The lost child
Disclaimer – not mine, Jim Butcher is the owner, and there's no money in this for me.
TV Verse, alternate universe, slash (and I'm gonna play fast and lose with cannon, so be aware of that going in)
What if Harry ran away when his father died? How would that have changed Justin's plans… and Hrothbert of Bainbridge.
1.
The first diversion
To say that his current Master was a piece of work was, in Hrothbert's opinion, the understatement of several centuries. People were, to Justin Morningway, an asset or obstacle. The asset category may have contained several layers: co-conspirators, allies, minions, those who could provide a service or object that was needed… some people occupied several strata simultaneously. Obstacles were less graduated. Either you were of use to Morningway or you weren't and therefore you were an obstacle.
Not all of the obstacles lived for very long. Some did simply because they had moved far away and either stopped the use of their powers, or used them in such a limited way they never infringed enough on Morningway to require death. Others got themselves promoted to asset, though it was just as easy to slip back below the line to obstacle again. Some were just so insignificant in the scheme of things that they weren't worth consideration.
One of his biggest obstacles had been Malcolm Dresden, father to the last child of the Morningway line. The sudden and unplanned death of his sister had provoked a very proper display of grief and dismay from Hrothbert's Master, and a very generous offer to house and school his newly bereaved young nephew. Dresden had, politely, refused; and kept refusing for almost five years.
Hrothbert had to admit, he was very curious about the boy. Morningway had made it clear that the teaching of the child in the ways of his power would fall to Hrothbert, a task he'd done before with many apprentices over the years. Some had even survived their apprenticeship. Morningway intended to pervert the boy into the use of the Black, to make him into a creature of Morningway's design, and under his complete control. It seemed that the boy had rare powers, and teaching him to use them to their fullest would have been one of the most engaging challenges of his life.
That is not to say that Hrothbert would allow the boy to be corrupted too far. He had no love for his Master, who had sought and found ways to punish Hrothbert even more than his curse did. The geas that held his obedience and checked his magic could only go so far, and Hrothbert had had centuries to work out how to subvert them to some degree. While Morningway usually treated Hrothbert as a form of co-conspirator, there was no doubt who held the power and who was enslaved, and even dead and damned sorcerers had their pride. Hrothbert had his own plans to bring about the end of Morningway, if only because it would amuse him to do so through the subtlest of means. Morningway did not understand subtlety as well as he thought. In addition, Hrothbert found the grandiose and elaborate plans of his Master extremely tedious and dull.
Take Dresden senior for example. Morningway saw the boy as an asset and therefore approached the father as if said asset was disposable. Hrothbert had sired children of his own, and even in the eleventh century you didn't buy and sell children quite so blatantly. Children were pieces to be exchanged for power and position, that is true, but it was done through the auspice of marriage or some other acceptable institution. Dresden had not taken the implication that he didn't love his child enough to want to raise him well, nor did he appreciate the implication that he couldn't work enough to support them both.
Morningway had returned to the manor in a fury, and it had taken all of Hrothbert's considerable talent for manipulation to divert that fury to a target that wasn't him. Over the ensuing years Morningway had interfered with Dresden's livelihood from a distance, slowly impoverishing him. He had offered at several points to take his nephew in again, and each time Dresden had refused. His love for the boy was too great, and eventually Morningway decided to kill the father, and did so with the assistance of one of Hrothbert's grimoire. Even Morningway knew better than to directly involve the Ghost in the death of the boys father, especially if the boy was to be Hrothbert's student.
The death of Dresden was announced to the household staff, with Morningway making a visibly dramatic dash of mercy to retrieve his now orphaned nephew. The staff that Hrothbert had eavesdropped on had been evenly divided between those fools who thought kindly of their employer and admired his generous and unflinching acceptance of his nephew, and those who worried that the child would be harmed by their employer in ways that were dire and yet unspecified.
Hrothbert had known the child was in danger, and was moved by Dresden's devotion to protect the child as best he could once the father was gone. He wouldn't be able to mitigate all harm, but he would be able to at least ensure that the child was useless to Morningway, or at least useless to Morningway's plan.
Of course, any plan of either man or ghost required the child to be physically present in the house. Morningway had returned in a rage, without the boy. Hrothbert had made sure to retire to his skull and wait to be summoned, something that Morningway liked to do, and waited for the news.
"He ran away!" Morningway spat as Hrothbert gave him the little bow he often used to emphasise the other mans power when he was in the mood to hurt someone.
"I see," Hrothbert had put his fingers to his lips, pondering the best response, "I take it your tracing spells were unsuccessful?"
"Are you questioning my skill?" Morningway roared, actually sweeping the contents of the desk onto the floor, which Hrothbert privately found highly amusing. Not that he ever showed his enjoyment of provoking the man to a physical tantrum. He didn't enjoy pain that much.
"I am questioning the skill of the person who took him, if they were able to obfuscate him from your tracking spell," Hrothbert frowned, pretending to think about a way to circumvent such a thing. He would do no such thing of course, unless directly asked to. Having the boy going missing would disrupt Morningway's plans, and the idea that Dresden had found a way even in his death to spite Morningway made Hrothbert all the more sorry that he hadn't met the man while he was alive. And all the more determined to protect a child so loved, and so protected by his father.
