Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series, the Song of Ice and Fire series, and the TV show Game of Thrones.

Chapter One

What A Cold Night Can Bring

Hermione rubbed her arms for some warmth and lifted her gaze to the darkened sky, watching as snowflakes fell down in tiny white crystals on the empty street. It was already six in the evening and she had been standing there for half an hour, enduring the harsh chilling wind beating against her exposed skin. The library had long gone close behind her to seek refuge. As usual, like any other day where she didn't have classes, she spent the entire day tucked into the corner of the public library with a book under her nose. She was oblivious of the time that had gone past until the librarian had found and informed her that it was closing time. She hadn't even noticed that it had began snowing until she past through the doors.

She rubbed her hands and tucked them under her armpits in a meager attempt to gather warmth. In her haste that morning to go to the library, she had forgotten to bring a coat with her and had only realized it was missing as soon as she was dropped off. Now she was suffering the consequences. In her defense, she didn't think that it would snow this early this time of year especially since it was just the second week of November. Her fingers and toes were already numb and her breath came out in white puffs because of the cold. The lampposts in the street — including the one that she was close to but not standing under — were her only source of light.

She didn't know how much longer it would take for Harry Potter, her best friend since childhood, to arrive. He promised to pick her up soon enough — since their other best friend, Ron Weasley, had a date with Lavender Brown of all people and thus he reasoned that it was Harry's turn to act as a driver for Hermione. Since she refused to get a driver's license — something that the boys still liked to tease and pester her with — her best friends had taken the responsibility to offer Hermione rides whenever she chose to spent the day out of her room which was few and far in between.

Their arrangements worked out well for them considering that they all lived in the same apartment complex called The Leaky Cauldron. Hermione was living with Ron's younger sister, Ginny Weasley, in the two bedroom apartment of room 19 while the boys opted to live together in the same two bedroom apartment in 21. Even though that Hermione was more comfortable with her boys than with Ginny, she admitted to herself that she couldn't handle living with them considering that they were complete slobs and there was little privacy to offer. She might love her boys but she didn't love them that much.

She took her phone out of her pocket and ignored the way her hand trembled as she typed a message to Harry. The message failed to deliver though and she groaned when she saw that there wasn't any signal, most probably because of the weather. Her last message to Harry was twenty minutes ago and she was standing there for nearly forty-five minutes. Unfortunately for Hermione, she hadn't brought her wallet with her so she couldn't take a bus back to The Leaky Cauldron. She had planned to stay in the library all day so it seemed futile to bring money when she knew she didn't need any of it. However, right now, she really was cursing herself for her shortsightedness. And Harry. She was definitely cursing Harry at the moment.

She could not, for the life of her, understand why Harry had chosen to be late now when he was normally so punctual. And when she meant punctual, she meant earlier than Ron who was branded the laziest person alive and who had made her wait for an hour and thirty-eight minutes the last time he was the one who picked her up.

She heard a noise from her right and she risked a glance to find a young man stepping out of the building next to the library, looking at his phone in obvious frustration if his pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows were any indication. She looked away and quickly shuffled to the left, trying to be as little as possible to avoid unwanted attention. With her 5'4 ft height, it wasn't a hard feat. It didn't escape her notice that the man who came out of the bar — a bar(!) that was next to the library of all places — was The Three Broomsticks.

She didn't know much about the bar. She had only gone once when Ginny asked her because she wanted to watch a band that was playing in the bar called The Weird Sisters. It turned out that the band was very popular and the bar was more crowded than usual. The experience left nothing to be desired. The lights were in different bright colors that danced around the slightly dim room, making her head ache, and the music from the band combined with chatters and screams were pure nonsensical noise. As soon as they arrived, Ginny left her in favor of three cross dressing rockstars and she had gone to the bar counter and sat there the entire time, nursing a cherry coke that Ginny had recommended to her because she didn't like drinking alcohol beverages much. She spent the entire night sitting there with no one to talk to and nothing to do because even the bartender was cheering for the band on stage and she didn't bring any books with her.

Needless to say, it was quite an uneventful night and when it was all over, she promised never to come back again. That didn't stop Ginny from coming back though, especially when she found out that The Three Broomsticks featured different bands every Friday night. Ginny was quite miffed when Hermione refused to join her the second time but she eventually conceded to the brunette's wishes. The two of them were different and although they'd been friends for a long time, they didn't enjoy the same things and didn't have the same interests in life. It was a miracle itself that she remained friends with Ginny for so long. Hermione didn't enjoy bar hopping, partying, drinking or meeting new strangers as much as other people and Ginny, as much as she loved her, didn't quite understand that. Ginny wasn't afraid to be adventurous, always living on the edge, while Hermione lived in comfort and stability.

