The *Silence* needed work.
That became obvious the first morning after they'd claimed her. In daylight—or what passed for daylight in the Smoking Sea—the ship's Ironborn heritage was unmistakable. The black sails bore the kraken of House Greyjoy. The hull was painted in the distinctive style of the Iron Islands, with religious symbols to the Drowned God carved into the wood. Even the ship's name was carved prominently across the stern in both the Common Tongue and the Old Tongue of the First Men.
"We can't sail into Pentos looking like Iron Islands raiders," Bill said, circling the ship with a critical eye. "The Free Cities have a complicated relationship with the Ironborn. Mostly involving the Ironborn raiding them and the Free Cities paying them to go away."
"So we make it not look like an Ironborn ship," Sirius said. "How hard can that be?"
"Harder than you think," Bill replied. "Ships have a particular... essence. Change too much and she'll sail wrong. The balance will be off. We need to preserve what works while changing what doesn't."
"Good thing we have magic then," Harry said.
"Good thing we have *me*," Bill corrected. "Because ship modification is basically curse-breaking in reverse. Instead of dismantling protective magic, we're building it. And I have some ideas."
Over breakfast—the sailors they'd kept had proven surprisingly good at cooking with limited supplies—Bill outlined his vision.
"The *Silence* is a good ship," he began, spreading his sketches across the deck. "Well-built. Fast. Maneuverable. But she's designed for raiding, not for long-term voyaging or defense. We're going to change that."
His sketches showed a vessel that was barely recognizable as the original. Larger. More imposing. With modifications that would have taken months or years with conventional shipbuilding but that magic could accomplish in days.
"First, we expand her," Bill said, pointing to measurements he'd calculated. "She's currently about eighty feet long. I want to make her a hundred and twenty. Add another deck. More cargo space. Proper cabins instead of hammocks in the hold. A war room where we can plan without being cramped."
"Can you do that without capsizing her?" Charlie asked skeptically.
"Not with conventional methods," Bill admitted. "But with Extension Charms properly integrated into the hull—not just space expansion, but structural reinforcement—we can triple her size without proportionally increasing her weight. She'll sail even better than before."
"What about the appearance?" Hermione asked. "The Greyjoy symbols have to go."
"Obviously," Bill agreed. "We repaint the hull. Not black—that's too associated with the Ironborn. I'm thinking something more... respectable. Deep blue, maybe. Or red. Colors that suggest wealth without being ostentatious."
"Black," Daenerys said immediately. "Deep Black, like my armor. With crimson trim. Targaryen colors."
"That might be dangerous," Amelia warned. "Targaryen colors in Pentos? People will ask questions."
"Let them," Daenerys said. "We're not hiding what I am. Not from Viserys, not from anyone who matters. The colors make a statement: a Targaryen has returned. That's true even if we're not ready to reveal everything else yet."
"I like it," Sirius said. "Bold. Dramatic. Very on-brand for us."
"Everything we do is on-brand," George said.
"Because our brand is chaos," Fred added.
"Controlled chaos," Hermione corrected.
"Chaos with good intentions," Luna offered.
"Chaos that works out somehow," Ron finished.
Bill continued with his plans. "Beyond aesthetics, we need defenses. Real ones. The seas between here and Pentos aren't exactly safe. Pirates. Slavers. Dothraki occasionally trying their hand at naval combat—badly, but enthusiastically. We need to be able to defend ourselves."
"Without revealing we're wizards," Amelia added. "Unless absolutely necessary."
"Right," Bill said. "So we use passive defenses where possible. Wards that repel boarders. Reinforcement charms that make the hull nearly indestructible. Maybe some subtle offensive capabilities—nothing that looks magical, but effective."
"Like what?" Harry asked.
Bill's grin was slightly manic—the expression he got when he was about to do something brilliant and possibly illegal. "Like ballista that auto-aim. Like the ability to heat the hull to burning temperatures if someone tries to climb it. Like a cargo hold that can be selectively flooded to trap invaders. Like—"
"Like a floating fortress," Sirius finished, his own grin matching Bill's. "I love it. When do we start?"
"Today," Bill said. "But I'll need help. This is a lot of work even with magic."