From the look on his face, Morningway had clearly not considered that another practitioner had simply spirited the child away. Hrothbert found this highly diverting, though he was careful not to betray it through word or look. Morningway sat back and began to question Hrothbert, seeking the knowledge of how someone might hide a person, and how to get around that.
Nothing had worked, of course. Over the fifteen years that young Harry Dresden was missing, Morningway had attempted multiple times to locate his missing nephew. He'd never succeeded, even when Hrothbert had admitted to some of the deeper magics and possible ways to counter them. Hrothbert's curiosity about the child grew with each year though. He was certain the boy wasn't dead, as the curse that tied him to his skull indicated that there was a blood heir still living, and not a new one either.
Which led to tonight. Morningway was off to finally enact his plan to move against the High Council, and Hrothbert was almost entirely sure it would fail. Which meant that either he was soon to be confiscated and tossed onto a shelf in the High Council's archives, while Morningway ran for his life, or a new Master would impress themselves upon him at the death of Morningway, tomorrow morning at the earliest.
Morningway had left him in the library, intending to return to celebrate his victory there. For Morningway the library was a handsome backdrop that played to his sense of intelligence and importance. Hrothbert could admit the collection was impressive, if under utilised. With him in the house, there was little need for books after all. He'd nearly a thousand years of experience as a Ghost and all of the research and knowledge he'd had when he died had only increased in that time.
The library was shrouded in darkness, lit only by the moon through the open curtains. Morningway would cause it to light up on his return, to fulfil his need for dramatics, with the expectation that the Ghost would be eagerly awaiting his return; a role that Hrothbert had played before. He was adept at disguising his boredom with such petty theatrics. Hrothbert was passing the time reading through a book he hadn't encountered yet, enjoying the mental corrections he was making to its grammar and some of its so-called facts. He was somewhat preoccupied therefore, and could be excused for not immediately noticing that there was someone else in the room.
A stranger in fact, which was so diverting that Hrothbert had a difficult time concealing his curiosity. It wouldn't do to gasp in shock and spin about after all. He was Hrothbert of Bainbridge, and with that title came a certain, well earned, reputation.
"I know you're there," Hrothbert said, his tone appropriately bored, "You may as well come out."
The shadows near the door bulged and revealed a tall man, rail thin, with dark eyes and dark hair. He waved a hand and a small ball of light zipped across the room, coming to rest above Hrothbert's skull. Hrothbert knew better than to show how startling that was. The man walked forward, pacing calmly around the research table, the leather armchair awaiting Morningway's triumphant return, to the small occasional table that Hrothbert's skull was resting upon.
He was closer to the window now, which meant that Hrothbert could see him more clearly. He was a striking man, handsome, though not classically so. He wore black, as was suitable for a burglar, or dark grey. His clothes were not new, though they were clean and well cared for. A hired hand most likely, someone that Morningway's enemies found expendable. He looked positively threadbare beside the splendour that Hrothbert always chose to manifest. If he was going to be a slave, he was going to be a well dressed one. He had so little else to be proud of, he could at the very least remind his master that the slave was a man to be reckoned with, and one that had been rich and feared in his life time.
"Are you here to steal me, then?" Hrothbert allowed disdain to stain his tone, his best supercilious expression showing clearly what he thought of that. The man shook his head silently, lifting the skull in both hands and looking at it curiously. His hands were careful in their touching, making sure that he was at all times gripped securely. There would be no chance of being dropped accidentally.
"Ah, then I am to be destroyed," Hrothbert folded his arms fussily. He was not as indifferent as he was claiming to be. As hard as this existence was, the next one would be worse, "How plebeian. May I make a suggestion before you succumb to mindless violence?"
The man looked up, his face as calm and unhurried as his movements of a moment ago had been. His dark eyes took in every aspect of Hrothbert and the Ghost had never felt more naked. He was reluctantly impressed. It took a lot to intimidate him: after all the years with Morningway, the man hadn't really managed it. Hrothbert had given the impression of subservience to Morningway, and pretended to be more intimidated than he was, but his master could not control his private thoughts and opinions, just prevent him from expressing them. And his private thoughts were more than a little contemptuous.
"I am a very valuable tool," he told his silent watcher, "The knowledge I have could be extraordinarily valuable to you. Morningway values my expertise, and I have been instrumental in his successes."
The man tilted his head, an invitation, Hrothbert thought, to continue.
"If you were to take me with you," he said, keeping his tone even, "I would be able to deploy my knowledge and counsel to your own advantage."
The loss of a master was always like a punch to the chest, a moment where the curse tightened its grip even more, drawing him towards his skull as if to prevent him from running away. He'd tried that of course, the first few deaths. It had never worked. Over the centuries he'd learned to stay on his feet, even if he did stumble a few steps towards his final earthly remains.
"Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I claim thee," the man cradling his skull between long fingers said, his voice a light baritone, "Return to your skull."
The establishment of a new master was a loosening of the curses grip, which was counter intuitive. The geas was pulling him strongly now though, and he obeyed, dissolving into smoke and spark. Morningway was dead. Hrothbert let the thought carry him into his skull to await whatever came next.
