non magical partner.
"You have a biography of Larisa Latynina in your bag," Harry told her, "Always make sure your bag is closed up if you don't want people working things out about you."
"She had 18 Olympic medals!" Anna enthused, evidently reassured he wasn't reading her mind. Murphy interrupted before her daughter could launch into the lecture that was clearly offing.
"So are you going to show us around or not?"
"Sure," Harry grinned at Anna, "You can tell me later, ok?"
Anna nodded and Harry took the Murphy women for a short tour of the ground floor, mentioning that he was trying to work out how to move some furniture around so he wouldn't have to open the whole house up. Before he knew where he was, Murphy had volunteered to help, and he wasn't about to say no. It would offend her to start with, and he wanted to remain on good terms with her, even after the debacle with his uncle's body. Also, she was deceptively strong.
They dismantled the bed from his childhood room and hefted the pieces and both the dressers downstairs. Anna surprised him by rolling the old rug that had been on his floor up and pushing it along the hall and down the stairs with single minded grit. Between the three of them, they got the wardrobe downstairs too, and Harry then forked over cash to pay for a pizza lunch. Anna went to wait at an upstairs window overlooking the drive while Murphy helped him get the table upstairs into his empty room and bring down the last set of beside drawers.
Harry confessed that his books and things had been saved from the fire to Murphy when she mentioned getting a fundraiser together for him to replace stuff. He was going to need more clothes, but that was what thrift shops were for, and Murphy rolled her eyes at that proclamation.
"That explains the wardrobe," she muttered and Harry sniggered. He'd never minded looking a bit scruffy. There was no way he'd want to wear full three piece suits with ties and silk kerchiefs full time. His uncle had done that.
They ate lunch in the garden room, just off the schoolroom, and Harry made a mental note to replant it properly. There were a lot of ingredients that they could grow here, and some of the overgrown plants needed to be removed. Anna enjoyed her indoor picnic and they took a break from moving furniture to look at the plants in more detail. Murphy had a self professed black thumb and Anna was curious if inexperienced.
Harry and Bob would be able to move the furniture in the ballroom by resetting the translocation spells, so he saw the ladies off with a smile and effusive thanks. Bob was waiting in the schoolroom when he returned.
"She sounded like a lively child," Bob's curiosity was one of his strongest traits, and Harry grinned. He'd have adored Anna if only because she was a young scholar, keen on her subject and eager to learn.
"She did handsprings all the way down the hall when the pizza arrived. Murphy wasn't too happy about it, but there was no harm done to Anna or the house," Harry shrugged, thinking it must be a mom thing. He'd lost his own when he was three so his memories of being mothered were rare.
He picked up Bob's skull and showed him the new bedroom. There was a door into the foyer and Harry and Murphy had blocked it off with the wardrobe, to make it more secure. Bob approved and then Harry spent an hour rearranging the room to Bob's satisfaction. He ended up with the double sided fireplace that also served the schoolroom to one side of the bed and the dressers along the wall that bordered the hall. There were a couple of occasional chairs in the schoolroom and Bob indicated that he wanted one of a set in particular gone, so Harry had dragged both the chairs to another room and tossed a dustsheet from his bedroom over it. Out of sight, out of mind, he reasoned, and he suspected that it was something to do with his uncle and the kidnapping Bob had been put through.
The couch was moved in front of the fireplace, as was the low table in front of it and the two matching end tables. They had been sitting on a rug and that was moved too. The round table that had held the chest where Justin had stored his thaumaturgy implements was taken apart and rolled outside. There was an axe in the garden shed and Harry had spent some time reducing the table and its heavy base to kindling. Bob had stood to the side and watched silently, not remarking on the destruction of a beautiful antique or the tears that streamed down Harry's face as he swung the axe with increasing fury. It wasn't until Harry missed his target and the axe thudded into the dirt beside his foot that Bob came forward, covering Harry hands with his own.
