Fanfiction: The Dresden Files: The Ties that Bind
Title: The Ties that Bind
Genre: TV-Verse .
Characters: B&H, the early days at the Morningway Estate.
Rating: G/FRC. Total genfic.
Summary: All connections come from somewhere. Not all are intentional.
Warnings: None. Bob's dead and Harry's an orphan. Like we didn't know that already.
Notes: Comments and constructive criticism is appreciated; flames go to keep the boys' candles lighted.
Disclaimer: If I owned these guys, I wouldn't be posting this stuff on the net for no profit. I'd be making cashola hand over fist instead. Jim Butcher owns the characters… and if you want to support him and give him incentive to keep writing, buy his books and maybe even some of the audiobooks. They're unabridged, and very, *very* good.
Warning: Unbetaed. Gone over a few times by myself, and triple-spellchecked. It's been aging on my hard drive for months. I'm finally just going to let it out for everyone.
"Harry? Harry?" I stepped back as my ward focused, his eyes looking up into mine. I was not unsympathetic; I remember being in his place--or something very similar to it--once upon a time. He'd been melancholy for nigh on a week, and I hadn't failed to note the anniversary of his father's passing. It tugged at my heart to see him so vague; tugged more than it should have done. As long as I'd been with the Morningways, I'd thought I'd become rather insensitive to their pettiness and intractable moods, but Harry was not a Morningway. He inherited more than just a name from his father, much more. He'd inherited a soul and compassion, along with his normal saucy attitude and quick wit. I hadn't noticed how accustomed I'd grown to them until they'd faded of late, and found myself missing them.
"I'm sorry, Mist--Master Bainbridge," he replied, taking a breath. "I'm no good at focusing today." My name always sounded cumbersome on Harry's tongue, even after several months of practice, and I despaired of him ever being able to say it properly. When he shook his head, his hair flopped over his eyes, and I remember wishing I could reach out and brush it away with the back of my hand. I would have suggested he have it cut if Justin hadn't been badgering him to have it done--I'd hate to think I would willingly side with that man on much of anything.
I gave my head a very small shake, closing my eyes a moment. "I suppose it's all right; everyone has occasion to be defocused. I'm sure you won't need to know how to spin a cat's cradle charm anytime soon." Instead of relieving him, it made him frown and look down at the book. My brow drew up in puzzlement; it has always been very hard to predict his moods.
"I'll try harder," he insisted. "I don't have--" he cut himself off, clenching his jaw. "I'll work harder," he repeated with a note of determination.
"Harry, if you try any harder, you're likely to burst one of the veins on the side of your head. I'd hate for that to happen to you. It's been a month or so since we've had a holiday; perhaps we should take the rest of the day to rest."
His untamable curls bounced and shuffled as he shook his head again, more adamant this time. "If Uncle Justin catches me not studying, he'll get angry again." Understanding passed through me in a wave; Morningway was a classic example of a verbal abuser--he'd rail and rant and accuse, and then apologise later, attempting to wheedle his way back into trust. After the first blowout, though, Harry had stopped trusting him, and began acting it, instead.
I rocked on my feet and put my hand to my chin pensively; I was trying to give the appearance of ease even as I would have liked nothing better than to kneel and hug him, give him some comfort. "Then I suppose, it's time to take our lessons somewhere he cannot see us." I glanced to the table where my skull rested, then back at him. "Pick me up; we'll go to the roof."
He blinked at me, and it was the first time I remember wondering at his lashes, long and thick surrounding his too-large eyes. "It's raining." Master of the obvious, that's my Harry.
"Yes, and as long as you still have one of the umbrella charms we made last month, we can go out in it without getting wet," I pointed out, and I didn't bother fighting a soft smile as understanding passed his features. "It's time you learned about meteorology anyway."
---------
We stayed nearly an hour like that on the roof of the manse, my skull held securely to him by the padded harness we'd devised together. At times, I felt as if I could hear his heartbeat pulsing behind my ears, the rush of blood passing under the skin and replacing my own. He sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, chin resting against them, and stayed silent, the shifting, rolling clouds allowing him to turn his thoughts inward. Occasional bouts of sadness and introspection are normal for anyone; I was not unaffected by his mood, and instead of my usual academic puzzlings, found myself absorbed in looking for shapes among the nebulous grey-on-grey shades. It came as quite a startlement to hear his voice, and I turned my gaze upon him, noting the slump of his back and the slight angling to his jaw.
"You are my sunshine…" he began slowly, eyes focused on nothing, lost in the labyrinth of his own mind. "My only sunshine. You make me happy… when skies are grey."
