Harry felt like he was swimming in the middle of the ocean. He hadn’t learnt how to swim until he’d come to this new world. His father, Stannis, had ensured that he’d learn to save himself should he be knocked overboard from a ship or need to save a fellow of his. But right now, he was swimming in nothing other than the pitch-black darkness of the void.
The last thing he remembered was being struck in the back of the head, and the fact that he remembered that at least comforted him even though it provided no guidance as to where to go from here.
His body was buoyant in the nothingness that surrounded him. There was nothing but darkness to see in every direction, and Harry found himself at an utter loss.
At least, he did up until the moment that a glow formed in the darkness.
A distant ball of light called to him. There were shapes moving within it, but the overwhelming sensation was that of light.
Instinctively, Harry began to move towards it. He didn’t even need to swim, though he still did regardless. His very thought seemed to propel his body through the darkness towards the ball of light, which grew steadily larger as he approached it.
It was a strange sight, one that Harry couldn’t make heads or tails of. It seemed magical, but all of his experiences at Hogwarts couldn’t come close to explaining any of this. Still, he had no other direction to go, so he dove in head first into the light.
And then he awoke.
Harry tried to move his limbs but found that he had none. Nothing in his body responded at all, leaving him feeling stranded. He was sitting atop a stone warlock statue, staring at a pile of junk. Books, broken chairs, and a cabinet or two made up the pile before him.
Harry frowned—at least, he tried to frown, but his current form wasn’t capable of that. He didn’t understand what was going on in the slightest. Where was the Red Keep and King’s Landing? Where was Margaery, his father, and those he’d fought alongside?
“You’re sure this is it?” A deep voice asked.
“I’m positive. Or do you want to check my calculations again? I know that Divination is an inexact science, but there’s no other option than this.”
Divination? It’d been years since Harry had heard that word.
“You told me yourself that Trelawney was a barmy old hag. I know that she tried to help us, but I wouldn’t take her word for proof.”
“Which is why I checked the formula myself, Ronald. Even if I explained it to you, you don’t have the background to know what I’m talking about. Now, will you just shut up and help me search or do I need to explain five years of magical theory to you?”
Ronald? Was that…
Suddenly, two figures came into view. One was a tall, thin redheaded man and the other was a woman with a long mane of brown hair. Even though they were older than he remembered, tears still welled in Harry’s eyes.
“Ron! Hermione!” He tried to call out to them, but he didn’t have a mouth to speak those words. He tried to reach out his hands, but he had no arms to use. He was static, an implacable watcher who only wanted to reunite with those he’d missed for so long, if only for a brief moment.
“It’s gotta be around here somewhere,” Hermione mumbled as she bit her lower lip. She was scanning the shelf just beside Harry, and he was screaming at her to notice him. Of course, no sound came out, and even as her gaze flickered onto his form, she didn’t seem to recognise him. “Here it is.”
Ron came up alongside her with a frown. “That’s it. It seems a bit puny for something that You-Know-Who would be after.”
“It was made over a thousand years ago,” Hermione shushed him. “And it has incredible magical power.”
Suddenly, Harry felt himself being lifted into the air even though nothing appeared to be physically touching him. He kept screaming and shouting, begging for his old friends to hear his voice. Instead, he just ended up being sat down on the cobblestone flooring, staring up at his old friends.
“With this, You-Know-Who will be vulnerable, right?” Ron asked.
Hermione nodded. “He should be. We’ve destroyed all of his other horcruxes, and Professor Dumbledore told us his theory about Harry.”
About him? Harry begged the two of them to expound upon what they were saying, but all they did was fall into a solemn silence.
“It doesn’t matter,” Hermione shook her head. “This will be the seventh horcrux. Destroying this will make Voldemort vulnerable again. We’ll kill him and then everyone will be saved.”
“I’ll do it,” Ron said, stepping forward.
“No,” Hermione stopped him, placing a hand on his chest to pull him back. “I’ve done the others. I know how the spell works. This is my burden to bear.”
Wait! Harry desperately screamed. Stop this!
“For Harry,” Hermione murmured.
“For Harry,” Ron said in agreement.
“Fiendfyre,” Hermione cast.
The dark flames engulfed Harry completely, and he was returned to the void.
In the empty blackness, Harry felt nothing but sheer relief. His old friends were alive! It’d been so long since he’d seen them, but that distance didn’t diminish the way he felt about them. From the very first moment that he entered the magical world, they’d stood by his side. Even during difficult moments, they’d always come back to support him. Until he’d been reborn in this world, he’d never had anyone like them in his life.
Knowing that there was still some sort of connection to his old world brought him more joy and relief than he could ever express. Even just a few months ago, he’d dreamt about returning to his old world…
But now, everything was different.