"That's enough, Harry," he said firmly, using the tone he'd used when Harry had experienced a rare fit of temper as a child, "Leave it now."
Harry left the axe where it was, stumbling back to where he'd placed the bag with Bob's skull and dropping to the ground, hiding his face on his bent knees. His breathing calmed after a while and he wiped his face as he got up, collecting the bag and the axe, which he replaced in the garden shed.
The house felt sad when he entered it, and Harry sighed, closing the french doors to the garden and locking them firmly.
"I'm sorry about that," he said to the air, and to Bob who was hovering beside him, "I'll do better, I promise."
"I'm not so sure you've done anything wrong," Bob murmured, "Certainly I never want to see the remains of the table he used to hurt you with, that terrible evening."
"The house shouldn't have to worry that I'll turn into a lunatic, destroying furniture left and right," Harry said wearily and was astonished when the air around him warmed for a moment, then returned to its usual mild temperature. Bob's eyes were also wider, which meant he'd noticed it as well.
"You should eat something, and then make your bed," Bob instructed, "And I'm sure Mister will appreciate some attention."
"Yeah, ok," Harry sighed, "Do you want to stay here and read? Or come with?"
"I'll come with you," Bob decided, "The kitchen gardens have some potential for growing our own ingredients and I want to examine them again."
"I should take you into the garden rooms too," Harry remembered, "There are a few plants we could cultivate in there, and some of it needs to come out."
"After your dinner," Bob instructed firmly, "Come along."
Harry let Bob lead the way, too exhausted to really argue. If a simple table was enough to drive him into a rage he wasn't sure that he could manage to live here for very long, though that may just be his emotions talking. Bob talked him through a simple recipe, as if they were making potions, and Harry sat out in the courtyard to eat it while Bob walked around the garden beds, talking about sunlight and rainfall.
Mister insisted on coming with Harry as he collected more pillows, along with sheets and blankets, and inspected the schoolroom while Bob continued to plan out what he wanted done with the garden. Harry nodded and made agreeable noises, grateful that Bob was distracting him from the thoughts that wanted to take over.
"You should bathe before you sleep, and meditate, or you'll have horrendous dreams, and neither of us will get any sleep," Bob instructed when the bed was made and watched with some concern as Harry moved like an automaton to obey, though he left Bob's skull on a bookcase when he headed for the bathroom. Mister hopped up onto the freshly made bed and Bob sighed in frustration.
"You'll need to comfort him tonight, you mangy flea bag," Bob informed him, "As I cannot."
Mister blinked insolently and then lifted a leg to wash himself. Bob turned away, his face twisted with anger. The curse weighed heavily on his wrists tonight. He watched silently as Harry returned and meditated in front of the couch for an hour, then got up and picked up Bob's skull. He climbed into bed silently, the skull clutched to his chest as it had been after the fire. Bob moved to sit on the edge of the mattress as Mister stalked across the blankets and settled beside Harry, purring and kneading the blankets beneath his front paws.
"Good night, Bob," Harry mumbled. The shutters at the windows shut themselves and the curtains drew across the rail silently. Bob looked up at the ceiling, feeling a fool for doing it, but unable to deny that the house was indeed trying to help.
"Thank you," he murmured.
7.
Getting the phone company to transfer his connection from the apartment to the manor was not so hard, once he had enough change to feed the public phone he had to call from. Getting the electricity reconnected wasn't necessary, as he'd never bothered to cut it off. The people who maintained the house needed it, so Harry had set the house account up to pay it. Bob mentioned that he was sure that the simulacrum had had access to funds that Harry hadn't known about, as their accountant hadn't mentioned any unusual drains on the house accounts, so Harry set the accountant to tracking that down for him.