They organized into teams. Bill led the structural modifications, with Charlie assisting—his experience with dragon habitats translated surprisingly well to ship expansion. Hermione handled the ward-work, creating layered defenses that would protect without being obvious. The twins worked on what they called "creative defensive measures," which everyone else called "booby traps."
Sirius and Amelia supervised the aesthetic changes, working with the three remaining sailors—who had proven surprisingly competent once they realized their new employers were both wealthy and not planning to kill them—to repaint and rebrand the vessel.
Harry, Daenerys, and the other dragon riders focused on training, but they checked in periodically to see the ship's transformation.
It was remarkable.
The first change was size. Bill and Charlie worked together, their wands moving in complex patterns as they wove Extension Charms into the ship's very structure. It wasn't like casting the spell on a tent or a bag—this required integration at a fundamental level, making the magic part of the ship rather than just attached to it.
The *Silence* groaned. Creaked. And then *grew*.
Wood that should have remained static began to expand. Planks lengthened. The hull deepened. A second deck emerged from what had been a single level, rising up as if it had always been there. The masts extended, requiring new sails—which Hermione was already conjuring, having taken precise measurements.
"This is incredible," one of the sailors—a grizzled man named Taros—breathed. "I've sailed for thirty years and I've never seen anything like this."
"You're seeing magic," Hermione said simply. "Proper, intentional, carefully-applied magic. This is what it can do when used right."
"Are you warlocks? Shadowbinders?"
"Something like that," Hermione said evasively. "The important thing is that we're making this ship better. Safer. And we're paying you well to sail her. That's all you need to know."
By the end of the first day, the *Silence* was half again as large as she'd been. By the end of the second, she was nearly double her original size. And by the end of the third day, Bill and Charlie had finished the expansion, leaving them with a vessel that was genuinely impressive.
She was now a hundred and twenty feet of sleek, deadly elegance. Three masts instead of one. A proper quarterdeck. A captain's cabin that could serve as a war room. Individual cabins for each of the riders—small, but private. A cargo hold large enough for their salvaged treasures and the dragon eggs. Even a dedicated space for the dragons themselves, though they'd still primarily fly or perch on the nearby islands.
"She's beautiful," Daenerys said, walking the deck. "Like a warship and a merchant vessel had a child that inherited the best of both."
"Now comes the fun part," Bill said. "Defense."
Hermione had been working on this for three days, barely sleeping, her notes sprawling across every available surface. Now she presented her work with the pride of someone who'd solved a particularly complex problem.
"The wards are layered," she explained, using a scale model of the ship she'd conjured. "The outermost layer is a Notice-Me-Not charm, but subtle. We don't want to be completely invisible—that would be suspicious. Instead, we seem slightly less interesting than we actually are. Pirates will unconsciously choose other targets. Patrols will be slightly less thorough when they inspect us."
"Clever," Amelia approved. "We hide in plain sight."
"Exactly. The second layer is structural reinforcement. The hull is now effectively as strong as dragonstone. Conventional weapons—arrows, swords, even ballista bolts—will bounce off or shatter. It would take sustained cannon fire to breach us, and cannons don't exist in this world yet."
"What about magical attacks?" Luna asked. "If we encounter actual warlocks or shadowbinders?"
"Third layer," Hermione said. "A magical absorption ward. Any directed spell hits the ward and gets converted into raw energy that feeds back into the ship's other protections. Essentially, attacking us magically makes us stronger."
"That's beautifully vindictive," Daphne said admiringly. "Very Slytherin."
"I learned from the best," Hermione replied, smiling.
"The fourth layer is active defense," she continued. "If someone boards us—which they shouldn't be able to, but if they somehow do—the ship itself will fight back. The deck can become slippery. Ropes will come alive and bind invaders. Masts will swing to knock people overboard. It's not lethal unless we want it to be, but it's extremely effective."
"Can the ship do all that automatically?" Charlie asked. "Or does someone need to control it?"
"Semi-automatic," Hermione said. "The wards have basic threat recognition. They'll activate if hostile intent is detected. But we can also take manual control through the helm, which I've modified extensively. Whoever's steering can direct the ship's defenses like they're conducting an orchestra."
"I want to steer," Fred said immediately.
"No," Amelia said firmly.
"But—"
"No."
