SquidgeWorld Archive

Harry, Harry, Snape, and Bob
By Perpetual Motion

Harry’s changing into a slime-free t-shirt when he hears the bell over the door. “Just a sec!” he yells as he looks around for his boots. He spots a pair—also slimed—and figures barefoot is good enough. He pads down the hall, shooing Bob back into the lab with a wave of his hand, and steps into his office space to find a man with messy dark hair and bright green eyes looking around the room. “Hi,” Harry says. “Harry Dresden.”

“Hello,” the man says, the ‘e’ coming out like a ‘u’. “Name’s Potter.” The English accent solidifies when the ‘er’ comes out like an ‘a’.

“First or last?”

“Last. I’m a Harry, also.”

Dresden grins. “It’s a pretty good name.”

“Mine’s caused some trouble.” Harry reaches into the pocket of his slightly baggy jeans and pulls out a small piece of black cloth. “I need a location spell,” he says to Dresden, holding out the cloth. “I’d do it myself—”

“You’re a wizard?” Dresden asks, left leg falling back to give him a good defensive stance.

Harry’s eyebrows get lost somewhere in his mess of hair. “Seriously?” He asks after a moment.

Dresden squints at him. “You famous or something?”

“Oh, for the love—” Bob walks through the wall and looks like he wants to smack Dresden upside the head. “How uneducated can you actually be? I taught you—”

“Bob,” Dresden says with a touch of warning, “get to the point or get in your skull.”

“Harry Potter,” Bob says like it has meaning. He shakes his head when Dresden looks at him blankly. “Harry Potter, Harry. Son of James and Lily Potter. The-Boy-Who-Lived.”

“The boy who—ah,” Dresden nods to show Bob he’s got it. “Sorry, Mr. Potter—”

“Harry,” Harry says. “And it’s rather nice, actually. Been a bit since I’ve been completely unknown.”

Dresden thinks about what he knows about Harry Potter. “Been what? Ten years or so since the war?”

“Twelve,” Harry says. “And a half, if you prefer to be precise.”

“He doesn’t,” Bob says.

Dresden rolls his eyes at Bob. “A location spell,” he says to Harry. “For what purpose?”

“Finding someone,” Harry says; the grin he gives Dresden makes it funny instead of obnoxious. “A man I knew in England. He went missing after the war. We thought he was one of the bad guys.”

“He wasn’t,” Dresden states.

Harry looks down at his feet and scuffs his shoes against Dresden’s floor. “Not even close. Very good at faking, however.” He holds out the cloth again. “Reports of him here in the States started coming up a couple of years ago. I tried locating him myself, but all I can tell right now is that he’s within about a hundred miles.” Harry looks at the floor again. “He’s blocking me,” he says after a pause. “And all the people who knew him at Hogwarts.”

Dresden catches the way Bob’s eyebrows quirk. “You know who it is,” he says to Bob.

“There are a few options,” Bob tells him, “but if I were forced to guess—”

“Consider yourself forced,” Dresden tells him before Bob can ramble.

“Severus Snape,” Bob snaps. “Hogwarts Potions Master. Former Death Eater.”

“That’s a lot of capital letters,” Dresden quips. He grimaces when Bob glares at him. “So, Severus Snape,” Dresden says to Harry.

“Severus Snape,” Harry says with a nod. “I’m hoping you’re obscure enough that he hasn’t thought to block you.”

“One way to find out,” Dresden says and takes the cloth. “You’re welcome to stay, but it may take awhile.”

“I’ve plenty of time,” Harry says. “If you’d prefer I stay out of your way—”

“Nah, come on,” Dresden says and gestures Harry to follow him to the lab. “You already know the good secrets, anyway.”

Dresden watches Harry when he walks in the lab. There’s a lot to learn, he knows, from watching one wizard in another wizard’s space. “That’s Bob’s,” he says when Harry reaches for Bob’s skull.

“Ah.” Harry’s expression clearly reads ‘ew’. He circles the room, leaning in to read labels and carefully handle some of the notions lying around. He raises his eyebrows at the hockey stick. “That’s not a hockey stick,” he declares.

“Staff,” Dresden says as he clears a spot on the table for the spell. “You don’t get weird looks in Chicago when you carry a hockey stick.”

“What’s your wand,” Harry asks with a grin, “a baseball bat?”

“Drumstick,” Dresden says. “Baseball bat is Excalibur.”

Harry laughs. “Of course.” He finishes his circle of the room and leans against a wall to watch Dresden turn on the burner. “Lots of candles,” he says casually.

Dresden doesn’t look up from sprinkling lavender into the water he’s boiling. “You can ask,” he tells Harry.

“Sorry,” says Harry, and he sounds like he means it. “I’ve spent too much time skulking about for information.” He gives Dresden an apologetic smile when Dresden glances at him. “So, what’s up with the candles?”

“I’m kind of a busted fuse. Lights, cell phones, digital anything; if I get twitchy, it goes up in a puff of smoke.”

“Sometimes it melts,” Bob adds, coming through the wall to stand beside Dresden. “Your flame—”

“Is fine,” Dresden finishes.

“Is high,” Bob says, undeterred. “You keep it that high, you’ll get spell all over your face.”

“I’ll live.”

“I can’t dress your wounds, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’ll laugh if I get them.”

Bob gives an elegant, one-shoulder shrug. “Only a little.”

Harry chuckles. “Oh, memories.” Dresden and Bob both look at him. “Sorry. Just,” he pauses and shakes his head. “Potions class sounded a lot like you two,” he explains, but there’s something in his tone that says there’s more to it.

“We aim to entertain,” Dresden says and ducks away as a bubble on the top of the bowl pops in his face. “Ow.”

“Told you,” Bob says smugly. He walks over to Harry and rolls his eyes. “Some students…” he says with a touch of drama.

“That sounds familiar, too.” Harry jams his hands in his pockets and gives Bob an appraising once-over. “I’ve never seen a ghost so constructed.”

“I am attached to my skull,” Bob says, with a wave to the skull. “I believe it assists my construct in being less see-through.”

“Huh,” Harry says. “The Hogwarts ghosts—”

“Are connected to the school itself in a looser manner,” Bob explains before Harry can finish. “I am, in fact, chained to my skull for inappropriate behaviors.”

“Inappropri—never mind,” Harry says with a shake of his head. “Not my business.”

Bob smiles, wistfulness coloring it. “It is not a useful story,” he tells Harry. “The morale is to simply not play with dark magic.”

Harry rubs the side of his hand against the scar on his forehead. “Yeah, that one I know.”

Bob leans in. “May I?” He asks.

“Sure,” Harry pushes his hair off his forehead. He waits patiently while Bob inspects the scar from a distance of three inches. “Not very exciting.”

“Untrue,” Bob says, “but I imagine its greater meaning has lost its luster.”

“You could say that.”
 
“You could also say,” Dresden cuts in, eyes still on his spell, “that you two are cackling about nothing in particular while I’m doing all the hard work.”

“Do you require assistance?” Bob asks, walking to Dresden’s side.

“Just wanted to remind you we’re doing things here,” Dresden says. He looks over his shoulder at Harry again. “Hand me one of those crystals behind you.”

Harry grabs a crystal and carries it over. He looks down into the green goop in the bowl. “I’ve not seen a green location spell before.”

“The colors differ depending on the ingredients used,” Bob explains. “Harry’s training is not as classical as the education you received at Hogwarts.”

“Which is to say, Bob thinks my talents aren’t refined.”

“You are not refined,” Bob tells Dresden. “The American system of schooling for wizards is not centralized,” Bob says to Harry. “All magic lessons are preformed in the home by private tutors. Some students,” Bob gives Dresden a stern look, “are willing to work patiently through carefully planned coursework.”

“I set things on fire, instead,” Dresden tells Harry with a grin. “More fun.”

“More idiotic,” Bob adds.

Harry grins. “My friend Ron would like you,” he tells Dresden.

Dresden considers that. “That’s a compliment, right?”

“Sure,” Harry says, and it’s only the light in his eyes that gives away the joke. “He’s my best mate.”

Before Dresden can retaliate, the spell turns a darker shade of green. “We’re ready,” he says. He dips the crystal a few times to get a good coating, and then he waits. It’s almost a full minute before he gets a feeling. “He’s in the city,” he tells Harry. “Somewhere in the greater Chicago area.”

“I thought as much,” Harry says. “Once I got into the city, it was like hitting a wall. I thought it might be a hint.”

Dresden walks across the lab to a map of the metropolitan Chicago area. He holds the crystal above it and breathes evenly to help his concentration. “East,” he says to himself. “Southeast.”

“Southeast?” Bob asks, surprised. “The energies on the Southeast side are incredibly high. A British wizard in the midst of that much American energy would stand out sharply.”

“He’s not a British wizard,” Harry says. “He’s a British wizard in hiding. If he wasn’t actively using his power, the amount of power there would help mask him better. He could probably easily keep his protection spells around himself without tipping the vibe for a general area. Why look for a small amount of British energy in the middle of an American powerhouse?”

