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.
3.
Third divergence
They spent the next four years playing cat and mouse with Morningway's associates. Key artefacts were stolen or diverted, treaties and knowledge were broken, hidden or corrupted. It was difficult work, and took intense planning and precision. Bob revelled in it. The plots and counter plots were the kind of thing he had excelled at when living, until he'd overreached himself. Those past missteps stood him in good stead now though, as he worked to preserve Harry from making the same mistakes in desperation.
He was helped, in part, by the people who wrote letters or sent other messages to Harry, asking for his assistance. Harry, it seemed, had started an agency of sorts, working to assist members of the European community with matters that they did not want officially recognised by their local Wardens or High Council. Certainly, the network of goodwill that they were building by offering their assistance to the rest of the magical community would assist them with their greater task, if only because people would be less likely to prevent their own smaller acts of theft or arson.
Bob's best tool in keeping Harry on the straight and narrow, of course, was their intimate relationship. That is not to say that Harry could be led around by his gonads, but that Harry was more determined to preserve their relationship than jeopardise everything for the sake of expediency. They were their usual selves in public, as Bob had never been one for public displays, even with his wife and children, and later with Winifred. The closest Harry came to public affection was a nickname, and being called 'your ghostliness' was not exactly a blatant declaration of sentiment to most people. Bob found that his existence had become more than bearable, though there were times when the limits placed upon him by the curse bit cruelly.
With barely six months to go before the ritual was supposed to take place, there was a final component that they needed to acquire. An astrolabe of all things, one with a particular composition of materials and wards. Why anyone would make an astrolabe of human bones, let alone the bones of their family was a matter for revulsion. Why Morningway would acquire such a thing was less of a mystery: the man was a collector of the disgusting and degenerate beneath his facade of urbane civility.
"My uncle had it?" Harry grimaced in surprise, "Really?"
"He was a collector of what he liked to call the bizarre occult. He had to make several promises to the High Council that it would be stored away safely and that he would not use it. That does not, of course, preclude one of his coven from using it in his place," Bob allowed his disgust at the council for being so easily propitiated with such a flimsy promise to shine through.
"Do we know what happened to his estate when he died?" Ingrid asked, and Luke nodded.
"I looked into it a few years ago," he shrugged, looking at Harry, "I was really curious about who had taken over your uncles resources. It turns out that the whole thing is being held in trust for the last of his line, a nephew that went missing as a child."
"The lost Morningway child," Wendy grinned at Harry, knowing how little he cared for the title after Bob had started teasing him with it years ago. They all used it now, when they were discussing something guaranteed to make Harry frown. Harry rolled his eyes and huffed as he always did, and Kenji sniggered under his breath.
"He also has four of Hrothbert of Bainbridge's grimoire," Bob mused, "And if we have time, I'd like to retrieve them as well. He hasn't the fifth, which was the Blackest. As far as I know, it was burnt at my execution. The others though, are in his library."
"Um-mm…" Luke looked alarmed at the thought of retrieving the kind of knowledge that Bob, in his darkest days, had used freely. Harry, Bob noticed from the corner of his eye, hadn't so much as tensed at the mention of them. Bob was trusted by his lover completely, and that was shown every day in a myriad of small ways.
"I'd like them destroyed," Bob looked up at Harry, who nodded, "There is a ritual that will ensure they can't be reconstructed: it has bothered me for quite some time that they are sitting where they might be used."
Luke looked relieved and a little guilty for assuming that Bob, who was his primary master, wanted to return to his old ways. Bob would talk to the man about it later, when the other apprentices weren't present. He assumed Harry would be there, as they were so very rarely apart. That was at Bob's request, and Harry had granted it without second thought. Bob even accompanied Harry when he was assisting their hapless clients, acquiring artefacts or disrupting the plans of the coven they were acting against.
"Do you know where in the house he kept the astrolabe?" Harry asked, and Bob drew a quick sketch of the Morningway mansion, the lines floating in the air like blueprints.
"On the second floor, he has a study, which has a hidden door into a bathroom. It was originally the nursery and nanny's quarters, which he has repurposed. The bathroom adjoined both the nursery, which is now the study, and the nanny's quarters, which is also accessed through a concealed door."
"Cliche," Wendy snorted, and Bob barked a laugh.
"He never met one he didn't either embrace wholly or completely misunderstand," Bob confirmed, "He was small minded and grasping, though he could always act the appropriate part to manipulate others into either under or over estimating his abilities and ambitions."
"Sounds like a real peach," Wendy shuddered, and Harry shifted his weight uneasily. Talk of his uncle always made him unhappy, and Bob avoided the subject as much as he could. He didn't like to talk about his time with Morningway either. The man had made his non-existent skin crawl, though Bob had concealed that reaction as best he could.
"Were the grimoire's kept in his study too? Or the hidden room?" he asked, bringing them back to the point.
"The grimoire's are in the main library on the first floor, off from the ballroom," Bob shook his head, "Where anyone could find them if they knew to look, the fool. It may take me a moment to locate them properly, as he did like to move things around now and then."
"If you check the library I can go upstairs and get the astrolabe," Harry mused, "Then pull the grimoire's from the shelf and we can be gone."
"Wouldn't it be quicker if we came with you?" Luke frowned.
"The wards on the mansion are extensive. It may alert to the presence of non family members," Bob replied, "The wards are long running and have the ability to remember who should have access and who should not, as well as recognise the family bloodline. They were built into the structure of the building, which rests on a ley line."
"Were you there when it was built?" Kenji sounded curious, and Bob realised he was being stared at with varying degrees of fascination. He nodded in response to the question, knowing that doing so would only raise more questions.
"I have been with the Morningway line since my execution," Bob sighed, "When they left Britain, they took me with them."
"How did you… sorry, none of my business," Luke flushed at the glare that Harry was giving him, protective of his lover as always. Bob met the eyes of his lover, knowing that Harry knew only of the curse and its conditions, not the events that led to it. He deserved to know, Bob realised, and would never ask. Bob couldn't imagine bringing this up himself again, so he chose to answer the half asked question.
"Hrothbert of Bainbridge was a nobleman, with a very strong power. It was identified early, and he was trained by a master who was less than … diligent in his teachings. He became tired of fumbling past his masters mistakes and sought a great deal of knowledge, using the family fortune when needed, to do so. Eventually, his.. my wife died, and I was free to dabble in darker and darker magics. I fell in love with Winifred of Morningway, who also sought to use the powers I was learning, and we … did many wonderful and terrible things together. She was my greatest love, and when we went too far, she took an arrow that was meant for me…" Bob bowed his head, that grief still as fresh as the moment it occurred, a function of the curse as much as his own perfect memory, "I raised her from the dead, and damned us both. We were going to flee, but… she turned me over to her brother instead. She was destroyed, and I was executed and cursed to obey the owner of my skull for all eternity. Even were I to be destroyed now, I would be sent to endless torment, forbidden to move on to peace. Now you know," he looked up at Harry, who looked devastated at the pain in Bob's voice.
