A Song of Ice and Fiendfyre


Today, I bid farewell to my twenties as I turn 30 years old. In celebration of this, I decided to put this little story together. It is my first delving into crossover territory, so please, be kind.


Harry casted another warming charm over himself, the magic doing little to relieve the coldness that had seeped into his very bones. He had been cold before, but not like this. This was a cold that could not be kept at bay, a coldness that seemed to freeze the very soul. Had he not been a wizard, he had no doubt that he would have perished long before he reached this place.

For weeks, he had persevered through the snow, now no longer sure where he was. He had begun in the North Pole with little more than some basic camping equipment, his broom, the Sword of Gryffindor and food to complete this journey, one he did not expect to be so difficult. The Sword was to harvest a few branches of the mythical wood for his growing collection of artefacts. It would not do to arrive, and it be impervious to magic. It had been lent to him by the Sorting Hat who reluctantly agreed that he had once proven his worth to wield it and could do so again with the promise that it be returned to him in due course.

Harry had agreed and had set off, a decision he had started to regret.

The little book that had been his guide, had been rather lacking on information about this undertaking, a simple sentence being all that was given.

Yggdrasil, the northern most part of our world.

That had been it. Eight words that had spurred him on what he now believed to be a foolish venture, all for a tree.

He shook his head as he pushed on. He could apparate away and return home, but the others would be proven right. All had refused to join him on this one because of how vague the text had been, had even branded him an idiot. Harry was of a different thought. Thus far, the book had not let him down and he wasn't going to start doubting it now, nor would he admit defeat. He had always been stubborn to a fault and that was unlikely to change any time in the future.

The warming charm became his most valued spell quickly. Any fire he conjured would be snuffed out, which only served to steel his resolve and urge him forward. There was magic here. He could feel it in the air even through the icy wind and magic was exactly what he had been looking for.

He pressed on, his legs tiring and his broom useless in these conditions. It was when he crested a large hill and was confronted with another that he saw it in the distance. Against all odds stood a tree as white as the snow around him but adorned with leaves as red as blood. A wave of energy overcame him as he plodded through the snow, his breathing heavy as he fought to reach it. As he did, he released an uproarious laugh of victory, already planning to rub his success in the face of the doubters. It was unlikely they would regret joining him after what he'd had to endure to be here, but he didn't care. He had been right to trust the book.

Running his hand along the bark, he frowned at the magic. It wasn't like anything he had ever felt before. This was old, even older than what he had come across in Egypt though this wasn't as strong. Whatever this place had once been, the magic had faded considerably.

"Harry…" a voice whispered, whether it was in the wind or in his mind, he could not be certain. It mattered not. Nothing good had ever come from hearing voices. He was reminded of the chamber of secrets, the whispering witch and the veil in the ministry.

He shuddered once more as he drew his wand.

"Who's there?" he questioned.

"The tree, Harry…I'm inside the tree…"

A frown marred his features as the roots by his feet parted to form a large opening.

"Oh, this isn't good," he muttered as he lit the tip of his wand and entered against his better judgement.

He found himself in a large tunnel, reminiscent of the Whomping Willow on the Hogwarts' grounds. He pushed aside the memories of Pettigrew escaping and being swarmed by a horde of Dementors as he made his way through the tunnel, his mouth falling agape as he came upon an ancient man with the roots of the tree growing through his limbs seemingly assimilating him as part of it.

"Merlin, that looks painful," he commented.

The man laughed as he shook his head.

"Quite the opposite. The tree sustains me and I it. I have been waiting for you, Harry Potter."

"How do you know my name?" Harry questioned, tightening his grip around his wand.

"I have been watching you, have seen the feats you have achieved. Even in the wondrous world that has come to be, you are extraordinary."

The stare of the man unsettled him. From his oddly penetrating, blue eyes to the white hair, everything about him was unsettling.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded.

"I am the Three-eyed Raven," the man introduced himself. "I was once known as Brandon Stark, in a time so long ago."

"And now you are a tree?"

"Much more than a tree," the man disagreed. "I am the eyes of the old gods. I can see all that has happened, what is happening as we speak, and even what is yet to come."

"Great, a bloody seer," Harry grumbled. "Whatever it is you have to say, I'm not interested. The last time a seer interfered in my life, my parents were murdered, I ended up travelling back in time and had to kill a Dark Lord. I've had enough of your lot to last me a lifetime."

"I know. I have seen the path you have walked, all that you sacrificed to survive. It is because of this that I called to you, visited you in your dreams."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man.

"You're that bloody crow?" he seethed.

For months, his dreams had been plagued by the vision of a crow almost pleading with him to follow. Harry had ignored it as best he could. He hated those dreams. Without fail, he would wake up in a cold sweat.

The man nodded.

"I would perhaps have visited, but as you can see, that option is not viable for me. We must use what we have at our disposal."

"So, what is it you want with me?" he sighed irritably.

"Nothing more than what you have already achieved," the man assured him. "The land I call home was here once, many hundreds of years ago. Life as we knew it was brought to an end by the long night."

"The long night?"

"The rising of a powerful enemy not so dissimilar to your kind now. He led an army numbering greater than any ever seen, bringing an end to humanity as it once was. Our king managed to vanquish him, but it was already too late. He died as the last of us, the enemy returning to whence they came and leaving the land as you see it now."

