darktrent182

TITLE: Vignette - The First Confrontation
DISCLAIMER: The Dresden Files doesn't belong to me – the TV series belongs to Lionsgate, and the characters themselves were created by Jim Butcher. Written for entertainment purposes, no money made, please don't sue, yadda.
FANDOM: The Dresden Files
PAIRING: Harry/Bob UST
WORD COUNT: 2,499
RATING: PG-13?
WARNINGS: Implied character death.
SUMMARY: The dust settles after Justin's murder, but it's not settled for Harry.
PRAISE BE: A warm thank you goes out to

shiplizard and

beachkid for their beta-reading, encouragement, and questions. I wouldn't have been able to make it without their patience and awesomeness. Thank you, guys!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is part of the Forged series, which starts with Desperate Measures. You might want to read that first to understand what's going on.

***

When faced with new, stressful situations, people tend to fall back on natural reactions. The reaction to adrenaline pumping is usually fight-or-flight, but more than that, a guy who's used to being picked on despite adding a few hundred pounds, is most likely going to be ducking for cover when the metaphorical bullets fly.

Which is why, when I murdered my uncle using black magic, I did what I'd spent years doing. I ran like hell.

Bob's prediction that the High Council would come looking for me hadn't helped matters. He had been looking at me like he didn't know me, and to be honest, I'm not sure that I knew myself either. I'd never thought that I'd become a killer -- I'd managed thirteen years on the road without hurting anyone enough to kill them -- but life has a funny way of turning things upside down.

Madam Bianca had given me safe passage out of town, but it didn't stop Morgan and his pack of well-trained Wardens from finding me a few months later. I'd like to say I led them a merry chase, but most of my decisions were on-the-fly and made out of sheer panic. I didn't hurt anyone else, thank God, but it was a close thing sometimes.

All those lectures Bob had given me about the dangers of black magic were starting to make sense. Once you started, it was really hard to stop sometimes, especially when emotions were running high. I'm not proud of anything I did after I left Justin's, but I could feel the darkness inside me spurring me on.

The High Council held a trial a few days after Morgan found me and put me under arrest. I didn't struggle, I didn't resist, I didn't try to escape. Hell, if I had, it was probable that I'd be dead before I'd taken two steps.

The trial itself was like out of some kind of nightmare. Morgan put this black hood over my head, and I couldn't hear anything, literally. Anyone who talked in my general vicinity sounded like adults out of the old Peanuts cartoons. So, there I stood, before the Senior Council, blind, deaf, and unable to mount any kind of defense.

I stood there for a long time before Morgan removed the hood, and told me I'd been found not guilty. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear he looked relieved not to have needed to use that huge, naked sword in his hand.

There was a precedent for using lethal force in self-defense -- the snapped-off piece of table leg they found buried three inches deep in the wall where Justin's body had been found counted. But since there weren't any definitive signs of Justin attacking me, or me defending myself, there were a lot of people in the Council who weren't happy about me killing my uncle. Later, I'd found out that Bob had testified on my behalf, but his word was immediately discounted because he was the ghost of a Dark Wizard, so there was no way to figure out what really happened between me and dear old Justin.

Since I'd used thaumaturgy to kill Justin instead of just a plain old fireball, they wanted to make sure I didn't hit my head and turn evil on them or something. As a result, the not guilty verdict came with the magical equivalent of probation, called the Doom of Damocles. One strike, and I was dead, and a Warden would be there to deliver the fatal blow. Ancient Mai was going to be dispatched to watch over me personally.

She looked about as pleased as the idea as I did, which is to say, not at all.

Since the trial was over, and had been since my hood had been removed, next came the haggling.

According to the state of Illinois, my uncle's death was ruled a heart attack, which meant that as sole beneficiary, I got his house and all of his assets. The Council clearly had other ideas about what was going to happen. When I told them I didn't want any of my uncle's estate, a few of them looked surprised. Of course, in exchange for giving up everything, I wanted to become Bob's master.

Before you get any ideas, I didn't want it for sentimental reasons.

