This is just a one-shot as said in the description. Mostly done so I can come back into the groove of writing. All I can say for not updating in so long is that the world is crazy right now.
Summerhall 282 AC.
Harry came to himself with a groan, his body protesting violently, aching all over. He tried to open his eyes, but was promptly blinded by the sun glaring down on him before closing them again with a frown.
The last thing he remembered were the whispers permeating through the Room of Death, hearing them as if they were still present. Even louder and much clearer than the last time he had been there, during that disastrous fifth year of his. Their origin, the Veil of Death, had rippled as eerily as ever, having beckoned him to step through. An irresistible promise of peace and rest carried towards his ears by its ghostly murmurings.
So immersed in his memory was Harry that momentarily his surroundings vanished completely, falling away like autumn leaves. In this moment Harry was completely deaf to the happenings taking place around him.
'Dying again doesn't seem so bad after you've done it once.' Harry thought rather calmly. A fate he no longer saw as quite so grim. Despite the seemingly macabre line of thought, and what he knew happened to him, Harry clearly felt cold stone under him. It was uneven, with many rocks pressing into his back. His clothes were also still present.
'However, it seems I failed to die properly. Again!' his thoughts were accompanied by a sigh of annoyance. Some melancholy welled up inside him because of what happened before he stepped through the Veil. Well, more like being forced through.
The wizard was shaken out of his thoughts by a weight on his chest. The object began squirming with remarkable vigour followed by a shadow falling over him.
That did bring him out of his reverie. More unwelcome memories flooding his brain all at once as his eyes snapped open, staring directly into deep violet orbs that were heavily hooded and framed by long eyelashes. The face the purple eyes belonged to was definitely feminine and youthful. High cheekbones, a strong jaw and full luscious lips were present. The aristocratic face was framed by thick, shining dark hair with silver tips that fell in ringlets down her delicate shoulders. A small broken and empty hourglass hung from a golden necklace around her neck, swinging in and out of his periphery and leaking sand everywhere beside him.
"Are you alright?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.
Sadly, her words did nothing to calm Harry down. Much the opposite in fact, as he recognized the young woman before him. Out of instinct and with his natural grace he leapt up. Luckily he was instinctively cradling the infant safely to his chest with his left arm, shielding her from the woman before him. "What do you want?" he snapped irritably, thinking this was just another ploy. Though, for what reason she employed such trickery when she never did before escaped him. 'I should have known she would be here, too. She was right beside me as I fell through the Veil!' he chastised himself.
He frantically looked around, taking in the ruin they arrived at in his search for an escape route. Nature had reclaimed it all long since its destruction. Tumbled towers, melted walls and rubble were strewn about all over. Soot covered nearly every corner of the palace, indicating a fire having done this. The room they were in was nearly whole and had large windows, some of which were broken, showing the gentle plains outside. In the roof was a shattered dome of glass, allowing the sun to shine directly inside.
On the ground lay his Invisibility Cloak with the Resurrection Stone on top, both neatly impaled by the Sword of Gryffindor. The silky heirloom appeared to be incredibly dull, losing it's star-like lustre rapidly. Before he could try to pick it up a stream of ghostly strands that glowed softly rose up, billowing like dust in the wind. Though, the spectral stream was seemingly absorbed into the silvery blade, circling around it before merging together. Nothing of his cloak remained afterwards. Directly after, the golden ring decorated with a black gem, which was cleaved cleanly in two, also vanishing into the sword as well.
The Sword of Gryffindor briefly flashed with silvery radiance before the blade became as black as soot, leaving only shimmering ripples of silver in the blackness of night. The rubies embedded in the silver pommel and guard grew darker until they were the colour of blood.
Harry remembered how the four objects came to him before stepping through the Veil of Death, the cloak having wrapped around his shoulders protectively, the ring suddenly sitting on his right index-finger and the wand in his right hand while the sword appeared in his left. He checked, and sure enough the Elder Wand still sat securely in the palm of his hand as if it belonged there. Still whole despite the numerous cracks running through it, giving him some reassurance.
'She has no wand.' the Last Potter remembered and relief flooded him, but he still didn't let his guard down. Persistently watching her for any hostile movements.
The young wizard recalled vividly what had happened after the Battle of Hogwarts. How Voldemort kicked him in the balls one last time from beyond the grave. All because of the babe in his arms and his damn bipolar luck, or fate. Harry wasn't exactly sure which he blamed more.
The young woman took a hesitant step forward, reaching out to him.