It was quite the tale, something that The Beedle and the Bard would be proud of.

"If any of that is true, then why haven't we ever heard of it?"

"It is lost history," the man shrugged. "When none survive to tell the story, it dies with them. Perhaps there are things to be found out there, but very few have ever come so far north. Those that have are not seeking stories or treasures of old."

"Except for me," Harry corrected.

"Indeed, and you shall have much more should you agree to assist my people. We northerners are proud men and we stand by those that have helped us."

Harry released a deep breath. Though his voice was bereft of emotion, it was easy to see how much the loss of his people had affected him. The words of Hermione rang in his ears as his 'saving people thing' reared its head.

"What exactly can I do to help you?"

"As I said, nothing more than you have already done. I can take you there, to my home. My younger self will be able to explain better. I find that in my advanced years, I tend to ramble."

Harry snorted slightly as he was reminded of his mentor. He had often questioned if the man had always been such a human riddle.

"How can you take me there? I time-travelled twenty years into the past and that was enough for me," Harry huffed. "You said it was hundreds of years ago."

"It was, but you have the benefit of my assistance. As I said, I can take you there."

"And bring me home?" Harry demanded.

"Of course," the Three-eyed Raven confirmed.

"Bloody hell. Why is it always me?" Harry moaned. "Alright, I'll help you, but I want some of this tree when I get back."

"It shall be yours," the man agreed. "Now, grab hold of one of the roots and I will take you to where and when you need to be."

Harry did so, cursing himself for getting involved in the first place and all so that he could take some wood from a damned tree.


The singing of the steel as he dragged the whetstone up the length of his blade did little to calm his thoughts. The Night King was coming, Winter was coming, and both would be here in only two days' time.

Winterfell had been abuzz with activity in preparation for the past moon, and though he would never voice it, he believed that it would all be for naught.

He had witnessed the power of the Night King first-hand when he had attacked Hardhome and even more so when he had taken Viserion from the sky with a single spear. Jon Snow had little hope that they could win even with the dragons. They were outnumbered and faced a force they could not comprehend. When the dead came for them, it would be only to add to their numbers. They cared not for glory nor for gold. Their only aim was to end all that was living and bring eternal coldness.

"He's coming, Jon," Bran repeated.

Jon shook his head as he continued to sharpen Longclaw. It had been the same for the past days. Bran would spend much of his time by the Weirwood tree, proclaiming that the help they needed was coming. At first, he had believed he meant the army of the south was honouring their word, that the forces of men would come together to battle a common enemy, but that notion had been pissed all over with arrival of a lone Jaime Lannister. It had taken all his control to not run the man through with his sword when he informed them of Cersei's treachery.

He was pulled from his musings by Bran.

"He's here," he announced, a ghost of a smile puling at his lips.

Jon stood suddenly as the roots of the Weirwood opened and a man tumbled out of the gap cursing under his breath.

"Crazy old bastard," he grumbled as he pulled himself to his feet and brushed off the snow on his clothes.

"Who are you?" Jon asked/

"Who the bloody hell are you?" the man returned.

He was taller than John, though he was no Sandor Clegane, and stood strong, his very strange garments, certainly not suited to the conditions, doing little to hide his muscular frame. The most noticeable feature about him, however, was the piercing green eyes that stared back at him.

"My name is Jon Snow, King in the North," Jon answered.

"Harry Potter," the man returned simply.

"He is here to help, Jon," Bran broke in.

Jon raised an eyebrow at the man. He looked as though he could handle himself well enough, but he was no army. He was but one more sword.

"I appreciate it. We need all the men we can get," he sighed as he placed Longclaw in its' scabbard. "I'll put you with Beric's men. You're not opposed to fire, are you?"

Harry shook his head.

"Fire is fine, just so long as it keeps me warm," he replied blowing into his cupped hands to warm them.

"Jon," Bran called. "Harry is not just another man like us. He is something else. Show him, Harry."

"Show him?"

Bran nodded.

"He will need to see to believe."

Harry released a deep breath as he flicked his wand into his and sent a stream of fire to the ground, clearing the snow around his feet.

"What the fuck was that?" Jon questioned, drawing his sword once more.

"Fire spell," Harry shrugged.

"Harry has magic," Bran explained.

"We don't have time for tricks, Bran," Jon chastised.

"They're not tricks, Jon," Bran returned. "Show him something else."

Jon looked on in amazement as the man muttered something and a white dragon shot from the end of his wand and flew around them, warming the godswood considerably.

"No tricks," Harry clarified as he changed his outfit to something more suitable with a wave of his wand.

"Seven hells," Jon whispered in awe. "What else can you do?"

"More than enough," Bran interjected. "I brought him here because he will be able to kill the Night King."


"Yes, Jon. Harry can put an end to the war. You just worry about the army of the dead and let Harry handle him."

"Dead?" Harry questioned with a frown. "You mean inferi. Dead bodies that walk around and try to rip you limb from limb."

"The dead," Jon confirmed with a severe nod.

"Bollocks," Harry huffed. "I hate inferi."

"Inferi?" Jon questioned.

"That is what Harry calls wights," Bran answered.

"And this Night King?"

"He has magic too. He can raise the dead to fight for him."

"A bloody necromancer?" Harry moaned. "Merlin what mess have you gotten me into? How many of the buggers are there?"

