Final chapter! Thank you to everyone again for reading and replying.

In the three days following Harry's return, Bob got to experience more of the outside world than he'd ever had before during his entire tenure with the wizard. Granted, he'd had to experience most of it from within his skull to minimize an accidental public walk through of an object or worse, a bystander.

Harry carried the skull everywhere he had to run an errand. Which in the last three days had been all over Chicago. He'd gone around to the Sharps and had been only able to catch Sheryl as Scott had still been at school. The single mother had been a little puzzled, but pleased at the wizard's unannounced visit and the somewhat over effusive happiness that seemed to come over him when she opened the door. He'd only stayed a few minutes to chat and to invite her and Scott to dinner again next week.

The Sharps had been just the first in a long line of visits and inquiries Harry made to everyone he'd ever been in contact with in the past year, from seeing Liz Fontaine to asking Morgan how Caryn Harris and Matthew Jacobs were. While happy to have some time outside of the office, the ghost was getting a little sick of being shuttled around in Harry's knapsack with the wizard's keys and pens constantly rattling around inside his skull.

Though considering what Harry had told him had gone on after he'd met with Mrs. Finley, Bob supposed the wizard's reaction was normal and kept his complaint to himself.

Then on the fourth day, all of Harry's over precaution in regards to Elena somehow bypassing his second wish to the Nighe were laid to rest when he received a call from Murphy.

"Why're you looking at me like that?" asked the lieutenant.

"What? I'm not looking at you like anything," Harry answered, abruptly turning his head toward something very interesting on the floor.

Murphy shook her head, not in the mood. She directed the wizard toward the apartment door that was sealed off with police tape. "Just to be clear, the cause of death was a gas leak," she stated. "Half the building had to be evacuated."

"So why the need to call me?" asked Harry, following Murphy into the room. While the lieutenant didn't answer, the room did.

The place was a small, but tidy one bedroom. Modestly decorated by someone who obviously prided cleanliness over character. Three of the four walls were completely bare of anything, which was why the fourth wall stuck out all the more. From ceiling to floor, it was covered in photographs. Most of them featuring Harry, going about his daily business. The few images that didn't have the wizard in them were outside shots of his storefront.

The only photograph in the room that wasn't related to him was a small, framed picture sitting on an end table by the couch. It showed an old man, perhaps in his 60's, holding the hand of his granddaughter, who was grinning into the camera. And while the face was a lot younger and unmarked by any adult-earned wariness of the world, the haircut and eyes were the same. It was Elena Ellery.

Murphy held up a photograph of her own that was the image taken of the deceased at the morgue. "Did you know her?" questioned the lieutenant. "She certainly knew you."

Ice flipped over in Harry's stomach as he looked at the photo of Elena. The woman looked peaceful in her eternal sleep. The wizard thought on his second wish to the Nighe and felt a little ill. "I…I knew of her," he managed to get out. "Her family and my uncle's family knew each other."

"Can you think of any reason why she'd be stalking you?" asked Murphy, pocketing the picture. She was staring hard points at Harry and after catching a glimpse of the trust she'd had for him in his other life, seeing the suspicion in her now depressed the wizard more than he could explain.

"No," Harry answered, lying with resignation. "No clue."

"And she never once made an attempt to contact you?"

"Not in this life, no."

Murphy narrowed her eyes warily. "You know, when other people say that, it's just an expression. When you say it, I feel like I'm missing something."

"It's just an expression, Murphy," Harry replied tiredly. "I've never met the woman and I'd forgotten all about even knowing of her until today." I'm on a roll with lying to her. Might as well go for broke.

"It was a gas leak," Murphy repeated, as if trying to convince Harry. "It was an accident. I'm not asking you like you had anything to do with this."

The wizard gave her a stiff nod. "Is that it?" he asked.

The lieutenant stared at him a little longer, trying to decipher something before looking away, her mouth set at a frustrated line. "Yeah, that's it," she conceded.

Harry moved to go, taking one last look at the photograph on the end table. A young Elena smiled back at him from a happier time.

After news of Elena's death, Harry went back to leaving the skull in the lab. The wizard himself would disappear from the office, hours on end, returning late and heading straight to bed. From inside the lab, Bob could hear his former student rest for a few hours before waking from some nightmare before trying in vain to get back to sleep. Most nights, the ghost would peer from the walls of the lab to find the wizard attempting to get some rest at his desk, his head lying next to the framed portrait of him and his father that Murphy had returned. Any concerns Bob expressed at Harry's exhaustion was met with a lethargic dismissal that was getting to be an art form for the wizard.