Harry brandished the Elder Wand threateningly. "Don't come any closer!" he warned coldly, glaring at the witch. A sinister red light appeared at the tip of his wand, making his intentions clear.
"I just want to hold my daughter!" she implored desperately, recoiling from his wand but not going too far away; no more than a step. Violet eyes full of longing flickering between the babe and himself for more than a few heartbeats. Despite the clear affection and adoration contained in these blueberry eyes, Harry didn't trust her, knowing her proficiency in Occlumency and his lack thereof.
He snorted with contempt and sneered. "Now you want to hold her?!" the words were spat out venomously, remembering the kind of things she called the babe in the past after learning of her true ancestry. The kind of insults and threats that were issued before they had been thrown through the Veil of Death was something he couldn't abide by. "You made it perfectly clear you don't want her, Bellatrix!"
He'd die before he let that mad woman in front of him touch the still softly fussing child in his arms. Never letting his gaze or wand wander far from the dangerous woman.
Bellatrix herself just seemed confused and hurt by his words. "But I love you!" she cried desperately, once more making a move towards him before aborting it at his hostile snarl, and flinching like a kicked dog.
Only then did Harry notice that her clothes did not fit her like they used to. The black dress that had clung to her curves closely before was now loosely hanging down her small shoulders, only held up by the corset she wore. Even her hands vanished partly into the sleeves, making her look like a teenager wearing her mother's clothes. Then his eyes fell onto the hourglass hanging from her neck. 'A Time-Turner.' he remembered the device and its function, but didn't know how or where she got one after they were all destroyed during the skirmish in the Department of Mysteries. 'Did she become younger?' he wondered perplexed.
Normally that was not the function of a Time-Turner, but magic had all kinds of random outcomes when combined with other volatile magic. And there was nothing more volatile than the Veil of Death and Time-Turners. Who knew what happened exactly? What was important was that it evidently made Bellatrix younger, and that they both were alive. Though, it did not explain why that was the case. 'Sirius died through the Veil of Death. Otherwise I wouldn't have been able to summon his ghost.' Harry thought, theories blazing through his mind, making him wish Hermione was here to help clear up his confusion, which brought with it another pang of sadness.
'Does it have anything to do with me being Master of Death?' he internally scoffed at that idea, thinking it nothing more than a pretentious title. But the nagging feeling in the back of his mind remained. 'Focus!' he admonished himself, once more returning his attention to the matter at hand.
"Sure you do." he snorted derisively in answer. He clearly remembered her venomous words to Delphini, after she found out who her true father was. The woman had been glad at the thought of Delphini dying, erasing what she saw as her personal shame. 'Who knew Voldemort taking my blood would have such consequences.' Harry thought, looking at the now somewhat calm girl held in his arm. Apparently Bellatrix had decided to get with child, despite Voldemort's clear disinterest and even hatred for such things. Tom would have killed any child of his, thinking them a threat to himself. Not that he had been capable of getting any woman with child naturally. Too many rituals done to himself that made such an undertaking impossible, having exchanged the ability to create children for perpetual youth. Something which obviously extended to magical methods of conception as well.
Though, Bellatrix, in her madness, had not cared or known and collected some blood of Voldemort during an opportune moment to use in an experimental potion of Snape's make. Being under the Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa left the Potions Master little choice in the matter. It worked, but unknown to them, it was not Voldemort's blood, but Harry's, that flowed through the Dark Lord's veins. So, something that should've resulted in nothing but failure ended up working instead.
'If it had been intentional I would not be so peeved by it.' Harry thought. Of course, Delphini was discovered, or rather ratted out by the Malfoys. Not that betrayal coming from them was surprising, or Magical Britain for that matter. No, the problem occurred when people, afraid of any legacy of Voldemort's, decided to get rid of the child. Of course, Harry was vehemently against any such thing, pleading for the girl's life. As a boon to him, they at least had acquiesced to check if the girl was truly Voldemort's daughter, lest they trusted the word of the Malfoy family, who could've simply lied to get in the people's good graces. The test only condemned him further in the frenzied mobs eyes when it came to light he was Delphini's biological father.
Hysteria had gripped the people's hearts, thinking their saviour had abandoned and betrayed them. 'Maybe I should've let them burn.' a dark voice in the back of his mind supplied before he banished the thought from whence it came. Still, Harry found it more than slightly disgusting that the sheep were more than willing to go against him once it was over, but not lift a single finger against the true threat. Nonetheless, the flames of fear that had been fanned by all kinds of opportunistic people, hoping to gain something from this mess, didn't help the matter any.