The young man who came out of the bar suddenly started speaking in a foreign language that Hermione didn't understand but could easily recognize due to her taking Linguistics as a way to occupy her vacant time in school. She was studying at one of the most prestigious schools in Hogwarts known as Hogwarts Academy. She was a Sophomore along with Ron and Harry, while Ginny was a Freshman. The Academy was located in Hogsmeade, the capital city of Hogwarts, and it was part of the reason why they were renting an apartment because the school was miles away from Godric's Hollow, their hometown. The Academy did supply dorms but only to those who had full and partial scholarship and although Hermione was a scholar herself, she decided to stay with her friends than to stay in the dorms.

If she wasn't mistaken, the language that he spoke of was High Valyrian. It meant that the man was either a Linguist, a foreigner from Valyria or Dragonstone, or had a Valyrian ancestry in his family. He spoke it fluently so who knew? She also noted his accent which she knew was from Westeros, a continent across the pond of Hogwarts. So, he was a foreigner then and was likely visiting the area. If not, then maybe he just recently moved to Hogsmeade from Westeros.

A strong gust of freezing wind blew and whipped her hair to her face, making her yelp. Her vision was obscured by her thick brown curls that she couldn't tame no matter how many hair care products Ginny insisted she used. She huffed and lifted her shaking hands to push her hair back, her flushed cheeks heating in embarrassment.

"Excuse me, Miss, but are you alright?"

Hermione's spine stiffened when she heard the accented voice and her lips curled. He couldn't be asking her, could he? She slowly craned her neck and looked at the stranger who spoke and her breath hitched when their eyes connected. Now that she wasn't sneaking glances and was now fully looking at him, she could honestly say without any shame whatsoever that he was probably the most beautiful man that she had ever seen before. With the help of the yellow glow from the lamppost behind her, he had an unearthly presence in him that ensnared anyone who was caught into his intricate webs. Hermione was not immuned.

He was waiting for her to speak but for the first time in Hermione's life, she was struck speechless; and it wasn't because of some pointless debate that she wanted to win but because of someone's physique that she had once thought was below her. This man, however, proved her wrong. His shoulder length hair was like the snow that had gathered under his feet, his square jaw was chiseled and strong, his aristocratic nose was long and pointed, his pinkish lips were slightly thin at the top but full at the bottom, his ivory skin was as smooth as porcelain, and his almond shaped eyes had irises with a clear lilac color that she was certain that wasn't contact lenses.

She knew she was gaping at him but she hadn't found it within her to stop. She never blatantly ogled at someone before but he was definitely the exemption. She wouldn't call him 'hot' because it seemed lacking to describe someone with a face like his. He was wearing an unzipped black jacket, a simple red shirt with a black three headed dragon printed on the front, and black fitted jeans and shoes. His shirt was fit, pulled taut across his chest, and his legs were toned and muscled. She almost choked in her saliva when she noted the subtle ripple of his muscles beneath the fabric of his clothes.

Draco Malfoy, with all of his slicked platinum blond hair, pointy face, and silver eyes glory, and whom she thought was insanely pretty with his almost feminine features, just couldn't compare to this phenomenon in front of her.

His eyebrows — thick and shapely, and as white as his hair — drew close in concern when she failed to respond. "Miss?" He repeated again, stepping closer to her. "Are you alright?"

His step snapped her out of her daze and she retreated a step back just to maintain the distance between them, her breaths coming out of her mouth in visible white smoke. He might be as beautiful as a Greek god but that didn't mean that he wasn't a stranger who had the potential to be a murderer or a thief, or worse, a rapist. She nearly shuddered at that thought. Although his sinful looks suggested otherwise, it didn't hurt to be cautious, especially since it was already dark and it felt as though they were the only two people in the world.

"I-I'm f-f-fine," she tried to say convincingly but her teeth clattered as she spoke in trembling tones.

There was a hint of amusement mingling with worry in his lilac eyes. "I don't think that you are, Miss. How long have you been staying here?" His gaze started to roam around her figure and she guessed that he was examining the thin fabric of her clothes rather than checking her out.

She shivered and she didn't know if it was because of the cold weather or because his lilac eyes lingered on a particular part of her body before snapping up to her honey colored eyes.

"L-long enough," she huffed, pursing her lips. "I'm waiting f-for someone."

"In this weather and this time?" He spoke with concern. "Miss, you're going to freeze to death if you wait here any longer."

Although she understood that he was just concerned for her well-being — which was slightly odd considering that he was a stranger — she bristled at his statement. "I told you that I'm fine," she forced out and was internally proud of herself that she hadn't stammered. "Just leave me alone."

His lips tightened, obviously objecting her words albeit internally. "I'm afraid that I can't do so," he told her gently with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. "I can't leave you in this weather and not when you're shaking so badly. Please, let me help you."