“Perhaps,” Bob allows. “But the Southeast section of Chicago is still large.”

Harry thinks for a moment. “Is there an herbalist?”

“Phone book’s in the office,” Dresden says from his spot over the map.

Harry steps over next to Dresden and pulls out his wand. He touches it to the edge of Dresden’s crystal and mutters something in Latin. “Should help narrow it,” he says and walks out of the lab.

Dresden looks at Bob when they’re alone. “Unrefined?”

“As if you didn’t know,” Bob replies with a roll of his eyes. He raises his eyebrows when Dresden doesn’t look at him. “Unrefined isn’t bad, Harry,” he says.

“I’m aware,” Dresden replies, sharpness in his tone. “Do you know this Snape person?” he asks to change the subject.

“Only by reputation,” Bob says, the look in his eyes making it clear he’s not pleased with Dresden’s attitude. “It’s been a good long while since I’ve had the chance to speak with anyone who deals with him personally. I was in your uncle’s possession for nearly twenty years, and now I am in yours, and had Mr. Potter not wandered in asking for help, I can’t say I’d have thought of the man again.”

“Is he dangerous?” Dresden asks quietly.

“Only when cornered,” Bob tells him, “but that’s true of anyone.”

“What’s a Death Eater?”

“The kind of person your uncle admired.”

Dresden looks up from the map at that information. “And what’s a former Death Eater?”

“I’ve no idea,” Bob admits. “I’ve never met one.”

“Got it!” Harry calls from down the hall. “He’s at a book shop. Which would have been my second guess.” He walks into the lab and stops near the door, looking back and forth from Dresden to Bob. “Sorry, did I—”

“We’re fine,” Dresden cuts him off. “Let me grab my boots. Bob, get into your skull.”

Bob blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“Bookstore,” Dresden says, “you’re always saying you need something else to read.”

“Of course,” Bob says with a nod. He gives Harry a polite smile and fades away into his skull.

“You have to bring it with you?” Harry asks, eyeing the skull.

“It’s like a leash,” Dresden explains, picking it up. He pauses by the door of the lab and eyes his hockey stick. “What’s a Death Eater?” He asks Harry.

“A power hungry dark witch or wizard out to rule the world and kill Muggles.”

“Muggles?”

“Non-magical people,” Harry says. “You don’t know that?”

Dresden grabs clean boots from under the couch and sits down to slip them on. “Nope. All I knew growing up was that I was a wizard and other people weren’t. When Bob started teaching me, he tried the history lesson, but I never really listened.”

“How did you know about the war?” Harry asks, leaning against Dresden’s kitchen counter.

“How could you miss the war?” Dresden counters. “That much power goes boom, everyone feels it.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Harry admits. “Trying to stay alive, you know.”

Dresden thinks of his uncle and carefully places Bob’s skull into his shoulder bag. “Yeah, I know.” He grabs his keys from the hook by the door and gestures Harry to follow. “Come on. You’ve got an address, right?”

“Yes,” Harry follows Dresden to his Jeep and climbs in. He buckles his seat belt and pulls out his wand again, holding it against his inside leg so it can’t be seen from the street. The tip of his wand glows blue. “If it turns red, he’s moved,” he tells Dresden.

“If he’s anything like Bob, he’ll be there awhile,” Dresden says reassuringly. He turns the key, the Jeep gives a cough before properly turning over, and they’re off, headed Southeast.

*

Because he’s actually tracking someone, Dresden thinks, the traffic has to suck. “Still blue?” He asks Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Traffic always like this?”

“Not unless I have somewhere to be,” Dresden tells him. He glances away from the windshield to give Harry a quick grin. “Don’t worry. If he’s not there when we get there, we can track him.”

“The wand can do it,” Harry says. “No offense to whatever you have planned.”

“None taken.” Dresden sighs when he finally makes his left turn. “About time,” he mutters. “Why are you looking for this guy?” He asks when traffic slows to a crawl again.

“I owe him,” Harry says quietly. “A lot.”

“How much is ‘a lot’?”

“He saved my life a few times. Helped train me to face Voldemort. Little things, you know?” The humor falls flat when Harry’s voice drops into a whisper. “I owe him,” he repeats, voice slightly louder.

“All right,” Dresden says.

They fall into silence for the rest of the trip, save a moment where Dresden yells a particularly interesting series of swears when a cyclist cuts him off. The bookstore is in a storefront next to an alley. It’s a long, thin building with a large picture window and carefully restored brickwork.

“Sign looks new,” Dresden observes when they step out of the Jeep. He gives Harry a sidelong glance. “You want me to lead the way?”

“No.” Harry straightens his shoulders and discreetly pockets his wand. “I should be fine from here.”

Dresden watches the way Harry flexes his hands and distractedly shakes his hair off of his face. “I’ll just come inside anyway,” Dresden says. “Promised Bob he could have a look around.” He taps his fingers on Bob’s skull as he says it, and Bob swirls out, falling into form just to Dresden’s left.

“Charming,” Bob says when he gets a look at the place. “Are we going in, then?”

“Yes,” Harry says.

“You’re still standing still,” Dresden says a few seconds later.

Harry breathes deep. “I faced down a two-faced Death Eater when I was eleven,” he tells Dresden.

“Well, then going in shouldn’t be a problem.” Dresden puts a friendly hand between Harry’s shoulder blades, counts to five, and then gives Harry a friendly shove.

“Thanks,” Harry says as he stumbles into a steady walk.

“Just one of the many services I provide,” Dresden returns.

The inside of the store is slightly dark even with the picture window. Bob squints at it. “Charmed,” he mutters to Dresden. “It does give a certain presence to the place.”

Dresden agrees with a nod. The long walls on the sides of the building are both covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. There’s a single register sitting on a dark walnut counter that’s carved with swirls and curlicues. Dresden cocks his head and spots a couple of runes carved amongst the more decorative bits. “Wards,” he says to Bob.

“May I help you?” The question comes from a young woman with bobbed blonde hair and a ready smile. Her nametag reads, “Charlotte”.

Harry blinks at the sight of her. He glances at Dresden, and Dresden shrugs. “I’m looking for someone,” Harry says just as her smile starts to droop. “Tallish guy, middle-aged. He might have long black hair. He’s got kind of a big nose.”

“Mr. Snape?” Charlotte asks.

“Mr. Snape?” Harry repeats.

“He owns the store,” Charlotte says. “He’s in the back office right now having tea. He’s really, really British.” Her cheeks suddenly pink. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says with a smile Dresden thinks probably gets him out of lots of trouble, “so am I.”

“I can get him if you want.” Charlotte offers.

“Um…yeah. That’d be great.” Harry’s eyebrows furrow when Charlotte gives him a pointed look.

“And your name?” She finally prompts.

“Harry.”

Dresden turns to share a smirk with Bob and finds that he’s standing alone. He turns in a slow circle and spots Bob ten feet away looking longingly at a shelf that runs down the middle of the store. “Bob?” He asks as he walks over.

“Just browsing,” Bob tells him and smiles, but Dresden can see it doesn’t reach his eyes. “We need something more than my old tomes and your trash.”

“Funny,” Dresden says and watches Bob lean closer, his nose nearly going through a book. “Pick something,” he says before he talks himself out of it. “I’ll read it to you, if you want.”

Bob’s smile makes Dresden’s stomach churn. “That’s unnecessary, Harry.”

“Says you.” Dresden waves his hand to encompass the entire aisle of books. “Anything. Really.”

“Within a perimeter,” Bob says, giving a knowing look to Dresden’s bag.

“Yell if I get too far away,” Dresden says. He walks around the shelf and reads the titles on the other side.

*

“Mr. Snape?”

Severus looks up from order sheet he’s been carefully marking. “Yes, Miss Johns?”

“There’s a man named Harry Potter here to see you.”

He pauses, and then asks, “Could you repeat that, Miss Johns?”

“Um, yeah. There’s a man named Harry Potter here to see you.”

“Are you certain you’ve gotten the name correct?”

She blinks. “…Yeah.”

“I will be out momentarily,” Severus tells her. He watches her walk away and wonders how Harry found him, and then he grimaces. “Because he’s Potter,” he mumbles to the walls. Severus breathes out hard and smoothes his hands over his vest. “Brat,” he sneers to himself as he walks out of his office.

Harry is standing by the picture window, thumbing through a manual on growing herbs in a kitchen windowsill. Severus approaches him from the side and gets a good look at him. He’s put on a bit of weight since the last time they’d seen one another, but his hair is still a mess.

“Professor,” Harry says before Severus can clear his throat to announce himself. “This is your shop?”

“Why are you here, Potter?” Severus asks sharply. He notices a dark-haired man look up from the middle aisle. There’s a man with white hair and pale eyes on the other side of the shelf, and Severus narrows his eyes at the both of them. “You hired that?”