Here, his voice faded out, and I saw his back expand on a hitched breath. I half wanted to damn him for being a good person, and half to damn myself for believing in him. I took up the next few lines, hoping to get him to join me. "You'll never know, dear, how much I love you…"
"Please don't take my sunshine away," he finished with me. I moved to 'sit' beside him on the tiles; there was an expanse which was only gently sloped, and bordered by a railing. "Master Bainbridge, do you remember your family at all?"
"Harry, please. You butcher my name every time you say it," I murmured. "Call me…" It took me a moment to think of something suitable, and I couldn't help but think of the diminutive I'd picked up in childhood, which was now common as a name in its own right. "... Bob. I seriously doubt you can manage to mangle that."
He nodded, pensiveness encouraging him to take it in stride. "Bob, then. I like it. It suits you."
A corner of my mouth twitched. "I'm so glad you approve." The dry tone was not lost on him, and he spared me a long glance before turning his gaze back out to the ether. "Father was Lord Ulrich of Bainbridge. I took the title after he passed on. Mother was a Burnham, from near Essex--"
"I'm sure you have a pedigree stronger than that of most show poodles," he interrupted with a soft sort of sigh. "What were they like?"
"That's a difficult question to answer. In my day, wealthy families had two different ways of acting, one for inside the family, and one for others. Then again, when I was your age, I was considered nearly a full adult. Father wanted to have me married off by sixteen to Lucinda Cartwright, who had property near ours."
"Sixteen?"
I nodded. "If not sooner. But as to the character of my parents, they were… unorthodox, to say the least. Marriage was not generally about love then, it was about increasing one's property and landholdings. To the ire of my grandfather, my parents were a love-match. If I remember correctly, Father had to do quite a bit of convincing to make his point about her land near Essex being valuable instead of just what was in the area of Bainbridge. In the end, Grandfather grudgingly relented, and they took vows. I was born not long after. When telling me stories of a night, Grandfather often mentioned that I seemed to come too quickly for propriety, but that I was quite sickly when I was an infant."
His brows knotted up, and he turned to face me, interest sparkling in his eyes. "You? Sickly?"
I nodded. "Both my parents had their talents; Mother was an orator, and Father was an apothecary." I smiled, letting the memories trickle back in; I hadn't cause to think on my own youth in a very long time. "Since Father was the Lord, it was his responsibility to see to the land and its people… he was horrible at it. They finally found a rite that would allow her to take control of him and use her talent through him."
"But, that's against one of the Laws of Magic!"
"No, this was… it was cooperation, not force. Two people, if they care for one another, can forge a soul bond. It's reminiscent of the Soul Contract, but this one requires no blood, no pen and paper. It's formed purely by the words giving form to the emotions."
"What sort of words?" He tried so hard at evocation, but with no finesse, his spells so often went awry. The three he'd mastered--two fire-based, one air--often made me wonder how his Chinese chart would read. Nevertheless, he did try so.
"The words themselves aren't so much important as the sentiment behind them. They chose Spanish rather than Latin; Mother felt it was more melodic. I believe they said it as "Abro mi corazón en usted, mi amor. Donde usted va, seré. Cuando me pierden, usted me encontrará."
"That one, I can say," he hummed, and repeated it back to me word for word. I blinked at him, and the astonishment must have showed on my face even as I felt something inside me lurch, and rocked back from a rush of energy. "There were a lot of Spanish-speaking people in Florida," he hummed, apparently mistaking the movement for disbelief. The explanation was simple, yet mind-boggling, and it left me speechless for several heartbeats.
"And, do you know what it means?"
"Oh, yes." I saw a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth, and damned myself a moment after I felt my hope lift. It had been quite some time since he had smiled, and was nice to see once again. It was a sure sign I was getting soft, and I cursed myself again, but kept silent.
"And?"
He shrugged. "You tell me."
"You don't know," I decided.
"I do," he replied. His tone was placid, but there was a note of mirth to his voice.
"Liar."
"All right, we'll say it together," he insisted. I nodded, and waited for him to open his mouth, following his words. "I open my heart to you, my love. Where you go, I will be. When I am lost, you will find me." The wind swirled about us, and Harry had to reach down to steady himself on the tile of the roof. "Whoa, the storm must be getting closer."
I frowned. What had happened? That was no storm wind. We sat together a time longer as the clouds rolled by, falling back into the easy quiet that we so often did. Had something passed between us? When the blazes did Harry have time to practice his Spanish? Again I was startled out of my thoughts by his soft singing, though his tone was far lighter than it had been. When he looked at me, I joined him again, until our gazes both returned to the shifting clouds that clung close.