00000
"Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I summon thee," the light baritone said quietly, and the Ghost pushed himself up out of the bone and into human form. He'd chosen his finest scarlet waistcoat and blackest of suits for this first proper audience with his new master. His surroundings melted into place, so different from the grandeur of Morningway's manor.
The walls were pitched, an attic space Hrothbert decided. It was one large space with large gabled windows spaced evenly along one side and more modern flat glass windows set into the ceiling opposite the windows. There were overflowing bookcases lining the wall without the gables, and a bed set into one of the gables. There was a door near it, five panels and painted a chipped dark blue. Old, scratched and dented furniture, in plain unvarnished wood, populated the space. There were several tables, all with mismatched chairs, most adrift with books and charts. One was set under a flat window, Hrothbert believed it may be called a skylight, and was set up for alchemy. There were a few faded and scratched leather chairs nestled into another gable and a kitchen at the far end, interrupted by a five panelled interior door. Runes decorated it, inscribed with security wards and other protections.
Hrothbert's skull rested on a table in the sunlight beside a stack of books. There was an enormous blue-grey dog, that he would have described as a mastiff if it hadn't had such long fur, sniffing the skull with intense interest.
"Mouse, that is not a chew toy," Hrothbert's new master sounded amused and the dog thing huffed over at him before strolling over to a patch of sunlight and lying down with a groan. Bob stepped away from his skull towards the voice, cautious of leaving the skull behind but unable to pick it up and move it with him.
His master was partially sitting on the ledge of the gable, and partially on the bookcase whose top was level with it, the mullioned windows fully open. He had changed, and showered if the wet hair was any indicator. He wore worn jeans and a faded dark blue shirt in some thin knit material, with short sleeves. His feet were bare, and balanced against the casement opposite to the side he was leaning on. There was a cup of something balanced on his knee, that was steaming in the morning air and Hrothbert looked beyond him to see if he could determine where they were.
Old tiled rooftops stretched to the horizon, following a crazy quilt of streets below, in a variety of stone, though most were some shade of grey. He didn't recognise the city, but he thought that they might not be in the Americas any more. His new master didn't say anything, just sipped at the steaming mug and looked out of the window. There was a leather cuff on one wrist and a pentacle nestled in the hollow of his throat. Something about the cuff and its metal ornaments was extremely familiar.
He was giving Hrothbert time to adjust, the ghost realised, and a small part of him was grateful. He'd always known something of his master before being claimed, and known how best to propitiate or flatter them. This new situation would take careful navigation and swift adaption. He'd been dead almost a thousand years, and knew how to survive. That didn't mean he wasn't cautious now.
"Feel free to look around," his master said, "I think I put you in the right place, but if you want to be moved so your reach is better, just say so."
So his master knew that he was bound to never stray too far from his skull and had placed him to give him the greatest benefit of that reach. That told him something important, or at least that his master wished for the Ghost to think kindly of him. Consideration was not something that Hrothbert had been treated with before, and he was wary of it now. With the world around him so impermeable, he had learned not to count on anything other than cruelty at most, or indifference at best.
Hrothbert turned and made a show of strolling with his hands behind his back to the far end of the room. The door was almost out of his reach, but he'd be able to stick his head through it to see what was on the other side. He would wait to do that until he was alone, it was too embarrassing to do it in front of his new master now.
"That's the bathroom," the light baritone offered. Hrothbert turned, but the man was still relaxing, out of sight in his sunny seat. Hrothbert walked back, stopping to inspect the overflowing bookcases. The collection was impressive, in a variety of languages, and following a variety of lore. There were also advanced books on arithmancy, and a wooden stave, carved lightly with vines and runes. It was a wizards staff then, handmade with English oak, unpolished and marked where the owners hand held it most. There were also teeth marks in the wood, which indicated that the dog-thing carried it at times.
Part of Hrothbert was braced for a shout, or command, or some form of punishment. A wizards staff was not something that was touched or interfered with by another, not without serious consequences. There was nothing that Hrothbert could do to it of course, he was unable to affect the world around him, but that usually didn't stop people from shouting at him for infringing where the living dare not go. There was no reaction though and he moved away after a moment, knowing that lingering made him look foolish. The alchemy table was well appointed and the skylight clearly opened to allow for proper ventilation. The ingredients at hand were properly stored and labelled in Latin or Greek.
Movement out of the corner of his eye turned out to be his master putting the empty mug in the old porcelain sink. The whole living space was… organised, if a little cluttered and comfortably untidy. It was clean, the floor bare of rugs, dust and fur from Mouse. His master came to join Hrothbert at the alchemy table, leaning back against it and crossing long legs at the ankles, his hands resting on the edge of the table beside his hips.
Hrothbert felt the first stirring of lust. He'd always liked his men lean, but he knew better than to show such reactions now.
"Do you know who I am?" his master asked, not in an arrogant entitled manner, more in a curious 'have you worked it out' way. A test then, of his intelligence. Now that he was looking properly at the man, and the cuff on his wrist, it was clear why he'd seemed familiar. The geas recognised him too. He had his mothers eyes, and Margaret had been a favourite of Hrothbert's.
