Harry, II
True to form, Harry stuck to the Lannisters like a plaster in the days following Bran's fall. They were intelligent people, and would most likely try nothing in the presence of a wary Eddard Stark, but he was damned if he'd give them the opportunity to prove him wrong. To his mixed feelings, Harry found himself enjoying conversations with Tyrion; although he was suspicious of all things blonde at the moment, a brief attempt at the Legillimency he was teaching himself showed that the dwarf was at odds with his family due to his birthing status.
Harry could sympathise.
Robb and Jon tended to help with surveillance but were unsure of what exactly they were hoping to find. Nobody knew what happened to Bran, but Harry's rationale for distrusting their guests was based on the rotten stench associated with the Lannister name itself together with his initial impressions, and although Ned did not agree to that concept aloud, it was clear he thought the same.
So, Harry played off his icy persona as a simple distrust of the Lannister house, rather than an outspoken suspicion that they had tried to murder Bran. Given his history lessons over the prior few weeks, most tended to accept this convenient excuse at face value. And yet, Harry was careful to not leave the children alone with the Lannisters. Ned was more hesitant, owing to his uncertainties on the matter, but Harry knew they couldn't rule out the possibility that the Lannisters hoped to slowly eliminate the Stark bloodline, jealous or perhaps fearful of Ned's appointment, and that Bran was a botched first effort.
It was a poor attempt on Harry's part at rationalising what had happened, but he simply had no other ideas as of yet and refused to believe that Bran had fallen. He kept repeating his efforts in penetrating the Kingslayer's mind, but since he was not an expert, all he could glimpse were feelings of pride and snobbery, until he could no longer hold the magic steady. Most unfortunately, Tyrion had been present when he attempted to use the spell on Cersei, so all he had gleaned from her was an overwhelming feeling of hatred for the dwarf, which did reinforce his earlier findings about Tyrion's relationship with the other Lannisters.
If I'm only getting emotions, maybe I need to use that, thought Harry. Pure hatred is required for the killing curse. Love is what kept Voldemort at bay for a few moments after Sirius died. Maybe I need to focus on one thing in particular and drive forwards with it to master Legillimency once and for all. If I learned the Patronus charm at thirteen, I can do this quickly enough if I discover the correct method. If they hurt Bran, they'll pay dearly for it.
Anger.
Harry blinked in his musings. Legillimency was the effect of forcing one's way into the mind of another, a violent action. If love was the counter to that, it stood firm that anger, rage and hatred were the catalysts.
It was worth a shot, and if it worked, Harry gave himself a few short few days before he was able to sweep aside the irrelevant memories like he would rake a pile of leaves and find what he was looking for. Desire made sense when it came to learning a spell of this sort, as he thought earlier. Magic came from determination more than anything. His finding of Voldemort after Fred's death was another example of that in action. It made perfect sense where the mind arts were concerned.
I can't believe I was so blind to this, he thought, disgusted with himself. It's no wonder that Snape couldn't teach me Occlumency, although I think I understand Dumbledore's actions a little better now. He must have hoped that my hatred for Snape would cause me to master the art quickly, so that I could keep him out of my thoughts... such a pity my curiosity towards Voldemort was stronger. Pure emotion is the trigger. It has to be. I have to find a way to own it.
And so he improved bit by bit with each training attempt, focusing his righteous anger at Bran's predicament, whom he had started to love as a brother, at the savagery of those who had hurt him and his friends, at Voldemort, at the world itself.
He was progressing quite remarkably.
Healing was a different story, as Harry found that he didn't know the correct wand form for many of the spells and could only guess at how best to control the flow of magic. It was a practical art, not a mental one. Hermione had once berated him for not carrying around a list of incantations, so that he might practice in his own time, and he now berated himself for the same reason. He held dozens of useful objects in his bottomless bag, such as additional wands, potions and objects that would aid him in the land, but only a few books, as he hadn't figured for much reading time in his pursuit of Voldemort. One of those was for healing, however, and it was now the one that he studied arduously. The problem with learning a discipline like healing was human anatomy – there was simply so much to the human body that it took trainee healers years and years of study under professional tutors in order to master the most advanced healing spells, almost as if they were Muggle doctors learning new procedures for the first time. In order to put something back together, one first had to know how it functioned in the first place, which is why Harry couldn't have possibly taught himself everything with regards to the subject. He hoped Luwin could help a little.
A sliver of hope paid him a visit, as Harry rediscovered within the tome the spell that Lockhart had used on his broken arm so long ago. It had vanished the bones, but he suspected that was because Lockhart was an incompetent fop with the intelligence quotient of a lump of mouldy cabbage and didn't know how arms worked. The spell itself seemed sound enough, so he practiced it until the magical discharge felt natural and he was confident of success. Then, he found a bird with a broken wing and mended it in several tries, after visualising how a wing should look and function, wincing as he worried about a possible euthanizing were it to go wrong.
It did not. It, ahem, worked like a charm.
Harry watched as the raven, one of Maester Luwin's, hopped about on the table beside him, before stretching its wings as if to test them gingerly. Apparently satisfied, it gave a harrowing croak and flew though the window of his bedroom to return to the rookery. He started with surprise as he caught a glimpse of Tyrion Lannister in the courtyard. Not that the little man was surprising in himself, but his repetitive striking of Prince Joffrey in the face certainly was. The Hound, Joffrey's lapdog, seemed to mutter something to the dwarf before stalking after his prince.
Harry had a sudden idea. He wrestled with the risks of doing so before deciding it would be worth it and then hurried to catch Tyrion. This was going to set the Dementor amongst the Muggles for sure. When Harry found him, the little man was heading for breakfast, and he quickly fell in alongside him.