There was a phone downstairs, and once the house realised that they wanted to move it from the hall to the schoolroom, it snaked the cord back into the wall. Harry located where it was tapping in the schoolroom and Bob suggested a spell to make a small hole that allowed the cable to spring from the wall and across the floor. Harry's phone had been transported with the desk, so they made sure the translocation spell would move the desk to the wall where the hole was. As this was also near the door letting out to the hall it was convenient as an access point. After some discussion Harry went upstairs and unplugged the phone in his uncles study, with the house re-spooling the cable, allowing him to reconnect the hall phone instead. Bob waited downstairs while he did that.
It took some doing, but they managed to get most of the bookcases with the tomes they used in their business into the schoolroom without cluttering it too badly, basically using them as walls to demarcate different parts of the room to specific uses. Harry moved the blackboard and school paraphernalia out of their nooks and the lab shelves fit neatly into them. The lab table went near the windows where they could let the fumes from any brewing out more easily, and Harry managed to fit the shelves with his records beside the fireplace. The doors to his new bedroom were doubles, and he locked one into the closed position, which gave room for their fiction collection to stand in front of it, on both sides of the door.
It was Tuesday by the time Bob agreed that the room was as he wanted it, and Harry called Murphy on his newly reconnected phone to tell her that he was back in business. By that point he was almost out of clean clothes and had to run another wash.
"I'm liking having my own laundry," Harry informed Bob, and felt the air around him warm for a moment, "Its a lot more convenient."
"Now all you need are the clothes to clean it in," Bob sniffed, "I suppose you'll be headed back to the thrift stores?"
A door at the end of the laundry opened with an attention getting creak before Harry could reply. The staircase that had been built for servants was housed there, and after a moment Harry walked through it and up the stairs. At each landing he tried the door, which wouldn't open, until he was at the top of the house in the attic. Bob climbed behind him, muttering under his breath as he did. Harry didn't point out that Bob could just get back in his skull and be carried, as that would offend his mentor immensely.
It was dark and cool in there, although there was a light glowing further in. Harry conjured a small globe of light to help him navigate the various trunks and cloth shrouded objects. There was a light on above a collection large trunks sitting up on one end.
"Those are your great grandparents steamer trunks," Bob said quietly.
"Steamer trunks?" Harry asked, allowing his light to dispel. Bob scoffed at him, but there was no real heat in the noise, "Pardon me for not understanding everything at once."
"Mmm," Bob gave him the side eye, and seeing that Harry was not really cross, allowed a small smile to cross his face, "They are travelling wardrobes, basically. Open one."
Harry undid the latches cautiously and pulled on one side, careful not to tip the thing over. One side had a set of drawers built into it, and the other had an actual hanging rod system, from which hung his suits and waistcoats on specially crafted hangers. These were from when he'd lived in his uncles house and dressed the way Justin had expected.
"Now that's more like it," Bob cheered up, "I thought you got rid of all your clothes from here."
"No, I just left them," Harry frowned, "I gave directions for things to be packed away, and I was going to send them to charity, but…"
He opened the other three steamer trunks. Two more contained the rest of his clothes, including the formal shirts, and when he looked in a drawer, the silken cravats, kerchiefs, pocket squares and ascots that accompanied them. Old pyjamas and underwear filled the other drawers, including the wildly patterned socks he's worn in rebellion against the formal wear, and a selection of fine wool and cashmere sweaters. There were even two pairs of dress shoes. He closed those three trunks and then stared at the third. It was his dads stage outfit, and some of his clothes.
"Harry?" Bob asked and he swallowed, touching the dove grey material gently, then closing the trunk firmly.
"That was my dads stage costume," Harry swallowed, "I didn't know that it had been brought here. Uncle Justin had the apartment we were renting in San Francisco packed up, but I never saw a lot of it again. Eventually, I decided that he'd thrown it away."
"There are several boxes with your name on them in a corner of the cellar," Bob informed him quietly, "I thought you knew they were there, or I'd have brought them to your attention long ago."