"You're the lost Morningway child," Hrothbert informed him, and was snorted at. True, the description was coined by an enemy of Morningway's who had been dying of poison and predicted the child would be his master's downfall, but there was some part of Hrothbert who needed to provoke a response, needed to find out where the line he could not cross was. Not knowing was almost painful.
"Dresden," the man corrected with a smile, "If I'm anyone's lost child, it's my dads. Harry Dresden, pleased to meet you, Hrothbert of Bainbridge."
"Well that explains how you crossed the wards at the manor. You are blood, after all," Hrothbert folded his arms and gave his best disapproving look, "And tell me, Master Harry, did you kill your uncle to obtain me?"
"Not master," Harry winced, "If you please, I would prefer either Harry or Dresden."
He waited, and Hrothbert nodded after a moment, realising that Dresden was waiting for a response. The nod sufficed, as the man beside him sighed and shook his head.
"I didn't kill any one. Nor did I set him up to die," he informed Hrothbert, and the ghost believed him, "He … overreached himself. I helped to suborn several people he thought he could count on, and simply delayed the arrival of others that may have helped him. In the end he brought about his own death, trying to get away."
Hrothbert would have appreciated the tale more if Dresden had sounded triumphant, or smug about the death, but he just sounded tired. He also would have liked more details than that, but it would politic to wait to ask for those.
"We've been on the move for almost a week," Dresden informed him, "I'm going to take Mouse for a stretch and then I'm going to sleep. You can read, or rest in your skull. Please just let me have peace for a while. When I wake we have work to do."
"Of course," Bob nodded. Dresden stepped into shoes, and Mouse got up, meeting him at the door. They were gone for approximately thirty minutes, during which time Hrothbert stuck his head through the exit, looking at a dim landing with another door opposite the one he was standing behind. The bathroom was clean, with old fashioned fittings and threadbare towels.
Dresden returned, toed off his shoes and shucked his jeans. He climbed onto the bed and fell flat, apparently asleep straight away. Hrothbert spent almost an hour appreciating the long length of lean, muscular legs and toned rear end that he could see, then turned his attention to the books again. There were tomes here he hadn't read before, and so he took the chance now, always hungry for new knowledge.
Dresden slept the sun around. Hrothbert hadn't seen many sunrise's since his curse started, and he found himself drawn to the open casement, watching as the sun lit the rooftops. An hour after it rose, so did Dresden, stalking into the bathroom and then dressing to take Mouse outside once more. He came back with pastries and brewed tea in a clean mug, reading the newspaper that had come up with him. It was in Italian, though Hrothbert made a show of not hovering over Dresden as he read. Dresden left the paper beside his skull and went to shower, allowing Hrothbert to read it as best he could. His extensive knowledge of Latin helped.
When Dresden rejoined him at the table Hrothbert put his hands behind his back.
"You said we had work to do," Hrothbert mentioned and Dresden frowned, picking up the skull with both hands again, his fingers tracing the runes gently. Automatically, Hrothbert blocked the sensation of that touch from his awareness, a protective measure he'd learned long ago. The connection to his master was never pleasant.
"We do, but first I need you to answer some questions, Hrothbert," Dresden murmured, "And I am sorry to do it, but I compel you to speak truthfully and hold nothing back."
Hrothbert took a deep breath, feeling the command take. It was carefully worded, and to be expected that he wasn't trusted. He was a little wistful though, that their relationship started on such a note.
"Did you supply the spell that killed my father to your former master?" Dresden asked, his voice even.
"No and yes," Hrothbert frowned, "I was not asked for a spell, however your… my former master was in possession of four of my grimoire's. The spell that he may have used could have come from them."
"Did you know he intended to kill my father?" Dresden's voice didn't change from the even and quiet tone. He had excellent self control, Hrothbert had no idea how he had taken the first news.
"I did," Hrothbert said, "But I also knew that I was to teach you, as a child, and he knew that to implicate me in your father's death would make that task very difficult. He knew better than to try and overly strain the geas that compel me, as to do so would make me too ineffective to meet his needs."
"And what needs were they?" Dresden's fingers didn't tighten around the skull, "What were your instructions with regards to me?"
"I was to instruct you in the use of your power, and to corrupt you to the use of the Black, so that he would better be able to shape you into a tool that he could use," Hrothbert steeled himself, sure that punishment would occur soon. Never mind that it wasn't his plan, that he was just as trapped as the child would have been by circumstance. Hrothbert had long thought that the two of them would have become friends in time, a friendship founded by their mutual peril. That could not happen now, not when the man was so implacably laying bare his uncles' plans and Hrothbert's intended role in them.
Dresden took a slow breath, nodding at the information, "And what were your plans?"
"I intended to undermine him," Hrothbert muttered, looking away, "The… devotion of your father inspired me to protect you as best I could. It would not have been complete protection, but… in Malcolm Dresden's memory I would have tried."
"How could you protect me against your masters orders?" Dresden tilted his head curiously.
