(no subject)
Title: “By any other name…”
Author: Izzi,luvmeanddespair
Rating: PG-13 for now.
Book or TV-verse: TV verse.
Characters/Pairing: Bob/Harry Preslash… Justin Morningway.
Summary: The importance of names at Morningway Estate.
Warnings: Unbeta'd. Bastardly Justin?
Disclaimer: So not mine. Jim Butcher and SciFi.
Word Count: 1,031
AN: I’m not going to explain how and why the runes mentioned are different and why it’s interesting that other than mispronunciation that Harry would switch them. But you can look them up HERE (scroll down). ^^ X-posted at my journal.
This makes more sense if you have read my Night Drabble, Company
I plan on it being a mini-series…thing.
Harry sat down across from Justin at the long dining table, eying the cook-made breakfast dubiously. It was one of those weird foreign things Justin liked, clearly. He picked up his spoon and poked it tentatively into the mush.
“How was your night, Harry?”
He looked over, almost dropping his spoon in shock. Justin rarely ever spoke during meals.
“Um. Fine, Uncle Justin.”
Justin smile and Harry barely repressed a shiver. Justin’s smiles never seemed entirely… genuine. He went back to the mush, raising a spoonful to his lips and forcing himself to swallow it.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Harry nodded, busy with another mouthful of mush.
“I found something interesting in your room the other day…Hrothbert’s skull. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about how it got there, would you?”
A hasty sip of milk did nothing for his dry throat.
“Uh…”
“He’s not a plaything, Harry,” Justin told him firmly. “He is a tool, a sentient and sociable one, but a tool nonetheless. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that he’s anything more than a guide.”
Something heavy pooled in Harry’s gut and he’d had to bite his lip to keep from protesting.
“I… I didn’t mean to,” he lied slowly.
“The skull is to sit in its place in the study at all times, Harry.”
“Yes, sir.”
Justin sighed, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“I understand that the transition has been difficult, with so much unknown to you about our world, but I had hoped you would understand that some things ought not to be meddled with. Hrothbert is confined to his skull for a reason, Harry. He is not some happy-go-lucky spirit that was wronged whilst living. He is a condemned ghost. We use his knowledge and failings as examples, to avoid consequences like his.”
Harry took another sip of milk, waiting for Justin to finish. The man replaced his glasses.
“He may tempt you, Harry, with ideas of illicit magic-despite my strict guidelines on your teachings. If you become concerned, you have to tell me, do you understand?”
Harry nodded mutely. “May I be excused?”
---------------------------
“No, that is Eihwaz, and the usage of that particular rune in this instance will get you something very different than Ehwaz,” drawled Hrothbert before heaving a large sigh. “Harry, your head has been in the clouds the entire lesson, may I ask why?”
“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, setting down the chalk a bit more harshly than intended and flopping down into a cushioned chair.
Hrothbert frowned, and glided over, kneeling to look at Harry’s face.
“What did Justin say to you?” he asked softly, voice nearly emotionless but for slight tinge of unease that the ghost probably didn’t even know he was projecting.
“He found you-yesterday. You didn’t say anything. He doesn’t know why.”
Hrothbert blinked, lips pursing. “You didn’t answer the question, Harry.”
“What-what did you do? To get bound like that,” Harry asked, looking at the skull fixedly.
The ghost drew in a sharp, unneeded breath. “I am in no position to talk to you about that, Harry.”
“I can…I can make you,” he said, biting his lip.
The ghost shook his head, lips quirking briefly in a mirthless smile. “No, Harry, you can’t. Justin has a very carefully worded command regarding that and his commands supersede anything you could come up with.”
“Because he owns you.”
“My skull is in his ownership. I am merely bound to my skull and required to follow any demands pressed upon me by whomever may have possession of it,” returned Hrothbert frostily, words neatly clipped.
“I’m sorry.”
The ghost rose, turning back to the blackboard. “You need to correct this,” he murmured.
“I don’t think you’re just a tool.”