'What's done is done!' He resolved, trying to stay positive. 'I may not even be able to return to Magical Britain, but that's not all that bad!' Not that he'd want to return after all that happened. People would think him dead and therefore leave him alone. A revelation that lifted his spirits a good bit.
"I do!" Bellatrix confessed tearfully. Hurt clear for him to see on her face. An emotion that Harry would've never in his life associated with the woman before him.
Before Harry could offer a suitably nasty retort something else happened. Something that startled Harry somewhat fierce, his nerves already frayed to a breaking point.
The braying of a donkey sounded loud and clear across the tumbled walls, echoing along the empty halls. It was followed by the cursing of a man. Out of sheer instinct Harry swivelled around, spotting a man peeking over the ledge of a window with wide, disbelieving eyes. A moment later the Elder Wand was trained on the spot and a spell let loose instinctively. Not a second later the blue ball of light impacted against the wall, reducing it to naught but a memory. Debris of glass and stone and dust flew up and away, propelled by the explosion.
"Wait, wait!" the voice belonging to the intruder cried out frantically, causing Harry to refrain from casting more.
What came out behind the rubble was not what Harry expected. The man was middle-aged, maybe in his thirties, about six feet tall and walking with a slight hunch. Brown roughspun robes made of wool covered his body, full of dust and held together by hempen rope. Large and weathered feet with no shoes peeked out from under the garment. His equally large, leathery hands were raised in surrender. His face was deeply lined and windburnt with thick brown hair beginning to gray at his temples. Behind him came a donkey with its saddlebags packed full of various things, mostly provisions.
Harry had no idea in what part of the world he was, but nowhere in Europe or America would he have expected such a sight. He briefly debated removing the Muggle's memory immediately, but before that he would ask where in the world he currently was. So, he inquired roughly and impatiently. "Who are you?"
The apparently homeless man answered nervously. "My name's Meribald, milord. A septon by trade." he bowed a little, trembling all the while. He'd not risk offending the two in front of him. Not after he'd seen both appear out of a rift of souls, some wailing but most had simply whispered sweet threats in his ears that reverberated in his mind. He had seen the golden shield around the babe. Saw how the soul of the woman had been ripped from beyond, loosing a few bits and pieces along the way before being deposited back into her body. Followed by the onyx stone impaled by the sword glowing blacker than black and sputtering out.
Raising an eyebrow at the strange form of address and the unknown profession, Harry said. "Why are you here, or better yet, where are we?" his gaze alternating between watching Bellatrix, who for some reason stood protectively in front of him, and the now named Meribald. With a simple swish of his wand the crumpled wall repaired itself to its previous state. No sense in letting him escape or leaving a point of attack for potential allies of his.
After a slight hesitation at the powers displayed Meribald answered. "You're on the continent of Westeros, in the ruins of Summerhall that are located in the Stormlands to be precise. As for why I'm here," the man shuffled a little bit, the clacking sound of wood hitting against wood could be heard before he revealed a small statue in his hand. It was made of corpse-white wood and depicted a hooded figure which hid its face. "This led me to you." he threw it on the ground where, instead of simply lying down, it suddenly stood rigidly with its face directed at Harry. Meribald had noticed the small statue of the Stranger doing that one day during prayer. It had suddenly turned around, always pointing in a specific direction. He took it as a sign of the gods and followed it hesitantly due to it being the statue of the Stranger. Not to mention that without it he wouldn't have known where to go, having never left the Riverlands in all his life. Outside of a brief and ill-fated visit to the Stepstones during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, that is.
Nothing the man said was familiar or made any sense to Harry, who wanted nothing more than dismiss Meribald as a lunatic or member of some small magical cult, and look for civilisation. 'I never heard of Westeros, septons or anything else he's talking about.' he thought, his stomach feeling queasy as a terrible suspicion was planted in his mind. A whole continent couldn't have been left undiscovered by an stretch of the imagination, could it? 'He must lie!' the Last Potter tried to convince himself, shaking his head to help dispel this unease in his gut.
It refused to vanish.
"Don't lie to us, Muggle!" Bellatrix snarled venomously, followed by uttering Harry's thoughts in her usual manner. "Where else would we be than the British Kingdom?" her tone made it perfectly clear what she thought of Meribald's mental faculties. It was to be expected, however. He was only a Muggle after all, which could be summarized as unwashed, stupid, deceitful and utterly incompetent. As were all of his kind.
"I'm not lying to you!" the man implored, his brown eyes clearly holding panic and fear in them as they darted from Bellatrix to Harry. Hoping the man with the mismatched eyes of emerald and ruby was more lenient than the woman. After that display of magic he didn't fancy antagonizing these two strangers. Even if what she called him sounded very much like an insult.