He was going to marry Margaery, the love of his life. He didn’t know if he could abandon her in favour of his old friends. In fact, he knew that he couldn’t. Just the mere thought of doing that made him sick. Yet, he still wanted to see Ron and Hermione again, if only to tell them that he was still alive and living a happy life. They deserved to know that he was happy and healthy in another world.
That last thought brought him up short. Was he healthy? He was in darkness, and for the first time since he’d arrived here, he’d somehow seen back into his previous world. He couldn’t even begin to try to explain how that’d happened or what it meant, but the fact that he’d simply returned to darkness left him concerned.
He needed to be back in the real world with Margaery and the others. He needed to face Baelish, the villain who’d orchestrated these events to try to kill Harry’s father and go after the other highborn in Westeros.
But how was he meant to get back there?
As if he willed that question into existence, Harry found himself transported back to Dragonstone. He was stood atop the dark ramparts where incredible statues of dragons made out of black stone loomed overhead. All of the familiar nooks and crannies were still around, reminding him of all of the places he used to hide and practice magic.
“You died,” a dragon spoke to him.
Harry looked up to find the largest dragon of the lot speaking to him. The statue itself was even bigger than the Hungarian Horntail he’d faced years ago. It was an enormous black creation, breathing fire made out of black stone, with teeth as large as swords and a mouth open large enough to fit Harry three times over standing atop himself. It stared over the main entryway into the castle, warning off those who dared to harm its inhabitants.
“Your life came to an end,” the dragon continued. “And yet you live.”
He was dead? He certainly didn’t feel dead.
This time when Harry tried to speak, his words materialised into sound. “Where am I?”
“In the realm of death,” the dragon answered. “You have come to the end, but the end will not accept you.”
Harry cocked his head to the side in confusion. “And why not?”
“Because you are not dead.”
“How can my life have ended and yet I remain not dead?” Harry asked.
“Through magic, anything is possible,” the dragon responded. “A part of you died; an unnatural leech that was a drain upon you took the mortal blow that was meant to end your life. And so, you find yourself here, waiting to return.”
“Return to where? To Westeros? To my life?”
“Yes,” the dragon said. “To everything that you left behind. The world will be as it was, and you will return to life once again. Pray that it does not happen thrice.”
“Wait!” Harry shouted at the top of his lungs. “What about my old friends? I saw them—”
“You saw what you saw because of the leech’s connection. You will not see it again now that it is gone.”
Harry stomped his foot firmly on the stone floor. “That’s not good enough!” He declared. “I want to see them again.”
“That is not something in my power that I can offer you,” the dragon replied. “You will have to make that connection on your own.”
“Then what good are you to me?”
“None. I am merely a vessel through which everything speaks. You have heard my words and will make of them what you will.”
Something pulled from within him. Like a plant rising out of the dirt, he sensed a barrier to the world around him. It was as though he was caught within a terrarium, that the isle of Dragonstone was somehow contained within this limited, liminal space, and his body, his essence, was begging to break free.
“Wait—!” Harry tried to shout, but the world was already spinning around him.
It felt like apparating. There was a stronger tug from within his body that made him sick to his stomach as the world began to spin around him. Dragonstone shifted in a gradient towards darkness before gradually transitioning towards white light. And then that light offered colour once more. It was brown and dirty, but at least it was different from the darkness that’d surrounded him.
As he awoke back into reality, the sounds of battle rang through his ears.
Harry’s eyes blinked open slowly, staring up at his father battling Ser Osmund Kettleblack, the traitor who’d struck him in the back of his skull, with all of the rage and fury of a father who’d just lost his son. Grief was palpable across Stannis’ face, one of the few times that Harry had ever seen such emotion upon him, as he hacked and slashed at Ser Osmund without much care as to how accurate his blows were. Tears filled Stannis’ eyes yet refused to break the seal they formed as he put Ser Osmund on the backfoot.
Eddard Stark and Oberyn Martell were there to support his father, lunging in whenever they found a space, but Stannis’ uncontrollable fury left little room for either of them to attack without also being at risk of Stannis’ sword. It was a foolish way to fight, borne out of all of the emotions that his father felt at losing his heir. No words of caution could tame him as he unleashed everything he was feeling inside of his heart.
Jon Snow was holding Lord Baelish at swordpoint while Ghost silently snarled, ready to pounce. The tip of Jon’s blade was against the man’s chin, unwavering even as his eyes flickered back in concern at the fighting going on behind him. Yet, Baelish maintained an easy smile, as though everything were going according to whatever sick and twisted plan he had in his mind.
And then there was Margaery, his dear, sweet wife-to-be. Tears were still streaming down from her closed eyes as she knelt down beside Harry, holding his face in her hands. She thought him dead, and yet she was whispering sweet words over him, begging for him to be brought back to her.
He could feel the magic pulsing from her fingertips. He’d felt those sensations before when he was caught up in the Hospital Wing back at Hogwarts. Margaery was trying to heal him!