Harry shook his head and looked at the three trunks. Better to get his mind off things, the atmosphere in the attic was beginning to take on an edge of worry, the house picking up on his inner turmoil. He looked around and found an old rug that he could unroll and manhandled the trunks onto it in silence, taking care to lay them drawer side down so the contents wouldn't fall out. He pushed the stack of trunks, sliding along on the rug, back to the stairs and then opened the door.
"There is an easier way," Bob suggested quietly, "If you have some chalk on you, you can put the translocation spell on them and send them to the ballroom. It will save me from watching you be squashed like a bug on the stairs."
"We wouldn't want that, now would we," Harry sighed, relieved Bob had thought of it, "I'd hate to inconvenience you, your ghostliness."
Bob grunted, but didn't rise to the bait, instead supervising as Harry pulled the chalk he carried around with him from a pocket in the satchel and kneeling down to chalk the appropriate runes onto the trunks. He activated the spell and they disappeared, taking the rug with them.
"Is it supposed to take the rug?" Harry asked as they walked back down the stairs, "The desk took the rug it was sitting on too. Which I'm grateful for, cos I liked that one."
"It was not my intention when I developed the spell that such a thing would happen," Bob admitted, "It seems there is some spillover with the spell. Given that it took the pictures on the wall above the furniture as well, there appears to be a field of affect that I had not anticipated."
One of those pictures was his father's poster, and Harry had been relieved to see it. It hung above the fireplace now, along with the abracadabra poster, instead of the landscape picture that had rested there.
"Is it a problem? Could it catch something it wasn't supposed to transport, and transport only part of it?" Harry glanced behind him to where Bob was apparently playing at walking down the stairs behind him, "I wasn't sure that Mister would be ok, as we'd not tuned the matrix to living things, but I couldn't carry you both and I wasn't sure the wards here were sufficient to keep you safe if I sent you with the shelves. If the spell is capable of moving living things, but only catches half of one, will it understand it needs to take the whole being?"
"Oh, that could be messy," Bob frowned, "I will need to reexamine the matrix I have given you to rule that very side effect out."
"Otherwise we're painting a target on our backs for the Council," Harry agreed, "If they decide we're practising a spell that should be restricted."
"I'll get to work on it tonight, while you sleep," Bob decided, taking it for granted that he would be watching over Harry once more. Harry reached the bottom of the stairs and the door swung open, silently this time. He waited for Bob to pass him, then stepped aside and the door swung itself shut. He was concerned that the Ghost wasn't resting at night, as he usually would, even though Bob didn't need the traditional version of sleep.
"You don't have to watch over me," Harry told Bob, "Not that I mind, 'cos if you hadn't been up when those fire demons arrived, I'd have been toast, so thanks again for that, but if you want to rest or anything, you can. The house is pretty safe."
Bob offered him a reserved smile and nodded, which Harry had learned was code for: 'I have heard what you've said and intend to ignore it'. The atmosphere in the house was also lighter, it seemed pleased at the confidence he had in its ability to protect them. Harry pushed the trunks from the ballroom to his bedroom, and Bob appeared ready to settle in for a good old fashion show when there was a sharp series of taps at the bedroom window.
There was a raven perched on the windowsill and Harry opened the window for it. It hopped over the casement and resolved into the form of a man in ragged black robes, and greyish skin.
"Dominant," Harry greeted the head of the flock that had abducted Scott Sharp. Bob frowned at him, and Harry mouthed 'skin-walker' to the Ghost, who blanched.
"The boy is in danger," the Dominant did not waste time with pleasantries, "We cannot protect him this time."
"Why not?" Harry asked tensely, wondering why Sheryl, Scott's mom, hadn't called him. Had it been while the phone was disconnected and she'd thought he'd abandoned her?
"It is a mortal that endangers him, and his mother," the Dominant replied, "Our nest cannot act against him. He is there now, Wizard."