"You didn't even let me finish!"
"I don't need to. Whatever you were about to suggest would have ended with the ship on fire and someone getting pranked in the middle of a battle."
"That's a very specific and accurate assessment," George admitted.
While Hermione's wards were being implemented, Sirius and Amelia oversaw the cosmetic transformation. The black Ironborn hull was sanded down and repainted in deep crimson, so dark it was nearly black until the light hit it properly. The trim was done in actual black, creating a striking contrast. The kraken symbols were removed—carefully, in case they needed them later—and replaced with a dragon motif.
Not the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen—that would be too obvious. Instead, a single dragon in flight, wings spread, breathing flame. Subtle enough to be artistic rather than political. Clear enough that anyone who knew Targaryen heraldry would recognize the reference.
"It's perfect," Daenerys said when she saw it. The dragon looked almost alive, the way the crimson paint caught the light making it seem to move.
"We need a new name," Sirius said. "Can't very well call her the *Silence* anymore. That's an Ironborn name. Tied to their Drowned God nonsense."
They debated names for hours. Everyone had suggestions. Some were practical. Some were ridiculous. A few were actively offensive.
"*Dragon's Mercy*?" Susan suggested.
"Too soft," Tracey countered.
"*Fire's Vengeance*?" Ginny tried.
"Too aggressive," Hermione said.
"*The Determined*?" That was Neville.
"Too boring," the twins said together.
"*The Audacity*?" Sirius offered.
"Too on the nose," Amelia replied.
They went through dozens of options. *Wind's Promise*. *Storm's Daughter*. *The Relentless*. *Crimson Sky*. *Dawn's Herald*. Each was discussed, debated, and ultimately rejected for various reasons.
Finally, Luna spoke up. She'd been quiet through most of the debate, sitting cross-legged on the deck with her eyes closed.
"*The Phoenix Rising*," she said simply.
Everyone stopped.
"That's..." Hermione started.
"Perfect," Harry finished.
"We died," Luna explained, her dreamy voice carrying across the deck. "Or we should have. Jumping through the Veil. Fighting Voldemort. Everything we've survived. We died and came back. Just like a phoenix. And now we're rising. Becoming something new. Something better."
"Plus phoenixes are fire birds," Sirius added. "Connects to the dragon theme without being too obvious."
"And 'rising' suggests movement," Bill said. "Forward progress. Which is what we're doing—moving forward into a new world, a new life."
"It's decided then," Daenerys said. "*The Phoenix Rising*. Our ship. Our new home."
They carved the name into the stern that evening, using magic to make the letters deep and clear. The old name—*The Silence*—was removed completely, every trace of it erased. This was a new vessel now. Reborn, like they'd been reborn.
The twins added one final touch—a phoenix figurehead for the prow, carved from Valyrian steel they'd salvaged and then spelled to withstand the elements. It was beautiful and slightly terrifying, the bird's wings spread as if about to take flight, its eyes set with small rubies that caught the light.
"She's ready," Bill announced on the seventh day after they'd captured the ship. "*The Phoenix Rising* is ready to sail."
They celebrated that night—a proper celebration, with the good food they'd been saving and even some wine Euron had stored in his cabin. The dragons circled overhead, their presence a constant reminder of what made them special, what made them *different*.
"To new beginnings," Harry toasted, raising his cup.
"To not dying," Ron added.
"To chaos with good intentions," Hermione said, making everyone laugh.
"To family," Daenerys said quietly, and everyone echoed it back.
"To family."
---
While *The Phoenix Rising* underwent her transformation, they hadn't neglected the ruins. There was still so much to explore, so many secrets Old Valyria held. And they had perhaps another week before they'd need to sail for Pentos.
Harry had volunteered for one of the salvage expeditions—partly because he was curious, partly because he needed to clear his head after days of ship modification and training, and partly because Fury kept insisting through their bond that there was *something* in the ruins. Something important that they needed to find.
*Direction-pull-must-go-important-trust-me*
"I always trust you," Harry told his dragon, scratching under her chin in the spot that made her rumble with pleasure. "Even when you're being cryptic and difficult."
*Not-cryptic-very-clear-human-just-dense*
"Did my dragon just call me dense?"