Unable to bear that expression on his lover's face, Bob retreated to his skull and blocked out the world as best he could. He was aware of Harry's touch upon the skull, he'd found it almost impossible to block his awareness of that once he'd dismantled his defences, but the light baritone didn't call him out. Bob wasn't sure if he appreciated the consideration or longed for a confrontation. In the end, Harry's voice called to him quietly, asking that he come out. The geas remained quiescent, so it had not been a command, but Bob found that he couldn't bear to ignore the request and so he pushed himself out of his prison and into Harry's world.
Bob emerged into Morningway's library, the very place that had first met Harry. They had travelled then, to complete their task.
"I'm sorry to call you out before you're ready," Harry said it quietly, though the furniture and shelves around them were shrouded in dust sheets. The mansion should be empty, but Harry was clearly taking no chances, "If you would please locate the grimoire's I'll go upstairs for the astrolabe."
"Of course," Bob nodded. Harry gave him a saddened smile and headed for the door, his dark clothes allowing him to blend with the shadows as he went. Bob thought he looked a little thinner than he had, but put that out of his mind for now, turning his attention to the shelves.
One of the ways he'd subverted the geas around his skull had been learning how to thin out his presence. He was able to stretch himself into a long ribbon and 'sample' his surroundings in a way that allowed him to locate, for instance, a book on a shelf that was out of his traditional reach. Doing this tended to rend him invisible to the tangible observer, and tended to make anything that wasn't in immediate contact with his essence invisible to him. Which is why it was such a terribly wrenching shock when a familiar, hated touch made itself known, and the voice of a dead man called him back.
Justin Morningway stood with Bob's skull resting beneath his hand, his hand draped over it in the familiar insolently possessive manner.
"Well," Bob did his best to disguise his horror at being confronted by his former master, "Clearly reports of your death were greatly exaggerated."
Justin chuckled, the usual humourless noise, so unlike Harry's warm amusement. His bond to Harry was still in place though, so the man wasn't dead, wherever he was.
"Oh I died," Justin corrected him smugly. The man did so love to correct people on things that they couldn't have possibly known, "I'm more of a … contingency plan."
"Ah," this spell had been in Hrothbert's grimoire, "So you're a powerless copy. Morningway-lite," Bob smirked back, confident that the others inevitable urge to punish him would be powerless. As long as Harry held his curse, Bob was safe from Morningway's need to cause pain.
"Not so powerless," Morningway said archly, "Tell me Hrothbert, where have you been these five years?"
"Elsewhere," Bob drew himself up, allowing only amused condescension to show in his features and tone of voice, his mind spinning a million miles a minute. Where was Harry? Had he been captured?
"I could make you tell me, old friend," Morningway intimated and Bob huffed, rolling his eyes impatiently.
"You have the wrong dead and damned sorcerer, Justin," he informed the simulacrum, "I serve someone else now."
"Perhaps it is time you served yourself," Morningway took his hand off Bob's skull, which gave the Ghost a chance to better compose himself. Harry's love and affection thrummed at the back of his mind, still there despite the danger they were now in.
"Serve myself?" Bob ensured that he sounded bored, not willing to walk down any path that led to the removal of the bond to his lover. Morningway smirked at him, folding his hands on the cane he carried. It had been his wizards staff in life, and it seemed that the copy had made an effort to locate and retrieve it. He looked ridiculous, posed as he was, but Bob refrained from pointing that out.
"I have need of a necromancer of your calibre and experience," Morningway said silkily, "But to gain your services, I am willing to exchange something of great value to you, which would allow you to serve no other than yourself. Of course, once resurrected, there would be further negotiations for you to consider. We are coming into a time of power, and there is place for one such as yourself among us."
This was the ritual he was still planning to enact, then. Bob was tempted for a moment to put the man thoroughly in his place, but didn't want to risk tipping Harry's hand by announcing that they were aware of the ritual and working to prevent it. He had promised Harry he would do all he could to stop the ritual, and he'd meant it, no matter how tightly the curse had bound him to his promise.
"I'm a Ghost, Justin, what could you possibly offer me?" Bob drawled, "A change of scenery? I have that with my current master."
"How about mortality?" Justin threw the words out as if they meant nothing. Had Bob's heart been beating it would have skipped several beats.
"Only the true Morningway knew the secret to returning my mortality," Bob said coldly, infuriated that the idiot copy thought so little of his intelligence.
"A secret he entrusted to me," Justin chuckled, the wrongness of the noise grating on Bob's already overstretched nerves, "We realised that we may have need of your skills… or do you think that storing the very thing your new master is looking for here was an unfortunate coincidence?"
Bob felt cold wash through him. A trap, and one that he hadn't seen or even predicted. It seems that Morningway had known of his opposition after all, something Bob had been almost certain was not the case. He wondered what the plan that Harry and their apprentices had come up with was, and if their apprentices were even now endangered. Harry could take care of himself, of that Bob was certain.
"I will grant you mortality, and in return you will raise Morningway back from the dead," Justin murmured, "And then… well, the world is your oyster."
"And what will happen to you, once I raise him?" Bob asked, wondering if the copy was aware of it's likely end.
"Someone has to replace him in the coffin," the copy shrugged. Bob barked a disdainful laugh.
"You'd die for him?"
"It's what I was made for, Hrothbert," the tone of a zealot sounded in that simple sentence, and Bob caught the hint of madness in the copies eyes.
The use of his birth name was jarring, but it helped to focus him sharply, "And what of my current master?" Bob asked, as if he was only idly interested in the answer.
"You'll need a battery," the copy insinuated, "And you'll be free of him."
"No," Bob couldn't even bear the thought of it, "I won't have him harmed!"
"Such vim and vigour, Hrothbert. Can it be you have found a playmate?" Justin's eyes sharpened with interest and Bob cursed himself for a fool. He would need to deflect from his instinctive reaction if he was to save the situation at all. Justin had set this plan in place a long time ago, and it wouldn't have mattered to him who Hrothbert's new master was, as long as they had power enough to manage the spell.
"Do you know who he is?" Bob asked, "I mean: I assume you're a little out of the loop."
"Do I care?" the simulacrum riposted, sure he had found a weakness to exploit.
"He is your blood," Bob drawled, "Your nephew, the missing child."
"Dresden?" the copy looked disconcerted for a moment, and Bob thought that maybe he would be able to navigate them clear of these dangerous waters and then greed and glee lit the others face, dashing that hope.
"All the better," the copy gloated, "He's too dangerous to be left running around. He'll do very nicely indeed."
"Very well," Bob shrugged, pretending to lose interest in the matter, "If you are sure that the real Morningway will be satisfied with your choice…"
"Oh yes," the copy practically purred, "Do I have your word, then?"