"Ok, I'm on my way," Harry stated and Bob nodded. The raven leapt out of the window, which shut with a decisive click before Harry could touch it. Harry was already heading for the newly dubbed workroom, scooping Bob up as he went and slipping the skull into the satchel. He slipped his wand up his sleeve and checked that his keys and wallet were in the side pocket before he headed for the door.
"Harry, if it is a mortal that is threatening them…" Bob began as the front door swung open at their approach.
"I know, neither of us can use magic against him, and you can't be seen. I want you there anyway Bob. Scott has powers and his mother is aware of them, I'm hoping that's enough of a loophole for us should the High Council take exception to you being there," Harry paused at the door, locking it as it shut, "If I have to, I'll pass your satchel to Scott and you can guide them to safety."
"Very well," Bob nodded, clearly not happy about it. He disappeared into his skull and Harry didn't bother to take the satchel off, sending the jeep leaping for the road. Sheryl lived in suburbia, and they were actually closer to her in the manor than they had been downtown, so Harry was able to get there quickly, parking on the street behind an expensive car and hurrying across the grass to the front door.
He could hear shouting inside, and Harry didn't hesitate to pound on the door loudly, doing his best to imitate Murphy's 'I'm a cop, let me in' knock. The man didn't stop shouting, but the door swung open to a tear streaked Sheryl, who actually sobbed at the sight of him. She stepped back to let him in and he glared towards the man barrelling towards him.
"Has he hit you? Scott?" Harry asked, unhooking Bob's strap from across his chest, and she shook her head numbly. Harry could see Scott at the top of the stairs and handed Bob's satchel to Sheryl.
"Go to Scott. I'll handle this. If you need help, call for Bob," he told her and she ran up the stairs as the man reached them. Harry had learned to box from his dad, and his Ghost had taught him to fight with both sword and stave, so whoever his would be opponent was landed on his back with a thud and skidded slightly backwards on the polished floor from a single blow. Harry opened the front door again and cheated, using his telekinesis to drag the guy outside, stepping through after him and closing the front door behind him. A small spurt of will locked it tight and then he folded his arms and glared at the stunned man groaning at his feet.
He waited until his opponent was on his feet again and then spoke softly, "I don't care who you are, or what you want with Sheryl, or her son, I will not allow a repeat of whatever went on today. Am I clear?"
He let his tone reflect exactly what he thought of abusive ass holes, and exactly the kind of fate that would await him if he tried this again colour his tone, and saw it register clearly. He said nothing as the other man stumbled off the porch, his suit crumpled and stained, staggering to his car and getting in. The cell phone that was pulled from his pocket was clearly fried and Harry meanly hoped that it cost a lot of money. He didn't wait to watch the departure, turning to unlock the door and step back inside. Sheryl and Scott were huddled at the top of the stairs, Bob's bag at Sheryl's side.
He hurried up the stairs and was glad he'd braced himself or all three of them would have ended up in a heap as both mother and son lunged at him. He held them as tightly a he could and stared at the wall, getting his temper back under control. The last thing they needed was psycho Harry slipping his chain. Sheryl drew back eventually, looking a little embarrassed.
"How did you know?" she wiped her face with one hand and rubbed Scott's back with the other. Harry grinned at her a little lopsidedly.
"The ravens came and got me," Harry told her, "Though they had a hard time finding me."
"I tried to call you last week," Sheryl shook her head, "And we went by your office, but it was burnt out. Are you ok?"
"Yeah," Harry nodded cupping Scott's shoulder as the boy leaned back to look at him anxiously, "I had a spot of trouble, but I'm ok."
"Thanks for the bag?" Sheryl seemed a bit bemused as she handed it over, "It's name is Bob?"
"Your bags name is Bob?" Scott, with the resilience of children, looked interested, and Harry shook his head.
"The contents are called Bob," Harry clarified, "Why don't you two wash up and I'll put some coffee on?"