"The geas do indeed compel me to obedience, but a master needs to be very specific. If their orders are poorly worded, or if they believe that the geas are absolute and neglect to be detailed enough, I am able to work around the edges of them," Hrothbert didn't like to admit it, but he had no choice.
"And have you used this against your masters before?" Dresden put the skull down carefully on the table, and Hrothbert was glad that it wouldn't be thrown across the room in a fit of pique at least.
"I have," Hrothbert admitted. He knew that the next question was inevitably the one that would destroy any chance to develop a relationship that was not adversarial.
"Have you managed to send any of them to their deaths?"
And there it was. As little as he wanted to, he had to answer. So Hrothbert took a deep breath and clasped his hands in front of him, "Yes."
"I see," Dresden nodded, "Thank you Hrothbert. I will take that into consideration. Have you questions for me?"
Many, and all of them just as pertinent, but it would be politic to pick and choose which he started with first.
"Where are we?" Hrothbert asked, and Dresden looked up from where he was studying the floor.
"Dresden," he smiled, "Germany. My master lived here. I arrived here when I was eighteen, and have been living in this space since. He lived in the other attic."
"Lived? He is there no longer?" Hrothbert asked, and Dresden frowned. He wrapped his arms around his waist and turned away.
"He died, a few weeks ago," the sorrow in his voice was deep and still fresh, "He'd been ill. He wouldn't tell anyone though, and I discovered it too late to save him."
"My condolences," Hrothbert said it quietly, and with as much sincerity as he could.
"He's left me a task, and I can't fail it Hrothbert. To do so would imperil many lives, innocents who don't deserve their fate. I know that you don't know me, and have no reason to believe me, but I am asking you to help me. Your knowledge would be invaluable to us," Harry turned back and looked at the ghost, "I'm working with a small group of beings, and I will introduce you to them shortly and outline the task we face. Once you know what it is I will ask you to tell me truthfully if you will help us. If you choose not to, then I will simply place you somewhere that you cannot interfere. You have no reason to trust me, and I can respect that."
"I will listen," Hrothbert replied, and made no other promises. Dresden nodded and went to brush his teeth.
0000
Dresden spent two days, in increasing anxiety, apparently waiting for his comrades to arrive at the attic. Each day a different newspaper would be brought upstairs with breakfast, in a different language. The papers were left neatly stacked where Hrothbert could read them. Dresden made no effort to explain the task before him, and Hrothbert made no effort to ask. He was not banished to his skull to await his masters pleasure, and Hrothbert took advantage of that, reading through the books he had languages for, and watching Dresden leave the attic with Mouse to run unnamed errands, or perhaps just to exercise the beast. Dresden read, sitting in the window, or in one of the leather chairs; sometimes he would ask Hrothbert for an opinion on the theorem he was reading. Hrothbert wasn't sure if he was being gas lighted into making a mistake so he could be punished, or if this was just how Dresden was.
They not quite argued at one point about their interpretation of a certain passage, and that is how Hrothbert learned that the ghostwriting he performed in the air was a magic that Dresden could also perform. They corrected each others runes, dragged things in or out of place and had they both been tangible Hrothbert was certain Dresden would have jostled his arm in good humour at several points. He hadn't been so stimulated by honest opinion in centuries and had said several things that were decidedly more honest than he would have dared with any other master. Certainly he'd never have called one a 'gangling loon' mid argument and expected honest laughter in response. Dresden had responded by calling him Bob, waving a hand through the section of runes in contention and starting again.
Hrothbert had returned to his skull that night, needing to feel unobserved for a time. He hadn't been ordered in for days, something that was unheard of. He had yet to find the boundary of acceptable behaviour. Perhaps with just the two of them and the dog-thing Dresden had no need to put him in his place. Hrothbert determined that he would have to be cautious, and see what the days would bring.
Dresden was dressing in the bathroom when a raven fell through the open window, landing wings splayed on the floor with an awkward thump.
"Dresden!" Hrothbert called and Mouse leapt up from where it had been sleeping in the sun, letting out the loudest bark Hrothbert had ever heard. Dresden came running, doing up his jeans, shirt barely pulled down across his chest. Hrothbert took a mental snapshot of that sight, but instead pointed to the bird lying limply on the floor. It occurred to him that the window had been left open for just this reason, and that proved to be the case when Dresden skidded to his knees beside the bird, hands hovering but not touching.
"Dom?" Dresden breathed, "Can you hear me?"
There was a twisted shimmer and in place of the bird a man with grey skin, wearing ragged black clothing appeared in his place. This was a Raven then, more magical being than bird, part of the neutral world of beings. They were neither evil or good. They tended to be watchers, and keepers of precious things. By the name, this was the Dominant Raven, the leader of their unkind.
"It's alright, Dom, you're safe," Harry framed the grey face gently with his hands, "Just breathe for me, ok?"
Dom lay, limbs splayed awkwardly, eyes fixed hungrily on Harry's face. After a moment he caught up with Harry's breathing pattern and mimicked it.
"Hrothbert, I need the… oh sorry," Dresden didn't look away, "It's alright, I'll get it. Stay with him."
"I will," Hrothbert murmured, leaning over the stricken being. He was grateful his master had remembered he could not carry objects for him, even in an emergency. Dom flailed when Harry let go though and Dresden pulled away reluctantly.