"Around one hundred thousand," Jon answered.

"And how many men do you have?"

"Around eighty thousand."

Harry released a deep breath as he nodded.

"It's doable, but you didn't mention an army of the dead," he grumbled, an accusing finger pointed at the boy in the wheelchair.

"So, you think you can help us?" Jon asked.

"I can," Harry affirmed.

The other man smiled at him, something that seemed to be an alien gesture at he put an arm around his shoulder and began leading him towards a gate.

"In that case, the queen will want to meet you. She's a formidable woman but fair. Just don't insult her and you will be fine."

"My wife is a formidable woman. I doubt your queen has anything on her, mate," Harry returned.

Jon doubted the words of the man. He had yet to meet a woman as tough as Daenerys Targaryen and he had grown in the north.

"TORMUND!" he called, spotting the tell-tale red hair of the man as he walked towards the keep.

His friend waited for them to approach, his eyes narrowed questioningly at the other with him.

"Crow," he greeted with a nod, his stare never leaving the stranger. "Who's your pretty friend?"

"This is Harry. He's going to help us against the Night King."

Tormund nodded as his eyes roamed over Harry.

"Can you fight boy?"

Harry nodded.

"Can you fuck? You'll need to be able to do both to survive the North."

"He will be more useful to us than you know. Just, stay with him whilst I speak to the queen."

"Aye, I'll take care of him. Tell me, lad, have you ever fucked in the snow? Snow so cold that your pecker will drop off if it isn't kept in a warm cunt?"

"Tormund!" Jon chided.

"I just want to know what he's made of," the redhead defended.

Harry laughed the questions off. He had spent much of his life around Sirius Black. There was very little that could shock him.

"Just stay with him. I'll come and get you soon," Jon sighed as he entered the keep.

"Are you a Weasley?"

"What the fuck is one of them?" was the last thing he heard when warmth washed over him.


Daenerys picked sullenly at one of the oranges she had brought north. She wasn't hungry but she felt the need to keep her hands busy the closer the dead drew near. She had all the faith in the world in her children, but she had seen the enemy. She had seen just what was coming for them one of her dragons had already been taken from her. She would not run, that wasn't who she was, but it was difficult to see how they could snatch victory against such an enemy.

Her army was one of the summer, her Dothraki and Unsullied having never experienced the hardship of cold until now. They were struggling to adjust, but they too would fight. How effectively they could, she did not know.

She watched with a soft smile as Jon Snow entered the hall, the northerners within falling to their knees in deference. It was strange to see it. The people here were stubborn to a fault and yet they bent the knee to him as though he were a god.

She had heard of his prowess on the battlefield, his tenacity and insistence of leading his men into the fray. He was a leader she could respect, a man of strength as unyielding as the people that had chosen him to wear their crown.

"My Queen," he greeted her with a slight bow, "someone has arrived that I believe you should meet."

"Someone? Not the army that we were promised?"

Jon shook his head.

"No, but he may well prove to be better. Bran brought him here. I watched him arrive through the Weirwood."

Daenerys frowned sceptically. Had Jon been driven mad by the thought of what's coming?

"He's a magic user," he continued. "Not like the ones we have here."

"I have no trust of those claiming to use magic," Daenerys seethed through gritted teeth. "They are either charlatans or people who bring nothing but pain and misery."

"I know, but what choice do we have?" he asked, his grey eyes boring into the violet of her own. "You want to save these people as much as I. All I'm asking is that you meet him and if you see fit, I will lock him in the dungeons."

Jon had proven to her that he was not one for fanciful tales. She had made the mistake of not believing him about the approaching dead and it had cost her Viserion.

"I will agree to meet with him. Where is he?"

"With Tormund," Jon answered with a slight smirk. "I will get him."

"Missandel? We will be joined by a guest shortly. An introduction if you will."

The girl from Naath gestured for the guards to step forward, a dozen of the best unsullied led by Greyworm. She noticed the youngest stark girl draw a dagger from where she sat at the table and the hound place a hand on the pommel of his great sword.

The queen would be well-protected if this proved to be an assassination attempt.

"What is happening, your grace?" Tyrion questioned from his place next to the queen.

"We have a visitor, Lord Tyrion."

"Do we know whom?"

"One that appeared from the tree in the godswood, according to Jon Snow."

Tyrion frowned, his scar twisting grotesquely across his face as those within the hall waited in anticipation. The room remained silent until the door opened admitting the king in the north, Tormund Giantsbane and a man that was not familiar to them.

He appeared to be relaxed as his roamed the walls of the hall, almost indifferent to the fact that there were dozens of armed people ready to cut him down should he even take a step I the wrong direction as he approached the top table With Sandor Clegane following him closely.

"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains," Missandei spoke aloud.

Harry frowned at the lengthy introduction. He wasn't certain if it was supposed to impress or intimidate him. It achieved neither of those things.

"I'm Harry Potter," he replied with a shrug.

"No other titles?" a silver-haired woman questioned with a raised brow.

He noticed the crown perched above her brow and offered a slight nod in recognition to her position.

"Not any you would be interested in hearing," he returned, fighting the urge to cringe as he realised he had just as many, if not more monikers than her.

"Your grace," Clegane growled. "You address her with her correct title."

Harry looked up at the man and chuckled.