“How you doing?” Dresden says with a wave.

“I did what I needed to do,” Harry snaps in return. “You did a pretty good job of hiding out.”

“That was the point, Potter.”

Dresden’s eyebrows go up at Snape’s tone. He shares a glance with Bob. “That didn’t sound angry,” he says to Bob.

“It did not,” Bob returns.

“I can hear you, Mr. Dresden,” Snape says over his shoulder.

“Yeah, well, I can hear you, too,” Dresden returns. “And you sound like a jerk.”

“Harry,” Bob admonishes.

Snape turns on his heel and glares at them both. “Take your pet and leave, Mr. Dresden.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Dresden says, stepping forward to get into Snape’s face. “You want me gone, I’m gone. But you don’t get to insult Bob.”

“That’s what you call it?” Snape gives Bob a sneer that Bob returns with matching venom. “I wasn’t aware dead indentured servants—”

“Stop it,” Harry cuts in. He steps forward and puts his hand on Snape’s arm. “You can get mad at me all you want, but don’t take it out on them.”

“I can defend myself, thanks,” Dresden tells Harry. “You’re an ass,” he says to Snape. “We’ll be leaving now.”

“Brilliant response,” Snape retorts.

“Didn’t I just tell you to stop it?” Harry asks with a sigh.

“Tell me all you want, Potter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “Look, can we talk?”

“We’re talking—”

“May we talk?”

Snape gives Harry a long, unreadable look. “Miss Johns,” he says without looking away from Harry. “I’m not to be disturbed for the next hour.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Into my office,” Snape says and leads the way. He’s not wearing a robe, but Harry can practically see it trailing behind him.

*

Bob stares out the door as Dresden drives back to the office. “Thank you,” he says softly.

Dresden spares Bob a glance. “What for?”

“Your quick defense.”

“Oh.” Dresden slows for a red light and smacks the palm of his hand on the steering wheel. “We didn’t get you a book.”

Bob smiles. “While I appreciate the courtesy you’re attempting to extend, I would not be such a bother as to make you read to me.”

“Hey, I offered,” Dresden tells him as he looks for a place to turn around. “I meant it.”

“Harry,” Bob says softly, and the longing it in distracts Dresden so badly the guy behind him has to honk to get him to move through the light.

“Look, we can’t do much—”

“We can do nothing,” Bob interjects. “We can’t touch. We can’t kiss. We can’t even breathe on one another. It is a waste—”

“Shut up, Bob,” Dresden says. “I’ve made my choice.”

“It’s a ridiculous choice.”

Dresden sighs heavily. “Yeah, but it’s mine. So either help me find a place to turn around or cram it.”

Bob crosses his arms over his chest and silently flows back into his skull.

“Classy,” Dresden almost-yells. He throws a smile at the two people in the convertible in the next lane. “I like to remind myself,” he tells them. They look straight ahead, and Dresden isn’t surprised when their tires squeal as they hurry away. “Some people,” he says with a shake of his head. He spots a turn-in up the street and changes lanes. “We’re going back,” he calls to Bob. “I’ll pick out the first stuffy, dusty boring thing I find. You’ll probably love it.”

*

Snape closes the door with a firm snap and points to the chair in the front of his desk. “Sit,” he orders Harry.

Harry sits. He watches Snape walk around the desk and sit down with the same precise motions he remembers. “I had to find you,” he says before Snape can say anything.

“No, you did not. In fact, I made a special effort to make it exceedingly difficult.”

“I noticed,” Harry drawls. He smiles a little when Snape scowls. “Your hair’s gotten longer.”

“Immaterial to the point.”

“I like it.”

“Also immaterial to the point.”

Harry scratches the back of his neck and considers his options. “If you want me gone—well and truly gone—I’ll go, but not before I’ve said my piece.”

“You are the same impetuous—”

“I know this line,” Harry says, slicing the ends off his words. “Let me say what I want, and you can insult me a few times before I leave, yeah?”

Snape leans back in his chair, arms crossing as he considers the option. “One chance,” he says.

“Wouldn’t expect more than that,” Harry tells him. He sits up straighter and clears his throat. “It’s like this: everything you said to me before you left, about how we were bad for one another, about how you were a danger, and I didn’t need the headache—I’ve decided all of that is shit, and I’m not going to listen to you when you say such stupid things.”

“My god, Potter, you’ve actually gotten less poised since I last saw you.”

“My injury wasn’t your fault,” Harry says instead of rising to the bait. “I threw myself into the fight without any help from you.”

There’s a small silence, Snape and Harry sizing each other up across the desk. Snape raises his chin. “And your injury?” he asks.

Harry pushes up the sleeve of his sweater. There’s a scar running up the length of his forearm, almost white in the middle and lightly grey on the edges. “Neville says the grey will probably always be there, but that the spell that was trying to eat through my arm is completely clear.”

“I would not trust his opinion.”

“You’re welcome to check yourself,” Harry challenges.

Snape opens a desk drawer and removes his wand. He presses it against Harry’s arm and stares at the tip until his wand glows white. “Well, a point to Mr. Longbottom. It is most likely the only one he’s ever been awarded.”

“Ten points for courage in first year,” Harry says with a smirk.

“Noted,” Snape says drily.

Harry’s smirk drops into a hopeful smile. “So, I found you.”

“Bravo,” Snape gives a small, sarcastic clap.

“I think the sheer fact that I found you should earn me at least a kiss.”

“You can try, Mr. Potter.”

Harry’s eyebrows go up. “You think I won’t?”

“Your desire to always be in a confrontation is not a healthy compulsion.”

“If you’d stop flogging yourself because I injured myself, we wouldn’t have to have a confrontation.”

“There will always be a confrontation, Mr. Potter,” Snape replies with a weary sigh. “If not over your lack of impulse control—”

“Stop talking,” Harry says and stands up from his chair. He walks around the desk and leans towards Snape. “Lecture me all you want in a couple of minutes; write up a list of rules of conduct or whatever gets you excited, but just shut up for a minute.”

And then they’re kissing, Harry pressing his mouth to Snape’s mouth without any hesitation. For a moment, Snape sits completely still, mouth tightly closed, but in the next second, he’s out of his chair, hand curled in Harry’s shirt as he kisses back.

There’s a knock on the door.

Snape pulls away from Harry. “I said an hour, Miss Johns.”

“That guy’s back,” she says through the door. “The dark-haired guy with the weird friend.”

Harry holds up his hands when Snape glares at him. “Wasn’t me. I’ve been right here.”

“I will out in a moment, Miss Johns.” Snape steps away from Harry and straightens his hair.

“I like the vest,” Harry says and reaches out a hand to touch. “Surprised you didn’t just keep the waistcoat.”

“I was incognito, Mr. Potter. Waistcoats stand out.”

Harry snorts to stop from laughing. “Yeah, that’s the weirdest thing about you.”

“We shall continue this later, Mr. Potter.”

“My name’s Harry,” Harry says as Snape walks to the door. “You’ve said it before.”

“This is not before.”

Harry waits until Snape’s out the door before he rolls his eyes. “Same old, same old,” he mutters to himself. He hurries for the door when he hears a voice he thinks is Dresden yelling something akin to ‘jackass’.

“What an original opinion, Mr. Dresden,” Snape is saying when Harry gets to the main floor.

“And how do you know who I am, anyway?” Dresden asks, the suspicion in his eyes ratcheting up.

Snape makes a show of checking his watch. “Only twenty-seven minutes to think to ask that question. Wonderful.”

“He is a man of certain means, Harry,” Bob cuts in before Dresden can retort. “And a man of certain suspicions.”

“You are also as subtle as an elephant in a rose garden.”

Dresden looks confused. “I’m not even sure that’s a metaphor worth mocking.”

“I’ve certainly heard better,” Bob drawls.

Harry bites back a laugh when Snape levels a glare at Bob. “Nice scene,” he says to break everyone’s attention. “But maybe we should have it somewhere else.”

“Subtly,” Snape says, his glare dropping just a little. “I would not have—”

“Yeah. Sure. I’m rude and insensitive. I am not, however, stupid.” Harry touches Snape’s sleeve and jerks his head towards Snape’s office. “Shall we?”

“I dunno,” Dresden says, his glare at Snape not flexing. “I think he’s afraid I might mess on the carpet.”

“Or set fire to something,” Bob says, and Harry’s not sure who Bob is actually insulting.

“Follow me,” Snape says, turning on his heel.

“Neat trick,” Dresden says to Bob, sotto-voice. “Think he practices?”

Bob smirks. “Left, right, left, right, Harry.”

“You are both juvenile and idiotic,” Snape says as he closes the office door.

“We’re great at parties,” Dresden bites back. “Can’t say the same for you.”

“Enough,” Harry snaps, slightly louder than he intends, but it makes everyone look at him. “God, it sounds like first-year all over again.” He scrubs his hands through his hair and looks at Dresden. “Why are you back here? I thought you’d left.”