Bob looked away, pretending to look at the cloth shrouded shelves around them. His mind was working furiously. If Morningway came back, with his full powers, then the ritual had a much better chance of being carried out. He had no idea where the apprentices were, or if Harry had even brought them along. He had no idea where Harry was now, if the man was even still unhurt. Their bond was steady, but Bob was in far too much turmoil to do more than feel the surface of it for now.
"You have my word," Bob sighed, as if it was no matter to him at all.
"Good!" the simulacrum straightened up and pulled an object that Bob had hoped to never see again from inside his suit, "Do you recognise this?"
"Winifred's arrow," Bob breathed, pain lancing through him, "I… is she…"
"She is gone Hrothbert," the simulacrum enjoyed his pain openly, making the nascent plan Bob had formed all the more firmer, "But it is still possible to find some of your possessions. There are still parts of the world where your love story is almost revered, you know."
The total lack of understanding was clear in the tone and the careless way the arrow was waved around. Morningway had never in his life understood the power that love had over those in its grip, and that blind spot may yet save them all.
"It's a simple ritual," the other continued in the same airy voice, "You take a possession of immense personal significance and reunite it…"
He threw the arrow like a spear, and it hit Bob in the chest, as it should have almost a thousand years ago. He felt the hit like a bolt of lightning, and staggered, grasping at his chest even as the arrow disappeared, light blinding him for a moment. Then it was over and he was gasping for air, hands pressed to his chest.
"Catch!" the simulacrum crowed and Bobs hand lashed out instinctively, his rune covered skull landing solidly in his hand. The smell of dust and stale air registered, and the chill of the unheated room they stood in. Bob brought his other hand up, pressing the skull between his palms. In the back of his mind, the bond to Harry throbbed, but did not fade.
Out in the main body of the house a rush of footsteps sounded and Justin swept the skull from Bob's hand, replacing it where Harry had left it and stepping back into the shadows.
"Capture him, or I will," he threatened and disappeared as Harry's footsteps sounded at a run outside the door. Bob had a moment to compose his face, his heart twisting at what he was about to do. Harry would think he was betrayed, but if Morningway realised that he didn't have control of Bob, or more accurately of Hrothbert, then he would try to kill them both with the Black, something that Bob would rather die a thousand times than expose Harry to.
"What happened?" Harry scurried into the library, a partially open bag in his hand, "I felt… something."
"Merely a slight inconvenience," Bob smiled at him, realising that in a moment he would be able to touch his lover for the first time, and feel that warmth that he was sure Harry's body emanated, "Nothing to be concerned about."
"Did you find the grimoire's?" Harry glanced back over his shoulder, coming closer. Bob had, in fact, located them just as Justin's copy had attempted to summon him, so he nodded and pointed deeper into the library. Harry scooped up his skull and walked in that direction, passing a mere yard from Bob and shooting him a small smile.
"Second shelf from the bottom," Bob directed, and watched Harry scoop the tomes into the bag, closing it carefully and putting it at his feet before reaching for the satchel he carried Bob's skull in. It was looped across his chest as always, where he could slip a hand into it and touch Bob as they walked together. The reminder made Bob's heart ache.
"Ok," Harry slid the skull into the bag carefully, "We need to get out of here… if you get in your skull we can go."
"I'm afraid I can't do that," Bob said ruefully, not at all enjoying the hurt, then joy, then fear on his lovers face as he knotted a hand into Harry's shirt, pressing him back against the shelves. In another setting this would have been a fantasy, but like this… "I have things I must do, and this will hurt. Sleep, Harry."
He sent a small spurt of will into the last words, a spell designed to help enervated parents get some rest when a child couldn't settle to sleep.
"Bob?" the name was whispered, even as Harry's eyes slid closed and his knees began to give way. Bob changed his grip quickly, cradling his lover against him full length, searing the sensation into his memory. He closed his eyes for a moment, then pushed Harry back, stooped, and took the falling weight across his shoulder, straightening with a grunt. Harry's dangling hand brushed across his backside and it was all Bob could do to command his body not to betray his reaction to that alluring touch.
"What did he say?" Morningway-lite's voice sounded suspicious, and Bob allowed his revulsion to cool his blood. He raised his barriers against the bond, mourning the loss at once. He couldn't be distracted by his love if he was to save Harry though. It was time to lie, and lie well. Hrothbert had been a consummate liar, and it was time for Bob to revive those skills.
"He said 'huh'," Bob reported, "His schooling has been… non existent. He's hardly the most articulate master I've ever been lumbered with."
He paced steadily across the library as he said this, trying not to show that he was memorising the scent of snow, mulled apple cider and wood smoke that signified Harry's personal scent. The greed on the copy's face was enough to focus him on the wider picture.
"Who is retrieving the body?" the tone was impatient, Hrothbert's coldest, something that even Morningway couldn't match.
"It's here," the copy almost stammered, "It was buried on the grounds."
Bob knew a disinterment spell, so he simply heaved a put upon sigh and glared in expectation. A very disconcerted copy led the way, walking from the library to the ballroom, and out through the french doors to the garden beyond. There was a small family cemetery on the property, in the back of the extensive gardens. The headstone for Morningway's grave was polished marble and just as ornate and tacky as the wizard buried beneath it.
Bob lowered Harry to the ground and the copy threw three strips of cloth onto the grass beside Bob's knee. They were spell cloths, embroidered with sigils that would prevent Harry from using his powers against them. Harry's father had taught him how to get out of knots, and other skills that the mundane magicians of the world practised, so this would not hold him for long.
"Hands, feet and mouth," the copy instructed, and Bob glared at him.
"Do you think I don't know, or are you just looking for praise at recalling the most basic of restraining methods?" he snapped in his most scathing tone. His hands were already binding Harry's wrists and he moved down to the ankles, before slipping the last one into his lovers mouth as a gag.
Once he was done he stood and walked over to the grave.
"Staff," he snapped and the copy actually threw it to him, before realising what he had done. Bob concealed his amusement at the idiots look of horror, using the end to scratch the diagram he needed into the grass over the grave. It was a moment's work to activate it and he stepped back, watching as the earth churned quietly, the coffin rising up to the surface. The copy had the tools to open the coffin, because of course it would. Bob had once said there wasn't a cliche that Harry's uncle didn't embrace, and this was a perfect example. The corpse was well preserved for a five year old dead thing, and Bob stepped back, wrinkling his nose. Ostensibly it was at the smell, but truly he had hoped that after five years Morningway would be too decayed to properly raise.
No such luck though, and Bob turned with a sigh, walking back to Harry and dropping to one knee beside his head. The conversation that was about to take place would be difficult, and was not at all the one he wanted to be having. However the copy had moved to stand in Harry's line of sight, and within range of their words, so Bob would have to play the role of necromancer to the hilt.
Already Harry was rousing, the spell far too weak to keep him out for long. Bob reached out and slapped his cheek fondly, though he kept the expression off his face.
"Harry," he kept his voice even, "Are you with me?"
"What…" Harry moaned, his eyes opening and fastening on Bob's face at once. There was such a tumult of emotions in his eyes, and Bob memorised them all. "How..."