The moment his body shifted, her eyes shot open wide. Her face was full of shock and disbelief.
“You—you’re dead,” she stammered. Her fingers ran along the back of his head, but she only found smooth skin without a single sign of blood. “How?”
“Magic,” Harry smiled weakly up at her. “And you.”
“M-me,” Margaery shook her head as though she was still caught up in a dream world. “How could I have done anything?”
Regardless if she recognised it or not, Harry knew magic for what it was. She had healed the back of his skull where he’d been attacked. Whether that was a prerequisite for a return back to reality or not, he couldn’t say, but that didn’t dim his appreciation in the slightest for her. She had begged for his return, and her wish had been granted through the primordial force of magic.
With strength he was surprised to have, Harry sat up and kissed her. It was sudden and brief, but her lips tasted so sweet against his. Every soft and gentle curve of her lips melded perfectly to his, and he felt her breath enter into his mouth. She was the light of his life.
“Ragh!” Ser Osmund roared as Oberyn’s spear pieced his thigh through a gap in his armour. He darted back towards the staircase, panting heavily as his eyes darted back and forth in search of something. And then they landed on Harry.
It was like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The man whom he’d protected throughout the tourney only to betray at the very end when his master demanded it was alive again. His blade had struck true, piercing through Harry’s skull with surprising ease from how sharp and heavy the blade was, but now Harry was back standing without appearing any worse for wear.
And in that moment of supreme confusion, Stannis struck.
With a sudden lunge, Stannis’ blade speared up through Ser Osmund’s chin and clattered against the top of the man’s skull. It didn’t pierce through cleanly, but it was enough to scramble the man’s brains and leave him dead within a fraction of a second.
Exhausted and furious, Stannis yanked out his blade and let the larger man fall to the ground dead. He threw his blade to the dirt and stormed right up to Lord Baelish before throwing a hard punch at the man’s face.
Baelish went down hard, holding his hands up in surrender. “I yield!” He tried to say, but Stannis’ boot shattered his front teeth.
“Father,” Harry coughed as he tried to sit up. It was a bit disorienting to do so, but he managed it well enough with Margaery supporting him. “Stop!”
In the midst of unleashing another strike, Stannis’s arm stopped. His fist was still clenched tightly, the skin of his knuckles already broken from his single punch, but his body froze up as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
It was just like Margaery. They’d all believed him dead.
To everyone’s wide-eyed shock, Harry stood up on his own two feet with Margaery at his side. She had an arm wrapped tightly around his waist and another clutching his left arm to try to stabilise him, but he didn’t need it. After the initial strange feeling of returning to his own body, he felt perfectly healthy and hale. Still, he wouldn’t refuse a moment to be close to her.
“I saw his sword stabbed into the back of your head,” Oberyn said, his words more of amazement than genuine surprise.
“I lived,” Harry said simply. There would be time to explain these things later. Oberyn had already seen his magical abilities first hand, and Eddard and Jon Snow seemed like they could be trusted. The one complication was his father. Despite the soft spot he’d developed for his son, he could often be quite rigid in his views. Harry didn’t know how he’d feel about the revelation that his son and future daughter-in-law had magic.
As he stepped forward, everyone looked at him as though he were a ghost. He knelt down to pick up Ser Osmund’s abandoned blade and joined Jon Snow by pointing its tip at Baelish.
“Your plot is over,” Harry told him.
“The king’s justice will see me free,” Baelish replied, but Harry could hear the concern in his tone. Ser Osmund was meant to do so much more than he did, but he couldn’t have expected all that a Baratheon’s fury could encompass.
“No, you’re done for,” Harry shook his head. He turned to Oberyn and Eddard. “Call for the City Watch. We must remand this prisoner into the Crown’s custody.”
Before either of them could move, Stannis came striding right over, dropping his weapons, and engulfed Harry into a tight hug that would put Mrs Weasley to shame. It was the first and only time that Harry ever heard the man cry. His hot tears fell freely and dripped onto Harry’s neck.
“You were dead,” Stannis murmured into Harry’s ear.
“And now I’m not.”
Stannis pulled back, looking utterly confused, but it was too much to try to unravel in the moment. There were so many other things that needed to be dealt with first, but Harry knew that the issue wasn’t over.
With Jon Snow still holding Baelish in place, Eddard went off back through the gate to call upon the City Watch to gather up Baelish. Those men could escort him to the black cells, the darkest dungeons beneath the Red Keep that were reserved for the most vile and dangerous prisoners to the realm.
It only took a few minutes for a pair of gold cloaks to come running up alongside Eddard. They came up and hoisted Baelish to his feet before quickly patting him down for any weapons or anything else that could prove dangerous. And as they did so, another figure made their way into the yard.
Arianne?