*Yes-affection-though-still-dense*
"Fantastic. Even my own dragon thinks I'm slow."
The expedition consisted of Harry, Neville, Bill, and Hagrid. Four people who could handle themselves if things went wrong, but not so many that they'd attract unwanted attention. They'd chosen a different section of ruins this time—farther from the central plaza where they'd given mercy to the stone men, closer to what Bill's maps suggested had been a temple district.
"Religious centers," Bill explained as they picked their way through broken streets. "The Valyrians worshipped dozens of gods. Most of them related to fire or dragons or both. Their temples were supposedly magnificent—and often contained significant treasures."
"Also a lot of curses," Neville added. He'd become surprisingly good at sensing dangerous magic, his Herbology expertise translating to an instinct for magical ecosystems. "Religious curses are the worst. People get very creative when they think they're protecting their gods' honor."
"Cheery thought," Harry muttered.
"Just being realistic."
The temple district was less damaged than some areas they'd explored. The buildings here had been constructed with even more care than usual, with wards worked into their very foundations. Even the Doom hadn't completely destroyed them—they stood like broken teeth, still defiant after four centuries.
Fury circled overhead, her presence a comfort. Through their bond, Harry could feel her certainty. They were close to whatever she sensed. Very close.
*There-below-underground-hidden-important-FIND*
"She's insistent," Harry said, pointing to a partially collapsed structure that looked like it had once been a pyramid. "Says what we're looking for is underground. In there."
"Of course it is," Bill sighed. "It's never in a nice, easily accessible location. Always underground. Always booby-trapped. Always—"
He stopped. Stared at the entrance. "Oh. Oh no."
"What?" Neville asked.
"Those runes." Bill pointed to the carvings around the doorway, partially obscured by four centuries of ash. "Those are *very* old. Pre-Freehold old. We're not talking Valyrian civilization. We're talking whatever came *before* Valyria."
"Is that bad?" Harry asked.
"It's *complicated*," Bill replied. "The Valyrians built on older sites. Much older. There are theories that they didn't invent dragon-bonding or blood magic—they learned it from something that came before. Something ancient."
"Something that might still be here?" Neville asked quietly.
"Something that might still be *active*," Bill corrected.
Fury's presence in Harry's mind was insistent. Whatever was down there, she wanted—no, *needed*—him to find it. The pull was almost physical, a tug on his consciousness that wouldn't be ignored.
"I'm going in," Harry decided. "You lot can wait here if you want."
"Don't be daft," Neville said immediately. "We're not letting you go alone."
"Absolutely not," Hagrid rumbled. "I didn't pull yeh from the Black Lake seven years ago just ter watch yeh get yerself killed in some cursed temple."
"I'm a curse-breaker," Bill said. "This is literally my job. Well, the reverse of my job. Usually I'm breaking into these places for Gringotts. Same principle though."
They entered together, wands lit, moving carefully through corridors that had been ancient when Old Valyria was young. The air here felt different—not just toxic like the rest of the ruins, but *heavy*. Weighted with time and magic and something else Harry couldn't quite identify.
The passage descended. Down and down, stone steps worn smooth by thousands of feet over thousands of years. The walls were carved with images that made Harry's eyes hurt if he looked too long—geometric patterns that suggested meaning just beyond comprehension.
"Don't stare at the walls," Bill warned. "Those patterns are hypnotic. Designed to trap intruders in loops of circular thinking until they forget why they came here."
"How do we avoid that?" Neville asked.
"By talking," Bill said. "Keep conversation going. Keep your mind engaged with external stimuli rather than internal contemplation."
"Right then," Hagrid said. "Anyone want ter hear about the time I tried ter breed Blast-Ended Skrewts with Acromantulas?"
"No," three voices said simultaneously.
"Yer loss. Would've been fascinatin'."
"Would've been illegal," Harry pointed out.
"Well, yes, but interestingly illegal."
They descended for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes—time was strange here, moving at its own pace. The stairs ended at a massive door, bronze turned green with age, covered in more of those mind-bending patterns.
And in the center, a single word in a language Harry didn't recognize but somehow understood:
*WITNESS*
"That's ominous," Neville observed.
"Everything here is ominous," Bill replied. "The question is, is it dangerously ominous or just aesthetically ominous?"