"Ah, are you here to join me, Lord Harry?" Tyrion asked. "Here I thought that all Stark men felt we Lannisters have the plague these past few days."
"I'm not a Stark, Lord Tyrion."
"Noted," the little man replied. "And just Tyrion, if it please you."
"Only if Harry pleases you."
Tyrion gave a small grin, almost unnoticeable. When he answered it was as though he were jesting. "You know, I must say it does. I do hope men aren't your fancy, let alone little ones, lest I be afraid. Just be warned that my siblings may not take so kindly to your idea of joining us. My brother rather hates you, I should think."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry said, deadpan. "And the queen?"
"She hates everybody but him."
Harry laughed, against his better judgement.
They entered the serving hall, where Tyrion began to throw out requests for bacon, burnt black, bread and fish, beer to wash it down, and other such victuals. The serving men and women bustled to and fro, removing and adding platters per request as they did. Harry asked for his usual compliment of food, though he felt he could teach the cooks in Winterfell a thing or two, given the time. He was positively delighted by the looks on the Lannister twins' faces as he approached with Tyrion. Where Jaime hid his anger fairly quickly, Cersei was more open, and only mustered a half-smile at Tyrion's greeting. It was plain as day that she detested the pair of them, even if she did not say it. Her youngest children, Myrcella and Tommen, were a different matter. They reminded Harry rather a lot of Bran and Arya; young, excitable and friendlier than he would have dared guess any Lannister could be, although they were Baratheons. He briefly wondered how Joffrey's attitude hadn't rubbed off on them, but shook it off as a minor miracle.
"How good to see you again, Lord Potter," said Jaime in a tone that suggested quite the opposite.
"And you, Ser Jaime. It's good to see you from a flat angle once more."
That comment did not sit well with the Kingslayer, as his grip tightened a little on his goblet of wine, but he let it pass without comment.
"Your Grace, Lord Tyrion invited me to join him," Harry said with a bow to the queen, before sitting himself beside the man and Prince Tommen.
"I'm glad you're in good health, Lord Potter," Cersei said, giving him a smile. It looked as though somebody had stabbed her upper gums with a pair of pins and forced her mouth to tilt upwards with lengths of string, but he pretended not to notice.
Good God. How the fuck are these people in control of half the land if they haven't an ounce of subtlety between them?
Despite thinking it, he knew that comment was rather unfair. Ned had told him that the Kingslayer cared nothing for politics and tended to offend as much as he spoke, and Cersei controlled nothing of any substance by herself. However, Tywin Lannister was another matter entirely, so the pedigree of the family name lived on through his strength, which was as resolute as ever. Harry had seen this type of coattail-riding behaviour before, namely in one Draco Malfoy, and scoffed at it inside his own head. Tyrion seemed to be his own man entirely, although Harry knew from comments directed his way that he was lucky to have been born into a noble house, given his unfortunate disposition. A peasant family may have murdered him as a newborn in the dead of night.
"And you, Your Grace," said Harry. He thought it about time to drop his grenade with the fuse intact. "I look forward to the journey south. I hear the Kingsroad is quite the spectacle."
Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "You're heading for the capital with Lord Stark, then?"
"I am," Harry nodded. "I think it would be wise to look for volunteers to help rebuild my settlement at Sea Dragon Point. Lord Stark promised northern volunteers, but they seem to be busy in stocking up for the winter, so I thought-"
"You might prefer some good, southern labour," Jaime finished for him, taking a drink. "I cannot fault you that logic."
"Indeed," said Harry, not rising to the comment. "I'd also like to see the capital for myself. I've never had the pleasure."
"There are many pleasures there for sure," said Tyrion, grinning. "Then again, most of them can be found almost anywhere there is a brothel. So long as the whores are clean and willing, a man could go anywhere from Sunspear to Mole's Town without missing out."
"The children have no need to hear your filth," Cersei snapped, as Tommen and Myrcella both laughed at the dwarf's words. She shepherded them both away without another word and did not return. Harry looked around, counting. He was pleased she had left. There were still a few servants present, but they did not look to be there for much longer.
"Are you still thinking of going north?" Jaime asked his brother, unaware of Harry's calculations.
Tyrion nodded around a mouthful of beer. "I want to see The Wall and piss off of it, provided my cock doesn't freeze as I do. Then I suppose it'll be back to the drains of Casterly Rock."
Harry did not mind that the two brothers were ignoring him. He turned and focused on his breakfast, enjoying it for what it was. Two slices of bacon, some bread and eggs, and a mug of the worst coffee he had ever tried. Again, he wondered at teaching the cooks how better to ply their trade. That is, until Ser Jaime spoke once again.
"You'll forgive me, Lord Harry, when I say this. It is not meant in poor taste, but I heard just today that the Stark boy – Bran – may live. Is that true?"
"It is," said Harry, trying his best to not grit his teeth. I'm sure that's in terrific taste, Kingslayer.
Jaime seemed to wince, but covered the motion by clarifying: "I am glad, of course, but I hope he will not be in any pain if he should awake, nor that he'll be a cripple."
"I daresay it'll be neither of those," Harry spat. "Maester Luwin believes he could make a full recovery."
It was a lie, of course. Nobody but Harry and Ned thought that Bran had any chance of walking again, if he did awake. Nonetheless, Jaime's surprise betrayed his mask of calmness.
"The grace of the Seven must be upon him," he said, raising his tankard. "Or is it the Old Gods this far north? I forget."