"I'm afraid there has been a change of plans," Bob informed him solemnly, "There are things that must be done, and I am the one who must do them."
"And it is time to turn out your lights," the copy sneered, and Harry's eyes widened as he spotted it lurking behind Bob.
"Oh that's not Justin, that's a simulacrum," Bob informed him quickly, trying to limit the need to speak that Harry was feeling, "A powerless copy, created with a single purpose… to resurrect your uncle."
"Get on with it," the copy sulked peevishly, and Bob saw the moment that Harry took in the coffin and its dead body, fear and horror etching themselves onto the beloved face.
"No," Harry mumbled, trying to catch Bob's arm in his fingers. Bob pulled himself away carefully, standing slowly, keeping eye contact for as long as he could stand it.
"I'd like to say it's been fun," Bob hoped Harry would understand this last message, which was in fact directed at the copy, "But honestly, it's been hell."
Harry looked as if he'd been stabbed in the heart, misunderstanding Bob's final message completely. An event that should have been cause for celebration, Bob's return to mortality, was to be marred by an attempt to kill the one he loved most. That was a special kind of hell indeed.
Bob moved away, hardening his heart to the actions he must take. This was going to hurt Harry in ways that Bob couldn't bear, but he had to follow through on his hasty plan if he was to save his lover at all, and remove forever the threat of Justin Morningway. He held the staff in both hands, watching as the copy moved to watch, all but rubbing its hands in anticipation. He would have liked to steal a last look at Harry, but instead he took a deep breath and opened the channel in the staff. He connected one end to Harry's core, ignoring the agonised screams that started the moment he had, sending the other end into the dead body.
He felt the power reanimate the corpse, felt life return to it. He stopped the spell, aware that Harry was sobbing beside him, agony on his face as the last of his power faded and his life began to ebb. Justin Morningway sat up in his coffin, the putrefaction gone, though he still smelled of the grave to Bob.
"Hello old friend," Morningway gloated and held out a hand. Bob caught it, and pulled his former master upright.
"Well, well," Bob made his voice sound nothing more than amused, "It appears that you'll be able to pick up right where you left off."
"With you at my side, we will indeed be unstoppable," Morningway glanced over at the copy and dismissed it, flicking his fingers towards the coffin he'd just stepped out of. Bob didn't bother to disguise his glee as the things face fell and it trudged to it's final resting place, without a word of praise that it had so clearly craved.
"Who did you use?" Justin walked over to Harry's gasping figure, leaving Bob to supervise the death of the copy. Harry was drenched in sweat and shivering as his body started to shut itself down.
"Your nephew," Bob replied coldly, "The simulacrum deemed him to be too dangerous to live."
"You found him?" Justin threw a glance back over his shoulder, "That's a story I would like to hear. What was he like?"
Magnificent, Bob wanted to say, a better man than you and all of your miserable ancestors ever were. He swallowed those words, not wanting to raise suspicion too soon.
"Tortured," Bob deployed his best indifferent tone, "The death of his father weighs heavily on him still."
"It's a pity," Justin looked down at the barely conscious man, "His death is one I'll have to live with of course, but honestly… my copy is right. He's too old to redeem now."
At Bob's feet, the copy breathed out the last of its animating magic, putrefaction taking it to the state Justin had been in before he climbed out of his grave. Bob was relieved, and raised the staff once more, moving forward a long step to keep Justin between himself and Harry.
"Change of plan," Bob snarled and discharged the staff again, spearing the channel of power through Justin and back to Harry. His powers recognised their home and rushed gladly from their foreign host to their home, Harry screaming and convulsing in with the force of it.
Morningway screamed too, fear and anger being the most of it, but Bob didn't care. There was a way to disperse the body to the four winds, and he was employing it without a working circle, which meant draining his own powers dangerously. He wasn't sure he'd survive the attempt, but the alternative wasn't something he could live with.
"Bob! Let it go! Let go, Bob!" Harry's voice, screaming to him in despair as Morningway's body disintegrated and the winds caught him, blowing him away. Bob released the spell, the staff falling from hands that tingled and throbbed. He staggered and would have fallen hard onto the ground except that Harry caught him.
"Bob," Harry moaned, looking pretty ghastly, and also the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Strong arms cradled Bob to Harry's chest, the warmth of his lover's body partially banishing the cold of the graveyard. Harry was indeed as warm as Bob had imagined and even now he couldn't stop himself from memorising the sensations.
"Harry…" Bob gasped, "Is the bastard gone?"
"Yes my love," Harry smoothed his hand across Bob's cheek, bending to kiss his hair, "It's alright, you're going to be alright."
"If by alright, you mean dead…" Bob smiled up at his lover, his body becoming more distant with every failing heartbeat, "I had no choice… I had to bring us this far…"
"To keep him dead," Harry sobbed, then controlled himself, "I understand… Bob, please. Don't leave me. Stay with me lover…"
But Bob's vision was fading, even as he grasped Harry's arm with a numb hand. He heard Harry cry out, and then there was nothing.
0000
Bob had not had the time to tell Harry that he thought the curse would likely return him to his former state. Or at least that was his supposition as to what had happened when he'd died in Harry's arms. It was not uncommon for him to dream while in his skull, especially if he'd been subjected to great strain by the curse, which returning to mortality, raising and then banishing the dead, and then dying again would count as 'great strain' in anyone's lexicon.
Usually the dreams were of his past. Memories of Winifred, their lives together, and their bed were common. Sometimes he dreamt of his wife, or the first time he'd held his son. Those dreams were harder to bear in some ways. Every now and then he would dream of something that hadn't happened, and those dreams were his favourite as they always involved Harry. And sex, quite often, though also the two of them reading together, performing some mundane task, or sparring were popular themes.
In this dream he was lying on his side, the surface beneath him firm but soft. His cheek was pressed to a lean thigh, his hand encompassing a cotton covered, knobbly knee. Harry's hand was on his shoulder, cupping it gently, and the other stroking lightly through his hair. Covers were drawn to his waist, and he could smell the scent of wood smoke, mulled apple cider and snow. Harry's scent: he'd know it anywhere. It seemed that his time as a mortal had given him something to add to his dreams, and he wasn't sure if he was gladdened or saddened by it. Sun was warming his body, and he sighed in contentment. He knew better than to move or open his eyes as that would disperse the dream, and he wanted to linger in it for a while yet.
Harry's hand tightened on his shoulder, and the hand stroking his hair withdrew, coming instead to cover Bob's hand. He let long fingers slide between his, feeling the lean body lean over him. The bond pulsed gently in the back of Bob's mind, which meant that Harry was likely holding onto him in the real world.
"Bob?" Harry's voice was hopeful, "My love?"
Harry had taken to calling him that in private, had in fact called him that in the graveyard. Bob opened his eyes reluctantly, bracing himself for the loss of the dream. The attic came into view, familiar and cosy. He'd come to consider it his home in their time together, so it made sense that he was dreaming of it now.