“I owe Bob a book,” Dresden says, glancing at Bob.

“You do not—”

“So we came back,” Dresden continues over Bob, “so I could buy a book.” He glances at Snape. “Also, something feels weird.”

“Define weird.”

“The vibe in here is weird.”

Harry glances at Snape, who merely raises an eyebrow. “Energies?” Harry guesses.

“Most likely,” Snape agrees. He gives Dresden a once-over that’s just shy of hostile. “America has wizards the same way America is here today—”

“Immigrants,” Dresden guesses.

“Yes,” Snape says with a nod. “The witches and wizards who first came to America did so because the way they used their given talents manifested in different ways.”

Dresden looks at Bob. Bob looks thoughtful. “While you use a wand,” Bob explains to him, “it is not required. What we consider to be British wizarding technique in terms of wand usage is actually a need for British—and other European wizards—to focus their energy into a more useful conduit.”

“It is possible for non-American wizards to perform magic without wands, but the effort is greater,” Snape completes. “American wizards are schooled in the home because their wand technique is not a necessity for adequate performance of magic.”

“Now this really sounds like first year,” Harry says with a shake of his head.

“Yeah, well some of us didn’t have that,” Dresden points out. He looks from Harry to Snape to Bob and finally settles on Snape. “So, basically, you’re telling me that I’m jazzed up because the way you use your magic, and the way I use mine, they don’t get along?”

Snape looks pained at the simplification. “That is a reasonable facsimile of the information, yes.”

“But if that’s true, why haven’t I been jazzed up the whole time you’ve been in town?”

“Because, Mr. Dresden, outside of a few necessary protection spells and some minor potion requirements, I have not used magic.”

“Ah,” Dresden says. “And now I feel like a jackass.”

“You should be used to it by now,” Bob tells him.

Harry’s eyebrows go up in surprise when he sees Snape and Bob share a knowing look. “Creepy,” he says, and then everyone’s looking at him again. He straightens his shoulders rather than hunching in embarrassment and gives Dresden a friendly look. “Is there a pub with proper beer nearby?”

“Sure. Probably. Why?”

“Because I think if we leave, Severus and Bob will find they have plenty to talk about in our absence.”

Dresden considers it. “Maybe.” He looks at Bob. Bob nods. “All right.” Dresden reaches into his bag and pulls out Bob’s skull. He holds it out to Snape. “Don’t drop it.” It sounds like a joke, save the hard tone at the end.

“I will do my very best,” Snape says drily. “Please refrain from dragging Mr. Potter into anything unsavory. Trouble will most likely find him, but if you could avoid dark alleys and anyone demanding help, it may lessen any damage he would cause his person.” There’s a hard note to his tone as well.

“Charming,” Harry says. He touches Snape’s arm again on the way out the door. “Back in awhile.”

“As if I could get rid you, you pest,” Snape mutters.

“Do be careful, Harry,” Bob says to Dresden. “Mr. Potter does have a reputation for trouble.”

“You say the same of me,” Dresden reminds him. He holds up a hand before Bob can protest. “I promise. No saving of damsels, distressed or otherwise.”

“Of course not.” Bob’s eye roll makes it clear he doesn’t believe it.

“Bye, Bob,” Dresden says as the door closes.

Bob gives Snape an appraising look. “2-to-1, five dollar bet.”

Snape returns the look. “And the bet?”

“One of them comes back bleeding.”

“3-to-1 if it’s both.”

“Done.”

*

“They’re talking about us,” Harry says as he and Dresden walk down the block in search of a bar.

“You think so?” Dresden shrugs when Harry nods. “I haven’t been particularly embarrassing this week. I think it’ll be all right.”

“Right about now, Severus is probably talking about how I’ve always been a twat and will always be a twat, and how it’s only through a ridiculous amount of luck that I’m not dead.”

“Is he right?”

Harry thinks about it. “Maybe a bit.”

Dresden grins. “He seems like a pain in the ass.”

“He is,” Harry agrees easily, “but only at the surface.”

“Warm and cuddly with a chocolaty center?”

“Complete bastard,” Harry corrects. “But he’s my bastard.”

Dresden considers the implications. “So, you and he—”

“It’s something of a long story,” Harry interrupts. He points ahead. “Let’s get a beer, first.”

“All right,” Dresden agrees and lets Harry lead the way into the bar. They both order beers and settle at a table near the back, Harry’s back to the wall, Dresden moving his chair so that he has a clear view of the door. “Explain it to me,” he says, taking a sip of his beer.

Harry pulls his wand from his jacket, mutters something, and the air sparkles for a second. “Twisting charm,” he tells Dresden. “Anyone else comes in, it’ll sound like we’re talking about something different.”

“Must be a good story,” Dresden replies.

“It’s not bad,” Harry agrees. He pauses to pull his thoughts together. “He’s an utter bastard,” he says after a moment. “And he berated me and belittled me—”

“Yeah, he’s a winner,” Dresden drawls.

“I know,” Harry insists, and there’s a smile on his face. “I really do. He worked for Voldemort. He spent the majority of my school years telling most of us that we were going to become nothing.”

Dresden bites back something snide. “And?”

“And he saved my life more than once,” Harry tells him. “And then he worked with me to strengthen my mental defenses. And he took the blame.”

“For what?”

“For the death of Albus Dumbledore.”

“Albus…” Dresden repeats. He knows he knows the name. “If Bob were here right now, I’d be getting a lecture about how I never listened when he tried to teach me magical history.”

“He was the Headmaster at Hogwarts. Something of a surrogate father to me. He died, and Severus took the blame because it allowed him to get back into Voldemort’s good graces.”

“This sounds like it’s going to turn into a double-triple-agent sort of thing.”

Harry chuckles. “You’ve heard these stories before.”

“I read a lot of spy novels,” Dresden says. “Just don’t tell me you were the damsel.”

“I was the hero,” Harry says with a smile. “A quick-tempered, headfirst into the shallow end kind of hero, but a hero. Severus was, like you guessed, the double-triple crosser.”

“All right,” Dresden says, taking another drink of his beer. “How’d you go from hero and supposed-villain to…whatever you define your relationship as now?”

“Whiskey, and the state of the relationship is why I was trying to find him.”

“Because he vanished.”

“Three years ago, when I tripped up and said I loved him,” Harry confirms. “Severus doesn’t take emotions well.”

“Unless it’s anger.”

“Or disdain,” Harry agrees. “And he does well with annoyance.”

“Yeah, I noticed that one.” Dresden leans his arms on the table. “You really think he left because you dropped the L-bomb?”

“No.” Harry pushes up his sleeve and shows Dresden the scar on his arm. “He left because I jumped in front of him and got this. And he thinks it’s his fault.”

“Why’d you jump in front of him?” Dresden grins when Harry goes quiet. “Love makes you stupid.”

“A little. Although Severus would point out I was stupid to begin with.” Harry sips his beer and looks at his arm. “The war’s well over, but there are still Death Eaters wandering around, trying to gather enough strength to return again. Severus and I were working together, following sightings and bursts of power, trying to track down a gang of them. We were at a campsite one night, and he was brewing up an anti-tracking potion to keep us hidden. The gang we were following snuck up and started throwing spells. Severus had to protect the potion—”

“You protected him.”

“Yes,” Harry says.

“And you got hit with something nasty.”

“And then my arm tried to rot off.”

“Gross,” Dresden says cheerfully.

“And Severus decided it was his fault. Because he’s apparently supposed to have eyes in the back of his head and not rely on anyone else to keep him safe.”

“How long had the two of you—”

“About three weeks after the war. We were at yet another victory party, there was Fire Whiskey, and it turns out Severus is something of a floozy when he’s had a bottle all to himself.”

“Wow, I…” Dresden shakes his head. “And you waited for all those years to tell him you loved him because—”

“You’ve met him,” Harry says matter-of-factly. “I knew better, but I was delirious with fever and arm rot.”

“Ah,” Dresden says. He pauses. “So he’s here running a book store, and you’ve been tracking him for…?”

“Two-and-a-half years,” Harry supplies. “I thought he’d come back on his own. And then I remembered that I was thinking about Severus.”

“Wait a minute,” Dresden thinks for a second, running some quick mental math. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“War’s been over twelve years, right?”

“Yes.”

“Which means you were—”

“Seventeen,” Harry supplies. He raises his eyebrows when Dresden takes a long pull of his beer. “Well?”

“Nothing,” Dresden says and stares into his beer bottle.

“Uh-huh,” Harry grins. “I know that look. That’s the ‘wow, seventeen is young and wasn’t he still the guy’s student’ look.”

“No, it’s not that look. It’s the close cousin to that look.” Dresden grimaces when Harry raises his eyebrows. “It’s more a, ‘wow did he have to be named ‘Harry’ too’ look.”

Harry laughs. “You and Bob, huh?”

“Or as close as it can get,” Dresden acknowledges. “No amount of whiskey is going to make it possible to touch Bob.”