"Only one way to find out," Harry said, reaching for the door.
The moment his hand touched the bronze, the door *sang*.
Not with sound—with something deeper. A vibration that resonated in his bones, in his blood, in the connection he shared with Fury. The dragon's presence in his mind intensified, and suddenly Harry wasn't just Harry anymore.
He was Harry-and-Fury, two beings sharing one perspective. He could see through her eyes, feel her wings catching thermal currents high above the ruins, sense her absolute certainty that what lay beyond this door was *vital*.
The door swung open silently, revealing a chamber beyond.
It was enormous. Easily the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, with a domed ceiling that disappeared into darkness. And in the center, on a raised platform—
An egg.
Not dragon-sized. Not the modest eggs they'd found in the Valyrian vault. This was *massive*. Easily twelve feet tall, maybe more, resting on a pedestal of black stone that seemed to drink in light.
"That's not a dragon egg," Bill breathed. "That's too large. Even Balerion the Dread—the largest dragon ever recorded—his egg wouldn't have been this big."
"Then what is it?" Neville asked.
The egg *pulsed*.
Not with light. With sound. The same sound Harry had heard once before, years ago, at Dumbledore's funeral.
Phoenix song.
Pure and clear and achingly beautiful, the melody filled the chamber. It spoke of rebirth and sacrifice and the eternal cycle of death and renewal. It promised hope without demanding belief. It offered power without asking for submission.
Harry found himself walking toward it without conscious decision. His feet moved on their own, drawn by the song, by something in his blood that recognized this as *important*. As *necessary*.
"Harry!" Bill's voice was distant, concerned. "Harry, wait—we need to check for traps—"
But Harry wasn't waiting. Couldn't wait. The song called to him, and through him, to Fury. The bond between rider and dragon thrummed with resonance, harmonizing with the phoenix song until Harry couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
He reached the pedestal. Placed both hands on the egg's surface.
It was warm. Not hot, but comfortably warm, like stones that had been sitting in summer sun. The shell was smooth but not quite—there was texture to it, patterns he could feel but not see, raised bumps that might have been scales or feathers or something in between.
*Welcome, dragon-kin*, a voice said. Not in his head. Not exactly. In his *bones*. In the space between heartbeats. *You have come far. Crossed worlds. Died and lived. You are worthy.*
"Worthy of what?" Harry asked aloud.
*Of witnessing. Of choosing. Of carrying forward what was lost.*
The egg cracked.
Not violently. Gently. Deliberately. A single fissure appeared at the top, then spread in a spiral pattern down the shell's length. Golden light—pure, clean, nothing like the corrupted magic that permeated the rest of Old Valyria—spilled from the cracks.
"Everyone back!" Bill shouted, pulling Hagrid and Neville away from the pedestal. "Whatever's in there—we don't know if it's hostile—"
The egg shattered. Not broke—*shattered*, shell falling away in perfectly symmetrical pieces that disintegrated into motes of light before they could hit the ground.
And in the center, where the egg had been—
A phoenix.
Not like Fawkes had been—Dumbledore's phoenix had been magnificent, certainly, but this was something else entirely. This bird was *ancient*. Larger than any phoenix Harry had seen, with plumage that shifted between crimson and gold and white, as if it couldn't decide what color it should be or perhaps was all colors at once.
Its eyes were the same gold as Fury's. The same as Silverwing's. The same as every dragon Harry had ever seen.
*Phoenix and dragon are kin*, the voice said, and Harry realized it was the bird speaking. Not with words but with *meaning* transmitted directly to his mind. *Before your people separated us into different species, we were one. Fire-born. Sky-blessed. We chose different paths—your dragons chose power and dominion, we chose sacrifice and renewal. But we remember. We remember being one.*
"What are you?" Harry breathed.
*I am memory. I am possibility. I am the last of what we were before we divided. And I am yours, Harry Potter, if you will have me.*
"Mine?"
*You are bonded to a dragon. You carry her strength, her fire, her essence. But you are still human—still capable of choice, of change, of growth that dragons cannot manage. You are perfect balance. And I would join that balance. Be part of your partnership. Complete the trinity—human, dragon, phoenix. Three made one.*
Harry felt Fury's response through their bond. Not jealousy. Not suspicion. *Welcome-kin-join-pack-stronger-together*
"What would that mean?" Harry asked. "What would happen if I accepted?"