Unbeknownst to the ghost, Harry was spending his time sitting across the street from Mrs. Finley's now abandoned Landromat in his newly released Jeep.

A cycle of guilt and sadness had settled its hooks into the wizard. Guilt over Elena's death was quickly followed by sadness that Harry truly had closed the door to the world he'd visited. And while returning had been the right and only thing to do, the wizard couldn't help but run through all the conversations he could have had with his father and hated himself for squandering the time. Which brought him right back to guilt for missing a world he'd known was wrong and had fought so hard to escape from.

Finally, one day while Harry sat in his car, someone tapped him on the shoulder from the passenger seat. The blast he instinctively readied to throw at the intruder quickly disappeared when he recognized the ugly face staring back at him.

"Really, Mr. Dresden," said Mrs. Finley, kindly. "You must pull yourself together. You look frightful."

"Mrs. Finley? What're you doing here?" he asked, wondering for a second if he was hallucinating from the lack of sleep.

Sympathetic concern was stamped on the Nighe's face. "I thought I'd pop in to speak to you," she replied. "I'd taken the liberty to spy in on you and found you seemed a little out of sorts."

Self-consciously, Harry rubbed at his face and felt the scruff that was close to achieving beard status. "I haven't been sleeping very well," he explained.

"Because of Elena Ellery?" she inquired.

"When I wished for her to find some peace, I didn't mean that," said Harry, looking stricken. "I didn't know that's what was going to happen."

Finley shook her head. "You didn't kill her, Mr. Dresden. It was an accident."

"But my wish-"

"Didn't kill her," said the Nighe, firmly. "Ms. Ellery's death was already sealed before you made your second wish. I thought you noticed I was washing her suit. Don't you know the significance of that?" Harry mutely shook his head. The Nighe sighed, looking a little disappointed. "I'm surprised your friend in the skull didn't explain it to you. Or did you not tell him about that?" Thinking back on the scraps of conversation he'd had with Bob, Harry realized he'd failed to mention the suit Finley had been washing.

"It wasn't your fault, Mr. Dresden," she assured. "Ms. Ellery was to die on that day whether you wished for it or not. Actually, she went quite peacefully as you'd requested. Do you feel better?" she asked, giving the wizard an appraising glance.

"I…don't know." Harry gazed back at the empty Landromat. "It's stupid but I miss it. That world. Not all of it, but just,"

"Your father," guessed the Nighe.

"I could have spent that entire time being with him," said Harry, almost angrily. "I know that would have been wrong, but…" The wizard gripped his steering wheel. "It's not fair."

"No, it isn't."

"I didn't even get to talk to him about the things I'd wanted to. He was right there and I just…didn't."

Sympathy shined from Finley's green eyes as she gazed at the wizard. After a few moments, she quietly asked, "Would you like some time now?"

Harry looked at her, surprised. "What?"

"You could wish for some time."

"But-"

"Consider it a thank you from me. For your third wish." Finley's lined face was tinged with some worry. "I hope I am doing the right thing for you by offering this. I don't want to cause you any lingering pain over seeing him again for a limited amount of time."

Staring ahead, Harry turned the offer over in his mind. "Wish small, right?"

"That would be prudent."

"How small is small?"

"An hour would be sufficient."

"Okay."

The Nighe smiled. "Go home, Mr. Dresden."

"Hey, Harry!"

"Hi, Dad."

"I was just closing up." The elder Dresden met his son by the store's front door and flipped the sign over after it closed behind Harry. "You staying for dinner?" he asked, warmly.

Harry shook his head. "No, I actually just stopped by to talk for a little bit."

Malcolm nodded. "Sure, we can talk in the kitchen. You might not be eating, but I am."

"Making lasagna again?" asked Harry, smiling.

"I'm trying to branch out," said Malcolm. "I'm shooting for herb-crusted chicken with salad."

"That sounds healthy," Harry said, not bothering to hide his surprise, which his father laughed.

"Thought you'd be happy. I know that cinnamon rolls thing was a fluke. Come next week, you'll be after me again about taking care of my health."