Before any kind of altercation could break out another interruption occurred. A horn sounded across the land loud and clear, letting all of them perk up in search for the source of the clarion call. Luckily a nearby heap of rubble acted as protection and provided a good vantage point, letting them look outside and on the field before them without being seen themselves.
What Harry saw was something he couldn't comprehend, something that should be impossible. There, before the ruins of this former palace, stood an army. Not a modern one, but a medieval one. He could see knights in armour sitting on horses, normal infantry in formation and peasant levies armed with nothing more than cleavers, hoes or pitchforks. A multitude of different banners flew high in the air as the army moved through the wet and grassy ground, trampling it down until only mud remained. In the front, on an imposing armoured horse, sat a man of intimidating stature, easily dwarfing the other men around him. He wore an impressive suit of armour topped off with an antlered helm and a monstrous warhammer decorated with many spikes, looking like something to tenderize the meat of giants with. Behind him a banner flew, depicting a stag on a field of gold.
"Maybe they're just some weirdos playing at being knights?" Harry muttered to himself, his words inaudible through the fading cacophony of hooves, men and warhorns. He had seen it on the telly once. Enthusiasts that dressed like people of old and recreated great battles. The problem with that was that this looked too authentic. There were no modern appliances here, be it plastic bottles of water, cellphones or the like. Nor spectators. Their clothes looked too uniform in quality and original. The weapons looked sharp and deadly too. Not a single part looked like they were made with modern methods.
Though, Meribald's next words after things died down dashed his hopes. "So this is how it starts." the Septon's voice sounded haunted, his eyes taking on a thousand-yard stare as he was taken to someplace else in his mind.
"How what starts?" Harry couldn't help but ask as he walked away from the windows again, nudging Meribald to do the same lest they be spotted. He was careful to keep Delphini close to his chest and hold her head up.
Meribald nodded as if remembering something. "You wouldn't know, I suppose." Thus the Septon regaled them with the tale how this army before them came to be assembled. It was a fantastical story, telling of a Mad King, a tourney that supplied the spark that later on ignited the fires of rebellion, which led to this army being amassed for war. Though, no matter how far-fetched it seemed. At the same time it was far too detailed to be the ravings of a lunatic. The various locations, people, histories of places; all of it couldn't fit so well together if thought of on the spot.
While Meribald told them of it all, the battle outside began from the sounds of it. The song of steel, the shouts of dying men and the sonorous boom of thunder in the distance growing ever closer wasn't something easily ignored. Thankfully the walls dampened the clamour of battle, as well as the distance involved. Soon a faint haze of drizzling rain settled over the area, as if the heavens were softly weeping for the war to come. Despite that, any who stood longer than a moment in it found themselves inexplicably drenched from head to toe, as the army outside demonstrated. It forced Harry to cast a few Impervious Charms on broken windows with a flick of the Elder Wand, keeping the rain at bay with invisible shields. Lest Delphini caught a cold.
The act made Meribald flinch a little and eye him warily.
"So, to summarize: This all is happening right now because Robert Baratheon's betrothed was kidnapped by the Crown Prince." the wizard took a deep breath, wondering if he really was dead and this was some kind of hallucination. "An action that caused the abducted noblewoman's father and brother to seek justice from the prince's father, the king. Only for said mad king to burn more than two hundred people alive and demand the heads from two great lords under the care of a third one, all three of which command vast armies and subsequently rose in rebellion." Harry summarized, not feeling very charitable towards the Targaryens right now, thinking they brought that deserved punishment upon themselves.
Meribald confirmed solemnly. "That's right."
The rain that had been a light drizzle at first, a wet vapour that should've dewed their garments and exposed skin with frigid drops, intensified. By now it was pummelling the translucent shield and windows with heavy sheets, and a chilling mist coiled about outside as the darkness from the clouds deepened. It seemed the Stormlands wanted to prove the validity of their name.
Bellatrix was silent while the Muggle explained the situation, not really listening herself. Much too glad that the object of her affection had stopped berating her. She didn't know why he had done so, having given him no reason to as far as she could remember. Then again, her memories were hazy and disorganized. 'He must've a reason to be cross with me.' she thought with conviction. 'I'll be better for him.' she vowed, knowing he loved her and that she loved him. Why else would they have a child?
Her musings were stopped when she spied a few people entering the room they were in. "Husband, it seems we have a problem." Bellatrix called to get his attention, pointing towards the soaked rabble she saw. Normally she wouldn't have interrupted his talk, knowing it annoyed him. However, she had no wand on hand right now and could only do so much to protect him from harm.