"Please don't take my sunshine away."
Genre: TV-Verse .
Characters: B&H, the early days at the Morningway Estate.
Rating: G/FRC. Total genfic.
Summary: All connections come from somewhere. Not all are intentional.
Warnings: None. Bob's dead and Harry's an orphan. Like we didn't know that already.
Notes: Comments and constructive criticism is appreciated; flames go to keep the boys' candles lighted.
Disclaimer: If I owned these guys, I wouldn't be posting this stuff on the net for no profit. I'd be making cashola hand over fist instead. Jim Butcher owns the characters… and if you want to support him and give him incentive to keep writing, buy his books and maybe even some of the audiobooks. They're unabridged, and very, *very* good.
Warning: Unbetaed. Gone over a few times by myself, and triple-spellchecked. It's been aging on my hard drive for months. I'm finally just going to let it out for everyone.
"Harry? Harry?" I stepped back as my ward focused, his eyes looking up into mine. I was not unsympathetic; I remember being in his place--or something very similar to it--once upon a time. He'd been melancholy for nigh on a week, and I hadn't failed to note the anniversary of his father's passing. It tugged at my heart to see him so vague; tugged more than it should have done. As long as I'd been with the Morningways, I'd thought I'd become rather insensitive to their pettiness and intractable moods, but Harry was not a Morningway. He inherited more than just a name from his father, much more. He'd inherited a soul and compassion, along with his normal saucy attitude and quick wit. I hadn't noticed how accustomed I'd grown to them until they'd faded of late, and found myself missing them.
"I'm sorry, Mist--Master Bainbridge," he replied, taking a breath. "I'm no good at focusing today." My name always sounded cumbersome on Harry's tongue, even after several months of practice, and I despaired of him ever being able to say it properly. When he shook his head, his hair flopped over his eyes, and I remember wishing I could reach out and brush it away with the back of my hand. I would have suggested he have it cut if Justin hadn't been badgering him to have it done--I'd hate to think I would willingly side with that man on much of anything.
I gave my head a very small shake, closing my eyes a moment. "I suppose it's all right; everyone has occasion to be defocused. I'm sure you won't need to know how to spin a cat's cradle charm anytime soon." Instead of relieving him, it made him frown and look down at the book. My brow drew up in puzzlement; it has always been very hard to predict his moods.
"I'll try harder," he insisted. "I don't have--" he cut himself off, clenching his jaw. "I'll work harder," he repeated with a note of determination.
"Harry, if you try any harder, you're likely to burst one of the veins on the side of your head. I'd hate for that to happen to you. It's been a month or so since we've had a holiday; perhaps we should take the rest of the day to rest."
His untamable curls bounced and shuffled as he shook his head again, more adamant this time. "If Uncle Justin catches me not studying, he'll get angry again." Understanding passed through me in a wave; Morningway was a classic example of a verbal abuser--he'd rail and rant and accuse, and then apologise later, attempting to wheedle his way back into trust. After the first blowout, though, Harry had stopped trusting him, and began acting it, instead.
I rocked on my feet and put my hand to my chin pensively; I was trying to give the appearance of ease even as I would have liked nothing better than to kneel and hug him, give him some comfort. "Then I suppose, it's time to take our lessons somewhere he cannot see us." I glanced to the table where my skull rested, then back at him. "Pick me up; we'll go to the roof."
He blinked at me, and it was the first time I remember wondering at his lashes, long and thick surrounding his too-large eyes. "It's raining." Master of the obvious, that's my Harry.
"Yes, and as long as you still have one of the umbrella charms we made last month, we can go out in it without getting wet," I pointed out, and I didn't bother fighting a soft smile as understanding passed his features. "It's time you learned about meteorology anyway."
---------
We stayed nearly an hour like that on the roof of the manse, my skull held securely to him by the padded harness we'd devised together. At times, I felt as if I could hear his heartbeat pulsing behind my ears, the rush of blood passing under the skin and replacing my own. He sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, chin resting against them, and stayed silent, the shifting, rolling clouds allowing him to turn his thoughts inward. Occasional bouts of sadness and introspection are normal for anyone; I was not unaffected by his mood, and instead of my usual academic puzzlings, found myself absorbed in looking for shapes among the nebulous grey-on-grey shades. It came as quite a startlement to hear his voice, and I turned my gaze upon him, noting the slump of his back and the slight angling to his jaw.
"You are my sunshine…" he began slowly, eyes focused on nothing, lost in the labyrinth of his own mind. "My only sunshine. You make me happy… when skies are grey."
