Fic: The Dresden Files: Heart and Soul
Written for fanfic50, cross-posted to dresdenfic.
Title: Heart and Soul
Fandom: The Dresden Files (tv-verse)
Characters: Bob, young Harry
Prompt: 09. Heaven
Word Count: 659
Rating: G
Summary: Harry has a question of his new tutor.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me. Just passing through.
Table: Here There be Ghosts
"Bob? Can I ask you a question?"
Hrothbert of Bainbridge, who was not yet accustomed to the new and somewhat simplistic nickname bestowed upon him by his new student, paused in the act of writing the afternoon's lesson.
"Of course you may," he replied. "That is what a classroom is for."
"Um…it's not about the lesson."
"Clearly not, since we have yet to begin," said Hrothbert wryly. Then, with a fleeting but no less encouraging smile, he invited, "Ask. I will answer if I can."
Harry looked from his tutor to the glowing golden letters hovering in the air behind him like a mirage. "What do ghosts do?"
"'Do'?"
"You know…do? Like walking through walls or appearing and disappearing out of nowhere."
"They exist."
"I know that. I can see that," said Harry with just a hint of youthful impatience. "But what can you do?"
"Precious little," said Hrothbert tersely. "I realize to someone your age the ability to walk through solid objects and materialize unexpectedly might seem highly entertaining, but you would find it a short-lived joy. Rather, ask what a ghost cannot do." He held up a hand as point of fact, an appendage as solid-looking as Harry's own. Reaching out, he attempted to open the cover of a large, leather-bound tome and watched as his fingers passed ineffectually through the materials. "I have no sense of touch, smell, or taste, nor can I effect the physical world in any way."
"I thought ghosts could move things."
"You are thinking of poltergeists which are something else entirely. A true ghost is a soul that has lost its way or remains earthbound to complete some unfinished task."
"Can you fly?"
"In a manner of speaking." And not very far, but there was no reason to elaborate.
"What about the other stuff in the stories? Like moaning and groaning and clanking chains and stuff?"
"Myths, legends, and fictional fabrications to entertain the masses," sniffed Hrothbert. The manacles that bound his own wrists did not clank, thank the Powers.
"Can ghosts talk to other ghosts?"
It was not an idle question. There was too much of hope and longing in the boy's tone and reflected in his dark brown eyes.
"Ah," said Hrothbert softly as he understood at last the true nature of what the child wished to know. "I cannot speak to your father, Harry."
"I'm not asking you to bother him or anything! Just to, you know … see if he's okay wherever he is."
"Harry-"
"--and if he's with my Mom."
"I doubt that your father would consider any question from you to be an imposition, however … I cannot," said Hrothbert with sincere regret and bitter finality. "I am no ordinary ghost, Harry. I am a cursed and bound spirit. No heaven awaits me at the end of eternity. I exist on an entirely different plane of existence from souls destined for the Otherside, like those of your parents. Even were he present, I could not speak with your father's ghost any more than he could converse with me. We might see each other but, like this book, could not touch or interact in any meaningful way."
"Oh," said Harry and hung his head as hope deflated.
"I am truly sorry." Not only for Harry's sake but for his own. He understood well the boy's pain, for there was one departed soul, dear to his heart, that Hrothbert had ached to speak with for centuries. "Please believe that I would do so if I could."
Nodding, Harry rapidly blinked back the threat of tears. He was too old to cry, dammit. "Thanks anyway, Bob," he managed, putting on what he thought was a brave, grown up face.
Hrothbert of Bainbridge, considered by generations of wizards to be cold, harsh, and unfeeling, turned back to the lesson at hand to disguise the mist in his own pale blue eyes.
Title: Heart and Soul
Fandom: The Dresden Files (tv-verse)
Characters: Bob, young Harry
Prompt: 09. Heaven
Word Count: 659
Rating: G
Summary: Harry has a question of his new tutor.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me. Just passing through.
Table: Here There be Ghosts
"Bob? Can I ask you a question?"
Hrothbert of Bainbridge, who was not yet accustomed to the new and somewhat simplistic nickname bestowed upon him by his new student, paused in the act of writing the afternoon's lesson.
"Of course you may," he replied. "That is what a classroom is for."
"Um…it's not about the lesson."
"Clearly not, since we have yet to begin," said Hrothbert wryly. Then, with a fleeting but no less encouraging smile, he invited, "Ask. I will answer if I can."
Harry looked from his tutor to the glowing golden letters hovering in the air behind him like a mirage. "What do ghosts do?"
"'Do'?"
"You know…do? Like walking through walls or appearing and disappearing out of nowhere."
"They exist."
"I know that. I can see that," said Harry with just a hint of youthful impatience. "But what can you do?"
"Precious little," said Hrothbert tersely. "I realize to someone your age the ability to walk through solid objects and materialize unexpectedly might seem highly entertaining, but you would find it a short-lived joy. Rather, ask what a ghost cannot do." He held up a hand as point of fact, an appendage as solid-looking as Harry's own. Reaching out, he attempted to open the cover of a large, leather-bound tome and watched as his fingers passed ineffectually through the materials. "I have no sense of touch, smell, or taste, nor can I effect the physical world in any way."
"I thought ghosts could move things."
"You are thinking of poltergeists which are something else entirely. A true ghost is a soul that has lost its way or remains earthbound to complete some unfinished task."
"Can you fly?"
"In a manner of speaking." And not very far, but there was no reason to elaborate.
"What about the other stuff in the stories? Like moaning and groaning and clanking chains and stuff?"
"Myths, legends, and fictional fabrications to entertain the masses," sniffed Hrothbert. The manacles that bound his own wrists did not clank, thank the Powers.
"Can ghosts talk to other ghosts?"
It was not an idle question. There was too much of hope and longing in the boy's tone and reflected in his dark brown eyes.
"Ah," said Hrothbert softly as he understood at last the true nature of what the child wished to know. "I cannot speak to your father, Harry."
"I'm not asking you to bother him or anything! Just to, you know … see if he's okay wherever he is."
"Harry-"
"--and if he's with my Mom."
"I doubt that your father would consider any question from you to be an imposition, however … I cannot," said Hrothbert with sincere regret and bitter finality. "I am no ordinary ghost, Harry. I am a cursed and bound spirit. No heaven awaits me at the end of eternity. I exist on an entirely different plane of existence from souls destined for the Otherside, like those of your parents. Even were he present, I could not speak with your father's ghost any more than he could converse with me. We might see each other but, like this book, could not touch or interact in any meaningful way."
"Oh," said Harry and hung his head as hope deflated.
"I am truly sorry." Not only for Harry's sake but for his own. He understood well the boy's pain, for there was one departed soul, dear to his heart, that Hrothbert had ached to speak with for centuries. "Please believe that I would do so if I could."
Nodding, Harry rapidly blinked back the threat of tears. He was too old to cry, dammit. "Thanks anyway, Bob," he managed, putting on what he thought was a brave, grown up face.
Hrothbert of Bainbridge, considered by generations of wizards to be cold, harsh, and unfeeling, turned back to the lesson at hand to disguise the mist in his own pale blue eyes.