"It could be either," said Harry, shrugging, seething, shaking. "I do hope we'll get to the bottom of how he fell, however. If he fell. If not... well, I'd be happy to kill the one who pushed him, with my own two hands."
"I wouldn't blame you," said Tyrion, as he watched their reactions carefully. He could almost taste the hostility, or was that the piss-poor excuse for bacon? In any case, there was something afoot, and he would not remain ignorant for long if he could help it. "I hope the boy does wake up. It'll be interesting to hear what he says."
"Dear brother," said Jaime, flicking his eyes to Tyrion. "Sometimes I wonder whose side you're on."
"A suspicious comment," said Harry, glaring at the Kingslayer.
"Hardly. Even in minor disputes, family should side with family," Jaime said, just as hard.
"A fallacy," said Harry, knowing that the man would probably not understand the terminology. "I was referring to the suspicions surrounding Bran's injuries. Did you see anything in that area – or anybody – when it happened, Kingslayer?"
"I did not," said Jaime.
"Really? Where were you when Bran was injured?"
"Taking a bath, I believe," said Jaime with a smirk. "It wouldn't do for a member of House Lannister to smell below their status. That is the task of lesser Houses. Wouldn't you agree, Tyrion?"
"You wound me," said Tyrion, grumbling as he ate. "Choosing a side in this genital-measuring contest is beneath even me, dear brother. Besides, you know how much I love my family. I have Lannister interests at heart every hour of the day."
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw that they were at last alone. He sent a non-verbal locking charm towards the doors from beneath the table and looked back to the Kingslayer. It was time to put his chips on the table and let that grenade detonate.
"You pushed him."
Tyrion fell silent at once, and looked up from his plate slowly. Harry's eyes bore into Jaime's, who looked furious beyond measure.
"Such a bold claim-"
"Do you deny it?" Harry interrupted.
"With every fibre of my being," Jaime growled.
"We'll see about that. Legillimens!"
Harry registered a look of surprise from the man as he pointed his wand into Jaime's face, but it was soon replaced by a torrent of hazy memories relating to the incident in question. Harry had led Jaime to thinking about this deliberately, and now he was reaping the rewards with his usage of legillimency. The memories he saw were muddled and violent, until he began to employ his newfound focus. He then saw Jaime with Cersei and was appalled at their actions. He watched as Bran interrupted them and felt a lump appear in his throat. The three exchanged brief words, before Jaime declared "The things I do for love", and pushed the Stark boy from the window.
With a gasp and a heave upon his magical reserves, Harry tore himself from the Kingslayer's mind after the effort to not erupt in anger threatened to tear both of their heads asunder. He stared at the man, who was panting for breath and looking... fearful?
Harry took a moment to register what he had seen, but when he did, his wand snapped back up to Jaime's face, and the look of calculation in his eyes was replaced with one of murderous desire.
"You piece of shit," he hissed. He froze Jaime in place with a body-bind and leaned in close. "I'd kill you here and now, if that wouldn't implicate me in your death. Know this, Ser Jaime: one day, when you least expect it, I'm going to take a lot of joy from killing both you and your sister, you fucking insect. Remember that, even if you forget the rest of this little chat. You are mine, Kingslayer. If I have to figure out how to bring you back from the dead just so I can kill you all over again, I will. And when I come for you, in the dead of night, I'm going to feed you to the wolves. That should be a fitting end. Obliviate!"
Harry cancelled the body-bind. "We three were sitting here talking about Bran's fall. I informed you that he may live. Tyrion said he is going north before returning home. That is all." With that, he ended the manipulation of the Kingslayer's memories and allowed him to regain his composure, as though nothing had happened.
Harry then looked to Tyrion, who sat, mouth ajar, staring at him. "Walk with me," he commanded with hard eyes, secretly unlocking the door once again.
Tyrion was in no mood to disobey after that performance and quickly followed Harry out of the room, while Jaime went back to his breakfast without a care in the world, other than to shoot Harry a venomous glare as he left the room. Harry led Tyrion outside, then to the Godswood. Along the way the little man fumbled constantly.
"I... I..."
"You don't love your family in the slightest," Harry declared, as they entered the clearing. He cast a charm and determined that they were alone, wincing internally at the crackle of arcane energy that appeared suddenly to his eyes only. "I know – I saw it in your mind. I may not be an expert yet, but that much is clear. You despise your father and your sister. You seem to love your brother, but I'll disabuse you of that misguided feeling by telling you that he pushed Bran from that tower. He did so after Bran caught him fucking your sister!"
Tyrion swallowed and a bead of sweat appeared on his forehead, but he finally regained his composure, despite the fear in his eyes. "Hold up a little. What in Seven Hells did you do to him?!"
"Expecto patronum!" said Harry immediately, pointing his wand off to the side. He saw the look of astonishment on Tyrion's face as Prongs burst forth, but then recalled the stag after a few seconds. The Lannister did not remove his eyes from that spot, however, until Harry snapped his fingers.
"You'll forgive me for not understanding," said Tyrion quietly.
"I am a wizard," Harry declared, thinking of how similar this would be to his first meeting with Ned. "Last time we spoke, I talked about how outsiders would view this land, and the reason is that I am not from here. I am an outsider, not just to Westeros, but to the entire world as you know it. I come from a place where magic – which is what I am using – can be controlled through a wand such as this." He held the wand up for Tyrion to see. "I read your brother's mind, I read yours and I read your sister's, although her thoughts were blinded by her hatred for you because you were present at the time."
Tyrion did not react to that, which Harry suspected was because he knew of her feelings all too well.