Harry smiled as they moved into the kitchen. "Nothing wrong with that."

"At the rate you nag me, I'm gonna live 'til I'm over a hundred." Malcolm shot his son a grin as he pulled the chicken out of the fridge. "Nothing wrong with that," he echoed.

The smile on Harry's face faltered momentarily, but passed by Malcolm's notice. "Yeah," said the wizardly softly. "Want some help?"

"With gratitude," replied Malcolm. "Here, you can cut the chicken. I'll work on the salad."

A few minutes passed as Harry carefully cut the meat. "Dad, I wanted to say sorry about the last week," he began. "I know I was acting a little crazy."

Malcolm kept his eyes on tearing the lettuce. "Nothing to be sorry about. It seemed like you had a lot on your mind. Is everything okay though?"

Harry slid the chicken pieces into the pan. "Everything's back to normal," he said.

The quiet tone his son used caught the former magician's attention. "You sure?"

Mutely, Harry nodded before looking back toward his father and smiled as brightly as he could. "Yup. Things are back to normal," he assured.

"That's good," replied Malcolm. The elder Dresden left the salad alone for a minute to season the chicken. "So," he said, after he'd pushed it into the oven. "When do I get to read your new book?"

"Well, that's the thing, Dad," said Harry, hedging. "I'm thinking I might quit writing."

"What? Why? I thought you loved it," Malcolm frowned.

Wiping his hands on a dish towel, the wizard shrugged. "I dunno. The work it just feels kind of unfulfilling."

"What would you do instead?"

Harry busied himself with straightening the dish towel back on the rack, not meeting his father's eyes. "I was thinking I might try my hand at investigating. You know, help people with cases."

"Like your character in your books?"

"Well, yeah, only I'd actually be helping real people. Not writing about it." The wizard glanced up to see the skeptical expression on his father's face. "It's kind of sudden, I know." Silence ticked by. "You don't approve," guessed Harry, crestfallen.

"It's not about approval, Harry," replied Malcolm. "I just don't want you to put yourself into any dangerous situations. You could get hurt."

"I'll be careful." Malcolm looked unconvinced. "I think I'd be good at it, Dad. I gave it a lot of thought," he said, thinking back on the thought process that had made him decide six years ago to open his wizardly investigating agency.

His father sighed. "If that's what you really want to do, I can't stop you. You're an adult, or so says the law. It's your life."

"Do you really hate the idea?" asked Harry, painfully against the stiffness with which his father took the news. "About me doing something like that? I mean, I know being a writer is more respectable and it makes more money and you'd be prouder telling people that's what I do and-"

"Whoa, whoa, Harry. Slow down," Malcolm interrupted, putting a hand to Harry's shoulder to stop the rambling. "I'm worried about your safety. This doesn't have anything to do with not being proud of you. I'm always proud."

"Really?"

"Sure. Listen, Harry," Malcolm began, making sure he had his son's attention. "A man's job is just his job. You can change them like clothes. But at the end of the day, the only thing that counts is a person's character. You can't change something like that. And you," he continued, squeezing Harry's shoulder warmly. "You have good character. One of the best. If not the best. You always did. Even when you were a kid. Of course I'm proud of you."

His father's face blurred a little and Harry dropped his gaze to the floor to buy himself some time to blink back the prickling he felt behind his eyes. When it felt safe, he answered with a quiet, "Thank you."

Malcolm patted his son's shoulder. If he felt any trembling beneath his fingers, he didn't mention it. "Sure you don't wanna stay for dinner? This might be your only chance to taste chicken made by me."

Laughing briefly, Harry nodded, playing along for the moment. "Okay, sure. I'll test drive your dinner."

"Great," said Malcolm, looking pleased. "It should be done soon."

Harry glanced at the clock that hung above the refrigerator. "Yeah, soon."

"We can start on the salad." As the older Dresden pulled out extra plates, he gave his son a measuring look. "This detective idea," he said. "Connie's been influencing, hasn't she?"

"Um…maybe?" Harry answered.

"When're you planning on marrying her, Harry?" he asked casually.

The wizard did his best not to drop the silverware he'd been selecting. "Marry?"

"Look, it's obvious you're nuts about her. I love her and I know she can run circles around you, which is like a prerequisite for marrying a Dresden." Hefting the plates and salad bowl in his hands, Malcolm faced his son. "But really, Harry. She's wonderful for you."