“Have you—”

“Researched? Yeah. And tried a few things. And considered playing around with things that’d have the Wardens on me in about two seconds.”

“And tried having relationships with other people,” Harry guesses with a knowing look.

“And failed. Very, very badly.” Dresden shakes his head and finishes his beer. “You?”

“Tried to date my best mate’s sister.”

“Ron?”

“Yeah. His sister Ginny.”

“And he didn’t brutally murder you?”

“He was relieved, actually.” Harry chuckles a little. “I’m a bit of a trouble magnet.”

“Sure you don’t have a secret older brother who might have been farmed out to a nice American couple and named Harry?”

“No, but I’ll buy the next round, and we can keep creeping each other out.”

Dresden laughs. “Done.”

****

“They are complete idiots,” Severus says to Bob as he searches the books in his office for the right title.

“I’ve been saying that for centuries,” Bob agrees.

“That they would imprison you to your skull for dark magic, I can understand at the semi-intelligent level they use for such decisions, but to allow you to play assistant and not make you corporeal to any degree is negligent.”

Bob points to the top right shelf, at a brown book with white letters on the binding. “Would that be it?”

Severus looks up. “Yes. I will have to speak to Miss Johns again about her need to rearrange my shelves. If she would simply listen—”

“How do you organize normally?” Bob asks as he moves closer to the shelves for a better look.

“By necessity. Miss Johns is a Library Sciences student and insists that my organization makes her,” Severus scowls, “twitchy.”

“You could ward your books.”

“And then be forced to explain to her why touching one made her hands burn.”

“Point,” Bob concedes. He watches Severus flip through the brown book. “I am fully accustomed to working within my boundaries,” Bob says quietly. “There is no need—”

“How much more useful could you be if you could mix the potions while your,” Snape waves a hand in a gesture that looks like it’s meant to be derisive, “companion makes the phone calls and files the paperwork?”

“Very, I suppose. Harry’s potions are adequate, but are sometimes a bit thin.” Bob meets Snape’s lowered eyebrows with a pointed look. “I attempted to teach him. Repeatedly. He chooses when to listen.”

“How terribly familiar that sounds,” Snape says with a shake of his head. “Perhaps it’s something to do with the name.”

Bob chuckles. “Perhaps.” He watches Snape pull another book from the shelf. “But really, this is unnecessary.”

“It’s not.”

There’s something in Snape’s tone, an underscore nearly hidden, that makes Bob stand a little straighter. “You owe me no penance,” he says after a moment.

“I made my decisions,” Snape says sharply. “And my penance is paid in full.”

“So this is?” Bob waves a hand to encompass the books Snape is methodically searching.

“Because if I do not try now, Harry will feel it necessary to show his thanks to you by harassing me for days, if not weeks.”

“Does that mean you’ll allow him—”

“If I do not, he’ll find me again.” Snape tries to sound exhausted by the idea, but it doesn’t quite carry. “And again and again.”

“You could tell him to leave.”

“Would it work with yours?”

Bob smirks. “Of course not.”

“And it really is a simple matter of finding the proper potion.”

“We’ve done research,” Bob says. “Many times.”

“But not with my resources,” Snape snaps, changing books again. “Whatever talents you had while alive are long out of practice.”

“I do remember how to research,” Bob throws back. “It is nearly all I do.”

“That and create doom boxes,” Snape replies.

Bob smiles a little. “You felt that?”

“I am fairly certain they felt it in Milwaukee.”

“Hmmm,” Bob mummers. “That was unintentional but necessary.”

“Tell me,” Snape says, “what does it take to create a doom box?”

“A few hundred years of no sleep,” Bob replies. “You’ve tried it?”

“Numerous times in the past, yes,” Snape admits. “Voldemort needed contingency plans, and a great deal of power wrapped into a small box is a very useful plan.”

“If you can make it work,” Bob says and precisely adjusts his cuffs.

“Yes. Bravo,” Snape drawls.

Bob smirks and watches Snape change books again. “Why?” He asks after a few moments.

“Why, what?” Snape asks without looking up.

“Voldemort.”

Snape looks up from the book, face bland. “Power.”

“That’s it?”

“What else is there?”

Bob raises his eyebrows. “Love, for one.”

“We are not all romantics, Bob. Some of us merely exist.”

“Is that why you ran from Mr. Potter?”

Snape places his current book onto the shelf and crosses his arms. “How this is your business—”

“It’s not. Except that, perhaps, there is some wallowing to be shared.”

“I do not wallow.”

“You merely exist,” Bob replies, no emotion in his tone.

Snape reaches for a new book. “Yes.”

Before Bob can call him out, the electronic bell over the door of the shop gives out half its tone and dies with a sudden screech. “I do believe the gentlemen have returned. And you’ll be in need of a new bell.”

“American wizards,” Snape mutters, and it’s as far as he gets before his office door opens.

“No one’s dead,” Dresden says, and then grins at Bob. “Well, more dead.”

“So very clever,” Bob responds with a roll of his eyes.

“I have it,” Snape cuts in, holding up a book. He glances at Harry. “It is too much to hope that you’re carrying any passable potion ingredients, I assume.”

“And hello to you, too,” Harry says. “I was a bit more concerned of not being held up in Customs.”

“I’ve got a full cupboard,” Dresden offers. He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Wait. What’s going on here?”

“I’ll tell you if it works, Harry,” Bob says before Snape can try to fill him in. “Otherwise the information will only bring false hope.”

Dresden squints at Bob. “Tell me it’s not dark magic.”

“It’s not,” Snape says peevishly.

“Neat,” Dresden responds. “But I want to hear it from Bob.”

“It is not dark magic, Harry, and you should be ashamed for assuming.”

“Hey, I know you. I trust you. Him,” Dresden points at Snape, “I’m still not sure about.”

“Flattering,” Snape looks straight at Harry.

Harry gives a bark of a laugh. “Oh, yeah, like you’ve done so much in the last twenty-odd years to convince me you’re not secretly sacrificing virgins in the dungeons. I’d vouch for you if you’d sent a damned owl once in awhile.”

“And fight through your thick-headedness to find reason? No, thank you.”

Harry shakes his head. “Stubborn bastard,” he mutters. He looks at Dresden and Bob. “I’ll lead the way for Severus if you two need to have some prep time.”

“Yes, please, and thank you,” Bob says graciously. “If you’d provide us with a list of ingredients, we’d be happy to lay out what you need.”

Snape quickly scrawls a list on a piece of scrap paper and hands it to Dresden. “I trust you have fresh ingredients?”

“Got a whole window of growing plants,” Dresden assures him. “How long before you’ll be by?”

“An hour. I must gather some necessary items.”

“All right. See you in an hour.” Dresden picks up Bob’s skull, tucks it into his bag, and shakes Harry’s hand. “Don’t kill him before you get to my place. He looks like a man with a plan.”

“Do my best,” Harry agrees with a grin.

Dresden leads the way out of the office, Bob almost on his heels. He pauses in the main part of the store. “Did you pick out a book?”

Bob sighs. “Now is not—”

“I promised you a book.”

Bob shakes his head and steps in front of Dresden. “Afterwards, Harry. There are more important things than books.”

“I’d ask if you took a blow to the head, but I know the answer,” Dresden says as he opens the door to the shop. He grimaces when the bell gives an electronic wheeze. “Stupid technology,” he mutters as he walks to the Jeep.

*

“This is rather noble of you,” Harry says to Severus when they’re alone.

Severus places the book he needs into a satchel and opens his bottom desk drawer to pull out his wand and a cauldron. “Bob has been in and around magic since the middle ages. His knowledge, while useful, would be even more useful if he wrote it down.”

Harry grins. “You know Bob and Dresden have a thing, right?”

“I know,” Severus says, exasperation edging his tone, “that Hrothbert of Bainbridge was one of the leading wizards of his day. Had he not fallen into the idiocy that only love provides, he might have pushed magic forward by centuries.”

“Stupid love,” Harry agrees. He picks up the satchel after Severus closes it and slides it onto his shoulder. “How do you know all this about him, anyway? I don’t remember any Hrothbert of Bainbridge.”

“You routinely slept through History of Magic,” Severus points out.

Harry follows Severus out of his office and walks close enough to Severus so he can feel the sleeve of his shirt against his arm. “How are we getting over there?”

“The train should be adequate,” Severus says. He stops at the counter. “Miss Johns, I shall be gone the rest of the day. Leave a copy of the deposit slip on my desk, and do not try to rearrange my books.”

“Yes, Mr. Snape.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry says with a wave as he follows Severus out the day. “The train? Really?”

“I have disguised myself as a Muggle for a few years, Harry. I do know how to read a train schedule.”

“The train, then.”

*

“Guests coming over, and the lab looks like this.”

“The lab always looks like this,” Dresden says as he clears the table haphazardly and starts checking the list of ingredients. “Wait,” he says after a moment.