"I'm not leaving you," Harry soothed, rushing across the room, "It's going to be ok Dom, I'll be right there. Just keep breathing with Bob, ok? Bob, help him breathe."
Hrothbert leaned over to catch the ravens eye and mimicked taking a slow, long breath. Dresden hurried to the cupboard where he stored his already brewed remedies, continuing to murmur reassurance that he wasn't far away and that he'd be right back. He pulled a bottle of water from the food pantry, then came back to the two beings who were breathing together. Even if one of them was dead and damned.
With exquisite care, the Raven was lifted from the floor and fed a potion, then the water in careful sips. Both bottles were capped and put to the side, and then Dresden gathered his patient and lifted him completely, walking back to the bed. A gesture of his fingers and the covers pulled themselves back and Dresden bent to put the Raven on the sheet. The thin man-bird wouldn't let go though, whimpering in distress when Dresden tried to straighten. He ended up sitting on the bed, the other being curled his lap.
"Shh Dom," Harry whispered, "You win, I'll stay here."
Another gesture and the blankets pulled themselves up over the Raven, who settled with his head in Harry's lap. In other settings it would have made a very pretty picture indeed, and Hrothbert committed it to memory so that he could contemplate it later. Just because he was dead didn't mean he didn't have needs.
Dresden smoothed the feathered hair on the other beings skull gently, and when he was certain his patient was asleep he placed his hands on head and shoulder, sending a healing spell into the sleeper. He was rewarded with a sigh, and the last of the other's tension melting away.
Hrothbert looked up to find dark eyes fixed intently on him.
"I apologise, Bob," Dresden said quietly, "I'd forgotten you couldn't collect the things I needed for him. It wasn't my intention to trigger your geas and punish you. I'll be more careful in the future."
"Thank you," Hrothbert murmured, offering a little bow, his best manners. He really was grateful for the consideration, as the punishments were always lingering in their effects. That Dresden had recalled his words so swiftly, had in fact bothered to call them back at all, stood him well above Hrothbert's previous masters.
"May I ask, how come you to know the Dominant Raven of an unkind?" the question was a test, of course. Hrothbert hadn't asked a spontaneous question yet. If he was punished or dismissed now, he'd learn where one of the lines he mustn't cross were. He'd yet to find a single one. It was a little distressing. Knowing where the lines were meant avoiding punishment.
"When I was … five, I found him fluttering on the ground near my house. He was hurt, a cat or some other predator had been at him, and I gathered him up and took him home. I put him on my bed and went to get towels and water, and when I came back instead of the injured Raven, there was Dom," Harry smiled fondly down at his friend, "Certainly it made taking care of his injuries better. Cuts and bruises I knew what to do with, from my own scrapes and tumbles. Taking care of a bird? No idea. Dad was somewhat concerned to find him in my room. He wasn't expecting me to have a grown man in there, certainly not one that looked like Dom. I'd gone to sleep on the floor, and Dad had looked in to check on me when he got back from his show."
"Was there much trouble?" Hrothbert asked, imagining a small child earnestly trying to convince a protective father that the stranger was no danger to either of them. Harry shot him a mischievous look.
"Not when he realised Mouse was in there too. Mouse had been the one to lead me to Dom," Harry chuckled, "When he was better, Dom went back to the unkind, which practically roosted on the roof for the duration of his healing, but Mouse refused to leave. Dad didn't mind him so much though. He was, at least, more easily passed as a normal pet, and he'd protect me."
"Normal?" Hrothbert's pointed to the large beast, who was laying on the floor, his length stretched the entire length of the bed. Harry shrugged, "We moved around a lot, and Dom would come and visit for a few days at a time, keeping track of me."
"Harry, may I ask… where have you been? How did you avoid the tracking spells deployed to find you?" Hrothbert's weakness was curiosity, and he was growing bolder the longer he went without punishment.
"You've been dying to ask that, haven't you?" Harry grinned.
"Perhaps not the best phrasing," Hrothbert folded his arms and sniffed in offence, though it was an act.
"Perhaps," Dresden shrugged a shoulder, the smile fading from his face, "I… Dad and I were living in San Francisco. He'd just gotten this amazing contract, on a cruise ship. We were jumping around and celebrating when… the last thing he said to me, as he fell, was 'hide Harry."
Harry looked down at Mouse, who sighed deeply, "Dad had kept two bags packed for emergencies. He was always waiting for … your former master to try and take me away from him. The bags had money and documents, and… I tried to save him, you know. Tried to restart his heart. We'd learned it in class at school, but… in the end I took the money from his wallet, repacked my things into his bag, left his clothes behind… and I ran. I left the door open, and called 911 from the pay phone down the street. I didn't want him to lie there all alone."
Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the window casement, old grief lining his face, "We'd been to the harbour several times, looking at the ships, so I headed there. A cargo freighter with the Japanese flag was preparing to cast off and Mouse helped me get aboard. We managed to hide for two days, and then a couple of sailors found us. They dragged me up to the deck, heading for the bridge, shouting in a mix of Japanese and English. The water had been getting rough, and when we got up onto the deck, these clouds just came out of nowhere, and the whole sky went black. It was like someone was shouting, roaring at me, and the ship was heaving around. One of the sailors fell and went sliding towards the edge and… I roared back."