"Even if she's inspiring me to quit my lucrative job to start a detective agency?" Harry inquired with a half grin.

"She inspires the best in you," Malcolm answered seriously. "That's not a small deal."

"No," Harry agreed. "Definitely no small deal. And she definitely does do that." The wizard nodded. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long. Girl like her can replace you, no problem," warned Malcolm.

"Gee, thanks. What happened to me having the best character?" said Harry with mock hurt.

His father held up a hand, shrugging. "Hey, I speak as your dad. Not someone who's probably been waiting for awhile now for the boyfriend to pop the question."

"Okay, okay," Harry waved. "I get it."

Laughing, Malcolm moved to go out to the dining area. "I'll set the plates." He looked over at the oven. "When that's done, bring it out with the silverware, would you?"

"Sure," said Harry, looking back up at the clock. As his father began to walk away, the wizard stepped forward. "Hey, Dad."

Malcolm turned. "Yeah?"

Harry paused for a moment, studying this aged version of his father. He looked relaxed, content and pleased to about to be having dinner with his only child. The wizard tried to burn the impression into his mind. If not to replace his own real last memory of his father, then to soften it a little and make it more bearable.

"Thanks for looking out for me."

His father smiled. "Sure, kiddo. I'm always happy to."

Turning, Malcolm went to the other room, moving out of Harry's line of view. The hands on the clock above the fridge hit on the hour.

For a minute, Harry stood where he was with his eyes closed. Imaging in his mind, pulling out the ready dinner in a few minutes and walking into the next room to join his father. He held onto the fantasy for a moment. And then he let it go.

Opening his eyes, the wizard walked into the next room and found it empty. Save for his tables and books as per usual. Things were as they'd always been.

"Hey, good. You're up."

Turning from his writings, Bob gave him a quizzical look as Harry sat down at his lab bench, dressed for bed. "I don't sleep, Harry," the ghost reminded. "But shouldn't you be? It's late."

"Couldn't sleep."

"Did you have another nightmare?" Bob asked carefully.

Seeing the ghost's hesitancy at broaching the subject, Harry felt guilty about putting him through the worry in the last few days.

"No," the wizard answered truthfully. "I just had some stuff on my mind. But things are okay," he added, seeing Bob's expression.

"Are they?" the ghost asked.

"Definitely."

The ghost held his gaze a little longer before giving a nod. "I'm happy to hear that."

"What're you working on?" Harry asked, indicating the golden symbols. "It's not another Doom Box, is it?"

"Harry, not all my re-worked spells are nefarious," sighed Bob, patiently.

"So what is it?"

"I'm re-calibrating a transportation spell," the ghost answered. "Should come in handy when you need a head start that's more than a few feet."

"Can you do it so the landing's not so hard?" requested the wizard. "I nearly broke my tailbone with the last one you gave me."

"Such demands," Bob grumbled without much rancor.

Harry grinned. "I keep you sharp."

"Annoyed, more like." The spirit turned his attention back to the floating letters. Studying the formula for the disembarking portion of the spell, he replaced the sigils. A few moments of silence passed before Harry spoke again.

"Can I stay and watch?"

Bob looked over at his former student, sitting somewhat uneasily at the table. There were times when with a word or a gesture, Harry reminded Bob so much of how the wizard had looked as a child. Self-conscious and nervous at asking for company. Afraid he might be dismissed. While Harry had grown resilient over the years, sitting in the lab now, the wizard wore the anxious expression that had often been on his 11 year old self whenever he'd come to the library to be near his spectral teacher and be comforted by watching him work.

And as he'd done then with the young boy, Bob nodded. "Of course, if you'd like."

"Thanks." Harry settled into his seat. "Maybe I can learn it tonight."

"If you don't drop off first," Bob guessed, resuming his writing.

True to the prediction, by the time the ghost completed re-working the spell, Harry was asleep, his head pillowed against his folded arms on the table. Bob moved to wake him up, but thought on the much needed rest Harry was finally getting. And he looked rather comfortable.

Bob raised a hand to wave away the floating symbols when he paused, casting a glance over at the slumbering wizard. Changing his mind, he left the spell where it was and returned to his skull.

Under the warm light of the glowing sigils, Harry slept soundly through the night.

THE END