"My own," Bob murmured and turned onto his back, looking up at his lover, "If I ask you to kiss me before the dream ends, would you?"
Harry's face lit up and he leaned down, kissing Bob tenderly, brushing their lips together with great care. Bob could still feel the bond pulsing, Harry's love spilling over to him. When they broke the kiss Bob frowned and reached up to pull Harry back, who resisted with a laugh and a kiss to his grasping hand.
"It's not a dream, my love," Harry whispered, "We managed to save you."
Bob almost jackknifed upright, barely missing striking his head against Harry's. His muscles contracted with the movement, the blankets tangling around his legs as he twisted to face Harry on the bed. He could feel his heart beating in his chest and the movement of air in his lungs. The loose cotton garments he was clothed in stretched and flexed with his movements, not at all the suit he always wore.
"How?" he couldn't suppress the horror in his tone, "Tell me you didn't use the Black… not for me!"
"We didn't use the Black," Harry held his hands up, palm out, "Bob, calm down. It's ok. I would never have asked our apprentices to use the Black, not even for you."
His lover sounded disappointed at the accusation, which Bob regretted almost immediately, but he knew of no other way to…
"My skull?" Bob breathed, putting his hand to his head, "You used my skull?"
"Wendy was our lookout," Harry folded his hands in his lap, "She saw what the … copy did to revive you. An item of great personal significance? I think the skull qualifies as that, don't you? While you took me out to the graveyard, she went to get the others. They arrived in time to help me stabilise you, and then I used a bastardisation of the All Heal to return your skull to you. Luke's been going through the lore, and he thinks that we have broken enough of the curse to allow you to live a mortal life. I don't know if you'll be freed when you die, but… mmpfff!"
That last noise was caused by Bob launching himself, almost lips first, into Harry's lap, his hands cradling Harry's face while he kissed his lover soundly. Strong arms gathered him close, and they were both gasping for air when the kiss ended.
"Ewww, it's like walking in on your parents," Ingrid said from the doorway and Harry laughed, though he didn't let go of Bob. All four of their apprentices had entered, various bags in their arms.
"I told you they were sleeping together," Kenji sounded smug, "Pay up Wendy."
"Dammit," Wendy muttered and put her bags on the kitchen counter, fishing in her pocket while Mouse padded across the room to sniff Bob over curiously from where he was curled into Harry's body. He patted the dog-thing kindly, beginning to feel tired from the small outlay of energy of the last few minutes.
"You need to eat something," Harry informed him, rubbing his back, then pushing him gently off. Bob found himself propped against the pillows that Harry had been leaning on, "And then you'll probably need to sleep for a while."
"I don't need a mother, Dresden," Bob drawled, even though he was feeling disinclined to rise from the bed. He remembered watching his lover care for the injured or unwell over the last five years, and wasn't going to put up with the babying that Harry routinely lavished on those he deemed in need of his care.
"Ugh," Harry shuddered, "You'd better not have kissed your mother like that, Hrothbert of Bainbridge."
Laughter bubbled out of Bob's chest and Harry gave him that small smile he always got when he'd managed to make the Ghost laugh, proud and happy that he'd elicited such a response. A tray was put over his lap, with soup and buttered bread, and Bob looked at his lover, who'd moved to sit on the end of the bed. He quirked an eyebrow at him, but obediently bent to the soup, vegetables and meat in thick broth, hearty simple tastes.
"No hot and sour shrimp? How disappointing," he teased.
"Once you're fully recovered Bob, I will cook you anything you'd like to try, take you out to meals all over the world," Harry promised, "After all, we have time."
"We have the astrolabe and grimoire's," Luke told Bob, "Harry thought you'd prefer to destroy them yourself. We stayed behind and reburied the coffin while Harry came ahead here to make sure you'd be ok. I drew the transportation spell for you both personally. You've been asleep for a week. While we were still in the States, we did a bit of snooping. With Morningway properly gone, the coven seems to be disintegrating, though I'm going to go back to the States next week to gather some more intelligence on them."
All four of the apprentices had drawn up seats, their own bowls of soup and bread being consumed. Ingrid had handed one to Harry with a fierce look, and Harry was eating slowly. He was a little paler than usual, and Bob squinted at him for a long moment.
"Have you been eating properly?" Bob asked sharply, "Harry?"
"No he hasn't," Ingrid replied before Harry could, "He's been difficult to feed while he was caring for you. He's not been sleeping well either. Dom's the only one who can get him to leave you, and even then he fights about it."
Such devotion was not unexpected, but Bob was touched never the less. Had he woken without Harry's touch he'd have been very distressed, as Harry had barely recovered from the loss and return of his powers. Bob hadn't been too sure that he hadn't inadvertently hurt Harry with that last ritual, which had made his desire to ensure the full dispersal of Morningway all the more vindictive.
"Have you checked that I didn't… hurt him," Bob asked her, not wanting to look at his lover and see the condemnation he felt he deserved, "I wasn't… able to be gentle with that rite."
"I did," Wendy spoke up, "He's going to recover, though his strength is a bit lower than I'd consider normal right now. He told us what happened."
"Has it really been hell, with us?" Kenji asked, his usual lack of tact on full display.
"That message was not for Harry. It was for his.. for Morningway. Serving him and his family was hell," Bob replied at once, "My time with Harry has been anything but. And now that I can touch you, my own…"
Harry wiped at his face impatiently, and put his empty bowl beside Bob's, kissing him tenderly before taking the tray to the kitchen. Luke smacked Kenji across the back of the head and handed his bowl to him, prompting Wendy and Ingrid to do the same thing, right down to the smack. Kenji shot a penitent look at Bob and then took the bowls to the kitchen, taking over the washing of them that Harry had started.
"Harry, come and sleep," Ingrid called as Luke and Wendy put the mismatched chairs back at their usual tables.
"If you please, my own," Bob added when Harry hesitated. Harry came at once, sliding onto the empty side of the bed slowly, helping Bob slide flat as well. Ingrid redistributed the pillows and pulled the blankets straight over Bob's legs. Bob smiled at her and rolled onto his side, shifting his head onto Harry's chest, throwing an arm over his lovers waist as well. Harry wrapped his arms carefully around Bob, and then kissed the top of his head, sighing.
They lay still until the apprentices left and then Bob lifted his head, smirking up at his lover. "If I promise you sex later, will you join me beneath the covers?"
Harry laughed, and got up, sliding beneath the covers and pulling Bob properly close, their legs tangling together deliciously.
"I love you Bob," Harry murmured, his eyes fluttering closed.
"I can feel it still, my own," Bob replied and let sleep take him.
0000
It took Bob almost a month to remember that he needed to eat and sleep, that he couldn't work for hours without moving, or that he had to be careful about where his hands trailed, lest he bruise them on the corners of furniture. The habits of mortality had never left him insofar as breathing and walking had gone, but his first attempts to write in the air as he had of old reminded him that he needed to write the way a mortal would. Harry had a thing about shaving his lover in the morning, which at least spared him from learning the ways of a 'safety razor'. They shared their morning, or evening, shower: it was an excuse to touch and care for each other. The strength of the bond didn't dim with Bob's mortality, and increased when they were touching, which made him eager for Harry's hands.