“Yes, Harry?” Bob asks, sounding slightly concerned.

“I know these ingredients.”

Bob scoffs. “I would hope so. I’ve only been attempting to teach them to you for a handful of decades.”

Dresden waves a hand at Bob. “That’s not what I mean. These are…” he trails off and eyes his bookshelf. He puts down the list and walks across the room, taking down a green book.

“We’ve not the time, Harry,” Bob says with annoyance. “They’ll be here any moment, and you’re researching for information you do not require rather than cleaning potion dribblings from—”

“Bob,” Dresden says in a tone that stops Bob from finishing his insult, “is this a corporeal potion?”

“It is an attempt,” Bob admits.

“I thought we tried—”

“Mr. Snape is a Potions Master, Harry. While my knowledge is useful and varied, he has spent his entire life concentrated on potions as a discipline.”

“He’s got more books than us,” Dresden supplies.

Bob smiles. “Close enough.”

Dresden shelves his book and goes back to the ingredients list. He walks out of the lab to grab fresh herbs from the windowsill. “Can it work?” He calls from the front room.

Bob says nothing until Dresden comes back in and sets down the plants. “It has as much chance as our other attempts.”

“Odds aren’t great, then.”

“Mr. Snape is an accomplished brewer,” Bob can’t quite keep the hope out of his voice. “And he is using a potion we’ve not tried, but we cannot ignore the failures that we’ve met in this venture.”

Dresden grins a little. “You know you get really polite-sounding when you get nervous?”

“I cannot be nervous, Harry.”

“Sure,” Dresden says and chuckles. “Whatever you have to tell yourself, Bob.”

“Harry,” Bob says as Dresden moves to run back into the kitchen, “if it doesn’t work—”

“Is this gonna end with you telling me to find a nice girl?”

Bob pauses. “Slightly un-nice would be preferred. I do like a good show.”

Dresden shakes his head. “We’ll negotiate after we see if this fails.”

“Insulting, Mr. Dresden,” Snape says as he and Harry walk into the lab. He raises an eyebrow when Dresden jumps and curses. “And you owe me a doorbell.”

“I’ll put you on the list,” Dresden says drily.

Harry puts down Snape’s satchel and pulls out the cauldron. “I don’t know where you want this.”

Snape takes the cauldron. “I need to set up,” he says to Dresden.

“I’ll make tea,” Dresden says. He pauses in the door of the lab. “Talk to Bob before you move anything.” He smirks when Snape pauses for a moment.

“Of course, Mr. Dresden,” Snape’s tone is complete annoyance.

Dresden catches a grin from Harry as he leaves the lab and listens to Harry and Snape move around and talk to one another and Bob. He fills the kettle and grabs mugs. He’s putting everything on a tray when he hears a crash.

“It’s fine!” Bob calls before Dresden can run into the room. “I told you to put away your empty bowls.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dresden grouses. He touches a finger to the kettle. It’s still cool, and he eyes the flame. “Just a little,” he mutters and concentrates. “Shit!” he yells when the flame jumps to encompass the kettle.

Harry comes running from the lab; Bob comes through the wall. “Of course,” Bob says with a shake of his head.

“*Profusm aqua*,” Harry says, and a cascade of water comes out of his wand, dousing the fire. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Dresden says, picking up the wet kettle. He checks the water. “Well, it’s warm.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Bob says and fades back into the wall.

Harry and Dresden share a grin. “That happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

Dresden puts the kettle on the tray. “I get hyped-up, things catch fire sometimes.”

Harry touches the tip of his wand to the kettle and mumbles more Latin. “Severus is very good at what he does,” he says more to the kettle than Dresden. “I hope it works.”

“Thanks,” Dresden responds. “You two iron things out?”

“Not even close,” Harry tells him, but he’s smiling. “We never really do.”

“You two are weird.”

“Come on,” Harry says, levitating the tray, “we can watch Severus make Bob corporeal.”

It’s an excellent comeback, and Dresden laughs as he follows Harry and his floating tea tray back into the lab. “Fire’s averted, and tea’s served,” he announces.

“Your control needs work,” Snape says as he measures ingredients.

“You’re welcome,” Dresden deadpans.

“He’s right,” Bob adds.

Dresden rolls his eyes and pours himself a cup of tea. “I’ve heard this before.”

“And you never listen.” Bob’s voice is warm, and he smiles when Dresden looks at him over the rim of his mug.

Behind them, Snape rolls his eyes and nods when Harry puts a mug of tea next to his cauldron. “Impossible,” he mutters so only Harry can hear.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, peering into the cauldron as Severus pours in ingredients. “Love is just icky, right?”

“You’re a fool,” Severus says.

“You haven’t told me to leave.”

“Do not think I’m not considering it.”

Harry laughs. “I’ve missed you.” Severus doesn’t say anything, but Harry catches a slight upward turn at the edges of his mouth. “What can I do?”

“Back away.”

“Keep a radius,” Harry says to Dresden and Bob. “He’ll hex you away if he feels it’s necessary.”

“How long is this potion going to take?” Dresden asks, eyeing the way Snape is taking propriety with his table.

“Half an hour to reach boiling point, two hours simmering, and then an hour to settle.” Snape says without looking up.

Dresden takes a sip of his tea. “Anyone up for Monopoly?”

*

“Wow,” Dresden says an hour later as he hands Harry the last of his Monopoly money. “How did you do that?”

“There are a lot of hours to burn when you’re in a safe house and waiting to raid a gang of Death Eaters,” Harry says as Dresden starts to dismantle the board. “And the less magic used the better. I’m pretty good at Scrabble, too.”

“Latin counts?”

“The way I play,” Harry grins. He looks around Dresden’s living room. “Where’d Bob go?”

Dresden nods towards Bob’s skull. “He paces if he’s out, and he thinks it’s undignified.”

“I’m surprised you’re not pacing,” Harry admits.

“I’m used to waiting for the impossible to happen,” Dresden says with a shrug. “Getting wound up is just gonna make the wait worse.”

Harry squints at him. “You’re dying a little on the inside, aren’t you?”

Dresden looks at Bob’s skull. “Rationally, I should accept that the chances of this actually happening are pretty slim.”

“Rationally, I should have taken the hint and left Severus to play shop keep until he died a lonely and bitter old man.”

“I get the feeling he’s not going to be any less bitter.”

“No,” Harry says with a smile, “he’s not.”

“And you’re really okay with that?”

“I get away with a lot,” Harry says after a moment. “I saved the whole of the wizarding world at the age of one. I did it again at seventeen. I could rob every shop in Diagon Alley, and I’d probably be congratulated for my cunning.” He glances behind him at the hallway. “There are exactly three people who won’t let me slide. Two of them have been my best mates since I was eleven.”

Dresden points down the hall. “And number three.”

“Yes,” Harry says. “There’s more to it than that, but that’s the basis.”

“Well, that and whiskey.”

“That and whiskey,” Harry agrees with a chuckle.

*

As the potion begins to settle, Bob drifts into the lab. He stands across the room from Snape and watches him watch the potion. “I do not doubt your ability to brew, Mr. Snape—”

“Professor,” Snape interrupts.

Bob rolls his eyes. “Must I?”

“If you’d prefer not to have this conversation—”

“Fine. Professor. I do not doubt your ability, but I do question the actual chances of this working.”

“If you trusted my ability,” Snape says blandly, “you would not question the chances.”

“Of course,” Bob says derisively. “How foolish to be suspect.”

“How do you know of me?” Snape asks as he steps away from the cauldron. He wipes his hands on a towel and inspects the edges of his sleeves for spatter. “Harry mentioned that you knew my name and position at Hogwarts.”

“Justin Morningway took great interest in Voldemort in the early days of his ownership of me. He considered traveling to England to present my skull to Voldemort himself.”

“He searched for you,” Snape tells him. “He had me search as well.”

“And you failed?”

“Your skull has travelled many places. The trail gets murky sometime in the late 1800s.”

Bob considers pointing out that Snape hasn’t admitted he’d failed. “Were there not enough wizards in Voldemort’s employee to keep him entertained with torture and boils?”

“You were a necromancer,” Snape says. “We never could get anyone back from the dead, and you managed it. More than once.”

“I believe that skill shifted to the American wizards after the power split,” Bob tells Snape, thinking back to Dresden’s misstep with Kelton Franks. “And I can’t say I’m not grateful that we’ve got it and your lot do not. American wizards have never been quite as quick to try and destroy their neighbors.”

Snape snorts. “Give them a few more hundred years.”

Bob can’t help his smirk. “Perhaps.” He watches as Snape rounds the room to check the potion. “If this works,” he starts, and his smirk deepens at Snape’s disapproving look, “what would happen to my curse?”

“I cannot change the curse,” Snape admits, then smirks. “Actually, I could, but I’d rather not have your High Council and the British Ministry fighting over who would take my head, so the curse stays.”

“Understood,” Bob says, moving to press a hand against his own throat. “My proximity issue stays an issue, then?”

