The Brightest Sun

Chapter 56

You're grounded," Harry said, waving off the guard once they reached their corridor as he led the unrepentant princess back to her room. They had managed to keep Daenerys' escape quiet – only Harry, Viserys and the guards being alerted to her movements. "I'm not sure if that holds any meaning for you, but that means no flying, no fun magic lessons, and no—"

He broke off, staring at the little girl in exasperation. Merlin save me from dragon mad royals, he thought.

Daenerys had a pleased, cat-that-got-the-canary expression on her face, purple eyes glowing in open satisfaction.

Harry had thought the quiet child would be the least troublesome of the children, but he was learning to his dismay that Daenerys' quietness hid even greater mischief.

"Are you listening?" he asked, hiding his amusement behind the exasperation. She looked as pleased as Aegon and Rhaenys had when they had received their dragons, and Harry had only to take a glance at Viserys to know the boy was as hopeless in the face of dragons.

The dragons were more partial to Daenerys; almost – dare he say it – like children clinging to their mother, though he noticed that the red dragon was settled comfortably in Viserys' arms.

The guards, bless them, had barely faltered at the sight of two dragons clinging to a dirty princess in her nightclothes, worrying instead over how easily she slipped past them.

"Hand the dragon over. There's a bath inside your room. Get cleaned and then we'll talk in the study," Harry said, an expectant look on his face.

Daenerys frowned, staring forlornly at her dragon before she sighed, handing the creature to Harry and making her way to her room.

Harry led Viserys to the large room they had turned into a study, the dark walls lined with tapestries holding the combined Potter-Black crest and two portraits.

"I know you're not sleeping," Harry said wryly, hearing the snort as his great-grandfather opened his eyes, a roguish grin on his face. Henry Potter's portrait had been painted when he was thirty – as most Potter portraits were – and the man had the same mischievous grin as his grandson.

"Harry, my boy. I daresay we've never been so thankful to have such an interesting young man in our lives," Henry chortled, shifting to better glimpse the dragons.

They were larger than he had expected them to be, far more colourful and with two legs instead of the four Auriga and Iacomus had.

Valyrian dragons, he thought, running a finger down the ridged scales of the dragon before him. It screeched lightly, nipping at his finger in response.

Cream, with purple and blue patterned streaks; Harry could imagine that once it grew large enough to fly, the dragon would streak across the sky as a herald of a coming storm; a fitting companion for Daenerys Stormborn.

"Viserys."

"Hmm?" Viserys replied absentmindedly, enraptured with the tiny being crawling on his arm, the red scales standing out starkly against the white fabric.

"The dragons won't disappear," Harry said dryly.

Purple eyes snapped up to meet his, the excitement and glee warring with uncertainty.

"There haven't been dragons in over a hundred years," Viserys said.

"And now there are four," Harry replied, lips tugging into a frown as he considered the two before him.

Had they done this? Their obsession with restoring their dragons had led the Targaryens to near ruin, and tonight Daenerys had effortlessly hatched two eggs on an island filled with magic.