Harry turned around, intent to snap at her that he wasn't her husband. Neither was Voldemort, for that matter. The words were stuck in his throat as he saw about ten people enter their open-roofed room. Four were cradling an arm, or holding other places as if to stop a bleeding, but with the rain dripping from them it was difficult to see how much, or even if they bled. The problem was that all of them carried weapons, ranging from butcher knives to pitchforks.
"Shouldn't we go back ter fightin'?" one of the hale ones asked, throwing a worried look behind him where the battle was.
Another spat on the ground angrily, grimacing as if the action caused him pain and holding his side. "Shut yer mouth! I ain't dyin' in the mud for some lord I not never met."
More than half of them muttered agreements spiced with a variety of curses. Most still remembered how callously their lord treated them.
"But we'll be deserters!" another healthy one pleaded somewhat desperately. His words reached a few of them, letting them exchange anxious looks. They all knew the fate of deserters.
Death.
The foul-mouthed one gave the youth a stony glare for his troubles, yelling and towering over the other threateningly. "Are yer gonna rat us out then?!"
Unfortunately Delphini choose that moment to open her mouth and wail. Finally not able to take anymore of the noise around her. It had been a miracle already that she didn't start sooner. Immediately it drew the attention of the newcomers, who swivelled around violently. Already tense from the situation they were in. Those looks disappeared when they only saw a stooped Septon, a woman with her babe, and a tall but skinny young man.
"Seems we're in luck!" one leered, his brown eyes all but undressing Bellatrix with his lecherous eyes. Followed by seeing the sword stuck in the ground. "And we'll be rich too."
To his credit, Meribald tried to de-escalate the situation. The septon knew Broken Men when he saw them and could sympathize with their plight. "Please, there's enough place for everyone to hide. We don't need to fight." his huge hands spread wide before him, palms up to show his intent.
His words fell on deaf ears and the last Potter already saw the signs of people too deep into bloodlust and fear to think rationally. A moment later most of them attacked, making Harry sigh resignedly while giving Delphini up to Meribald's arms without resistance.
"Sectumsempra!" His voice sounded as if it couldn't be more indifferent.
Meribald had no idea what the incantation meant, and neither did their attackers. One moment the ragged band of men charged clumsily with their makeshift weapons, the next they screamed. The septon jumped despite himself when an invisible blade sliced the first right through the middle of his chest, parting two halves of his body. An eldritch force sliced through the air, too, no longer invisible but touched at the edges with crimson liquid. Meribald thought it looked nothing so much as a pair of swords joined at the hilt.
It turned and came back, slicing through and killing the foul-mouthed one, and reversed again- close enough that Meribald could feel its passing ruffle his robes- and killed the one he had thought would die of his injuries first, then came one after another. All screamed horribly as they perished to the mage orchestrating it all with an elegant twirl of his wand.
The two more cautious men fell on their arses in terror, releasing their weapons in the process. Their eyes wide in disbelief, staring at the motionless bodies lying on the ground surrounded by blood and viscera. Both fools began stuttering apologetic nonsense all the while.
"Shut up!" Bellatrix snarled, incensed at their audacity to attack her child. Before anything more could be said they scrambled away and fled, screaming for help as they did so. Surely summoning more people to their location.
Harry looked at the battle outside with sadness that quickly morphed into fury. Not in the least bit enthused about getting into a war again. He'd seen enough death to last him a lifetime as it is. 'But I can't apparate to escape right now. Not to mention that I need to protect Delphini.' he thought annoyed. While he could still apparate, it was ill-advised, especially if they really were somewhere completely new. Trying to get back in that case, without knowing the distance, would only result in serious injury through splinching. Something he definitely didn't want to subject an infant to.
'Fighting it is then.' the wizard squared his shoulders and made his way outside to join the fray. "Stay here and keep Delphini safe. I'll be back as soon as I can." he told both of them without waiting for an answer. Followed by weaving two glittering domes of silvery protection over each. Not trusting either of them, but also unable to carry an infant into battle. Like this they were protected but also imprisoned and unable to harm each other.
Outside the storm was relentless by now, with whipping winds and pelting rain. Lightning flashed overhead, embossing echoes of itself in Harry's eyes and illuminating the field of death before him. Rivulets of blood mingled with mud and water, creating a bloodstained mire. A crash of thunder followed, rumbling across the land.