“I might be able to work on it. But this is not the potion for that.”

“One step at a time, then.”

“Precisely.”

Bob nods. “Very well, then.” He walks over to the cauldron and looks in. “I believe I shall remove myself from your workspace. I want to speak to Harry—my Harry—before we try this.”

“It will work,” Snape says as Bob starts to fade into the wall.

Bob doesn’t respond, just finishes phasing and walks down the hall to where Dresden and Harry are playing a game of checkers. “Score?” He asks, leaning over to look at the board.

“One to one,” Dresden tells him. “Except,” he moves one piece and takes six of Harry’s. “King me!”

“Damnit,” Harry says, and kings Dresden. He eyes the board and throws up his hands. “I’m in a corner.”

“On all sides,” Dresden says with the glee of the decided winner.

“I’m getting a fresh cuppa,” Harry stands and grabs his mug from the table. “My pride needs the drink.”

“There’s booze in the cupboard above the stove,” Dresden offers.

“Tea’s fine,” Harry says, but opens the cupboard to survey. “Nice.”

“Harry,” Bob slides into the conversation and points at Dresden when Harry looks over. “This one.”

“I figured,” Harry tells him. “But a name’s a name.”

“I understand.” Bob looks at Dresden. “I wish to speak with you privately for a moment.”

Dresden looks around. “Normally I’d say the lab, but as I figure we can’t get Snape away from it without an explosion—”

“If that,” Harry confirms.

“We could go upstairs,” Dresden offers. “Harry can throw on some music, and it’ll drown us out pretty well.”

“That will be fine,” Bob agrees.

“Where’s the stereo?” Harry asks.

“Tape deck’s over there,” Dresden says, pointing. He catches Harry’s confused look. “You know how I killed the bell at the bookstore?”

“Yeah.”

“Three nice stereos before I gave up.”

“Gotcha,” Harry says and walks to the tape deck.

Bob walks next to Dresden as they move towards the stairs, and he smiles when Dresden raises his eyebrows once they’re alone and there’s something with heavy guitar playing in the background. “What’s up?”

“You cannot be this calm about everything,” Bob says knowingly.

“Not even close,” Harry admits and sits down on the bed. He rubs his hands over his face and looks at Bob from between his fingers. “Harry thinks it’ll work.”

“Harry is biased.”

“I’ve gotten a couple of stories. From what I’ve been told—and, yes, I left room for exaggeration—Snape could pull this off without a problem.”

“We’ve said that ourselves a few times,” Bob reminds him gently.

“I haven’t spent my life devoted to the study of potions,” Harry says in a bad British accent.

“I’ve spoken with Mr. Snape about the parameters of the potion,” Bob says, deciding to ignore Harry’s terrible acting. “And the state of my being will not affect the proximity issue with my skull.”

“Okay…?” Harr looks confused. “I’m not creeped out by your skull, you know.”

Bob does know but there is, as he’s told Harry many times, a difference between knowing and knowing. “We could get it its own pillow.”

“Right after we buy you that book,” Dresden promises, grinning. He glances at the clock on his bedside table. “How much longer until our hopes are possibly dashed?”

“Twenty-seven minutes,” Bob answers without having to think.

Dresden stands up from the bed and stretches his arms. “Not enough time for Scrabble.”

Bob grins. “Hangman?”

*

“We can begin now,” Snape says from the door of the lab.

Dresden and Bob both start at his voice. Harry remains seated. “You sure?”

“Now is not the time,” Snape says, a pointed look aimed at Harry.

“Just want you to be sure,” Harry responds, grinning at Snape’s look.

“You two are weird,” Dresden says without thinking. Snape’s glare is almost enough to make him squirm. “You gonna say you’re not?”

“I shall hold comments until your ghost is corporeal.”

Dresden glances at Bob. “Think he practices those lines when he’s stirring?”

Bob looks exasperated. “Really, Harry.” He smiles without meaning to, a giddy, shaky turn of his mouth that makes his eyes light up. “If it doesn’t—”

“We’ll be all right,” Dresden says. He waves a hand down the hallway. “Come on. We can’t find out if we’re gonna be sad if you don’t get in there.”

“Very well,” Bob walks forward, fading into the wall, leaving Dresden and Harry alone for a moment.

“Scared?” Harry asks, hand clapping Dresden’s shoulder.

“I can deal if it doesn’t work,” Dresden tells him. “Been dealing with that for years. But Bob, he got to come back once. For a lot of bad reasons tied to a really bad guy, and then he sacrificed it to save me and you and the whole world, probably. If this doesn’t work—”

“I have faith in Severus,” Harry says quietly. “And he’s more than enough faith in himself. Just think about Bob.”

“Do that more than he knows already,” Dresden replies, and the smile he gives Harry is slightly sickly. “Can’t help but hope.”

“That’s a feeling I know well.” Harry grasps Dresden’s elbow and gives a small tug. “The show won’t start until Severus has a full audience.”

“Let’s go,” Dresden says, and walks down the hall.

Bob is standing in the summoning circle, arms at his sides and his shoulders back. Snape is carefully measuring the potion into a beaker and as Dresden and Harry walk into the room, he walks around the circle and coats it with the potion. “That has to sit for precisely two minutes,” Snape says.

No one says anything in the two minutes. Dresden looks at Bob and tries to smile. Bob breathes deep and tries to smile in return. Hope, Dresden thinks, and looks at Harry. Harry is watching Snape work, smiling and seemingly unaware of the rest of the room. Dresden squeezes Harry’s shoulder and makes himself breathe evenly. He’s always had hope, he figures. Doesn’t hurt to use a little extra now.

Snape levitates the cauldron with his wand. He sends it across the room in a graceful arc that ends when he upends the cauldron directly over Bob’s head.

Dresden bursts out laughing. The potion is coating Bob, mostly on the top of his head, but there are slow rivulets deposited on his shoulders. Dresden’s laughter stops. “Bob,” he says, his voice scratching out into a harsh whisper. “Bob, it’s dripping.”

“I can see that, Harry,” Bob says with mild derision. He lifts his arm to inspect the grayish-red drops on his cuffs.

“No,” Dresden says and walks towards the circle. He stops right at the edge, toes half and inch from the line and looks at Snape. Snape nods. Dresden steps into the circle. He touches the potion on Bob’s shoulder and then, his smile wide, wipes potion down the bridge of Bob’s nose. “It’s dripping. On you.”

“It…” Bob stares at himself, at the spatters on his jacket and shoes. He looks at Harry, eyes wide. “It’s dripping.”

“There you go,” Dresden says and catches Bob under the arms as he nearly collapses. “Bob!”

“Surprise, Harry. Merely surprise. And delight. And perhaps a bit of giddiness.” Bob looks at Harry, feels Harry’s breath, and presses his face against Harry’s shirt. “Hello, Harry,” he says quietly.

“Hey, Bob,” Dresden responds just as quietly. He maneuvers them until they’re sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, Bob somewhat awkwardly draped on his lap. Dresden closes his eyes, drops his nose into Bob’s hair, and breathes deep. “You smell like cloves,” he tells Bob.

“You smell like sweat,” Bob says, and his tone is nearly rapturous.

Dresden opens his eyes, expecting to find Snape and Harry still in the room, watching to make sure the potion has actually taken hold. They’re gone, but Morgan is there, working into a rather impressive seethe, and he bares his teeth when Dresden grins at him. “Hey, Morgan. So glad you don't stand on ceremony and wait for an invitation. This creepy appearing out of thin air works so much better for you. But gimmie five, okay?” He requests. “Gotta get Bob out of these wet clothes.”

“Dresden—”

“Five minutes,” Dresden makes himself sound completely serious. “There should be a couple of guys in my front room who can answer some questions.”

“They’d best,” Morgan snarls and turns on his heel.

“He and Snape should compare notes,” Dresden says to Bob.

Bob smiles and begins to stand. “They can do it while I change.” He reaches out a hand to Harry. “I trust you have something I can wear.”

Dresden clasps Bob’s wrist and hauls himself off the ground. “You’re gonna have to do without an ascot until we can go shopping.”

“I shall adjust,” Bob says, still smiling. He lets go of Dresden’s hand slowly and follows him past a glaring Morgan and Snape and a grinning Harry and into the loft. He watches Dresden pull out flannel pants and a Henley shirt and smiles when Dresden holds them out. “Thank you, Harry.”

“I’ll just…” Dresden trails off and turns around. “Not that I’m against—” Dresden is drowned out by the sudden booming voice of Morgan demanding to know “what in five hells” Snape had been thinking. “We could stay up here,” Dresden offers. “You. Me. The bed.”

Bob chuckles. “Tempting, but I feel we should show at least moderate support to those who helped us reach the point where we could stay up here. In bed.”

Dresden rolls his shoulders to keep from shuddering at Bob saying ‘in bed’. “Play fair,” he demands.