Sheryl collected herself and led Scott away to the bathroom while Harry carried Bob back downstairs, putting the satchel on the kitchen counter while he put the kettle on the hob and searched around for mugs and coffee stuff. There was juice in the fridge and Harry poured a glass for Scott, handing it to the boy and scooping up his satchel when Sheryl took over her kitchen.
Harry followed her to the kitchen table, and Scott joined them, sitting close to his mom. There were papers on the table, but Harry politely adverted his eyes.
"You can read them. They came three weeks ago," Sheryl sighed, "It's… when I divorced Scott's dad he let us keep the house, but retained his half ownership of it."
"He wants to sell?" Harry asked, looking at the documents. Scott nodded and Sheryl sighed.
"I can't afford to buy him out," she told Harry, "I can't afford a mortgage on my own either, and I know we could rent but…"
"This is your home," Harry nodded, "Yeah, I get that."
"What happened to you?" Scott asked, clearly not wanting to think about his dad screaming at his mom, or Harry busting in and hitting his dad.
"Someone burned the apartment down so they could collect the building insurance," Harry gave the short, publicly accepted version, "I inhaled a lot of smoke and spent a week sleeping mostly, while I got better. I was going to tell you both I'd moved at next weeks dinner."
Because they had dinner once a month together, hosting it in turn about. Sheryl had suggested it and Scott had been eager to stay in touch, especially with the promise of lessons in magic when he turned nine. It was the Sharpe's turn to host, or Harry would have contacted them about his change of address earlier.
"So you're homeless too?" Scott asked, frowning. That was a telling slip from the boy, who clearly understood what his father was trying to do.
"No, I'm staying at a property my family has owned for a very long time," Harry sighed, then brightened, struck by an idea, "It's… enormous, actually, with more than enough space to put you two up in complete comfort and privacy…"
"Oh Harry, I don't know," Sheryl murmured, "Won't your family mind? And we don't want to impose on you, you've already been such a good friend…"
"Sheryl, you don't have to move in," Harry grinned, "Of course you should go where you want, but it would be rent free, which would let you save for a deposit of your own, and its a bit closer to the city than here, which would be great for your commute. As to my family… it's just me left now. My uncle brought me there after my dad died, and he died without children, so the place came to me. It's too big to live in by myself, and I can set you up with a suite of rooms. We'd share the kitchen and laundry and you'd barely see me unless you wanted to."
"It's not that we wouldn't want to see you," Sheryl swatted at him, "I don't want to impose."
"Did I mention its a mansion? Cos it's a mansion, fancy chandeliers, wood panelling and plug ugly pictures of my ancestors that I need to hide…" he played it up, getting them both to laugh, "Huge gardens… a tennis court, a wine cellar if that sort of thing appeals to you… it's just me, my cat and my… Ghost."
"There's a ghost?" Scott piped up, "Cool! Can I meet it? Is it scary with chains and blood?"
"Scott!" Sheryl protested, "Don't be morbid!"
"There are chains," Harry conceded, "Though you can't see them. I met him when I was eleven and he taught me most of what I know about magic and it's laws. He's nine hundred years old, and bound to his skull as punishment for things he did when he was alive."
He needed to be honest, because someone from the High Council was likely to clue Sheryl into Bob's history in the worst possible way.
"He's cranky, but he's the only family I have left, and he will never harm you, or allow harm to come to you," Harry said it firmly, "He made life bearable when my last parent was murdered, and then helped me recover from Uncle Justin dying. My uncle, I discovered that... he killed my dad… and when I found out, there was a fight… and an accident… it was my fault."
Harry stared at the table, well aware that he was probably talking them out of ever seeing him again, which was why he was so surprised when Sheryl hugged him and kissed his temple. No one had ever done that when he confessed to his part in Justin's death. Scott joined the hug after a moment and Harry shivered. His face was dry when they sat down again though, and the smile he gave was a little sad, but it was at least a smile.
"I'm totally not selling it, am I?" he asked drily and Sheryl snorted.