Hermione pursed her lips as his eyes bored into her own. It was almost impossible not to get swept by his pleading gaze. He genuinely wanted to help her — or at least she thought so — and it struck her that aside from being extremely good looking, he was also kind and a gentleman. She was right when she thought that Draco Malfoy couldn't compare to him. The blond prick that had tormented her since secondary school would've left her there to freeze to death. Malfoy didn't exactly have a winning personality.

She sighed. "Look, Mister, while I a-appreciate y-your offer t-to help me, I can't a-accept it. Aside f-from the fact that you're a s-stranger and I'm c-clueless about y-your intentions, my f-friend will be p-picking me up s-soon. So, really, your help i-is not n-needed." She huffed and curled her numb fingers under her armpits.

"Well, you have a point, but that doesn't mean that you don't need help." It seemed that he was undeterred by her attempts to refuse his offer. "Why don't you wait back in the bar instead? It's warmer there than out here."

"No," she strongly objected with a sharp shake of her head. "No, t-thank you."

"I insist," he said.

"No." She punctuated her response with a fierce glare.

He paused and stared at her. "You're quite stubborn, aren't you?" He eventually said, looking bemused.

Instead of looking down in embarrassment, she lifted her chin with an expression of defiance. She looked as though she was ready to fight someone and tear them apart if they ever as much as made a mistake. If she wasn't shaking so badly, she would've made a rather imposing figure.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I a-am."

He chuckled and brushed his hair back. Her mouth dried as his hair fell into place and framed his face. She wondered if it was as soft as she imagined it would be. He contemplated her for a moment and might've found a solution because he suddenly slid his jacket off his shoulders and pulled his arms out of the long sleeves. Hermione slightly jumped when he offered his jacket to her with an easy smile on his lips.

"W-what are you d-doing?" Hermione asked, her gaze to the tempting thick jacket in his hand.

He shrugged. "I would feel much better if there's something to keep you warm while you're waiting for your friend here. Since you aren't going to wait in the bar," he said this with a sigh, "I'm going to lend you my jacket. So, please, take this."

Hermione stared at his jacket and her jaw clenched as she weighed down her odds. As if he sensed her hesitation, all of the sudden, he stepped closer to her and enveloped her with his jacket. She flinched, smelling the cologne on his clothes, and her stomach fluttered because of how good he smelled. She nearly gasped when, instead of pulling away, he started rubbing her shoulders, the friction heating her skin although she knew that it was partially because of their close proximity. Her head rose higher and she wondered what she looked like as he looked down at her. Realizing how close they were and probably seeing her expression of shock, he dropped his hands as though he had been stung and immediately distanced himself from her.

"Sorry," he said with a sheepish grin on his face. "I didn't mean to overstep my bounds."

Hermione cleared her throat and pulled the jacket tighter to her. She was certain that the blood rushing to her cheeks wasn't just because of the cold anymore. "It's a-alright," she said slowly. "T-thank you for the j-jacket."

His eyes softened as his lips tipped up into a half smile. "You're welcome."

"You didn't h-have to," she muttered, angling her body away from him.

"I have to," he contradicted her, chuckling lowly. "You were freezing to death. You have to at least protect yourself from the cold." The corner of his eyes wrinkled in concern. "I have to go back to the bar soon. Are you sure that you'll be okay here alone?"

Hermione nodded before flashing him a small smile for the first time that night. "Yes. T-thank you. Again."

His eyebrows twitched upwards and so did his lips. "You're welcome again."

She pursed her lips and although there was a part of her that wanted to say goodbye to him and wanted him gone — nevermind that he was kind enough to lend his jacket to her — a larger part of her wanted to hear him talk. But, no matter how many times she tried to open her mouth to say something, no sound would escape past her throat. She had never been good at talking to strangers before and that's why she was so grateful when he spoke first and asked her if she was living in the area.

"Oh, only t-temporarily," she answered him. "I'm just s-studying here. Although I was b-born here and l-lived u-until I was eleven years o-old before we m-moved. How a-about you? Based by your a-accent, I c-can tell t-that you're from W-Westeros."

"Ah, yes." There was a mild spark in his eyes as he nodded his head. She couldn't help but to note the spark as joy. "I was born in Dragonstone before my family moved to King's Landing when I was just about two."

"That e-explains why you c-can speak High V-Valyrian then," she remarked. Residents from Dragonstone spoke High Valyrian. His family likely taught him to speak that language before he spoke the common tongue in King's Landing.

"You heard that?" He chuckled, shuffling his feet and sliding his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. "Both my father and mother has Valyrian ancestry. My father mostly though. I was taught to speak High Valyrian before I was taught to read and how to distinguished High Valyrian from Bastard Valyrian. How did you know it was High Valyrian?"

"Took a c-course about l-languages. I c-c-could tell that i-it was High Valyr-rian because of t-the way you spoke i-it. W-what most people d-dont catch is the a-accent and the word s-structure."