"Listen, mate, I know a guy with more scars than you could ever hope to match, and I'm not frightened of him. You have no chance so why don't you bugger off?"

Clegane growled as he drew his sword.

"I bet that cunt couldn't cut you in half with one swing."

Again, Harry laughed.

"No, but he wouldn't need a sword to try either."

"Clegane," Jon interjected.

The large man flared his nostrils but replaced his blade with a grunt.

Jon breathed a sigh of relief and gave a nod to Daenerys to continue.

"I understand that you may be able to help us with the dead," she stated coolly.

"That's what the guy in the tree brought me here for. He said you were out of your depth and you needed help, so here I am."

"A man in a tree?"

"Yeah, really old man, blue eyes, said something about being a Raven named Stark or something," Harry shrugged.

"Do you mean Bran?" Jon asked.

"Yeah but he wasn't that young where I came from. Said he was hundreds of years old."

"And just where did you come from?" Daenerys pressed.

"England," Harry answered.

Daenerys frowned. It was clear that she had never heard of the place.

"And just how do you think you can help us, warlock?"

"I was sent here to kill some king that can raise the dead," Harry replied.

"You're going to go up against the Night King willingly?" Daenerys followed up disbelievingly. "What is in it for you?"

"Some wood from that white tree," Harry answered. "Look, I said I'll kill him. You either want my help or you don't. If you don't, I'll go home. I'm sick of the cold as it is."

"I mean no offense, but do you know exactly what it is you will be facing?" Tyrion piped up.

"A necromancer. I'm not too worried about him, it's the bloody inferi I hate."

"Inferi?" Daenerys broke in once more.

"Wights," Jon confirmed, "that's what Harry calls them."

"And you have fought them before?"

Harry nodded.

"More times than I'd like. A bit of fire usually sorts them out, but I've not taken out one hundred thousand of them."

"Fire is something we have much of," Tyrion explained. "The Night king seems to be impervious to it. We are hoping that the few Valyrian Steel weapons we have may give us a chance of killing him."

"I have no idea what that is," Harry huffed. "I have a sword but I'm not foolish enough to try to fight so many with it."

"Just how do you plan on fighting the Night King if not with a sword?" Missandei asked the burning question.

"With this," Harry confirmed as he drew his wand.

"A stick?" Daenerys questioned as she shot Jon a venomous look. "You come here to mock me? I was a fool to entertain this. GUARDS!"

As one, the Unsullied stepped forwards with their spears lowered as they marched towards the strange man, the clattering of their armour drowning out the protestations of the King in the North.

Before her soldiers could even get close, Harry gave his wand a furious wave, ripping the weapons from their hands, turning them and pressing their own blades against their necks.

Daenerys could only look on in shock at the turn of events. Had she not seen it with her own eyes, she would not have believed it. Both Tyrion and Jaime paled at the look of fury the man wore.

"I come here to try to help you and you try to kill me?" Harry hissed, his eyes alight with emerald flame, reminiscent of the wildfire burning on the Blackwater.

The room could only look on helplessly, their breath held as this strange man held a dozen men at spearpoint.

Ever the diplomat, Tyrion tried to intervene.

"Harry, you must understand that we thought you were mocking us in our hour of need. What you can do, is not something we have ever seen. We have those that claim to be warlocks and other things but none like you. Please, you have my apologies. Our emotions a rather high at the moment."

Those within breathed a collective sigh of relief as the spears dropped to the ground.

"If anyone else attempts to attack me, I will kill them. I'm here because I was asked to be. You can either take my help or I will go home," Harry offered.

"We will take it," Jon answered. "We need him Dany."

Daenerys nodded unhappily. What she had witnessed was nothing short of incredible.

"Fine," she agreed, "but if you harm any within these walls, I will feed you to my dragons."

Harry smirked at the woman before bursting into laughter.

"I am not frightened of dragons. I have dealt with them before."

"So, you know my family?"

Harry shook his head.

"Where I'm from, we have dragons, some wild and some kept in reserves. Mostly nice creatures when left alone by people."

"They are my children," Daenerys defended.

"I'm not judging. I'm just saying, our dragons cannot be tamed."

"A dragon is not a slave," Daenerys returned.

"Wise words," Harry praised. "So, how long until this army of inferi arrive?"


"Allow me to make some introductions before we begin," Jon requested as the large group gathered around a table in the hall of Winterfell. "You already know me, Bran, Tormund and Her Grace, Daenerys," he clarified. "He we have Tyrion and Jaime Lannister," he continued indicating the two, "Sandor Clegane, Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr. Greyworm is the leader of the Unsullied and Rakharro, the Dothraki, Ser Davos Seaworth and the two ladies are my sisters, Arya and Sansa Stark."

"And you're Snow?" Harry questioned.

"It's…complicated. My father was a Stark but my mother not his wife," he explained shooting a warning glance towards Daenerys.

"So, you don't get his name because of that?"

"He's a bastard," Tyrion sighed. "A child born out of wedlock."

Harry chuckled as he shook his head at the absurdity.

"That's a bit harsh," he commented. "Where I'm from, lots of kids are born out of wedlock. We don't call them bastards."

"Aye, same with the freefolk," Tormund said approvingly. "These bloody kneelers have to have a name for everything."

Harry didn't even pretend to understand half of what the man referred to.