"I'm sworn to House Stark, but I only came here in order to track a criminal known as Voldemort, an extremely dangerous wizard from my own land. He is here, hidden in Westeros, and I'm going to King's Landing because I suspect it is the perfect playground for him to indulge in. I'll find him and kill him if I can, but in the meanwhile, I'll help Lord Stark with his role as Hand of the King, for he gave me shelter when I needed it most, and has treated me like family. Companions of mine may also join us here, if I can fix it to be possible, but I don't know for sure as of yet."
"Those are a lot of words," Tyrion said, after thinking it through for a few minutes. He began to pace, arms folded. When finally he looked at Harry again, his face held determination, something that Harry had been hoping for. "Why are you telling me all of this, Lord Potter? I am assuming you removed my brother's recollection of what just happened, so why extend me this courtesy instead of giving me the same treatment?"
Harry let out a breath. He knew that question was coming. "It's because of who you are."
"A dwarf?"
"A dwarf is a part of what you are, not who," Harry corrected. "You're not a thing to me, Tyrion, but I suspect you already know that. You're a person and you hate your family, much as you like to use the Lannister name to make your way through life. They've treated you like shit since the day you were born, and you want rid of them. I don't know all of the reasons behind it, but I'm suspecting you know I have a point, else you'd be trying to flee."
"I'm in shock," Tyrion admitted, "and I would not get very far on these legs in any case. But for what it's worth... my sister has always hated me, I must say. She blames me for the death of our mother, who passed during childbirth. Our father... well, he is a cunning bastard and hates me quite as much as Cersei does, for the same reasons."
Harry blinked, not expecting this. "That's... that is, it wasn't-"
"Wasn't my fault," Tyrion finished, smiling solemnly. "I know that. I have spent many years reassuring myself that I did not kill the woman who carried and birthed me, but Cersei is both cruel and vindictive, and father is father. They see things a mite differently. Jaime has never blamed me, so I gave him my love. For what it's worth, Lord Potter, I know of their relationship already. I've just never cared. The king, on the other hand..."
"The king would kill them both and declare war on House Lannister if he knew," said Harry, nodding. "Perhaps I should tell him myself."
Tyrion drew a breath and nodded. "You could, but I suspect that you won't. Lord Stark would, but you know the consequences of that action all too well. Lannisters would cross blades with Starks, and we are in Winterfell."
Harry smirked at him, and Tyrion's insides turned to ice.
"You have no idea," he said quietly. "You have absolutely no idea how easy it would be for me to subdue every single one of your soldiers without so much as breaking a sweat. I could kill your brother and sister, incapacitate every swordsman and then have the rest of you think the convoy was attacked by brigands a hundred miles away, all in the space of a minute. Nobody but myself and Lord Stark would ever know. Bran? I can figure out how to heal him, with time. It'll be like nothing ever happened, except the deaths of Jaime and Cersei Lannister."
Tyrion looked genuinely afraid for a moment, before he drew himself to a rational conclusion. Such things were his forte, after all. "The final destination of the king's 'convoy' was reached days ago, my lord. Word will have spread all along the Kingsroad, and my father himself will likely know of our whereabouts by now. If you were to do that, you might fool everybody inside Winterfell, but outside..."
"Why do you think I haven't done it?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. He was impressed by Tyrion's ability to think rationally under such pressure, which reassured him that he was making the right choice in trying to enlist his help. "I'm not a fool, Tyrion. If I do anything openly hostile here it will be a declaration of war, and the Starks are in the firing line, which means they would be the casualties, as you said. The whole of Westeros would know. I have no doubt we would defeat your father in any battle I take part in, but that is not my wish. I have a need to go to King's Landing for my own business, and if I don't go quietly, that business will be impossible to conduct. Voldemort will seize the opportunity to do... something. Something that I wouldn't like and which would result in countless innocent deaths. And even if he didn't, open war isn't something I want on my conscience. By the way, I've told you already to call me Harry. I'm not your enemy."
Harry left out that he could quite easily put Jaime under the imperius curse and make him admit to what he had done. He only chose to not do that because he needed things to remain calm whilst looking for Voldemort and that action, as with many others, would lead to war when word reached Tywin Lannister. Harry genuinely believed that Tywin was the most dangerous man in Westeros where Harry's actions were concerned, save Voldemort, and he genuinely began to fear that the two were in collusion. He would need to speak of this with Ned at a later time.
"So does that mean I'm free to go?" asked Tyrion, although Harry knew he was digesting the rest of that information on the inside.
"Of course," said Harry, waving his hand. "Right after I alter your memories."
Tyrion sighed. "I do think that is all to the better, by this point. However, I hate to be ignorant of anything, especially where it concerns my family. What would you have of me to keep my brain intact? It is my most redeeming quality, after all."
"Fuck the Wall. Come with us to King's Landing. You're a smart man. I can tell from our previous conversations and from this one. You also hate your family as much as I and Lord Stark do. I want your help to figure out what the hell is going on and in finding Voldemort."
"You surprise me, Harry. Why should I trust you?"
"Tyrion, if I wanted to, I could have you live out the rest of your days as a bald man in a monkey suit, juggling plates in a Mummer's troupe," said Harry with a laugh. "You wouldn't remember that you were a Lannister at all. Or I could have you drown yourself in the pond over yonder. Or maybe I could have you run to the Wall naked and see how long you last en-route before turning into an icicle. My point is: I'm not doing any of those things. I'm showing you trust by speaking to you as an equal, just as I've done with Lord Stark."
"Lord Stark knows of you? Also, I find it amusing to think of myself juggling."
"He and a few others know of my true origins and abilities," Harry admitted. "Help us and I..."he trailed off, looking at the ground.