*You would carry phoenix fire as well as dragon fire. You would gain our gifts—healing, song, the ability to rise from death itself. But you would also take on our limitations. Phoenix fire burns away darkness, yes. But it also burns away lies. Deceptions. False certainties. You would find it harder to lie, even to yourself. You would be more... honest. For better and worse.*
"That doesn't sound like a limitation," Neville said quietly. He'd approached despite Bill's warnings, drawn by the phoenix song. "That sounds like a gift."
*It is both. Honesty is powerful. But it is also painful. To see the world clearly, without comforting illusions—that is a burden.*
Harry thought about it. Really thought about it. He was already bonded to Fury—already part dragon in ways that went beyond magic. Adding a phoenix to that bond would make him something unprecedented. Something that had never existed before.
Something that might be exactly what they needed.
"Yes," Harry said. "I accept. Whatever that means. Whatever it costs. Yes."
The phoenix spread its wings—easily a twelve-foot span—and *sang*.
This was different from before. Not invitation. Not explanation. This was *becoming*.
Fire erupted from the bird, golden and pure, and swept over Harry like a wave. He should have burned. Should have been ash in an instant. But instead, the fire felt like coming home. Like every time he'd cast a Patronus or felt Fury's presence through their bond or stood with his friends and family and known—absolutely *known*—that they would face anything together.
The fire didn't destroy. It *joined*.
Harry felt the phoenix merge with him, felt its essence twining with his and with Fury's, creating something that was three beings but also one. He felt his magic *expand*, felt new capabilities unfold like wings he'd never known he had.
And through it all, he heard the song. Phoenix song and dragon song and his own heartbeat, harmonizing into something beautiful and terrible and absolutely, undeniably *real*.
When the fire faded, Harry stood on the pedestal, unchanged externally but fundamentally different internally. The phoenix perched on his shoulder—it had shrunk, or perhaps Harry had grown, he couldn't tell—its weight comfortable and right.
*We are bonded*, the phoenix said. *I am yours. You are mine. We are Fury's. We are one. You may call me Prometheus.*
"Prometheus," Harry repeated. "The one who brought fire to humanity."
*The one who chose to give freely what others would hoard. Yes. That seemed appropriate.*
Bill was staring, his curse-breaker instincts clearly screaming at him but his scientific curiosity winning out. "That's impossible. Phoenix bonding doesn't work that way. They choose one person, yes, but they don't *merge*. They maintain their own identity."
*I am not a normal phoenix*, Prometheus said, and everyone could hear him now. *I am the last of the old phoenixes. The ones who knew dragons as siblings. Before we split. Before we chose different paths. I am memory and possibility. And now I am Harry's.*
"This is mental," Neville breathed. "Completely mental. You're bonded to a dragon *and* a phoenix. That's—you're going to be impossible to kill now. Phoenixes resurrect. Dragons are nearly indestructible. And you've got both."
"It's more than that," Hagrid said, his voice filled with wonder. "Look at him. Really look."
Harry wasn't sure what they were seeing, but he could feel it. His magic felt *different*. Cleaner. More powerful. Like the connection with Fury had enhanced his wizarding abilities, and now the connection with Prometheus had refined them further.
He raised his hand experimentally, not even using his wand, and *fire* came. Not dragon fire—that was Fury's domain. This was phoenix fire, golden and pure and absolutely under his control.
"I think," Harry said slowly, "we might have just found a significant tactical advantage."
*We are more than tactical*, Prometheus said, sounding almost offended. *We are partnership. We are hope. We are the possibility of redemption through fire.*
"Also very useful in a fight," Harry pointed out.
*Well, yes. That too.*
They made their way back to the surface, Harry adjusting to the new weight of Prometheus on his shoulder and the new presence in his mind. It was different from the bond with Fury—more verbal, more philosophical, where Fury communicated in emotions and images.
*That is because dragons are primal*, Prometheus explained. *They exist in the moment. We phoenixes contemplate. We consider. We *remember*. Together, you have both immediacy and reflection. Acting and thinking. Very useful for a human trying not to make catastrophically stupid decisions.*
"I don't make catastrophically stupid decisions," Harry objected.