"Anyway," Jon broke in, wanting to divert the conversation away from the circumstances of his birth. "We are expecting them to arrive within two days. They will approach from the north and will likely attack the front of the castle," he explained, pointing to the relevant parts on a map spread across the table. "Sorry, I don't mean to doubt you, but what exactly can you do for us?"

"Tell me what you need, and I will tell you if it can be done," Harry replied.

He was no great military leader, especially with this type of warfare. It was not something he'd ever had the need to study.

"Could you help us with trenches? We have several but a few more wouldn't hurt. The ground is frozen solid and has made digging near impossible."

Harry nodded.

"Just show me where you need them, and I can have it done in a few minutes."

Jon nodded appreciatively.

"What about fire? Do you have a fire strong enough to stay lit in this cold?"

"I do, but it is one that I need to focus on to control. I can use it directly against him and his army, but not as a normal flame. It's alive in a way and will burn this castle down within minutes if I do not maintain control."

"That sounds dangerous," Tyrion muttered.

"Very," Harry agreed. "There are some other fires that may work, I will experiment with a few and see what I can come up with."

"No, don't invest too much time in it. We have the dragons for that. It was just a thought," Jon advised.

"Why don't you tell me your plan and I will work myself into it?" Harry suggested.

Jon agreed and broke down their strategy for dealing with the dead. Harry nodded along thoughtfully, making a few suggestions here and there, and after the king in the north was finished, he gave Daenerys a shrug as she too nodded approvingly.

"There is just one problem," Jon sighed. "He as a dragon. Daenerys and I will do what we can to bring it down, but I can't be certain on how successful we will be."

Harry shook his head.

"No, you will need them to deal with his army. I will bring the dragon down and him with it."

"You truly believe you can bring a dragon down?" Tyrion questioned sceptically.

"I've done it before," Harry replied, receiving looks of doubt from those gathered. "It will be better that way. I don't need a dragon to fly."

"And just how do you plan on flying?" Daenerys enquired.

Harry removed his shrunken trunk from his pocket and resized it before taking out his Firebolt.

"With this," he confirmed, earning a round of laughter.

"A broom?" Tyrion snorted.

Harry nodded as he mounted it and completed a few laps of the room.

"Well, I have seen it all now. Grumpkins and Snarks and now a man who flies on a broom. Are we sure we haven't already had the battle and are already in the seven hells?"

"I used this very broom to outfly a dragon when I was fourteen," Harry informed them. "I'm sure I can do it again."

"Very well," Daenerys sighed. "If you believe that you can, I will not try to stop you."

"Perhaps we should move on from talk of the battle," Jaime suggested. "It will be here soon enough, and I'd much rather not think about it until then."

Tyrion nodded his agreement as he poured himself a goblet of wine.

"Indeed. Tell us about your home Harry, about yourself," he requested as he poured another goblet and handed it to him.

"He's in the north," Tormund butted in. "He needs a proper northern drink, not that piss you southerners sip. Here lad, this will be more to your liking," he smirked offering Harry a horn filled with a milky liquid.

Harry took a sip and grimaced.

"That tastes like piss," he muttered, surprising the wildling.

When Snow had first drunk the fermented milk, he had damn near coughed his lungs out.

"I much prefer this," Harry announced as he removed a bottle of Ogden's finest.

"What is that?" Tormund asked.

"Firewhiskey," Harry answered as he poured himself a generous measure and took a sip. "Now that is a drink."

"Give me that," Tormund growled as he snatched the bottle.

"I wouldn't…"

Harry was cut off by the man choking on the alcohol, his face reddening as he struggled for breath from the large gulp he took.

"Hell, that is strong," he wheezed when he had recovered enough.

"Anyone else?" Harry offered.

"Aye," Clegane accepted. "Fucking cowards."

His eyes widened as the burn of the liquor was felt and he too succumbed to a coughing fit.

"You must be a mad cunt to drink that," he sputtered.

Tyrion chuckled as he shook his head when the bottle was passed his way.

"I believe you were going to tell us of your home," he reminded Harry.

"There isn't much to say," Harry sighed. "It is very different to here. We would miss the fight if I tried to tell you all of it."

"Then what of your family? Do have others waiting for your return?"

Harry smiled as he removed his wallet from his pocket and took out the photo he kept with him at all times.

"My wife, Bellatrix and daughter, Lyra," he explained as the photo was passed around.

"Is this some other kind of magic?" Daenerys asked as Bellatrix waved at her from the picture.

"It is," Harry confirmed.

"Bloody hell, lad. You've got yourself quite the beauty there," Tormund commented as he passed the photo to Tyrion who nodded his agreement.

"Very reminiscent of the Daynes," he commented. "One of the families that live in the south," he explained to Harry as he handed the photo back.

"Yeah, I'd be lost without them. We have our second child due soon. She'd bloody kill me if she knew what I was doing here," Harry snorted.

"We appreciate it, Harry," Tyrion assured him. "More than you know."

Harry nodded, his thoughts firmly on his wife and daughter. It had been weeks that he last saw them, and he missed both greatly.


He stared over the parapet of the castle as the dead approached, the horde stretching further than the eye could see. He hated inferi, less so than Dementors but still with a burning passion.

"THESE DEAD CUNTS ARE COMING TO FUCK US," the voice of Clegane roared from below as he rallied his troops, "ARE YOU GOING TO BEND OVER AND LET THEM?"