"You what?" asked Tyrion.
"...I'll take you with me when I leave," said Harry, looking up again. "You can have a fresh start in my world, if you'd like, and I know you would enjoy the experience. No more Lannisters, no more stares, no more hatred. Well, not as much hatred, anyway."
Tyrion gave him a grim smile, and scratched his head. Harry felt it was safe at last to unhand his wand, and instead drew his cloak around him for warmth as the other man thought about what he had been offered. Finally, he spoke.
"Perhaps one day I might take you up on that arrangement," said Tyrion, "but for the moment it seems that we are both stuck here. And I do play this game of politics exceedingly well, I must say. I feel that you have the measure of me, L- Harry. And perhaps I of you. Indeed, it is a rare man who does not take the word 'measure' and jest about it where I am concerned."
Harry smiled. "I'm not that sort of person, Tyrion." He quietly tried some wandless Legillimency, which was much more difficult to utilise and which he only had control of for a brief moment. It was enough. He saw that Tyrion agreed with everything he had said and would keep his secrets, so there was no need for a memory charm. Even his hopes of redeeming Jaime had been dashed by the revelation that he had pushed Bran, if only by a fraction. Harry winced but understood that dedication; if Ron or Hermione had done something unspeakable, he would do everything possible to give them the benefit of the doubt. Besides, Tyrion had just been introduced to magic and likely wanted – nay, needed – confirmation of another sort before condemning the only member of his family who had ever shown him any love. Nonetheless, he would help Harry.
"Understand that I do not love the Starks," said Tyrion in a serious tone. "And I do not love you either. But I do trust you. I shall help you, Harry, but not out of loyalty. I think it'll be of interest and wish to be where things shall unravel as they do so, especially since they'll more than likely result in war if not handled correctly. I cannot afford to miss these events, I fear. I can piss off the edge of the world some other time."
He stuck his hand out and Harry, grinning a little at his words, shook it.
"Thank you for agreeing to help. Lord Stark will distrust you at first, but I can help assuage his doubts. This is important, Tyrion. I'm not of this world, but even I know what we do could keep it whole, or lead to its destruction if we don't tread carefully. Voldemort is here, and that is my responsibility. He is more dangerous than every warlord in this realm by a multitude of ten."
"We all have our responsibilities," Tyrion assured him. "And on that very note, I feel my father will cast me out should he ever learn of this."
"He won't," said Harry. "Learn of it, that is. No one will. You'll be working with us in secret, just as my true identity will be secret. I'll also have to ask you for an oath to never reveal anything about me without my permission. You can't use magic, but I'm willing to trust you to your word."
"I swear it," Tyrion nodded, and Harry felt his earnestness.
"Good. Now, let's get to work."
"Give me some time, if you would," said Tyrion, breathing deep. "I feel I should visit the brothel outside Winterfell for the rest of the day. I shan't run away."
"I know," said Harry, amused by the little man's... stamina. "I'll speak to you in the morning."
"Are you certain of this?" Ned asked in clipped tones, his eyes hard as granite.
Here, Harry hesitated. He had gone straight to Ned after his conversation with Tyrion and requested a quiet word. They stood alone in the welcoming hall of Winterfell, with the doors bolted and silencing wards enacted. "The Mind Arts are not easy to master, Ned. A skilled Legillimens will sift through someone's thoughts and memories like a book, fully able to find what they're looking for with nothing save instinct alone. I was never very proficient in this branch of magic, and the only masters I know of died a long time ago, so I haven't been properly trained."
Somewhere in his own thoughts, Harry heard words echoed from long ago. "The mind is not a book, Potter..." He snorted, which drew Ned's attention.
"So you're not certain?" Ned asked, clearly impatient.
"I'd say that I have the technique figured out," Harry said. "I trained myself as best I could and had a reason to succeed – a desire to protect somebody I've come to care for in Bran. I was able to find the correct memory, but saw many other things in the Kingslayer's mind too. I drove him to thinking about things he regrets and saw him kill the Mad King, for one. When I focused on the fall... I saw it happen."
Ned sighed in frustration. His grip tightened on the pommel of his broadsword as he paced around the room, and the cogs in his brain were as clockwork to Harry. His eyes snapped back to the young wizard. "I understand, but I must press you for a straight and simple answer. Did the Kingslayer attempt to murder my son or no?"
Harry hesitated once again. Much resided on this answer. "...yes. Yes, he did. He was with Cersei, and pushed Bran from that window after they were caught in the act."
"It's good enough for me," Ned declared. He gave a sharp nod and marched over to the door.
"Lord Stark, stop," said Harry in a commanding tone of voice.
Ned froze, his hand on the door handle. There it was again – that voice of war, of command, the one that he had heard from Harry the first time they had met. That Harry cared so much for Ned's family... that and the voice he was now using did surprise him enough that he actually stopped, and he also looked back over his shoulder, although his expression had not changed from one of bloodlust. He expected Harry to be intimidated by that, but was impressed to find that he wasn't.
In fact, these were just Harry's assumptions about what Ned was thinking. He had this man figured out by now, and knew how he thought. It was why Harry trusted him and considered him a friend. He had more honour than most any other adult Harry had ever known.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"You know where," said Ned in a low voice.
"What will you do?" Harry asked rhetorically. "Kill him? Beat him until he submits? Torture him until he reveals what he did?"
"Something, damn it!" Ned growled, squeezing the door handle so tightly that the frame began to rattle. He took a deep breath and released it, before stepping back.
