I

There are times, Bob thinks, when Harry resembles nothing so much as a hedgehog.  He can almost see the spines appear, bristling out in all directions, a warning to keep back, keep away.  But Bob can also see Harry curling in on himself, becoming a prickly ball, trying to protect the soft places, those parts of his nature bequeathed to him by his father, for they were certainly bred out of the Morningways centuries ago.  And Bob forbears the prickly days, the sarcasm and frustrated impatience, for he knows firsthand the safety of that small circle, guarded by twitching defences and reluctant aggression.  He knows what it is to return from the dark, confused and chilled, to see his skull cradled tightly in the crook of a strong arm.  

 
II

Bob remembers Harry at fifteen, all long arms and legs that he was hopeless at keeping up with, his mind racing too swiftly to settle on delicate, precise spellwork, shattering lightbulbs and bits of wiring with roiling and uncontainable energy and emotion.  Twenty years on, and nothing has changed much, as far as Bob can tell.  He’s never seen a wizard have so much trouble with the modern conveniences, who is so at odds with his environment, who looks so… ridiculous brandishing his staff.  But then, Harry summons up his power, the floodgates open, and he’s like another creature entirely, lithe and powerful, completely in his element, and Bob can only watch in wordless admiration.  Not that he’d ever admit that.

 
III

Bob never had a pet.  When he was alive, animals were a resource – food, or labour.  He had barely had time for human companionship, let alone an unpredictable creature incapable of carrying on a decent conversation.  But sometimes, when Harry pads down the stairs in the morning, sleepy-eyed and bemused at being awake, or when his mind has just about put the pieces together to solve the case and suppressed glee shines on his face as he bounds around the lab, or every so often when the weight of Bob’s past presses upon him, and Harry looks at him with clear-eyed loyalty for which there are no words, he thinks he can maybe understand the appeal.