A resounding cheer could be heard as the man drew his sword.


He led the charge towards the dead, his section of the army coming to a sudden halt and braced themselves for the impending coming together. Harry nodded approvingly as the dead ambled into one of the trenches he had dug, bursting into flame a moment later as his curse came into effect. The screeching was terrible but was soon drowned out by the sound of clashing steel and battle cries of the Dothraki as they flanked the dead on both sides.

"Where is he?" Harry growled, his eyes scanning the sky for any sign of a dragon not being ridden by Jon and Daenerys who had begun raining fire down on the dead.

"Be patient, Harry. He will come," Tyrion assured him, adorned in his own plate armour wielding a small axe.

"Do you know how to use that?"

Tyrion shook his head.

"I have been in battle once, and I did not care for it. As you can see, I am much more suited to books, drink and whores," he japed, running a finger down the length of his scar.

Harry laughed heartily. He found the dwarf to be rather amusing.

"Well, with a bit of luck, you won't have any need for it. If I can take him out, then it will all be over with."

"I wish you good fortune in the fight to come," Tyrion offered with a nod as he held at a hand.

Harry took it as he mounted his broom before taking off into the night sky. He couldn't wait around any longer. If the Night King wouldn't show himself, he would have to draw him out.

"FIENDFYRE," he roared as he came upon the dead, the basilisk bursting from his wand and beginning to devour the enemy to sate its' hunger.

He continued his efforts along with Jon and Daenerys until he was caught short by a whistling sound. He managed to avoid the projectile in the nick of time, and it passed by his ear harmlessly. He turned in the direction of which it came and was greeted by the sight of a human-like creature, its' skin pale blue and eyes of ice. It sat upon a dragon of similar colouring, its wings torn in places.

The man looked at him with curiosity before the dragon opened its' maw and spat a gout of blue flame his way. Harry dived to avoid it and circled round to attack from the side. The dragon was much quicker than he had anticipated but was not as agile as himself.

He fired of two blasting curses only to see them bounce off the hide of the creature, leaving no damage. Growling irritably, he turned his attention to the Night King only for the man to avoid them with some rather skilful flying.

The creature began to flee, evidently reluctant to engage him further and Harry gave chase, determined to put an end to this as quickly as possible.

It was when the Night King aimed the dragon in the direction of the living army that he realised he was not fleeing. He wanted to add more numbers to his cause.

Leaning forward, he urged his broom on as fast as it would go and began to gain on the dragon, catching up when it came to a sudden stop and hovered above the battle. Once more, it opened its' mouth to release its' flame only for Harry to appear in front and divert the fire with a wave of his wand.

The creature atop the dragon glared at him balefully as it retrieved another projectile from its' back and took aim.

Again, Harry avoided it and roared as he summoned another stream of fiendfyre that pursued the now fleeing dragon. This time, it was not quick enough nor resistant enough to escape unscathed. It screeched a deafening sound as his fire scolded its' tail and quickly began reducing the rotten flesh to ash.

The Night King, noticing his plight gave a screech of his own as he steered the burning dragon towards the ground before deftly leaping off and landing amongst his army.

Harry followed, directing his cursed basilisk towards the ground to create an area in which he could land also. He hit the snow with a slight thud and rolled to his feet as he shrunk and pocketed his broom.

Immediately, he was set upon by scores of the inferi and he fought to keep them at bay, his wand a blur as he weaved a vortex of fire around him, immolating those that dared come too close.

Without warning, his flame sputtered and died out. He turned to find himself face to face with an odd creature. It was no inferi, nor was it the Night King but something in between.

He sent a stream of fire towards it, only for the flame to part either side of his new foe, leaving it unburnt. He growled as he aimed a blasting curse at it, causing it to step back with a grunt, but still intact.

"Shit," he sighed as he considered his options.

He was reluctant to summon anymore fiendfyre. His allies were close by and if he were to be distracted for but a second, it could prove to be disastrous. He did not want to be responsible for killing the people he had come to save.

Any decision he may have made was taken from him as the creature swung a blade made of ice at him. Harry nimbly ducked under it but could not ignore the cold rolling off the weapons. Were that to even touch his skin, it would have dire consequences.

He rolled to avoid another blow as he drew the sword of Gryffindor and returned the attack with a slash of his own, the creature meeting it with a swift block.

Much to Harry's surprise, the icy construct shattered on impact with his goblin-forged sword and he rammed it into the chest of the oddly ethereal creature.

With a scream, it exploded into dust and by instinct, Harry turned away to avoid the debris. A resounding cheer erupted from the army of the living as hundreds of the wights seemingly fell also, but there was little time to celebrate.

He felt it before he saw it, a scream of warning sounding as a wave of cold washed over him, another blade of ice barely hitting him as he threw himself to the side.

He received no respite however as he had to roll again to avoid the follow-up and once more for good measure before he managed to pull himself to his feet. The Night King continued his attack relentlessly, the speed in which he wielded his blade a sight to behold.

Harry was no slouch when it came to speed, but this creature was something else entirely. There was no sign of fatigue, no sign that he would slow. Harry had his work cut out for him.

With a wave of his wand, his Impediment Jinx hit the mark, slipping between the strikes coming his way.

For a moment, he believed it had worked as the Night King struggled against the magic holding him. The spell hold, but for only a moment longer before his attack continued with the same vigour as it had prior.