"You have no evidence," said Harry. "None. What will you tell them? That Jaime admitted to it? That Bran remembers the fall? He hasn't awoken and the Lannisters would know you're lying-"
"I don't need them to know," Ned replied. "Not so long as mine own kin know the truth of this."
"Then you would start a war," said Harry, "when I can assure you that one is already headed your way. And it's much more important than this matter, I'm sorry to tell you. Ser Jaime will pay for this, but not now. You can't tell them your Wizarding friend read his mind, can you? And he'll never admit to what he did. I'm going to keep a very close eye on him when we reach the capital, and I'm going to practice my Legillimency too until I can pluck the thoughts out of his head without an effort. It's about time I mastered the ability – Merlin knows I'm going to need it down there."
"So you want me to do nothing proactive?" Ned demanded.
"What the fuck does proactive mean?" Harry snapped. "Would you lop off his head and be done with it? There's more to this that we don't know about yet! How many know of his relationship with Cersei? How do we approach the king, and when? How far does this corruption seed in King's Landing and all across the realm? We have to unravel the truth of it before we can bring all of the perpetrators to justice."
Ned looked thoughtful. "You're right, of course... Jaime had a reason to do what he did, although it makes me all the angrier. My own son... may the Old Gods and the new curse him... to betray his king like this, and then attempt to murder a child? My child? Of all the knights in the Seven Kingdoms who would murder a child, I do think that-"
"Don't finish that thought," said Harry. "I know what you're going to say and you're wrong. Ser Jaime isn't the worst, as disgusting as that prospect is. Gregor Clegane, for one. He has previous. Countless others too."
Ned sighed and stroked his beard wearily. "I had hoped to be rid of these disgusting people," he admitted. "When I left for Winterfell after Robert's rebellion it was in full hope of never being dragged into this Mummer's farce again. And then, on the very first day even before I've accepted the position of Hand, my son is almost murdered, I uncover a plot in the Lannister household involving an illegitimate relationship between the queen herself and her brother, and now I have a desire to kill the Kingslayer in cold blood after all that has happened. And that is not to say I have forgotten the death of Jon Arryn either."
"Politics is murder," Harry muttered with dry humour. "You know how sorry I am about Bran. It hurts me almost as an older brother. I suspect rumblings over my lack of healing magic would exist if your family knew of me, so I'm going to correct that wrong too. Stall them for a week, and I'll teach myself enough to mend your son's legs. I'm almost there as is, insofar as bones are concerned."
"I understand your feelings, and I appreciate the depth of caring," Ned nodded. "I appreciate that you are trying. The children think very highly of you and Cat does too. And so do I... but if you can truly do something to help Bran... "
"I swear it," Harry declared. "And thank you, Ned... what you describe is a mutual feeling, on all counts. The Lannisters have done some awful things and your family doesn't deserve to be caught in the centre. As my people would say, this is the straw that breaks the camel's back. I'm going to help you, because we have mutual interests, because you helped me in my time of need and I care for you all... and because it's who I am."
"What have you planned?" Ned asked, carefully eying the younger man.
Harry smirked, and Ned was reminded his friend was extremely confident, yet able to back that confidence up with raw power and talent. Harry knew that Ned would hesitate in hearing this, but he had to try.
"I'm going to see what dirt we can't dig up," he said. "In King's Landing I'm going to start trying to uncover what else the Lannisters are doing. Whatever it is, it can't be pretty, but I intend to find out. I could drag it out of them now, but this goes further than the twins. It has to. You should keep a close eye on the king. He might be a complete arsehole and a bigger fool than almost anyone I've ever met, but he's on our side and he'll be targeted if they suspect we're onto them."
"You think they would kill him?" Ned exclaimed, looking aghast. Harry knew he wasn't happy about his description of Robert, but Lord Stark made no comment on that matter. It was a popular opinion, after all, and Ned knew it to be a reasonable one.
"I think they would kill a seven year old," Harry said, and Ned nodded reluctantly, understanding.
"Harry... I must thank you," Ned said, looking at him straight in the eye. "No matter what happens, no matter what we discover from this matter, you have been a friend to the House of Stark, a friend to my family, and a friend of mine own. I cannot begin to repay you for the kindness you've shown us."
"I think that's my line," Harry smiled, clasping the elder Stark's forearm as a brother in arms would. "You gave me a home when I didn't know where to go next. If you hadn't been as good a person as you are, I'd be sleeping rough and trying to make my way south right now. Or possibly even north, since I wouldn't have had a clue without your help. Trust me when I say that I'll always be grateful, Ned. And my own goal aside, I won't rest until this issue is resolved."
"Didn't you once speak of a policy to not interfere?" Ned asked with a raised eyebrow.
Harry understood what he meant. He backed off again. "I did, but that was because none of us had imagined an emotional attachment like the one I feel towards your family. In other words: fuck that policy."
Ned smiled a little, and Harry relaxed. Lord Stark would be a dangerous man when provoked and given the circumstances, Harry suspected he would cleave the Kingslayer in two if it came to blows, talent with a blade aside. Now that he had calmed Ned down, he chose to raise another matter.
"I trust Tyrion," said Harry. "I used Legillimency on him, and found that he hates his family almost as much as you we do, although that's obvious if you speak to him anyway. He has some love for Jaime, and knew of his relationship with Cersei, but chose to tell me that willingly. He won't stop us when we reach King's Landing and wants to help, probably to kick dirt in Tywin Lannister's eyes. He could be a valuable ally."
Ned's smile had disappeared upon Harry's third word, replaced by a frown that caused worry lines to appear upon his brow. The elder Stark sat upon a stool in the hall they occupied and crossed his arms.