They destroyed the grimoire's together one night, deep in a nearby forest. Harry had bought blankets and a couple of the rolled up exercise mats from the warehouse, and they spent a very pleasurable evening under the stars, with the ritual fire to keep them warm.
The coven lost two of its members in the wake of Morningway's death, but Harry believed that they had recruited at least one new member, and that they would try the ritual anyway. Bob had to agree. All the intelligence they could gather pointed to the final ritual space being prepared, with substitute artefacts procured where Harry and the apprentices had managed to secure the more powerful ones. Dom was spending a lot of time spying for them now, and would be absent for the final ritual. It was his information they were acting on.
"So the counter ritual will still be needed," Luke said as he laid out texts on the table that had used to hold Bob's skull. The blue silk square was folded into Harry's drawer. Bob looked over the books, nodding as he ascertained they were open to the right sections. Luke was coming along nicely as a lorist. Harry complained that sometimes talking to the young man was like talking to a bearded version of Bob, for which he was thoroughly chastised in private. The chastisement tended to be along the lines of pleasure, so he wasn't really going to stop making the comparison.
"Hmm," Ingrid mused, tracing her finger over one of the diagrams, "Have we got any information on which of the two possible rituals they might use?"
"No," Wendy sighed, "That would be easy."
Bob chuckled at them, and they smiled warmly back, both reaching out to touch his arm and back respectively. All of the apprentices had become quite tactile, though none had sought intimacy when they realised that Bob and Harry were together.
"The artefacts that they have could be used for either of the rituals, and both are appropriate for the sabbat, moon phase and astrological clock," Harry sighed, "I know which version I'd prefer they try, if only because it is easier to disrupt, but none of them have asked my opinion, so…" he shrugged and Kenji snorted at him.
"Well, the counter ritual is not so different for either one," Bob said drily, "With sufficient preparation we will be able to prevail."
"There is a third…" Luke said hesitantly, "It's very unlikely, and not the best suited at all, but…"
"I've been studying your findings," Harry said, to Bob's surprise. He hadn't been aware of a possible third ritual, which meant that either it was very ill conceived, or very new. His knowledge was extensive after all, mortality had not diminished his recall.
"I haven't," Bob snapped, "What third ritual are you speaking of?"
"It's a portmanteau," Luke said promptly, "It's very very unlikely that they will try it, as Morningway was the main author of it. I just thought that Harry should think about it. And the counter ritual that we're preparing now is more than enough to stop it, should it be needed."
"Bob, I don't want to waste time on it," Harry said firmly, "With Morningway gone, the chances of it being used are minuscule."
Bob was a man in love, and trusted his lover implicitly, so he accepted Harry's words with a reluctant nod and bullied the full details out of Luke a week later. He agreed with Luke's interpretation of the ritual, and Harry's opinion of how unlikely it was to be used, but he should have known better. Fate had never been on his side after all.
They had planned to cast the counter ritual in the warehouse space. It was large, it could be secured against intrusion, and the ritual didn't need to be on the same site as the coven's for it to work. The coven themselves were utilising an enclosed space of their own, to avoid the weather and to conceal what they were doing.
The counter ritual required a five point star, with a caster in each point, and Harry had pointed out that he would likely overpower it in an instant if he was one. Bob had teased him about it, but couldn't deny that his lover was right. He admired that Harry was able to step back from the final step in their plan so graciously, after all his entire life had been coming to this one ritual, and Bob knew that he wouldn't have Harry's self control. Bob wanted to be doing things, which stemmed partly from his past life, and partly from being finally able to affect the world around him again. Harry had always granted Bob whatever independence he could, now he had to learn not to be upset when making a cup of tea got him into trouble with Bob, who was 'perfectly capable, thank you very much'.
Harry had said he would act as their security with Mouse, in case their opponents realised where they were and sent something after them. But when they arrived at the warehouse in the early hours, Sensei and another man that Harry greeted as Signore were waiting. Harry let them in, then raised the light wards they were using so as not to interfere with the ritual, smiling at Bob as he and the apprentices began placing the final things they would need for their working. Sensei and Signore drew Harry off to the side, talking to him quietly. Harry shoulders became more and more rounded as they did, but he nodded at the end. He was pale when he turned to look at them, stepping back from his former masters slowly.
"Harry?" Kenji asked, having also been watching the conversation from where he'd been standing, "Is everything ok?"
"Yes," Harry took a deep breath and came to join them while Signore drew a transportation spell off to the side, making sure to be well clear of the sphere of influence of their already drawn spell net, "Signore and Sensei have some information for us, that's all."
"What is it?" Luke asked tensely. Bob could feel cold dread enveloping him slowly. He'd never heard Harry sound so resigned, not even when they were discussing Ravi and his injuries. Harry shot them a small smile, trying to project confidence. He was getting even paler with each passing moment, though.
"The coven have raised wards that are too heavy for us to penetrate," he told them simply, "They are planning to use that third ritual after all."
Ingrid swore violently under her breath and Harry held up a hand to calm her, "It's ok, though. They can't ward against everything, just the tangible threats on this plane. A ghost can cross the wards."
"Oh no," Wendy breathed. Bob blanched. For one horrible moment he thought the very worst. That Harry had stolen him from Morningway and treated him kindly with the expectation that Bob would be the one crossing the wards, supposedly for love. Then the bond throbbed in the back of his mind, Harry's love, tinged with sorrow washing over him. Bob hated himself for doubting his lover in that moment.
"You mean, if we hadn't saved Bob…" Kenji began, and Ingrid slapped him across the back of the head, stopping his words.
"Bob was never the plan," Harry met his lover's eyes, anguish imperfectly hidden in them, "It was always going to be me."
"No!" Bob snapped, "I don't know what you mean, but no!"
"Luke," Harry turned to the young man, "My will is in my desk. Please see that it's carried out. It's been a privilege working with all of you."
"Harry," Luke's voice caught, and he nodded at his part-time master, "It's been an honour."
"Harry!" Bob said sharply, reaching out. His hand passed through Harry as if he was not there, a trail of golden sparks following his movement. Bob gasped, snatching his hand back as if burnt. The bond was still there, but it too was beginning to fade a little.
"They taught me to be a ghost as a child," Harry said softly, and now he was starting to look transparent too, "To wield the powers of the other plane while living, and to use my own powers to cast in this state if needed. But too long, or too much magic and… I may not get back. If that happens, well… I want you all to know it's ok. It will end the Morningway line once and for all, and … I'll see my parents again."