The sight of it catapulted his mind back to the Battle of Hogwarts, letting him vividly remember the students and others being killed for a poisonous ideology. One part of him wanted to chose the safer option and stay with Delphini, but a bigger part was convinced he'd kill Bellatrix if he had to spend more time with her right now. So, not wanting to kill the mother of his child and needing to vent, he went to kill the unknown people in front of him instead. A task Harry had always been good at, ironically.
Not one participant of the battle noticed as Harry exited the ruins and gathered all the fury inside of him, letting the anger he had suppressed and nourished over years bubbling to the surface of his being. There it howled against the injustice of it all. It began as a flavour on the tongue, like a bloody morsel of roast boar. Though, soon the power was a conflagration of wrath in his body, twisting his blood until only burning oil beat through his veins. Wrath, hot and heavy, flowed through his heart, filtering into his limbs like boiling poison.
The Elder Wand in his right hand hummed to life, sitting there as if shaped only for his grip. All too eager to please, to unleash its master's rage upon anyone nearby. It shone a brilliant red, brighter than Fiendfyre, brighter than blood, brighter than the end of the world.
"Fulgur!" Harry's voice boomed like distant thunder as he spoke aloud the words to wield the storm, joining the chorus of the sky. Above, the heavens opened, dark clouds now swirling at his behest. One could smell the sharp, acrid scent of ozone, and every hair on his neck stood on end. The wizard felt the energy in his teeth, in his eyes, and the roaring in his ears. He finished a last twirl and jutted out the Death Stick, the small hairs along the arm holding it stood straight one after another. Then, with the fury of the tempest, he unleashed it all. From his wand's tip, coruscating bolts of blue-white lightning arced for an instant before blasting out in a mostly straight line, lashing everything and everyone in its path with raw electric power.
The jagged bolt of lightening bursting forth filled the air with crackling energy and clouds of dust and debris as it carved a path towards it's first victim. The spell easily impaled his opponent's chest. But why stop at just one? With a flick it split, letting more currents of electricity ricochet out from where it had started and leap to do the same to the knight's allies. The rain and steel only made his work easier by all but embracing the electricity eagerly.
In a flash the lightning was gone, replaced quickly as darkness rushed in to occupy the empty space. If Harry didn't have the people's attention around him before, he had it now. The whole battlefield having come to a sudden and jarring stop.
A chill enveloped both forces in front of Harry. The shadows seemingly growing deeper around the wizard, and they could almost feel something watching them from the darkness. The fighters who saw the lightning cook their allies alive in their armour trembled as the dark and robed figure spoke words ancient and profane, calling forth a power from the void, the incomprehensible space between spaces. It made clear that before them stood the power of the abyss, a blackness more profound than the darkest of dreams.
With a few gestures shadows moulded to his will, letting tendrils of black braid and curl unnaturally around him like grasping hands, growing sharp, thorny and dangerous. Terror soon followed in its bloody wake.
Harry didn't know or care who he killed now, too consumed by rage to do anything else. Spurred on by the poisonous whispers of the Elder Wand in his head, urging him all while supplying his mind with spells of past wielders as if they were his own.
Robert Baratheon's blood quickened as it only ever did during battle. The battlefield was his home; a place where the sweat on his brow and the blood on his hammer were rewards for honest toil. He found it fitting that he squashed loyalists in Summerhall, the burned out husk of the sister-fuckers. During a storm of epic proportions no less. Robert saw both as a good portent for things to come, showing the gods' being in favour of his revenge for stealing his beloved away from him.
He had rushed here from Storm's End right after word reached him of the loyalists' plan to group at Summerhall, making it possible to intercept them one by one, leading to multiple battles in a single day. This was his third, already having defeated Lord Cafferen and Lord Grandison and taking them captive. As well as bolstering his own forces with their surviving ones.
Now it was Lord Fell's turn, or least it should've been. But during the battle something problematic occurred. Just as he had caved in another skull with his trusty warhammer lightning flashed, much brighter and longer than all the ones before it. However, it did not flow vertically out of the sky. Rather it did so horizontally, obliterating friend a foe alike.
The Lord of Storm's End watched as a figure in dark robes wielded the lightning as a weapon to kill dozens to hundreds of soldiers. At first he thought it a trick of the light, played on him by the mummery of shadow and storm and battle. When that was confirmed to not be so by fleeing men he looked more clearly and saw that it did not discriminate between his forces or enemies. Both of which were now one disorganised mess, as was usually the case after the initial charge.