"If you were another, I would have cause to doubt you. But with your... abilities... I find myself forced to take you at your word," he admitted.
Harry shook his head and let his accent slip. "Nah, you don't. That's what trust is for, Ned. If you told me this instead, I'd trust you even though you can't use magic. You're my friend. Don't just force yourself to believe me on all of this; work it out for yourself and decide if you trust me or not."
"I do," said Ned immediately. "When I think on everything that has happened, including your trust of me and my family, I have every reason to trust you. It's what stayed my hand only a few minutes ago, and it's why I'll believe you now. We can rely on Tyrion Lannister too, you say – very well. What should be our next move?"
"I hope I don't have to convince you to not tell Robert," said Harry, grimacing. He also sat and folded his leg over the other. One hand stroked the beard he had grown, and the other rested against his chest. He was garbed in Stark colours, which showed his place among the household. Gryffindor's sword, as it oft was these days, remained across his back. Science showed that drawing from the back was next to impossible, but the sword's magic allowed him to do so. He alternated between his back and his hip for the sake of comfort.
"I had hoped you wouldn't say that," Ned grumbled. "He deserves to know the truth, even if you don't approve of his temperament."
"To put it mildly," Harry snorted. "Still, I don't disagree with you, but consider this: what will he do if we tell him about Cersei and Jaime?"
"Kill them both."
"And declare war on Tywin Lannister."
"You can't know that," Ned pointed out. "As his Hand and oldest friend I could convince him otherwise, especially with your help."
Harry eyed his friend carefully. "Maybe... but you don't want me to use magic on any of our friends, do you? Even to read their minds?"
"Are you suggesting otherwise?"
"The lesser of two evils is still evil, but choosing it will prevent incredible death and destruction," said Harry. "I could imperius Robert, if we come up with a plan for dealing with the Lannisters beforehand. Technically, I have the power to control the entire Small Council, the Kingsguard, the armies in the capital and all of the crown's vassals. I don't say this lightly because I don't like thinking of those things, but it could be done. Of course, if Voldemort has already done it..."
"You think he has control of the king?" Ned asked, aghast.
"Hell, I hope not," Harry muttered, frowning. "But I don't know. Under the imperius of a master like Voldemort, Robert would still appear perfectly normal to even his closest friends. Of course, that bastard could be anywhere in the Kingdoms, across the Narrow Sea, or north of the Wall."
"So what do you propose?"
Harry cast a second silencing charm around the room, just to be sure.
"It's time to take the kid gloves off," said Harry. "Until I find Voldemort, realign that damned portal and figure out how to get my friends here, it's just the two of us and those we choose to trust. Your wife, sons and Tyrion... oh, and Maester Luwin, are all a part of that group, and I'm sure there will be others, but for now we should try and gain a position of strength.
"We need to take control of the crown, although if you want to use friendship to do that rather than magic, I'll support you," Harry added, seeing Ned's unhappy expression. "I don't like manipulating people who don't deserve it, even if your friend Robert is open for debate on this matter. To that end, we'll need to plan what to do in King's Landing before getting there. Tyrion will help – I convinced him to stay away from the Wall. You should leave Jon and Robb here with your wife and daughters. They won't like it, but it's for their own safety. I also doubt you'll want to keep Sansa's engagement with Joffrey on the table now that you know the truth about the queen's children."
Ned blanched. "Jon and Robb told me that he's a horrid child in any case."
"Because I told them to," said Harry, smiling grimly. "Joffrey is a vicious little cunt, and I understand why. 'Poor breeding', as you would call it. We would talk about 'genetic deficiency' back home, courtesy of incest. Either way, you need to annul that marriage proposal post-haste. And I'm not trying to give you orders, Ned, I promise," he added, wincing as he realised that was exactly how it sounded. "I've just been thinking about this since I read Jaime's mind, and I think it's for the best."
"Nay, I take no offence," said Ned. "I would follow these particular courses of action were our roles reversed. The girls will remain here with Cat and I'll think of some excuse to give Robert on that count. As my heir, Robb needs must do the same. But Jon... He wishes to take the Black, Benjen told me."
"I'll speak to him," Harry promised. "I know it's your right as his father, but he needs to hear it from me. I'm causing a lot of shit to spiral out of control and need to explain myself, even if only a little."
Ned shifted, looking uncomfortable. He wouldn't meet Harry's eyes for a moment.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
After a few seconds of drawn-out thought, Ned looked up again, and Harry saw that his expression was haunted. It was alarming, seeing his friend suddenly appear a decade older and... ashamed?
"I need to tell you the truth," he said. "I trust you with this, where I have trusted no other, not even Catelyn or Jon himself. I... I am not Jon's father."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "I had no idea. I thought he was a bastard, but I'll admit I was surprised by the idea of you... well..."
"Sullying my wife's honour," said Ned bitterly. He tsked. "I have dishonoured her enough by not speaking of this sooner, but I swore a vow, and..."
"And your honour is your life," said Harry quietly. "You don't need to explain yourself or admit to it. But why the secrecy?"
Ned stood up slowly. He looked at the far wall, before beginning to pace. He was clearly deep in thought and Harry, surprised by this change in subject, gave him the time he needed to think of what to say next. For his own part, Harry ran his mind over what had happened since he arrived in Westeros. He had devised a mental checklist to be sorted, and thus far it consisted of:
Find the portal
Repair the portal
Wait for contact from Hermione and Ron
Find Voldemort
Figure out how to kill him quickly
Ensure the safety of House Stark
And, if I'm really going for broke... try to heal the land with Ned's help.