“Excuse me?” Hrothbert sputtered. “Where-”
“That’s what he told me. I don’t believe him…”
A closed look came over Hrothbert’s face. “I see. Well, then I think you will have to put an end to your late-night lectures. It was meant to happen any-”
“No,” blurted Harry, “I won’t. He doesn’t know you. He thinks he does, but…he doesn’t. I don’t know why but he doesn’t like the idea that I like you, that I trust you. He tried to tell me that you were going to make me do stuff-like black magic-but…that’s not right. He was lying.”
Hrothbert’s lips pursed. “You hear an awful lot of things, Harry Dresden,” he murmured. “What makes you so sure he’s not telling the truth?”
Harry stared up. “I know you.”
“Oh, do you now? Tell me, who is Hrothbert of Bainbridge?”
Harry shook his head. “No.”
Hrothbert blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re…you’re not Hrothbert with me. I mean sometimes…sometimes you are but then you’re not. You’re…Bob.”
“I beg your pardon,” the newly-christened ghost boggled. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”
Harry frowned trying to put his feelings into words with difficulty. “You know…how when he talks to you…sometimes he calls you Ghost?”
Hrothbert stiffened but nodded shortly.
“You get…like that, like you are now. All stiff and really formal. Like a servant.”
“I am a ser-”
“I’m not done,” protested Harry. “And then sometimes he calls you Hrothbert and usually, usually you act like a teacher. Explaining stuff and…you know, lecturing.”
Hrothbert nodded, waiting. Harry inhaled, frowned again and then finally spoke.
“When you’re with me… in my room, or…or when we’re not in my room, but together and alone? You’re Bob. You fool around with your spells, read stuff and you sing-yes, you do, I’ve heard you!” Harry averred. “When you’re like that, carefree and stuff? That’s Bob. When you talk about how bad my music is and how bad anything is-your opinion-you stop being Ghost-the-Servant and Hrothbert-the-Teacher, and…you’re Bob.”
“And Bob…you’re my friend,” he ended softly, cheeks heating up a little. “And I trust my friends. I trust you.”
Bob’s lips-because he was Bob then-parted, eyes misting. He swallowed a few times before speaking voice, sounding a little hoarse.
“That is the most-I mean to say…” he swallowed again, blinking rapidly. “You’re my friend as well, Harry.”
+ + + + + + +
Author: Izzi,luvmeanddespair
Rating: PG-13 for now.
Book or TV-verse: TV verse.
Characters/Pairing: Bob/Harry Preslash… Justin Morningway.
Summary: The importance of names at Morningway Estate.
Warnings: Unbeta'd. Bastardly Justin?
Disclaimer: So not mine. Jim Butcher and SciFi.
Word Count: 1,031
AN: I’m not going to explain how and why the runes mentioned are different and why it’s interesting that other than mispronunciation that Harry would switch them. But you can look them up HERE (scroll down). ^^ X-posted at my journal.
This makes more sense if you have read my Night Drabble, Company
I plan on it being a mini-series…thing.
Harry sat down across from Justin at the long dining table, eying the cook-made breakfast dubiously. It was one of those weird foreign things Justin liked, clearly. He picked up his spoon and poked it tentatively into the mush.
“How was your night, Harry?”
He looked over, almost dropping his spoon in shock. Justin rarely ever spoke during meals.
“Um. Fine, Uncle Justin.”
Justin smile and Harry barely repressed a shiver. Justin’s smiles never seemed entirely… genuine. He went back to the mush, raising a spoonful to his lips and forcing himself to swallow it.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Harry nodded, busy with another mouthful of mush.
“I found something interesting in your room the other day…Hrothbert’s skull. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about how it got there, would you?”
A hasty sip of milk did nothing for his dry throat.
“Uh…”
“He’s not a plaything, Harry,” Justin told him firmly. “He is a tool, a sentient and sociable one, but a tool nonetheless. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that he’s anything more than a guide.”
Something heavy pooled in Harry’s gut and he’d had to bite his lip to keep from protesting.
“I… I didn’t mean to,” he lied slowly.
“The skull is to sit in its place in the study at all times, Harry.”
“Yes, sir.”
Justin sighed, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“I understand that the transition has been difficult, with so much unknown to you about our world, but I had hoped you would understand that some things ought not to be meddled with. Hrothbert is confined to his skull for a reason, Harry. He is not some happy-go-lucky spirit that was wronged whilst living. He is a condemned ghost. We use his knowledge and failings as examples, to avoid consequences like his.”