Yet, it mattered not to Robert. He would fight, even if he had to do so against the Storm God himself. For him that was only more reason to do so, giving the bards cause to make his glory and deeds eternal in song. Just like they had done for his ancestor Durran Godsgrief, who fought the gods for his lady love. 'For Lyanna!' he chanted in his mind.
"Come with me, men. To glory!" he bellowed, warhammer held high in the air. His powerful voice was heard all across the battlefield, rallying the remaining men to his side. Be they foe or ally. Most were emboldened to see their Lord Paramount fearlessly charging the sorcerer. Though, more than a few still tuck tail and ran. Not something he could begrudge them much for, considering the field of grasping and slashing darkness around the man that was busy creating a field of death, dragging everyone stuck into oily blackness.
It took longer than he would have liked to get near the robed figure, due to accumulated exhaustion and the mud sucking at his boots with every step. Sadly, any arrow or spear hurled towards the enemy was blocked by an ethereal shield. Though, now he could make out some features of the man. The mismatched eyes of emerald and ruby easily dominated the aristocratic face, both alight with an eerie glow. That accompanied by the wand ablaze with eldritch power made for a frightening enemy.
During their advance the being in front of Summerhall uttered unholy words with manic glee. The spidery incantation echoed around Robert in a hundred different voices, only that some of them could not be mortal. Seemingly coming straight from beyond the Veil of Death. The man's voice was damnation, unyielding and certain. The shadows deepened and curled around him; the few torches left flickered, sputtered, then died in the wake of a frigid, foul-smelling wind.
Gasps, murmurs, and the scream of a startled horse followed, along with the a pulsing glow, crimson and inky black, appeared on the ground before Robert and rose like a bubble. Blood and mud and steel and corpses coalesced into an oblong sphere, growing to encompass the entirety of the area in front of him.
"Hold!" Robert commanded with all his might and authority, knowing that if his host broke now there was no hope left. "All Archers nock your arrows!" he didn't know if they had any left after two battles already, but hoped they did. As well as hoping that some familiar orders would get them to act, to mindlessly obey.
The surrounding night breathed as a gigantic, vaguely human hand pushed against the sticky membrane of the blob. Whatever was inside grew more awake and finally broke free, sending noxious liquid everywhere. The creature strode forth from its unholy womb on lanky legs, with wicked and clawed forelimbs long enough to drag along the ground. It towered, a humanoid silhouette of macabre flesh and askew limbs. Shards of bone and steel and broken ligaments protruded from its bulbous mass alongside putrid, pulsating organs, grasping arms and blinking eyes. A dozen creatures, human, horse and otherwise, made up its cobbled-together bulk. The stench wafting from it—rot and loam, the aroma of a freshly-exhumed corpse—nearly overpowered Robert as it drew closer and closer still. Its many heads possessed sunken eyes, which suddenly came alight with ghostly vapour.
"Draw!" the Lord of the Stormlands shouted powerfully, a fist raised in the air. Thankfully he heard the sound of wood on wood behind him over the howling wind. All while readying himself for battle with warhammer in both hands, knowing this was where his legend began.
For a moment, all lied still, silent. Not even thunder could be heard. Then, a piercing whine quickly rose from the nightmare made flesh, growing in volume until it became a cacophony of screams, high and shrill. "Run!" half of the monster's mouths screamed. "Come!" cried the other as it shambled forward.
"Loose!" at his command arrows zoomed towards the creature. A good chunk missed their mark, but most hit. Though, they either bounced off or the beast ignored those sticking out of it effortlessly. Only a few hit the abomination's unblinking eyes or exposed organs. Worse, in its incessant charge, it made to scoop up the bodies of those left dead and mangled in its wake, seamlessly incorporating their mass into its own, healing and growing a little bit larger with each grisly addition.
Cursing under his breath at the front of his army, Robert made to meet the ghastly creature alone. Already aware that fighting it with an army was beyond folly: to do such would only feed it and give it an easier time by presenting more targets. A quick look towards the sorcerer showed him to be entirely concentrated on his creation, commanding it like a puppeteer might do a puppet. Inspiration struck and he ordered. "Attack the sorcerer!" the order was repeated several times by various men so everyone heard the command. If he noticed relief in their voices, Robert didn't comment on it.
Meanwhile the Lord of Storm's End heard the creature growl as it slowly turned to intercept his forces, intent to protect its creator. However, Robert was quicker than the hulking brute, and already on the attack. With a mighty bellow he swung his hammer directly at the beast's left kneecap. Normally such a blow would've shattered every rib in a man's chest, but all it did here was to get the attention of it. Every one of its eyes swivelling around and focussing on him. Still, he could see blood and liquid shadow ooze from the wound he inflicted.
