You, my knight, descend into the sanctuary beneath the castle, and on a stone bier in the centre lies your cursed, sleeping prince, ensconced by a veil. You notice it breathes with a warm wind that you cannot sense.
There is a thick, even layer of grime on every surface. No one has come this far in centuries.
Long ago, Lord Dumbledore cursed the wicked and cruel prince of this castle: the prince would sleep on until a righteous-hearted sponsor volunteered to guide the prince in all things, promising so until their deaths.
I see the old story has always bothered you–the prince’s crimes were never detailed, and to be tied to a guide all one’s life is just eternal imprisonment. You are a man who's never had a bed, who’s been sleeping in stables since boyhood, so you have always felt kinship for the prince.
You remove your helmet and I know your name is Harry. You are drenched in sweat, even though you had freed the dragon guard instead of slain it. Foolish–regardless of how old a dragon is, you will be rescuing towns from it all your life. You are perfect.
You stand above the sleeping prince and part the veil. It was so old and brittle it tore at your touch and became like lace.
The prince’s face is young, yes. I can see you are surprised. And that your eyes linger on the rings on his fingers, and then on his lips.
I see you second-guessing yourself, whether you should do what you must.
Soft sounds brush through the torn veil. You shiver like it’s a cold wind. You hear me shushing you, hithering you in. Don’t be concerned, I hiss. You are perfect.
You lower, bracing yourself on the bier, so careful not to touch more than you ought. You close your eyes, prepare your heart, and pray you are righteous enough to break the curse. Your lips touch mine.
I am pulled, caressing the mail on your chest, through your mouth into mine, and I wake.
I see the reflection of myself in your eyes, and the flashbacks of the dragon you released. My whole, red eyes, my slitted pupils–I’d forgotten how astounding a being I am.
You flinch away, Harry, and I follow, rising undead from my bier.
“You are–”
“I. Am. Magic,” I breathe. My throat burns, flexing with fire, and wings burst from me like a throne. You lean away from me but I bring you back to me, my tail against your spine. “And you are Harry. My bonded. My willing slave.”
You show teeth. “Not likely.”
You amaze me, Harry. I am delighted already.
“As you wish,” I say. I cannot keep from grinning. “You are aware of the condition: only with a righteous guide will I be free. All you must do is be unrighteous, and you curse me once more.”
“Then don’t be cruel.”
I laugh. “You will be mine forever, Harry.”