Harry took another sip of milk, waiting for Justin to finish. The man replaced his glasses.
“He may tempt you, Harry, with ideas of illicit magic-despite my strict guidelines on your teachings. If you become concerned, you have to tell me, do you understand?”
Harry nodded mutely. “May I be excused?”
---------------------------
“No, that is Eihwaz, and the usage of that particular rune in this instance will get you something very different than Ehwaz,” drawled Hrothbert before heaving a large sigh. “Harry, your head has been in the clouds the entire lesson, may I ask why?”
“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, setting down the chalk a bit more harshly than intended and flopping down into a cushioned chair.
Hrothbert frowned, and glided over, kneeling to look at Harry’s face.
“What did Justin say to you?” he asked softly, voice nearly emotionless but for slight tinge of unease that the ghost probably didn’t even know he was projecting.
“He found you-yesterday. You didn’t say anything. He doesn’t know why.”
Hrothbert blinked, lips pursing. “You didn’t answer the question, Harry.”
“What-what did you do? To get bound like that,” Harry asked, looking at the skull fixedly.
The ghost drew in a sharp, unneeded breath. “I am in no position to talk to you about that, Harry.”
“I can…I can make you,” he said, biting his lip.
The ghost shook his head, lips quirking briefly in a mirthless smile. “No, Harry, you can’t. Justin has a very carefully worded command regarding that and his commands supersede anything you could come up with.”
“Because he owns you.”
“My skull is in his ownership. I am merely bound to my skull and required to follow any demands pressed upon me by whomever may have possession of it,” returned Hrothbert frostily, words neatly clipped.
“I’m sorry.”
The ghost rose, turning back to the blackboard. “You need to correct this,” he murmured.
“I don’t think you’re just a tool.”
“Excuse me?” Hrothbert sputtered. “Where-”
“That’s what he told me. I don’t believe him…”
A closed look came over Hrothbert’s face. “I see. Well, then I think you will have to put an end to your late-night lectures. It was meant to happen any-”
“No,” blurted Harry, “I won’t. He doesn’t know you. He thinks he does, but…he doesn’t. I don’t know why but he doesn’t like the idea that I like you, that I trust you. He tried to tell me that you were going to make me do stuff-like black magic-but…that’s not right. He was lying.”
Hrothbert’s lips pursed. “You hear an awful lot of things, Harry Dresden,” he murmured. “What makes you so sure he’s not telling the truth?”
Harry stared up. “I know you.”
“Oh, do you now? Tell me, who is Hrothbert of Bainbridge?”
Harry shook his head. “No.”
Hrothbert blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re…you’re not Hrothbert with me. I mean sometimes…sometimes you are but then you’re not. You’re…Bob.”
“I beg your pardon,” the newly-christened ghost boggled. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”
Harry frowned trying to put his feelings into words with difficulty. “You know…how when he talks to you…sometimes he calls you Ghost?”
Hrothbert stiffened but nodded shortly.
“You get…like that, like you are now. All stiff and really formal. Like a servant.”
“I am a ser-”
“I’m not done,” protested Harry. “And then sometimes he calls you Hrothbert and usually, usually you act like a teacher. Explaining stuff and…you know, lecturing.”
Hrothbert nodded, waiting. Harry inhaled, frowned again and then finally spoke.
“When you’re with me… in my room, or…or when we’re not in my room, but together and alone? You’re Bob. You fool around with your spells, read stuff and you sing-yes, you do, I’ve heard you!” Harry averred. “When you’re like that, carefree and stuff? That’s Bob. When you talk about how bad my music is and how bad anything is-your opinion-you stop being Ghost-the-Servant and Hrothbert-the-Teacher, and…you’re Bob.”
“And Bob…you’re my friend,” he ended softly, cheeks heating up a little. “And I trust my friends. I trust you.”
Bob’s lips-because he was Bob then-parted, eyes misting. He swallowed a few times before speaking voice, sounding a little hoarse.
“That is the most-I mean to say…” he swallowed again, blinking rapidly. “You’re my friend as well, Harry.”
+ + + + + + +