These were the inculcated promises and imprinted duty of a lost child, raised adrift and taught to be accepting of all the things he lacked. It made Bob sick to hear it, but he couldn't deny that unless the wards were lowered from the inside their counter ritual would be useless. Had he realised in time he might have found a better way, but now… it was too late. Once again he was going to lose someone he loved, and this time he knew that reversing that death could never happen. If only because Harry himself would resist it: and Bob could never bring himself to desecrate Harry's memory that way. He had learned that much from his ill-fated experience with Winifred.
"You need to get into place," Harry said softly, "Good luck."
"You will come back to me, my own," Bob commanded, his grief poorly concealed, "Or I will come looking for you, and I will not be happy when I find you."
"I love you," Harry smiled, his entire form shining with it for a moment. Then he turned and stepped into the spell that Signore had drawn, allowing it to whisk him away.
"You will not let him down. You must begin the ritual," Sensei ordered from where he stood, but the apprentices looked to Bob for direction.
"Take your places, please," Bob drew a sobbing breath, "Let us honour him the only way we can now."
The ritual itself was not technically demanding, though there were many steps that needed to be completed in the right order. The caster needed an average amount of power, and good control of their power, but it was certainly not beyond the skills of four accomplished apprentices being led by a master with over a thousand years of experience.
As they began their ritual, an image of the coven formed in the middle of the spell web. This was by design, as the coven were the target of their ritual, and it would allow them to time their chant to best effect. The opposing coven had set up their ritual in an elaborate fashion, and it would have taken them at least a week to lay everything out just so.
As they chanted, they could see the other practitioners working together, and several standing watch around them. Harry had clearly already breached their wards, as Bob could see him standing to one side, watching everything with that intent look on his face Bob cherished so. Harry was thinking, and quickly, his bright mind putting together a plan that would have the greatest effect. Once decided he began to move from place to place, crossing through lines of power and sigils and runes that no tangible being should have been able to cross. At each artefact or item he paused long enough to turn them a precise degree out of true, crossing back and forth through the ritual as he did, sometimes waiting for their opposition to reach a certain point before making his change. It was like watching someone pick apart an intricate and delicate set of gears, destroying a delicate machine with precision and finality.
Although Bob and the apprentices could see him, it appeared the other coven could not. Bob himself had been able to mask his presence when he desired to do so, when he had been a ghost. He supposed it was his bond to Harry that was allowing him to see his lovers final movements now. Either way, it was a blessing and a curse, and he had to focus on his part of the ritual with fierce intent, putting aside the man he loved with a terrible wrench.
The ritual came to a climax, and Bob raised his voice defiantly, uttering the final words with clear precision, matched by the apprentices. Wendy and Kenji both had tears streaming down their faces, though their voices were clear, and Luke had shut his eyes, not wanting to see what was coming next. Ingrid's face was set, and she watched with terrible purpose. The opposing coven came to the end of their ritual, releasing the power they'd been building, and it lashed out at them. They were thrown down: one was beheaded by a flying artefact, two caught fire as the power ignited around them. And in the centre of their working, Harry's form exploded into a million flickers of light, flashing out of existence.
0000
Harry was dreaming.
In his dream, he was sitting in his favourite chair in the gable window. Sun was beating down on him, comfortably warm. There was a book in his lap, and he was filled with a pleasant lassitude. His eyes were closed, but he could hear Bob puttering around the attic space in that way of his. Harry thought that almost a thousand years as a ghost had allowed a lot of fidgeting to build up: Bob would putter around, straightening things, shifting things a bit to the left or the right, or wiping tiny dust specs from the surface of an object. Harry had learned not to try and distract Bob from his puttering. Eventually his lover would come to him and sit in the chair with him, or pull him to lie on the bed so they could read together comfortably.
The sounds of puttering faded away, and the door to the landing opened. Harry smiled, pleased that Bob was willing to go outside on his own: there had been some insecurity about this when they'd first brought him home as a mortal.
"Harry!" Bob's voice sounded from outside. He sounded far away, and Harry frowned a little. His lover was upset about something.
"Harry!" urgent now, his voice audibly shaking with fear and something else, something that made Harry's stomach twist. The lassitude was spreading though, and Harry grunted, struggling to open his eyes.
"Harry!" a shout, this time, laced with grief. Harry lurched upright, the book disappearing from his awareness, his eyes opening. The door to the landing was beginning to close, swinging slowly shut. Harry took a step, the movement feeling wrong, and glanced down at his hands. He could see through them, as he could when he was in his ghost form.
"Harry!" a shriek of utter despair. Harry drew himself in tight, feeling solidity return and hurried towards the door, knowing that if he didn't get through it before it shut he would be lost to Bob, wherever Bob was. Every part of his instinct was shrieking along with Bob, who was keening in agony, and Harry ran at full speed, hurling himself through the closing gap.
The dream fractured around him with a horrific wrench and Harry felt himself falling…
… he jolted awake in his bed. The attic space was empty, and it was late afternoon, the winter sun setting over the skylights. He was alone, and was glad for it as he struggled to sit up, his head swimming at the movement. He flexed his hands, breathing deeply. He was not in the ghost form any more, back to his usual self. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and centred himself, taking stock. He remembered the ritual, and his expectation that he would die in disrupting it. Evidently, Bob had called him back somehow. That at least explained his dream.
He couldn't feel the wards on the attic, as he usually could. Nor did he have any sense of his staff, which was resting against the alchemy table in its usual spot. Harry directed his attention inward, reaching for his core of power. It was gone, as if it had never existed. Harry gasped, pressing his hands to his chest, feeling the emptiness as if something had scooped out his heart as well, though he could feel that beating in his chest.
No wonder he was alone then. The apprentices would have no need of him now, and Bob would have taken over their training, though Ingrid was due to leave in a few weeks time, and Wendy a couple of months after her. Luke was Bob's full time apprentice, and Kenji had been planning to return to New York soon. Doubtless they would all have gone sooner if not for the ritual. He knew that having large gaps in your magical education was not a good thing. The unkind were likely still in the United States, where they'd had their original nesting site, and there was no reason that Mouse would stay with a mundane…
The toilet flushed in the bathroom and the pipes in the sink gurgled, and Harry had a moment to wipe his face and get himself under control. If Bob was still here, then he would not want to deal with a snivelling wreck. Harry couldn't protect him any more, so he would at least try to make their parting civilised.
"My own!" Bob exclaimed and ran around the end of the bed, dropping to his knees between Harry's legs and grabbing him into a hug, "If I'd known you were about to wake…"
"S'alright," Harry mumbled into Bob's neck, trying to memorise his lovers warmth. He could still feel the warmth he associated with their love, though he wasn't sure if it was real or his imagination, "You ok?"
"Fine," Bob said shortly, pulling back and rolling his eyes, "I'm not the one who has been lying comatose for nearly a week. I believe I should be asking you that."
"I'm ok," Harry said quietly, not meeting Bob's eyes, "You don't have to fuss."
"Yes, because it's just every day that a man turns himself into a living ghost, dis-incorporates and then re-incorporates before falling into a deep state of unconsciousness," Bob snapped, and shook him a little in pure exasperation.