"Bloody hell," Harry cursed as he fired a Withering Curse at the creature, only to see it knocked aside with the blade it held.

Undeterred, Harry continued his own onslaught, firing a plethora of spells, with none showing the desired effect even when landing.

Against his efforts, the Night King continued to close the gap between them, edging ever closer to being in striking range.

"Contusio," Harry shouted in frustration.

The pin-sized projectile careened from his wand, too small to be blocked by a blade. They flew past the guard of the creature and impacted against it, detonating with sound of a bomb exploding with each successful hit.

The Night King screamed as he was blown backwards and sent sailing through the air.

The battlefield around them fell motionless as both sides watched what had happened, the living in shock and the dead as emotionless as one would expect.

Harry watched as the Night King rose from the ground, not a mark marring his body nor any less energetic as before.

"You're really pissing me off now," Harry growled as he levelled his wand at the creature once more. "Crucio."

The Night King attempted to bat the spell aside with his blade, but to no avail. The unforgivable passed through it as though it didn't exist and sent the creature sprawling once more, this time with a scream of agony as it twitched upon the snow.

Harry continued to fuel the spell, satisfied by the pained screeching he was hearing. The thing had come too close to killing him for his liking.

"Fiendfyre," he spat once more, happy that enough space had been created between himself and his allies.

His basilisk struck out at the Night King who held up both hands to block the incoming attack. A struggle ensued between the two, ice and fire clashing for dominance. The strain slowly but surely started to show on the face of the creature of ice and he gave a final screech of protest before he was engulfed in the fire, the remainder of his army collapsing around Harry.

With much more effort than it would usually take, he put an end to his spell and fell to one knee as the jubilant cheers rang out around him.


Although the cheers had been rowdy, none took to celebrating their victory through drink. Many a good man was lost during the course of the battle and the night had been dedicated to mourning the fallen as the battlefield was cleared.

The bodies were burnt as the sun rose and many fell into their beds, exhausted from the efforts of the night. Harry assisted as best he could with the collecting of the dead and the building of pyres, he too falling into a fitful sleep once he was satisfied his work was done.

He had awoken to the sun still being up, the warmth of it warming his face through the window of the room he had been given. He dressed and gathered his belongings so that he could take his leave from this place, a strange feeling of sadness coming over him.

Winterfell had grown on him, as had the people here. There was something honest and wholesome about both and he found he would miss them, his memories of his ordeal not fond but those he had met redeeming them.

"I take it you will be leaving us soon," Daenerys commented as he exited his room.

She was walking past with her guard surrounding her, a silky purple dress wrapped around her pale, lithe frame.

"I have to go home. My wife will be waiting as will my friends and parents."

Daenerys nodded her understanding as she stood on her toes and placed a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, Harry. Without you, I don't know what would have happened. You undoubtedly saved a lot of lives with your actions. Now, we can head south and claim my throne."

"I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, you grace," he offered sincerely.

Daenerys smiled as she lopped her arm into his.

"Come, I will gather everyone in the courtyard to bid you farewell. They will not forget what you have done for them and would even more dour if they were not given the chance to say their goodbyes."

Harry agreed with a smile as he left the keep and Daenerys went to fetch whom she would.

She returned a few moments later with Jon and what must have been most of those that remained at Winterfell. It was the man escorting her that approached him first, his arm extended in greeting.

"Thank you, Harry," Jon offered sincerely as he pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Anytime, Snow," Harry replied sighing at the forlorn look on the man's face. "You're in love with her," he stated, nodding towards the silver-haired queen.

"It's complicated," Jon muttered shyly.

"Because you share the same blood?" Harry questioned, surprising Jon. He held up a hand to prevent any denial that would come. "There is magic about you both, family magic. I can feel it," he explained. "I don't know the ins and outs, but you do share blood, though there is more to you. Stark father?"

Jon shook his head.

"Mother," he corrected. "She is my aunt."

Harry chuckled amusedly.

"My wife and I share blood and our daughter is just fine," he assured the man.

"There is madness in ours. Generations of breeding within the bloodline," Jon lamented.

"As there is in ours. The Black madness is something to behold," Harry returned. "It is not my place, but you love one another. Do not squander it."

"We are the last of our kind," Jon shrugged. "She is certain she cannot bear children."

"Then how is it that she is with child as we speak?"

Jon's eyes widened but any response was cut off by Harry placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I have seen enough women with child to see the signs. If it is your family practice to marry, then Honour Thy Blood, Snow," the words spoken coming to him easily.

Jon nodded.

"I will not have my child be seen as a bastard," he declared. "Thank you, again."

Harry embraced the man once more as he stepped back, cursing under his breath.

"How could I bloody forget," he groaned as he removed his trunk and returned it to its' natural size with a tap of his wand. "I promised my daughter I would take pictures of my adventures. Would you mind?" he asked as he removed the camera he had been given for his birthday the previous year.

"Is that how your magic pictures are made?" Jon questioned.

"It is," Harry confirmed with a nod.

"Why don't we get one of us all together? Can you do that?"

"Yeah, get everyone who wants to be in it to gather round and I can set it up."

Jon walked away to carry out his task as Harry set the camera up. Turning he saw that almost everyone wanted to be a part of it so he moved it back as far as he could to squeeze them all in before taking his place at the front of the large crowd.