I'll admit that I've had... closer-than-usual feelings for my old teacher. Sixteen years gave me time to get used to the idea.

But he'd betrayed my trust on a fundamental level, and I couldn't forgive that. If I could keep an eye on him, I could make sure he didn't do something else that could end up hurting someone. Hrothbert of Bainbridge was a dangerous warlock hundreds of years ago, and if he was given to someone who didn't know what he was capable of, he could be a lot more powerful because he had a puppet at his disposal. Bob needed someone who was familiar with his tactics, who could see through the bullshit and ignore the suggestions that could get his newly-appointed master hurt or killed. Bob also made an excellent library of information -- he's bragged about forgetting more knowledge than most wizards learn during their lifetime, and I've never been that good at remembering stuff. If I ran into trouble with the High Council, I could also order him to tell me how to avoid getting decapitated while I was doing the right thing.

But I knew deep down, that if I was really being honest with myself, I would say that he was really the only friend I had left in the world who knew me.

Naturally, the High Council fought me.

I'm still not sure how I managed to convince them to give Bob over to me -- I don't like thinking about that day much -- but I walked out of the warehouse where the meeting had been held with a backpack slung over one shoulder, Bob's skull tucked away neatly inside, wrapped in a cloth covered with binding sigils.

I made it to the two-story building that was going to become my home and office all in one, and then headed inside to the lab that I'd converted from a personal office, fishing the skull out of my backpack and laying it down inside the copper ring I'd already set in the floor. Adding a bit of will, I closed the circle, and stared at the skull.

"Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I summon thee," I intoned the formal incantation, trying to keep a rein on my anger. I needed answers, not to lose my head because I was hurt and pissed off.

The glowing ember of flight floated out of one of the eye sockets like it had always done, and swirled in a tight spiral of black smoke, revealing Bob, who blinked, and stared at me. When I saw where he was standing, I moved to stand across the circle from him, able to keep the circle where his skull was sitting inside in my peripheral vision.

"Harry?" he asked, looking surprised. When he got a good look at my face, he looked around curiously. "Where are we?"

"I'm asking the questions, Bob," I said firmly.

That got Bob's attention. His blue-green eyes narrowed at me. "Very well," he said slowly.

"Your skull is currently sitting in a circle that will glow if you try to lie to me," I said, still trying to hold onto my sense of calm. "Did you teach Justin Morningway how to kill Malcolm Dresden?"

Bob frowned. "No. He knew thaumaturgy well before I came into his possession."

The circle didn't glow. I don't know if I was relieved that Bob didn't hand Justin the knowledge to do it, or pissed that it was one less thing to be angry about.

"Did you help Justin plan how to kill my father?" I asked firmly.

Bob watched me steadily, his eyes narrowing. "Your uncle told me of his plan, but didn't consult me about its implementation or effectiveness."

"When did you learn of his plan to kill my father?"

"Some few weeks before your father's funeral," Bob responded. "While Justin used me for magical research, he kept many of his actual plans secret from me."

I clenched my jaw. "You knew. This whole time."

Bob's lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. "Yes."

"You knew I was living with my father's murderer, and you never told me." I forced my voice to sound even, but it was close.

"I hope you're not expecting me to apologize," Bob said, raising an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" I snapped.

Bob sneered at me, and I could feel what little calm I had left start to disappear. "You were eleven years old, Harry. Had I told you, you would have wanted to confront your uncle, which would have led to one of two possible outcomes. Either he would have used black magic to enthrall you to make you his willing servant, or he would have killed you outright. Whether you wish to believe it or not, I saved your life."

"Oh, and you were really convincing when you were telling me not to look in his stupid cigar box." I snorted.

"I know you, Harry," he murmured, and I felt my blood start to boil. "My protests were falling on deaf ears by the time you saw your uncle wearing your father's ring."

"You didn't even try to stop me!"