None of those had been checked off, and all of them were of paramount importance. Each carried with it a significant risk factor, not just for Harry, but for the entire nation. Harry hadn't forgotten about the risks of using magic in Westeros before the portal was realigned, but he had risked it with Tyrion and Jaime and was now concerned for the safety of all present if he did so again. He really hated the impairment. It was asinine.
Perhaps I should figure out how to use magic in the meantime. We haven't studied this enough. If Dean and Seamus died because of over-casting with a misaligned portal, it makes sense to be afraid, but nobody has been able to figure it out because of the risks if it is true. What if Voldemort can use magic without worrying about being destroyed because he knows he won't be? Did Dean and Seamus just destroy the portal on their side with fiendfyre, rather than obliterate the world by using magic? Fuck me, is it that simple? If it is, what was the flash I saw when casting spells for the first time after arriving in Westeros, and then today again? Those flashes have followed me to every world I've been to – hell, they're the reason I've been so nervous the entire time. Hermione said they're the result of drawing energy from our universe abroad, but she can make mistakes too. Are they really just the result of drawing magic from the particles of our universe without the dangers? Does it even work like that? Maybe they're not dangerous after all... damn it. I need to think about this more. None of us have been certain, so we've erred on the side of caution, a sentiment that I might have to abandon all too soon.
No. There's no fucking way Voldemort would let us follow him unchecked if our use of magic would destroy this reality. He's not that stupid. Again, I've been blind.
Before he could berate himself further, Ned spoke again at last.
"You must understand," said Ned at last, stopping. "This is the worst vow I have ever sworn for its cost. I promised my sister... Lyanna... that I would look after her child. She died shortly after giving birth. "Promise me, Ned," she told me. "Promise me...""
Harry felt a pang of sympathy. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered words unspoken, as she lay in his arms, her red hair swaying behind her, her lifeless eyes staring up at nothing. He had wept in that moment, that night, and for the following month, and more than once he had turned his wand on himself, planning to utter those two words that would end it all.
But he had stopped himself, knowing that he must continue. Voldemort would die before Harry. He would. Harry would not rest until that day, yet now he had something else to live for.
House Stark is my family, he declared, feeling purified by doing so.
And Eddard Stark, a man of unshakeable honour... he had never betrayed his wife, yet had lived with the shame of doing so nonetheless, a victim of unworthy barbs and insults, the likes of which the Kingslayer rightly endured. He had taken in the child Jon Snow, called him his bastard and protected him, all on the back of a promise he had made to his dying sister. But that begged the question... protect him from what?
Harry looked to Ned for an answer.
"Lyanna," he said, so quietly that it was little more than a whisper. "She ran away with him... the Targaryen prince. Rhaegar."
Harry's eyes widened at the implication. "The rebellion!"
"It was a lie," Ned said, clearly morose. "The Mad King had a need to face justice, but Rhaegar... he did not kidnap and rape my sister, as Robert believes. The two ran away together, for Rhaegar had no desire to practice polygamy and knew Robert's wrath would follow him, and he hid her before returning to fight the war. After Robert killed him on the Trident and we took King's Landing, I rode south alone. I had to. Robert was pleased by the deaths of Elia and Rhaegar's children, courtesy of Tywin Lannister and his dog Clegane, and I could not bear to see him for fear of killing him for that. We were only reunited after Lyanna's death.
"I rode south to the Tower of Joy after fighting the last battles of the war alone; there, Ser Arthur Dayne waited with two more of the Kingsguard. He was the single greatest knight I have ever seen, holding aloft the greatsword Dawn, fearless, honourable and deadly. I remember that day as though it were this very morning. It was the day that I lost my honour, earned it back, and then blackened my name for years to come for the sake of family."
And Harry listened, enraptured, as Ned wove his tale.
:Author's Notes:
Not dead yet.
There's a reason this chapter cut off where it did, which you'll discover next time. No, it will not take more than a year to write and publish. I have been exceptionally busy with finishing university, moving to China for an internship and then home again, and now working. Thankfully, only work is now applicable.
You may be curious about a couple of things, namely the portal and the Harry-Voldemort mind connection. Think of the former like a Stargate and the stones as chevrons. I'll explain the rest of the details through plot. The latter will be brought up in the next chapter, although you can probably guess what's happened to it from reading Deathly Hallows. On that note, I told you I had a plan for the mind arts. Oh, well. I wish I hadn't said anything now, so I'll probably delete it from the previous footnote for future readers.
Oh, and Harry's bottomless bag will be explained when it's required. He hasn't needed it yet and I hate unnecessary 'trunk/bag/wardrobe' filler scenes in HP FF.
Interestingly, I forgot to mention this earlier, but this is a story more about Harry bonding with the Starks than about Harry and Voldemort, although that counts too, of course.
Magical transportation devices and techniques will be discussed soon, as I'm sure many of you have been curious.
I have plans for Jon and Dany, as they are the wildcards in this.
Not too much back-story for Harry here besides that one key scene, but this is going to be a long story, so there's more room for development. Finally, this brings me to the most important point here, which I'm underlining for emphasis. Remember how I lost my files ages ago and that upset and/or(and) annoyed me? Well, I decided to restructure character POVs as a result. We now have: Robb, Tyrion, Arya, Jaime, MORE Harry, and others that I won't mention for the sake of avoiding spoilers. That is all.
P.S. - Jaime is my joint favourite character of the series proper (along with Tyrion) so don't even think about flaming me for Harry's treatment of him in this chapter, because it probably hurts me more than it hurts many of you. I love the man for his wit and development, but he deserves to be raked across the coals pre-Brienne for being a bastard by nature.
Lots of love, folks!