"Actually, the fact that you're being so honest, just makes me respect you," she said frankly, "And, I suppose I'd need to meet Bob before I made a decision."
"He's in the bag, mom," Scott pointed to the satchel at Harry's elbow, "We can meet him right now! And then we can go to Harry's place. I don't… I don't want to be here when dad gets back. He's a jerk."
Harry felt for the kid, who said it in a steady voice, even if his expression was breaking apart. Sheryl nodded and took a deep breath.
"Alright, I'd like to meet Bob please," she said quietly, "Do you need some candles or should I close the blinds?"
"No," Harry smiled at the references to a seance, or at least what mundane people thought of when they tried to contact a ghost, "Its not needed, but thank you. It looks like smoke and embers when he first comes out, but there's no fire or anything. And he can hear you, so don't talk about him like he can't, it makes him even crankier."
He undid the flap of the satchel and Scott leaned forward to look at Bob's skull, muttering 'cool' in an awed tone. Harry rested his hand on the top of the skull, his thumb rubbing a circle between the eye sockets unconsciously, "Bob, will you come and talk to us please?"
He watched out of the corner of his eye as Sheryl started in surprise, and then leaned forward against the table, as interested and unafraid as her excited son. Bob straighten as he emerged, shooting his cuffs and turning to look at Harry.
"You're petting me again," Bob informed him drily and Harry grinned, stopping the unconscious movement. It happened when he was at his most upset or frightened, a left over from his eleven year old self. The way Bob was eyeing him, it was clear the ghost had picked up on that.
"This is why you should be glad I have Mister," Harry replied evenly, "Instead of snarling at him when he walks through you."
"Yes, well," Bob sniffed, taking in the two newcomers, "Master Scott, a pleasure to see you again."
"Again?" Scott squeaked, and Bob gave a small smile. He loved children, as Harry was well aware. After all, he'd gone well beyond Justin's instructions to raise Harry into the man he was.
"I was present when you ran away from school, the day you first saw the Dominant Raven, though you were more focused on reaching Harry," Bob informed him kindly, "I'm very good at being unnoticed when the situation calls for it."
"Sheryl Sharpe, may I present Bob?" Harry murmured as Scott clearly thought this over, "Bob, Scott's mom, Sheryl."
"Milady," Bob bowed, all courtly good manners. There were times when the nine hundred year old difference really made itself known. Bob would deny it with every fibre of his existence, but part of Harry's chivalry came from him and his own notions of what was right.
"Sir," Sheryl replied, clearly unsure if she should bow back and settling for bobbing her head, "Pleased to meet you."
"Have a seat, Bob," Harry drew the chair beside him out, and Bob sat, then gave him a look. Harry pulled the chair back a bit more so Bob wasn't partially in the table.
"I've never met a ghost before, so please pardon my manners," Sheryl took a deep breath, "I hope you'll be patient with us both."
"Of course," Bob inclined his head, "Any manners are better than Harry's lack of them."
"You raised me, remember," Harry noted quietly and Sheryl giggled at the sour look on Bob's face, "Sheryl and Scott are being… evicted by her ex. We were considering her moving in with us, until she's back on her feet. Or for however long she'd like really."
"Mansion life," Scott mumbled, shooting his mother a sly look and she shook her head at him. She was smiling a little though, and Harry was pretty sure that in the end she'd take him up on his offer, if only until she found a place for them both elsewhere.
"Has Harry remembered to mention that the house has a… personality?" Bob eyed Harry and shook his head in mock despair when Harry pulled a face, "Usually when we say a place has character we don't mean it quite so literally, but the house is… helpful. Like an invisible butler."
"Doors opening when your hands are full, lights turning on when you go into a room, that sort of thing. It closed the curtains in my room the other night when I forgot," Harry shrugged, "It won't hurt you either."
"Oh man, Mom, we have to go there!" Scott bounced in his seat, "It sounds so cool!"