"Don't," Harry whimpered as his head swum for a moment, and then steadied when Bob gathered him close again, murmuring apologies and kissing his temple fondly. Harry's arms crept around his lover, shaking fingers knotting in Bob's waistcoat.
"I sent Dom off to hunt, he was running himself ragged. He's going to be furious with me that he wasn't here when you woke," Bob muttered under his breath, one hand rubbing Harry's back soothingly.
"Dom didn't stay in the States?" Harry frowned, "I thought…"
"That we'd abandon you?" Bob didn't loosen his grip, in fact it tightened in pure desperation, "Because your core is gone?"
"I did what I was supposed to do," Harry mumbled, "They always told me that if I just did it right, then I'd be at peace… I wasn't supposed to live."
"You … if I weren't so relieved you listened when I used the Bond to call to you, I'd strangle you myself…" Bob muttered, fury in his voice, "Tell me honestly Harry, do you want to die?"
"No," Harry admitted, "But… "
"But nothing," Bob replied firmly, leaning back and cupping his cheek with one warm hand. Tears spilled down Harry's cheeks, "Those masters of yours… they kept you separate from the rest of the world, lied to you, told you that your only worth was the power you wielded and the blood connection you held. They lied Harry. You are loved, not for your powers, not for your money. You are loved for you. I love you, and I own you, and you don't get to die before we've had a life time together, and you're fat and bald and surrounded by great great grandchildren, you hear me?"
Harry snorted and fell into Bob's arms again, burying his sobs in his lover's shoulder. Bob hushed and hummed, holding him tightly. Distantly, Harry could feel Bob's pulse in the back of his mind, that aspect of his powers still with him at least. When the storm of emotion passed, Harry kissed Bob's neck and then leaned back a little.
"You're not pregnant are you?" he asked, his voice a little nasally from his blocked sinuses. Bob laughed in his face.
"It would serve you right if I was," he retorted. Harry smiled at him a little, then shifted on the bed.
"Bathroom," he informed his lover, and Bob stood, pulling Harry to his feet and steadying him when his head swam.
"Easy," Bob murmured, "We've been giving you my Nourishment tincture every day, but you need a proper meal, and soon. Luke and Ingrid have gone to replenish our cupboards, which are bare, and Wendy, Kenji and Mouse are in the States, spying to see what the High Council has made of events. They'll be back tomorrow night."
Harry found himself stripped of his sleeping clothes once he'd finished with the toilet and put into a hot shower. Bob got in with him, washing him thoroughly before getting him out, helping him dry off and putting new clothes onto him. Harry had to lean on his lover for support as they left the bathroom though, and Bob was just settling him into his favourite chair when there was a flutter at the window and Dom appeared, changing into his human form.
"Beloved!" Dom breathed and came to embrace Harry. Harry was starting to feel like a complete shit for doubting the people around him, though he could concede that his world view was as distorted as Bob claimed. He had been raised to think of his value solely in terms of what he could do for the people around him, though he knew that the world didn't solely operate that way.
Bob disappeared for a bit, coming back from next door with toast, spread with peanut butter, and a cup of tea. Dom had finally consented to let go of Harry by that point and insisted on helping Bob feed him, as Harry's hands were shaking too badly to hold the plate or cup safely. The food helped stop that, and he was feeling a lot better when the door to the landing opened and Ingrid and Luke appeared, bags in their arms.
"Look who's awake," Bob drawled, gathering the empty plate and cup, and Harry found himself buried in apprentices. Any misconception on his part of how they'd felt about him was banished in that moment, and he did his best to swallow the shame he felt for doubting them.
It took Harry almost two weeks to get Bob and Dom to stop coddling him. Part of it, he suspected, was revenge for the times he'd coddled them after an injury or illness. Part of it was due to him losing so much body mass, casting while a ghost. A small part of it was pity though, and Harry simply refused to be pitied.
The apprentices didn't coddle him, because he growled at them, and they were too used to falling into line when he did. Bob and Dom were each lover and beloved, so they were immune to his growls.
All of them except Luke would be leaving Dresden soon, to return home to their primary masters, and all of them offered to stay in case Bob or Luke found a way to restore his powers to him. Harry had been forced to have excruciatingly embarrassing conversations with all three of them, promising that he didn't mind the lack of power as much as they thought he should, and that he would call on them if he ever needed their help.
Bob knew of several forbidden spells that would work, but had stated flatly in private that he would not attempt them. Harry had been relieved. His lover had a reprieve from the curse, and Harry wanted nothing more than to see Bob live out his full life span, and die 'bald and fat and surrounded by great great grandchildren' as he had demanded of Harry on that first wakening. If Bob turned to the Black again, he would be hunted down mercilessly. Harry would do everything he could to keep his lover safe.
Once he was free of the coddling, Harry began to think about what came next. He couldn't help people the way he was used to, although he still got letters and requests for assistance. Bob was dealing with those on Harry's behalf, and Harry had been acting as a lorist of sorts instead. Not for the arcane knowledge, Bob had that down cold, but for the modern knowledge, which Bob had missed a great deal of. Bob had had a very sheltered existence and there were still things about the times in which he lived now that mentally knocked him for a loop.
This usually triggered highly entertaining rants, which almost always led to vigorous sex, so Harry didn't mind, and truth be told, neither did Bob.
He hadn't seen much of the world, living adrift, and if they were careful with their spending, he and Bob could travel quite extensively. They'd rent Master Haggis' attic space, and Bob intended to ward theirs thoroughly against any sort of intrusion. Harry was sure there would be puzzles and intricacies to unravel as they travelled, and people to help. Mouse had made it clear, mainly by lying on top of Harry when he'd asked the dog-thing if it wanted to go with one of the apprentices, that it was staying with him, and part of Harry was incredibly relieved by that. It meant that Bob would have back up to help him should he need it, though Bob was of the opinion that Mouse would be guarding Harry when he was off doing magic things.
Harry had bought an old combie camper for them to travel in, which Mouse adored. He filled nearly the whole of the rear when they were travelling, and delighted in sticking his head out of the sunroof. Harry ignored the matter of Morningway manor and his inheritance there, deciding it could be put off until they were sure that the High Council for the America's wasn't going to try and kill Bob and reinstate his curse. Better not to flaunt the man under their noses for now, was Harry's way of thinking, and there was plenty of Europe and Asia that Harry had only seen from the water and Bob had only heard described in books.
Bob had of course been quite scathing in his opinion of the combie, which could best be described as well-used. Harry had mockingly offered to bedeck it in velvet and satin, as befitting one so high born. Things would have devolved into quite the argument if Harry hadn't pointed out that they'd be able to have sex under the stars whenever Bob fancied it. Bob fancied that quite a bit, and so the argument was forgotten.
As a life it wouldn't be too bad, and Harry looked vaguely forward to it, not quite trusting that he had a future yet. Bob was working on that with him though, and until then they had each other.
Practically an embarrassment of riches, really.
0000
END