"Elemental magic?" Hrothbert asked after a moment. Harry nodded, opening his eyes, remembered grief shining in them. It was painful to see, the father still so keenly yearned for after all this time. Certainly Hrothbert hadn't cared that much about his own father when the man had been alive, nor after his death.
"I used the wind to pull him back to safety, and dismissed the lightning and thunder, calmed the waters around us. My cuff was shining pretty brightly, but it had been doing that since Dad told me to hide, so I didn't pay much attention to it. Once the weather was back to the way it should have been, the captain came down to see me. The sailors didn't want to get too close. The captain realised what I was, and he listened to what I had to say about why I was hiding. He told me I could stay aboard as long as I helped the cook with his chores, and that was better than them tying weights to me and throwing me overboard," Harry shrugged, "When we got to Japan, the captain had arranged for a new crew member to come aboard. Sensei took me under his wing for three years. I rarely left the ship at port, though sometimes he'd take me with him when he had things he wanted me to carry. The crew taught me to fight, out on the deck, and the cook taught me to use a knife. Sometimes the storm would brew on the horizon, but by then I'd learned to be a ghost from Sensei, and it never found us."
Hrothbert ignored the reference to being a ghost, for now, focusing on the time frame instead, "That brings you to thirteen years of age. Where did you go then?"
"To a Brazilian ship, where Signore, an Italian teacher, took me on for four years. His focus was arithmancy, Sensei was more focused on the elements and fine control. After four years I went back to Sensei, and then when I was eighteen we came to the port in Hamburg, and I came here to learn with Master Haggis," Dresden's eyes twinkled when Hrothbert scoffed at him.
"That was never his name!" Hrothbert protested. He disliked being mocked, but he didn't think that in this case his master was mocking him. His master's teacher had indeed endured the name Master Haggis, and how Dresden had lived to his majority under the man was a small miracle. Hrothbert would never have permitted such familiarity.
"He was a wee little Scotsman, boiling red hair and a thick accent. His actual name was McLeod. He insisted on teaching me Gaelic, and Ogham. He owns… owned this whole building, and a small fortune. When he died, it all came to me. We lived here for the most part, though we did go to Scotland when I was nineteen for a few months. That's where I carved my staff. He had four other students, and Dom would come and stay with me now and then. He and his unkind knew I'd be here, he was waiting on the windowsill when I first stepped through that front door," Harry waved a hand, "It was like … walking into a strange place and seeing your only living family waiting for you."
"He didn't travel with you to Chicago, though?" Hrothbert frowned.
"He did, they all did," Harry sighed, "We split up on the way back. I wasn't sure I could protect myself and you from being noticed, and I can't ghost all of them for more than a few minutes at a time."
Again, the reference of being a ghost. Hrothbert filed it under 'evasion spell' similar to the commonly known veil, but chose not to pursue it, thinking his master was dangling the knowledge in front of him as a tease. Hrothbert was not about to bite, if only to deprive said master of the chance to explain. It was petty, but he had so few tools at his disposal to manipulate the man.
"And are the rest to fall in through the window?" Hrothbert asked archly, and Dresden's eyes widened.
"I hope not," he shook his head, "Ingrid is headed back to Norway. She has something to do there. Wendy and Ravi are travelling together, which means they'll both be in a foul mood when they get back. They were headed here via New Delhi. An errand of their own," Dresden shrugged, "Or at least an errand for Ravi and Wendy insisted on going with him. Luke is already back."
"I look forward to meeting them" Hrothbert said politely, and retreated to his skull to think. The knowledge that his new master was able to command the elements, and that his previous master had been denied the opportunity to raise and pervert such a talented child was delicious.
0000
Dom recovered quickly. Dresden, it turned out, was quite the mother hen, pun fully intended, when it came to caring for another. Not that Dom didn't lap up the attention shamelessly for a day or so. Hrothbert thought that Dresden was well aware of this, and indulging the Raven, or the Raven was indulging him. Certainly once well, Dom disappeared out of the window, cawing with laughter as Harry shouted after him. The dispute had been about the cleaning of the attic, which Dresden accomplished by stirring the air into a series of miniature whirlwinds to collect the dust and other detritus. That went out the window, followed by whirlwinds of water that washed the floors while Mouse lay out on the landing, awaiting his walk.
Hrothbert had been left to read in peace. There was nothing out of bounds, apparently, and the reach of his curse gave him all the access he wanted to the space they were mutually occupying. Dresden was very careful not to ask for anything that Hrothbert could not supply and very considerate about treating him as if he was tangible. The two weeks they spent together were the most peaceful of Hrothbert's existence, including when he'd been alive.
So the arrival of two others was … unsettling. And, in Hrothbert's opinion at least, overly operatic. One minute Dresden was sitting in his favourite leather chair, long legs crossed with that unconscious elegance that Hrothbert so enjoyed about him, and the next shouting voices and stamping feet sounded on the stairs and landing outside. A door opened and slammed with noisy dramatics, a small avalanche of luggage clattered to the floor and then the door swung open. Mouse, who had gotten up when he heard the noise, groaned and went to lie in front of the open window instead.