"You're right," he said with a childish delight that made Hermione look at him strangely. "Just like that? Taking a course about languages? Most people that I know can't tell whether it's Bastard Valyrian or High Valyrian, much more speak it. In fact, I rarely encounter someone outside of my family who could tell the difference." He appraised her.

She shrugged. "I was a-always f-fascinated about different l-languages when I w-was growing up. I could s-speak Parseltongue before my e-eighth birthday."

His eyes seemed to warm with wonder. "Truly? You're a Parselmouth? Wow. Isn't that one of the hardest languages in the world? Who taught you?"

It was mostly because of the awe in his voice that had Hermione grinning at him. "I t-taught myself," she revealed.

His eyes widened. "Wow," he breathed out, thoroughly impressed.

A strong chilling breeze had them both shivering. Hermione watched as he rubbed his bare arms, all the while giving her an easy smile as though he was unbothered by the cold. Guilt churned in her stomach and she opened her mouth with an intent to return his jacket to him when someone from behind him called out.

"Hey, Rhae!" Another man said. He had his narrowed dark eyes fixed at the man that Hermione was just speaking to. "Let's go! It's showtime! They're waiting for you!"

'Rhae' winced and nodded at him. "I'll be there. Just wait for a second." He turned to her with an apologetic glint in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I got to go. It was nice talking to you. Please, keep the jacket. It'll help you keep warm."

Instead of protesting, she nodded at him, relieved that he would leave his jacket to her and admittedly a bit disappointed to see him go. He hesitated for a moment before he pivoted on his heel and headed towards the door to The Three Broomsticks. The man who called him was nowhere to be found; he was likely inside the bar waiting for his friend. She stared at him as the distance between them grew, her heart pounding as steady as his steps that were silent against the snow covered concrete pavement. She turned to the streets, wrapping the jacket around herself and watching the snowflakes fall. The jacket was still warm inside although the cold was already seeping through the fabric.

"Excuse me, Miss."

Hermione whipped her head to the side where she found him exactly standing on the same spot he left before with a sheepish smile that did wonders to his features. Her breath hitched again as a nervous flutter wrecked havoc inside of her stomach.

"Err, yes?"

He ran his fingers through his hair, looking quite embarrassed. "I didn't catch your name," he uttered quietly.

"Oh," Hermione breathed out, realizing the same thing about him. "Oh, uhm, I'm H-Hermione."

"Hermione," he repeated slowly before he stretched his hand out to her. "My name is Rhaegar."

What a strange name.

She couldn't help but smile at him as she clasped his hand. She didn't let herself think about how warm his hand was or how she felt at loss when she had finally let it go. It was best not to dwell onto those things, especially since it was likely that they would never see each other again. It didn't matter that he was hopelessly gorgeous and a perfect gentleman. In the end, this encounter would not be more than a fond memory to remember from time to time as soon as the night would end. There would be what-ifs and what-could-have-beens, but it was a memory all the same. Someday, it would fade and it would be forgotten until something would trigger the memory back again.

"It's nice to meet you." There was sincerity in his voice as he spoke and his smile was soft. "I hope to see you again soon. Take care, Hermione."

"You t-too, Rhaegar."

It's such a shame really, she thought as she waited for Harry's car and he headed towards the direction of the bar. It was such a shame that she would never meet him again.

When Harry finally arrived — in Ron's ancient and beat up car no less. An old Animagus model called Wormtail that was given to him by his twin brothers — and she situated herself on the passenger seat, she folded the black jacket on her lap, listening as Harry mumbled apologies to her. She didn't respond, mostly because she was too busy warming her hands on the heater while also trying to stop her teeth from clattering inside her mouth. She was very glad that she had worn her jeans rather than the ridiculously short skirt that Ginny insisted for her to wear.

"My car was at the shop and I have to borrow Ron's," he explained as he restarted the engine. "I couldn't get the speed past forty because it would break down. I'm really sorry for being late. Have you been waiting long?"

"No," she said, shaking her head and smiling at him. Harry didn't need to know about the time she spent outside in the snow just waiting for him or about the gorgeous man with the strange name who lent her his jacket. "It's okay, Harry. Let's just go back home."

He gave her a relieved smile that maybe had something to do with the fact that she hadn't nagged him about punctuality. "Okay, let's."

The car sprung to life with a pitiful wheezing noise that was another testament of how old Ron's car was. Hermione glanced at the rear view mirror, at the reflection of the doors that led inside The Three Broomsticks, until it was too far away. She could've sworn though, as the car swerved to the right, that the door opened again and she caught a glimpse of white hair.

A/N: This is what I get for reading GOT fanfics and binge watching Season 1 to 4. I need something good in my life right now. Just as I was beginning to think that I had lost my muse, she hits me with this AU story and I don't even know what to make of it. Might as well post it and burn to hell for it.

Reviews are welcomed!

~ NR xx