"There are protections already on the house that I couldn't install here," Harry added, "They would stop another incident like last year from occurring."
Sheryl straightened, clearly liking the idea of greater protection for her young son. Scott had just turned eight, and was another year away from being old enough to start manifesting his powers. When he did it was likely that whoever had been behind the first attempted kidnapping would try again. She and Harry had discussed this, and he'd offered to try and ward the house, but she'd been uneasy at the idea.
"It won't hurt to look," Bob murmured persuasively, "If it isn't suitable, we will of course do what we can to assist you to find another solution."
"You're right," Sheryl said, "It won't hurt to look. And I don't want to be here when he comes back either, and I'm sure he will."
"Can Bob come to the house with us?" Scott asked eagerly, and Bob stiffened beside Harry, folding his arms defensively over his chest at the thought of them separating, though he didn't say anything. Harry flattened his hand protectively over the skull, giving Scott a serious look.
"I don't just pass him around like a football," Harry said it carefully, "It would be extremely disrespectful for one, and not safe for him either. There are conditions to Bob's existence, and he can be hurt if they are violated."
"I'm sorry," Scott said anxiously, "I didn't mean to be rude, or anything."
"I know," Harry gave him a smile, "And when I passed him to your mom, it was because he and I had already agreed he'd do what he could to help you both. But it will be best if he stays with me, ok?"
"Ok," Scott nodded. Sheryl patted his shoulder and stood up, urging her son to go get a jacket. Harry collected the mugs and glass, rinsing them in the sink while Bob looked around the modern space. He'd not seen many modern houses, not with Harry's magic breaking modern appliances so quickly.
"Where are we?" he asked, "And please don't say a house."
"We're in suburbia," Harry replied, closing the flap on the satchel as Bob wandered into the hall. He followed his Ghost, letting Bob peer in at the living room and it's modern furniture.
"Do you have to go back into the skull?" Sheryl asked as she checked her purse and Bob glanced at Harry. It would be technically breaking a rule for him to walk around outside.
"As long as you don't run screaming through solid objects from here to the jeep, I don't see why you should," Harry smirked, "It's your choice though."
Bob raised his eyebrows and folded his arms fussily, "I'll do my best to restrain myself," he huffed while Scott smothered a giggle behind his mom. Harry led the way out, checking that the ex husband had indeed left, and waiting until Scott was in the car and Sheryl was sliding into the drivers seat of her compact. Bob followed him to the jeep, looking around avidly.
"This is a modern version of hell," Bob muttered, "The houses and yards all look the same."
"There are entire cities in Britain where all the houses look the same," Harry reminded Bob, "I sent you pictures of them when I wrote to you while I was travelling."
"I never received them," Bob sighed, "Your uncle must have intercepted them. And just because my homeland did it is no excuse for copying it here."
"They'll be in his study somewhere then," Harry fumed, "He wouldn't stoop to destroying them, and knowing he was keeping them from you would have given the bastard a thrill."
"Yes," Bob shrugged indifferently, looking at the scenery with a single minded focus. Harry left him alone, making a mental note to go looking for the letters. He was a little saddened to realise that Bob had thought he'd forgotten the Ghost while travelling. He'd sent at least a letter a week for the two years he'd been away. He'd known Bob wouldn't be able to respond, and he'd been in no state to think about the letters in the aftermath of Justin's death.
"Perhaps we should consider moving out," Bob murmured as they left suburbia behind, "The old memories are disturbingly strong there."
"Then we'll replace them with better ones," Harry replied firmly, "Sheryl and Scott need a place now, Bob. And it will do me good to face things. I've been running for six years. It's time to stop."
"I've always admired your strength, dear boy," Bob said it quietly. Harry swallowed but didn't reply. There were times when his strength only came from Bob and what he needed. Saying so aloud was just Not Done though, so he kept the words to himself.
TBC