Hrothbert had watched Harry from the corner of his eye, and while all this was going on, the wizard hadn't moved to do more than turn a page and sigh. The man framed in the doorway had deeply brown skin and dark silken hair hanging to his collar. His cheeks were dusted with red, and his dark eyes sparked in high temper. This must be Ravi, Hrothbert surmised. He was not quite as tall as Dresden, and slightly heavier. He carried it well though, the muscles beneath his skin clearly defined. He wore his cotton shirt tight, and his jeans even tighter. A large gold watch swung on his wrist, a sign of wealth, as were his hand made shoes. The Ghost may not have been able to effect many changes to his own appearance, but he recognised high end clothing when he saw it. Certainly Morningway was very particular about his own bespoke wardrobe. Or at least he had been.
"I'll kill her," Ravi snarled, stalking across the floor. Dresden put the book aside and uncrossed his legs in time to receive a lap-full of outraged man. Ravi kissed the man he was sitting on tempestuously, his hands framing Dresden's face with surprising care.
"Good trip?" Dresden asked, grinning when they came up for air. Ravi snorted and slid backwards off Harry's legs, drawing him up out of the chair into an embrace, burying his face in the side of Harry's neck and winding his arms around the other man. Harry wrapped his arms around his kisser and rolled his eyes at Hrothbert who had to swallow the most inappropriate laugh of his life.
"Harry, she's impossible," Ravi sighed, "And I missed you."
"I missed you too, Ravi," Harry patted his back, "Luke beat me home, and Dom got back a couple of days ago, so all we're missing is Ingrid."
"I don't want to talk about women," Ravi purred, kissing the side of Harry's neck.
"And of course, you haven't met Bob yet," Harry continued and Ravi froze, eyes wide. He drew back from Harry slowly and turned to look at where Harry was looking. Hrothbert raised an eyebrow, hands clasped behind his back, his blandest face on. Dresden looked amused, and Ravi astonished.
"You let it out?" Ravi gasped, twisting around and drawing back against Dresden, wrapping an arm around his waist as if shielding him by interposing his body between dead and damned and master. Harry unpeeled the arm and moved away, frowning.
"He," the word was emphasised, "Is already enough of a prisoner without me confining him further. Bob, this is Ravi."
"I believe I told you to stop calling me that," Hrothbert drawled. Dresden frowned in apparent confusion.
"A prisoner?" he checked and when Hrothbert scoffed at him he grinned his best little boy grin. Hrothbert didn't have it in him to protest further. Perhaps it was best he hadn't raised the child, if the man's charm was any indicator. He'd have had a hard time calling him into line in the schoolroom.
"Harry, you can't be serious!" Ravi sputtered, "You know how dangerous it… he... is!"
"Ravi," the tone was flat and the closest to truly annoyed that Hrothbert had head from the man, even when Dom had been at his most stubborn while ill, "I've made myself very clear on this. We will treat him well."
Ravi stared back at Harry, which gave Hrothbert a chance to control his own expression. No one had ever decided to treat him well. He was a tool, a weapon in some hands, a talking reference library in others. None of them had cared how he was treated, let alone required their allies to treat him well.
"Look at him, Ravi. Really look," Dresden said it gently and Hrothbert drew himself up in his most complacent stance. Ravi paused, giving him a slow look up and down and then sighed. He nodded to Dresden, and bowed his head once in acknowledgement of Hrothbert.
"I'm going home to Luke," Ravi told Dresden, "I'll see you later."
"Alright," Dresden nodded and returned to his chair as Ravi left, shutting the door quietly. Hrothbert swung around to face Dresden, who had resumed reading his book in the intervening seconds.
"What was that?" Hrothbert demanded, too disconcerted to be anything other than direct.
"Remember I told you that Wendy went with him on his errand? They get along ok for a while, and then she drives him into a temper and they fight like cats in a sack until you can separate them," Dresden shook his head, "Wendy can be… a bit temperamental. One minute she's climbing into your pants, the next she's trying to cut your balls off. I love her, but I couldn't cope with her on my own. Ingrid manages her nicely though. Between her, Ravi and myself she certainly has a lot of choice," the dry chuckle was unexpected.
"That's not what I meant," Hrothbert informed him and Dresden looked up.
"Oh, the kiss? Sorry about that. I sleep with anyone," Harry grinned salaciously at him, "So will Ravi. Luke is gay, but when he and Ravi are on the outs he'll come to me for some fun."
"Dresden!" Hrothbert was getting frustrated.
"Bob," Dresden crossed his legs, resettling the book in his lap, "You're safe here. I won't let anyone, myself included, force you into anything. Master Haggis was very… open with his affections, and we've all picked that up from him. As his senior apprentice, I took responsibility for ensuring that the fun was always only when wanted."
Hrothbert threw his hands in the air and retired to his skull, too frustrated to speak. His master was toying with him, of that he was certain, skirting around the matter of instructing his fellow apprentices to protect Hrothbert. It remained to be seen if this was malicious or protective.
0000