Here, his voice faded out, and I saw his back expand on a hitched breath. I half wanted to damn him for being a good person, and half to damn myself for believing in him. I took up the next few lines, hoping to get him to join me. "You'll never know, dear, how much I love you…"
"Please don't take my sunshine away," he finished with me. I moved to 'sit' beside him on the tiles; there was an expanse which was only gently sloped, and bordered by a railing. "Master Bainbridge, do you remember your family at all?"
"Harry, please. You butcher my name every time you say it," I murmured. "Call me…" It took me a moment to think of something suitable, and I couldn't help but think of the diminutive I'd picked up in childhood, which was now common as a name in its own right. "... Bob. I seriously doubt you can manage to mangle that."
He nodded, pensiveness encouraging him to take it in stride. "Bob, then. I like it. It suits you."
A corner of my mouth twitched. "I'm so glad you approve." The dry tone was not lost on him, and he spared me a long glance before turning his gaze back out to the ether. "Father was Lord Ulrich of Bainbridge. I took the title after he passed on. Mother was a Burnham, from near Essex--"
"I'm sure you have a pedigree stronger than that of most show poodles," he interrupted with a soft sort of sigh. "What were they like?"
"That's a difficult question to answer. In my day, wealthy families had two different ways of acting, one for inside the family, and one for others. Then again, when I was your age, I was considered nearly a full adult. Father wanted to have me married off by sixteen to Lucinda Cartwright, who had property near ours."
"Sixteen?"
I nodded. "If not sooner. But as to the character of my parents, they were… unorthodox, to say the least. Marriage was not generally about love then, it was about increasing one's property and landholdings. To the ire of my grandfather, my parents were a love-match. If I remember correctly, Father had to do quite a bit of convincing to make his point about her land near Essex being valuable instead of just what was in the area of Bainbridge. In the end, Grandfather grudgingly relented, and they took vows. I was born not long after. When telling me stories of a night, Grandfather often mentioned that I seemed to come too quickly for propriety, but that I was quite sickly when I was an infant."
His brows knotted up, and he turned to face me, interest sparkling in his eyes. "You? Sickly?"
I nodded. "Both my parents had their talents; Mother was an orator, and Father was an apothecary." I smiled, letting the memories trickle back in; I hadn't cause to think on my own youth in a very long time. "Since Father was the Lord, it was his responsibility to see to the land and its people… he was horrible at it. They finally found a rite that would allow her to take control of him and use her talent through him."
"But, that's against one of the Laws of Magic!"
"No, this was… it was cooperation, not force. Two people, if they care for one another, can forge a soul bond. It's reminiscent of the Soul Contract, but this one requires no blood, no pen and paper. It's formed purely by the words giving form to the emotions."
"What sort of words?" He tried so hard at evocation, but with no finesse, his spells so often went awry. The three he'd mastered--two fire-based, one air--often made me wonder how his Chinese chart would read. Nevertheless, he did try so.
"The words themselves aren't so much important as the sentiment behind them. They chose Spanish rather than Latin; Mother felt it was more melodic. I believe they said it as "Abro mi corazón en usted, mi amor. Donde usted va, seré. Cuando me pierden, usted me encontrará."
"That one, I can say," he hummed, and repeated it back to me word for word. I blinked at him, and the astonishment must have showed on my face even as I felt something inside me lurch, and rocked back from a rush of energy. "There were a lot of Spanish-speaking people in Florida," he hummed, apparently mistaking the movement for disbelief. The explanation was simple, yet mind-boggling, and it left me speechless for several heartbeats.
"And, do you know what it means?"
"Oh, yes." I saw a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth, and damned myself a moment after I felt my hope lift. It had been quite some time since he had smiled, and was nice to see once again. It was a sure sign I was getting soft, and I cursed myself again, but kept silent.
"And?"
He shrugged. "You tell me."
"You don't know," I decided.
"I do," he replied. His tone was placid, but there was a note of mirth to his voice.
"Liar."
"All right, we'll say it together," he insisted. I nodded, and waited for him to open his mouth, following his words. "I open my heart to you, my love. Where you go, I will be. When I am lost, you will find me." The wind swirled about us, and Harry had to reach down to steady himself on the tile of the roof. "Whoa, the storm must be getting closer."
I frowned. What had happened? That was no storm wind. We sat together a time longer as the clouds rolled by, falling back into the easy quiet that we so often did. Had something passed between us? When the blazes did Harry have time to practice his Spanish? Again I was startled out of my thoughts by his soft singing, though his tone was far lighter than it had been. When he looked at me, I joined him again, until our gazes both returned to the shifting clouds that clung close.
"Please don't take my sunshine away."