Harry frowned as she came running in. She was moving towards her uncle, but he could feel Margaery’s grip on his arm tightening up at her mere approach. He didn’t want to have to deal with her right now if she hadn’t taken his previous words to heart.
But she simply ran into her uncle’s arms and quickly checked him over for injuries before whispering a flurry of words into his ear. Out of all the men, Harry would’ve expected Oberyn to maintain a rather steady expression at being told surprising news, but he simply couldn’t contain himself. First, there was surprise and anger, but it quickly turned into an expression of pure joy.
“Are you certain?” Oberyn asked her loud enough for Harry to hear.
“Yes,” Arianne answered.
Oberyn pulled away from her, turning around to crouch down and take a moment for himself. Laughter began to bubble up from his throat, which only left those around him confused at his reaction. Except for Arianne.
She stood awkwardly, trying her hardest to not look at Harry and Margaery. She turned and ended up looking over at Baelish as he was being led away by the City Watch. And then she gasped.
Instantly, she spun around to find Harry’s gaze. “He’s bought them out!” She shouted at him. “They’ll help him escape and—”
But Harry was already moving.
Margaery released his arm the second she felt him stir, and he dashed across the yard towards the two men guiding Baelish. They were young fellows who were probably born in the slums here in King’s Landing. A job within the City Watch was probably better than either of them could’ve ever expected, but even that wouldn’t necessarily be enough to keep their entire family taken care of. Baelish could’ve bought them off easily… he was the Crown’s Master of Coin after all.
Perhaps it was foolish, but Harry sensed a truth in Arianne’s words that couldn’t be denied. It rang truer than truth. Her words resonated within his chest, providing a pleasant hum that he only felt when he was performing magic.
Jon Snow and Ghost were at his side in an instant, both ready to strike should he give the signal. It was the type of loyalty that normally took months to develop, but the two of them seemed to trust Harry implicitly enough to support him in all of his endeavours.
The two City Watch men hesitated in the face of the three of them. In particular, Ghost seemed to be quite the excellent deterrent. His silent snarl and bared teeth left the two men second guessing if they’d make it out of here with their legs still in working order.
“Drop your weapons,” Harry ordered the two men. “In the name of King Robert of House Baratheon, I, Harry Baratheon, will be executing this traitor to the Crown.”
“But don’t prisoners get a trial?” One of the City Watch men asked weakly.
“In some circumstances,” Harry agreed. “But this man has tried to kill the noble lords of Westeros time and again. A summary execution would not be out of place.”
But even with his words, the two men weren’t entirely convinced. Harry understood then that they clearly had something to gain from this. There was no other situation in which a member of the smallfolk would ever so openly hesitate against the word of a Baratheon.
“Whatever he’s promised you, he won’t be around to give,” Harry told them bluntly. “Either you die with him now or you leave him to me and go home to see your families again. What will it be?”
“Wait!” Baelish tried to protest, suddenly looking weaker than ever before, but the two men released his arms and stepped to the side.
“Wise choices,” Harry told them. “Now leave, and warn the others that he’s paid off that no coin is coming to their pockets.”
The City Watch would need to be purged of traitors. However, that was a greater task than could be handled right now. Between the Red Keep being compromised and the impending death of one of the small council, a great number of changes would be coming to the capital.
Baelish dropped to his knees, staring up at Harry and his longsword. “Bring me to the King,” he practically begged. “This is unfair, unjust, and not becoming of a knight.”
“A knight swears to uphold justice throughout the Seven Kingdoms. We promise to defend those who cannot defend themselves and to fight bravely against those who would commit injustices. I, Harry Baratheon, mark you as a traitor to the Crown, a seditious force who brought upon nought but chaos and death through your schemes. And for this, I sentence you to death.”
“Wait, I’ll—”
“If you have any last words, now would be the time to speak them,” Harry interjected.
“There are others involved,” Baelish insisted. “Keep me alive and I’ll tell you their names. I’ll help you unfurl this conspiracy entirely.”
Other names? Who else could be involved in this? Certainly not the Tyrells, Martells, Starks, or Baratheons. The only other grand houses were the Lannisters, Tullys, and the Arryns, but each seemed as unlikely as the last to be involved due to their familial ties to the victims of these events. Even if any one of them or a minor noble house was involved, there was simply no proof of it. If there was, it was likely to be somewhere hidden back in that chamber that Harry, Oberyn, Jon, and Ghost had found. But as it stood, nothing that they’d found indicated that someone else was a part of this conspiracy.
And, ultimately, Harry didn’t trust Lord Baelish’s word.
“One more chance to say your final piece,” Harry warned him.
“Please! I beg of you! I’ll tell you everything! Just give me a—”
His words were cut off as his head fell from his shoulders.
Harry discarded Ser Osmund’s blade in the dirt as Lord Baelish’s corpse fell atop it.