"Smile," he said as he flicked his wand, a blinding flash eliciting groans from those as it went off a moment later.

He approached the camera, removed the image and cast a few spells on it. After making several copies, he pocketed one for himself and passed them around.

"This is amazing," Daenerys commented. "Can we have one of just us also?" she asked indicating to the group he had spent much of his time with here.

Harry smiled as he went about preparing the camera once more and took his position amongst the much smaller group.

This image was much clearer and showed them all perfectly. Again, he made several copies before pushing Jon and Daenerys together and taking another a final picture.

"This is for the two of you," he explained pressing a copy into each of their hands.

Daenerys took in the image of her and Jon with their arms wrapped around one another, the smiles adorning their faces more caring loving than either intended.

"Thank you," the woman whispered gratefully.

Harry offered her a slight bow as he packed his camera away and shrunk his trunk.

"It is now time for me to leave, but I will remember each of you for the rest of my days," he assured them. "Remember what I said Jon, good luck and congratulations."

Jon nodded as Daenerys shot him a look of suspicion that he pointedly ignored.

It took much longer for Harry to make his way back to the godswood than he had planned, his path blocked by many well-wishers and those wishing to give a goodbye of their own.

Tormund was very insistent on this as was Clegane surprisingly. Tyrion too made sure he wasn't left out and Jaime Lannister gave his own thanks, leaving Harry embarrassed as he reached to shake the man's golden hand. Jaime waved it off with good humour as he escorted him to the Weirwood tree with Tyrion, Jon and Daenerys where Bran waited for him.

With a nod to each, Harry approached the tree, the roots opening in welcome.

"The North remembers, Harry," Jon called as he stepped through, the ominous words ringing in his ears as he tumbled out the other side and found himself in the presence of the same old man that had taken him to Winterfell.

"Did I make a difference?" he asked.

"See for yourself," the Three-eyed Raven urged. "Seek out the resting place of the Kings of Winter."

Harry frowned as he left the strange man behind and made his way out of the tree. He emerged from within, shivering against the ever-present cold of the land, though it didn't bite so deep as it had. Perhaps he was becoming use to the climate.

He shook his head as he turned and helped himself to a branch of the tree, shrinking and pocketing it when he was done.

It was then he came upon a sight that hadn't been here when he arrived. Even through the thick snow, he wouldn't have missed the large, grey, stone wall of Winterfell a short distance away, the gate he had used to enter the godswood only a moment ago hanging limply from one hinge as it swung in the wind.

He approached slowly and passed through the gate and into the courtyard that was bereft of people. The keep itself was in disrepair, much of the stone having crumbled away over the years that had passed. It saddened him to see it in such a state, a sadness that only increased when he entered the building and found it in much the same way.

He swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat as he pushed open the door of the hall, the room being absent of the smell of ale and sound of northerners he had become familiar with. He was about to turn away when his eye was caught by a large painting spanning the length of the room that had not been there when he'd dined here.

A melancholic smile pulled at his lips as he looked upon the battle scene. There was Jon and Daenerys on dragon back, raining fire on the army of the dead below. Clegane and Tormund hacked away at them with their Sword and axe, and even Tyrion could be seen, his small form stood on the castle wall as he held his axe aloft.

What stood out to him the most however, was the scene of himself and the Night King locked in combat, him with his wand and sword of Gryffindor in hand, and the creature with his blade of steel. Beneath the image was a small line of text that caused him to chuckle.

"May Harry watch over us," he read aloud.

He shook his head and turned away, the feeling of being here without the friends he made so very wrong. He stepped back into the courtyard only to be taken aback by a familiar whispering.

"In here, Harry…"

He headed towards where he had heard Bran's voice and found himself at a large door with a wolf sigil adorning the front.

"Come…" the voice sounded again.

Harry pushed it open to the sight of a descending staircase. With a frown, he lit the end of his wand and made his way into what was revealed to be a crypt. He walked past a line of statues on each side, the final resting place of many Starks until he came to a name he recognised, the man older than he remembered but undoubtedly him stood next to a woman equally familiar seemingly not having aged a day from when he had met her to when this had been carved. In front of the pair was a large wolf and a dragon of equal size, stood either side of a plaque hewn from stone.

"Jon and Daenerys Targaryen, King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the bringers of the dawn and the King and Queen of Winter… Honour Thy Blood," he read, the words spoken by him only hours ago having survived here. "360 ac."

He wiped away a tear at the loss of the man and woman. If the number he read beneath the man was the date he died, then over 1600 years had passed since he spoke the words that had stuck with him throughout his life.

"Rest easy, your graces," he whispered as he grazed his hand across the base of their epitaph only for his hand to disturb something beneath the layer of dust.

He picked it up and stared at the photo he had taken of the two before he had taken his leave, the magic surviving the years against all odds. Already having his own copy, he replaced it with a warm smile.

"I'll be seeing you, Jon, Daenerys," he offered as he ascended the stairs to return to his own family.

The door of the crypts closed behind him with a bang, the resting place of his friends to be left to the cold they had chosen to live their lives in.


So, there you have it. Favourites, follows and reviews, as always, are welcome.

The next chapter of 'A Flower for the Soul' has been posted on m page for any of you that do not follow my social media.

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Keep safe until the next time you most excellent people.