“I shall try. You may turn around, Harry.” Bob wiggles his toes and holds out his arms as he looks down at himself. “Not quite as elegant, but certainly comfortable.”

Dresden steps forward and presses his hand against Bob’s chest. “You look good.”

“I feel good.”

“Dresden!” Morgan’s voice thunders. “Get down here, or so help me—”

“Geez, Morgan, calm down!” Dresden says as he slides around Bob and clatters down the stairs. “What’s got you all twisted up?”

Morgan glares at Dresden and points at Bob, who is making his way down the stairs more gracefully. “That.” He rotates his arm to point a finger at Harry and Snape. “And them.”

“Harry Potter, Severus Snape,” Dresden says with a grin, “this is Morgan. He’s with High Council. We’re not close.” Dresden just manages not to take a step back when Morgan heaves a breath in his face. “What’s the big deal?” He snaps, humor gone from his voice. “So Bob can do the dishes now. I don’t see that as a bad thing.”

“I have already explained,” Snape cuts in with derision practically flowing from his voice, “that Bob is still within the bounds of his curse.”

“Except that he can *touch things*,” Morgan grinds out. “And what’s to stop him from *touching his skull* and deciding to take a waltz out the door?”

“How about the little glass tracking device?” Dresden asks. He raises his eyebrows when Morgan deflates slightly. “Oh, I see.” He looks over his shoulder at Bob. “You know they’ve got a homing beacon for your skull, right?”

“Dresden!” Morgan practically roars.

“Morgan,” Bob says calmly, “I am not concerned with any escape plans. I am quite happy where I am. And, if you do, indeed, have some sort of tracking device—”

“They do,” Dresden interrupts.

“What is the harm of being able to assist Harry more readily in his pursuits as a wizard? There are many things I can teach him now that I am able to demonstrate proper technique rather than describe it.”

“Dark things?” Morgan says archly.

“Well, certainly,” Bob says, his tone doing a fair impression of Snape’s from a few moments before. “But I could also work with him on his control. That is, of course, if you’re interested in seeing fewer fires on the Chicago skyline.”

Morgan narrows his eyes. He looks from Bob to Dresden. He turns and looks at Snape and Harry. “You two—”

“Here legally,” Harry cuts in. “Have a stamp on my passport to prove it.”

“You did not register your visit with High Council.” Morgan sneers at Snape. “And we’ve no record of your entrance, either. You know you must register with the High Council if you wish to enter the country.”

“A formality wrapped in an annoyance,” Snape declares. “Invented simply so the undesirables can be shooed away.”

Morgan’s glare intensifies. Snape stares back blandly. “You will come into the Chicago office and register—both of you—in the next two days, or I’ll hunt you down and boot you back across the ocean myself.” And then he’s gone, leaving Snape and Harry to stare at Dresden and Bob.

“If a wizard Apparates without making a sound, is it still an Apparation?” Harry asks.

“I don’t find he’s ever in the right mood to ask,” Dresden tells him.

“Were his temperament not quite so…elevated, he could have been interesting,” Snape says. He gives Bob a once-over. “It worked,” he says simply.

“Very well,” Bob says, smiling. “Thank you.”

“You have knowledge that is useful. It should not be wasted because you cannot touch an herb or strengthen a rune.”

Bob blinks. “Are you saying—”

“Magic carries in the soul but requires a vessel,” Snape interrupts. “You have both in one place now.”

Dresden looks at Bob. “Wait. He’s saying—” Dresden’s cut off when Bob holds out a hand and sends a small, white ball of energy bouncing through the air to sink into the runes carved into the post.

“Yes,” Bob says quietly. He gives Snape a small nod. “My greatest thanks.”

Snape nods in return. “You are not mortal, but your body should basically function in the same manner. If you find yourself having issues, you know where I can be reached.” He looks at Harry. “I need to fetch my cauldron.” He steps around Dresden and Bob and walks towards the lab.

“He’s very pleased,” Harry says. “We’re glad it worked.”

“And you two?” Dresden asks before he can stop himself.

“I’ve found him. If he tries to shake me again, I most likely won’t be delirious with fever and arm rot, so he won’t get a three-week head start.”

“Well, if you need help again, you know where we are,” Dresden offers.

Harry beams. “Thank you.” His face brightens when Snape exits the lab, cauldron tucked into his satchel. “We’ll be off, then.”

There’s hand-shaking all around, and then Snape and Harry leave. Dresden drops the shade, locks the door, and turns to look at Bob. “So, how’s life?”

Bob steps forward and meets Harry in the middle of the room. “I wonder,” he says as he presses his hand to Harry’s chest, “if I can eat food again.”

Harry laughs. “Bodies can eat, last I checked. Name it. It’s yours.” He touches Bob’s cheek, his ear, runs his hand through Bob’s hair.

“Pizza,” Bob says. “With all the noise you make over it, I am intrigued.”

“You’ll love it,” Harry insists. He leans in and kisses Bob on the mouth. Bob jumps a little. Harry pulls away. “I—”

“No,” Bob says. “I was expecting you to fall through.” He leans in and kisses Harry, smiling when Harry kisses him in return. “Harry,” he says quietly.

“Bob,” Harry whispers. “You have—”

“Oh, I do,” Bob insists. He pulls out of the kiss and smiles when Harry tries to follow. “Or we could go upstairs and order in later.”

“Yes,” Harry says immediately. “Option B, right now.”

“I suppose,” Bob drawls. “If you’re certain.”

Harry doesn’t bother to respond. He grabs Bob by the hand and tugs.

*

Dresden wakes up the next morning to the phone ringing. He grumbles as he rolls out of bed and pads down the stairs, stopping short of the sight of Bob holding the phone. Bob’s wearing the flannel pants from the night before and one of Dresden’s less ratty T-shirts. He smiles when he meets Dresden’s eye.

“That will be fine. We’ll see you in a few hours. Goodbye.” Bob hangs up the phone and smiles at Dresden. “Good morning, Harry.”

“Morning,” Dresden says and feels the grin slide across his face. “Look at you.” He steps forward and slides a hand under the T-shirt. “You’re still here.”

“Where else would I be?” Bob smiles and presses his palm to Dresden’s bicep. “That was the other Harry. He said he has a business proposition for you. He will be here at one.”

Dresden glances at the clock. “Plenty of time for breakfast.”

“Breakfast,” Bob murmurs. “Tell me you have eggs.”

“I have eggs,” Dresden promises.

*

“You’re an idiot,” Snape says when Harry hangs up the phone.

“I could help you around the shop,” Harry offers and grins when Severus scowls. “I bet Charlotte and I would get along—”

“Shut up,” Severus cuts in. He stands from the table and carries his plate to the sink. “There’s an herbalist halfway down the block. Can you recall the ingredients for a protection potion?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says and finishes his tea. He walks up behind Severus and rinses out his mug, resting his chin on Severus’s shoulder as he does so. “How strong do you want it?”

“For two men named Harry, one of whom is a pyromaniac? There is not enough Mugwort in the world.”

*

Dresden’s doing dishes and listening to Bob gleefully rearranging things in the lab when Harry walks in the door, a scent carrying with him.. “You carrying Mugwort?” He asks in greeting.

Harry grins. “Amongst other things.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a stoppered vial. “From Severus. It’s a protection potion.”

Dresden takes the potion gingerly between his thumb and forefinger. “Why, exactly, would he be sending one for me?”

“Because I’m here to apply for a job,” Harry tells him. He grins when Dresden looks confused. “Severus is the bookish, nerdy type. I’m not. I could pretend like I want to help around his shop, but I’d rather jab my wand in my eye. I was hoping you needed some help around here.”

“I spend most of my time convincing people I’m not a crackpot,” Dresden says. “And those aren’t paid consultations.”

“I have money,” Harry responds. “I just…” he breathes deep and looks slightly sheepish. “I saved the wizarding world when I was one. I did it at again at seventeen. I faced down a two-faced Death Eater at eleven. A demonic journal at twelve, and the list gets weirder from there. I ran around tracking down Death Eaters for six years while convincing the most stubborn, surly bastard in the world to love me, and then I got to find him again.”

“You’re the hero,” Dresden says with a grin.

“Can’t shake it off,” Harry says with a shrug. “How about you?”

“I’m atoning,” Dresden admits. “With a side of really soft heart.”

“Want to try and save the world?”

Dresden holds out his hand. “Why the hell not?”

Harry shakes.

*

Dresden and Harry pretend not to whimper as Snape and Bob patch them up. “I told you it wasn’t him,” Snape says to Harry.

“The description was close,” Harry argues. “And I know he’s been trying to get in touch—”

“New rule,” Dresden interrupts, hissing as Bob tapes a bandage over a gash on his stomach. “Even if you know a werewolf, no assuming the werewolf knows you.”

“Deal,” Harry agrees.

Snape and Bob exchange a look. “3-to-1 were the odds, I believe,” Snape says.

Bob sighs. “It was a fool’s bet.”

end