"He all but succeeded, but for thee," he snaps, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He stays like that, shoulders hunched, for what feels an interminable time. He hate to say this, or even to think it, but they've no more armies, no more rebellions, no more leverage over the crown -- save for this. Harry cares not a whit whether Hal must face his full moons alone and afraid.

And yet.