Neville, Bill, and Hagrid all coughed simultaneously in ways that suggested disagreement.
"One time," Harry said. "I made one catastrophically stupid decision."
"The Chamber of Secrets," Neville started counting on his fingers.
"The Triwizard Tournament," Bill added.
"Going after Sirius in the Department of Mysteries," Hagrid continued.
"The Horcrux hunt," all three said together.
"Fine," Harry conceded. "Maybe I make a lot of catastrophically stupid decisions. But they usually work out."
*Usually is not the same as always*, Prometheus observed.
"I'm starting to think you're going to be annoying."
*I'm starting to think you need me to be annoying. Someone has to provide impulse control.*
"That's Hermione's job."
*Hermione cannot be with you every moment. I can. I am literally part of you now. There is no escape from my wisdom.*
"This is going to be interesting," Neville muttered.
When they emerged from the underground temple, Fury was waiting. The Hungarian Horntail had landed near the entrance, and now she approached Harry with that particular intensity that meant she had Opinions.
*New-addition-acceptable?* she asked, eyeing Prometheus.
*Very acceptable*, Prometheus replied, apparently capable of communicating with Fury directly. *We are kin. Fire-siblings. We will work well together.*
Fury rumbled—a sound that might have been approval or might have been skepticism. Then she lowered her head, allowing Prometheus to hop from Harry's shoulder to hers.
*Pack*, Fury decided. *Odd-pack. Strange-pack. But good-pack.*
"That went better than expected," Bill observed.
"I was half-expecting her to try eating the phoenix," Harry admitted.
*I would not recommend that*, Prometheus said dryly. *Phoenix digestion is notoriously uncomfortable for the digestive system in question. We tend to explode violently when consumed.*
"Good to know," Harry said. "I'll add that to the list of 'Things That Will Make My Dragon Regret Her Life Choices.'"
They flew back to *The Phoenix Rising*—and wasn't that name suddenly even more appropriate?—with Harry riding Fury while Prometheus perched on the dragon's head, apparently entirely comfortable with this arrangement.
The others were waiting on deck, and the moment they saw Prometheus, the questions started.
"Is that a phoenix?"
"Where did you find a phoenix?"
"Can I hold the phoenix?"
"Does it burst into flame like Fawkes did?"
"Is it tame?"
*I am not 'tame'*, Prometheus said, his voice carrying to everyone. *I am bonded. There is a significant difference. And yes, I can burst into flame. Yes, I can heal. Yes, I sing. No, you cannot 'hold' me as if I were a pet. I am a partner, not a toy.*
"The phoenix is sassy," Ron observed.
"The phoenix has standards," Prometheus corrected.
"I like him," Sirius decided. "He fits right in with our general aesthetic of powerful magical creatures who don't take shit from anyone."
"That's our aesthetic?" Hermione asked.
"Have you met our dragons?" Sirius replied. "Or us, for that matter?"
"Fair point."
Daenerys approached carefully, her silver-violet eyes studying Prometheus with intense interest. "You're bonded to Harry? The way we're bonded to our dragons?"
*More completely*, Prometheus said. *The dragon bonds were performed with Valryon's blood, creating connections that run soul-deep. My bond with Harry is different. We are not just connected. We are *merged*. Three consciousnesses—human, dragon, phoenix—sharing one existence while maintaining individual identity.*
"Is that even possible?" Hermione asked, immediately pulling out parchment to take notes.
*Apparently*, Prometheus replied.
"Can the rest of us do it?" Fleur asked. "Bond with phoenixes as well as dragons?"
*Possibly. But not with me. I am the last of the old phoenixes. There are younger ones—descendants of the path we chose. But they bond differently. Less completely. You would need to find one willing to join an existing dragon bond, which is... unprecedented.*
"So Harry's unique again," Ron said. "Typical. The Boy Who Lived becomes the Boy Who Collected Every Possible Magical Bond."
"I don't collect them," Harry protested. "They just... happen to me."
"Like how Voldemort 'just happened' to mark you as his equal?" Ginny asked dryly.
"Exactly like that. None of this is my fault."
"Keep telling yourself that, mate."
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Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!