"Because I know how stubborn you can be when you set your mind to it," Bob said contemptuously. "I knew that as soon as you discovered the doll, the confrontation I was afraid of would take place, and black magic would be involved somehow." He paused, looking for all the world like a disapproving teacher. I'd gotten that look more than enough times growing up to be able to recognize it. "Though, I must admit, I hadn't expected for you to use it."

"Well, I'm just full of surprises, aren't I?"

Bob visibly resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "On the other hand, if you hadn't used the voodoo doll against Justin while you still had the element of surprise, Justin would have been able to do considerably more than throw a table at you from across the hallway."

"First you tell me not to use the black, and now you're justifying it?" I snorted.

"Breaking the first law of magic is typically punishable by death, except in cases of self-defense," Bob replied blithely, still watching me. "Seeing as how you're still here to froth at the mouth and interrogate me about my motives--"

"Shut up!" I roared.

Bob frowned, and folded his arms across his chest. "My point is that you're still alive."

"You sure as hell didn't help with your 'they'll be looking for you' speech," I snapped. "It made me look like even more of a criminal than I already was!"

Bob stared at me and sighed, despite the fact that he hadn't needed to breathe in eight hundred years, give or take. "Harry, I was worried about you," he admitted. "The last time I've seen the Wardens take someone into custody for breaking one of the laws of magic, he was summarily executed. I couldn't stand to see the same happen to you."

"Sure, because if I died, then you wouldn't have a master, would you? The High Council could just stick you in some closet to collect dust for the next few hundred years before they needed to know about Medieval warlock practices, or whatever."

I could see the flash of pain in his eyes, and then he drew himself up, folding his arms across his chest.

My first instinct was to reach out to him and apologize for going for the conversational jugular. And that pissed me off even more, because I was mad at him, really mad, and when he showed the first sign that I'd really hurt him, all I wanted to do was to stop being mad and to feel guilty. How dare he make me feel guilty? How many masters had he manipulated? How many masters had he driven insane because he was looking for someone more suitable? Just how much of a patsy was I for him?

Those actually sounded like really good questions.

"I'll bet dear old Justin wasn't the first master you've betrayed, was he?" I asked. "How many masters have you driven insane? Sent screaming to their deaths? Or, even better, how many thought you were their friend, but you just stabbed them in the back?"

Bob's lips pressed into a thin line for a moment, and I could almost see him physically grabbing hold of his composure and wrapping it around him tightly. "I see the High Council has seen fit to warn you about me," he said in a deceptively even voice.

"They warned me, all right," I muttered darkly.

"Did they also warn you that there were times when my masters were blacker than I could ever have become?" Bob asked, staring at me. "That my treachery is what has saved the Council from destruction countless times?"

I couldn't help myself. I started laughing. "That is such a crock of shit, and you know it. You're responsible for saving the Council? A ghost trapped in his own skull? You should've known that I wouldn't believe you."

"That would be because you're an idiot," Bob snapped. "You ungrateful swine. You wouldn't even know anything about philosophy or the classics if it weren't for me, let alone magic. I made you what you are, and you dare call me a powerless liar? What was your father teaching you while you were traveling from one motel to another? How to unlock handcuffs? How to pick pockets?"

I ground my teeth together and resisted the urge to break the circle and hurl Bob's skull against the wall. "Get in your skull," I snarled, "and never come out again."

Bob's eyes widened, a look of panic on his face before the burning ember swirled around him with a trail of black smoke. Like always, the mote flew in a graceful arc before depositing itself into one of the eyesockets with a fizzling sound.

I stared at the skull, and turned around to my recently-constructed lab table. I swept off all of the jars and notebooks and Tupperware bins off of the surface with one arm, and shouted wordlessly.

It was satisfying to hear the glass break on the floor, but I was still seeing red.

That look on his face before he returned to his skull still made me want to summon him again, tell him everything would be all right, that I had just been pissed off because he'd made that dig about my dad. If he just apologized about what he'd said, everything would be okay again.

I was still in love with the bastard, and I hated it.

END

To start from the beginning, this way to Desperate Measures.

This way to the prequel, Vignette - The First Epiphany.

This way to the sequel, Vignette - The First Oath.