'If it bleeds it can die.' he thought to himself, evading the massive swing of its hand by a hair's breath. This time the undead beast roared with all of its mouths, creating an unholy chorus as he hit the same spot twice. His goal was to cripple, remove its mobility entirely to finish it off easier. Before the beast could bring down both enormous fists to smash him, he quickly struck again, making the knee buckle a little before he barely evaded being squashed into the mud.
Robert couldn't help but smile as he fought on. This was what he was made for.
Harry sneered at the fools before him, standing prepared before the entrance of Summerhall. Why did they fight if they wanted to die so badly in war?
'Just die, like everyone around me always does!' he thought frustrated. The Elder Wand was thrust forward like a spear and a purple piercing-hex punched straight through an approaching attacker's face. Harry shot the spell again and again, targeting one after another, tearing through leather, steel and flesh. Each spell grew in intensity as hate rose in the wizard's chest. Growing from holes the size of fingers to fist-sized ones.
Yet, they refused to stop coming, to stop charging towards their death like mad. Apparently intending to bury him with their corpses.
Harry had to switch from offence to defence seamlessly, barely managed to do so fluidly due to extensive experience fighting more than one wizard during the Second Blood War. Still, battling alone against an army wasn't in his favour by any stretch of the imagination. Especially because he needed to control his cobbled and brainless Inferius, it being nearly useless without direction. Something that was difficult to impossible while defending himself constantly from melee attacks or thrown objects, be it weapons or stones. He didn't even remember why he created the monstrosity, just that he had suddenly felt a need to.
Pain wracked his frame from sheer exhaustion, his body demanding recompense for the last several days without rest, letting his concentration slip. Harry was immediately rewarded by several stones hitting his torso, and two spears impaling his shoulder and right thigh. Fighting through the pain of the attack a retaliatory rage engulfed him. He flicked the Elder Wand to the side abruptly making a condemning fire tear out of it, baleful and glittering. It swept before him in a half circle, reducing the other incoming spears to ash. A second later it erupted outwards as a column of blasphemous flames, roaring towards his foes like a baying hell hound.
Despite struggling to stand, a dark fury sang in his veins as he heard the shrieks of burning men among the stench of sulphur and the hiss of steam.
The flames thinned and vanished, revealing incinerated husks in armour of nothing but slag. Harry's eyes looked at his enemies, harsh, and unforgiving as the Cruciatus. He could practically see the Muggles mind's braying with fear, their hands shaking, bodies trembling.
A moment before he was sure they'd break something unexpected happened. Lightning not under his command shot from the sky and struck true the highest point around, as was its nature. In this case his undead abomination, which erupted into flames immediately, burning up like dry kindling had been hidden inside of it. Though, it was expected with fire being a major weakness for undead, and no known way to enchant dead flesh against it.
The monstrous entity howled in despair, its eyes glowing orange and red. Its mouths chocking on ash with black smoke escaping them all amidst the cheers of everyone around.
Despite the pain blooming all over his body Harry prepared one last spell, using the momentary distraction of his enemies' jubilation. Power untamed built. It rose in him, growing warm in his chest and extending through his limbs, to the tips of his fingers and toes. As the last Potter finished the incantation exhaustion demanded its toll, bile rose in his throat and pain twisted his gut. Yet, he struggled onward as he always did.
Unseen by him the cracks in the Elder Wand by Voldemort had deepened over the battle and now glowed erratically.
Just as the writhing power seemed too much for Harry's body to contain, he directed it and struck the ground with the Elder Wand's handle. And with a thunderclap the power left him in a wave. An explosion of raw sound blasted from the epicentre, the shockwave rippling through the air with a concussive force that hurled objects, shattered glass and smashed into the dozens of unlucky men caught within the spell's area of effect. The ground split open, sundering before him, the cracks spreading outward as the wave of sound and destruction washed over Harry's opponents, rending flesh and bone, rupturing ears, shattering weapons and armour with ease.
All Harry felt were the splinters of Elder wood digging into his now bloody palm as his vision went dark. Unconsciousness finally claiming him.
Basically it starts at the beginning of Robert's Rebellion, as obviously shown. Bellatrix has Amnesia, much like resurrected people in the ASoIaF world do. Just that her case is more extreme. Did Robert survive? Will Rhaegar win without fighting? I guess we'll never know. Story probably won't make sense either way. ;)
Also, some details are changed, too and this Harry comes from an AU timeline. Very minor changes all things considered though.
Perhaps it will be expanded on. Perhaps not.