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It was hard to believe a full month had passed since the Accident.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had landed in their dingy pub, and had soon figured out a few key facts.

One, they weren't in London anymore. Or anywhere close. But that was a first-glance sort of observation.

Two, that everyone where they had landed spoke a completely unknown language. Again, this didn't take any true observational skills. It was fixed easily enough—a handy continuous translation spell existed (even if it did feel like a wet goldfish sliding into your ear) that enabled the three to speak, read, and write in their new world.

Three, that wherever they were, wasn't part of their world. While Hermione was all for stopping and "asking for directions", Ron used his mental capabilities to scan the minds of those around them. They soon learned that they were in a place known as "King's Landing", and that most of those they saw around them were war refugees. Over the next few weeks, they continued to scan for information, and accumulated a trove of knowledge about their new world.

The knowledge that where they were was both scary and freeing. Scary for obvious reasons, but they had been in scarier situations before. And freeing, because they didn't have to give any fucks for the Ministry, time continuity, or Secrecy of Magic. They were free to act as they liked.

Which, for the time being, was healing wounded and helping out the refugees.

This was Hermione's idea. She was taking the switch the hardest of the three—she had landed in a world that obviously treated women, the common person, slaves, the working class….just about everyone badly. And that, combined with the lack of a good newspaper or library, left her pissed off and very uncomfortable. And with an itch to help where she could.

Ron and Harry had no objections: after all, they were in a new place with no idea where to go forward. Helping the poor was one way to learn the ropes of this new world until they had an idea where to go forward. Especially when Hermione was convinced that the spell had worked, but just been overpowered, and that they would discover Inferi origins. Eventually.

It started as a day like any other. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had found a convenient spot to pitch their tent and provide basic first aid with a sprinkling of magical care and a bonus of memory modification if the magic was too much. Ron had been conducting his surface scanning, but as the afternoon wore on he grew more edgy by the moment.

Eventually, he pulled Harry aside. "Trouble's brewing."

Harry wiped his hands clean of the blood from the last patient. "Yeah? Animal, vegetable, or mineral?"

"Ha, Harry. Animal. Very animal. The king is supposed to see his sister off today, to Dorne. Bloody well don't know where that is, but I know that there are people going to be pissed."

"Well, we might want to go on down that direction and use our skills. I'm sure Hermione will be pleased to participate in a political upheaval. She's been missing that, you know."

"You're just full of jokes today, aren't you Harry?"

Hermione immediately agreed—"People are going to be drunk, and loud, and stupid."—and they made their way towards the expected travel route. As the afternoon moved on, the numbers, volume, and alcohol intake of the crowd increased to a breaking point, which came when the boy king was seen making his way through.

"Blonde little shit, isn't he? Looks exactly like Malfoy."

"Be nice, Malfoy doesn't deserve that."

"Yeah, he does, 'Mione."

"Don't call me that!"

Harry interrupted. "This is it, wands ready?"

"Ready, Harry"

"Yeah, my ears are open."

The situation escalated quickly, and soon Hermione, Ron, and Harry were using lots of magic to save smallfolk who had been cut down by the Kingsguard. They were attending jointly to a rather messy cut when Ron perked up.

Harry yelled out (it was quite loud, after all) "What is it?"

Ron pointed down an alleyway. "Trouble! We need to go!"

Hermione stood. "This one's stable, let's go!"

Rushing down the alley, they saw a girl on the dirt with several men surrounding her. It was clear what they wanted, which resulted in Hermione sending a blast that knocked them all against the alleyway walls.

Ron and Harry shared a glance—on one hand, Hermione's temper was fierce. On the other, her reaction was less violent than theirs would have been. Both set to binding spells while Hermione talked softly to the young woman.

"There, now, everything's alright now, we've got you, they're not going to harm you anymore." Hermione tore a few strips from her skirt and used them to wipe clean a cut on the girl's face, while Harry quietly transfigured another into something resembling a cloak and covered the girl with it.

"What's your name, love?"

"This is the Lady Sansa of House Stark." The low, vicious tone had the four immediately turn their heads to the man in armor, who stood at the entrance to the alley, looking confused and angry. The trio then shared a look. If this stranger had seen anything suspicious….

Harry asked, "Sir, how long exactly have you been here?"

"Long enough to know you used something other than blades to take out those bastards."

Ron asked innocently, "Any chance you just let us go on our merry way?"

"No."

Hermione turned to Lady Sansa. "Do you know this man?"

Sansa finally spoke. "Yes. He is Ser Sandor Clegane, and is part of the Kingsguard."

"I'm also the man who is taking the three of you to the Keep. You shouldn't be allowed to wander the streets, not with…whatever it is you do."

And so the Golden Trio had made their way with Sansa and Clegane to the Red Keep, a place they had only heard about in pub brawls and the random political whisper. While supposedly grand and lordly, they only saw a place of barely controlled chaos and injured bodies. Almost as soon as their odd group entered—a knight with a girl over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and three dusty travelers—they gained a follower. This one was a very short, somewhat lopsided little man who could only be the Imp.

"Well, damn." Ron muttered. "No fire from his claws or anything. Definitely not a monkey. That's not fun."

Hermione punched him in the shoulder.

Harry, meanwhile, had been listening into Lannister's conversation with Sansa & Clegane. More than one glance was thrown in their direction, up until Lannister approached them and gave each member a long, hard stare.

"So, our Hound tells me—in far more words than usual for him—that we are in your debt. Seems you saved our little bird from some rather nasty bastards. Our thanks."

Harry responded—the defacto leader and spokesperson. "No worries, would hate to see that happen to anyone. Now, if you'll excuse us—"

"—But," interrupted Lannister, clearly determined, "He also tells me you did this using some rather disturbing methods. He claims you practice the dark arts."

Ron and Hermione focused on Harry. If he messed this up….so far, their scanning had revealed that magic did not have a good reputation. Granted, their kind of magic did not exist, but people wouldn't be that discriminating.

Harry, after a pause, replied. "Ah, he'd be mistaken,then. I know what we do can seem dark, but it really isn't."

Tyrion replied, not to be deterred: "Well, what do you do then?"

Pause. Then Harry confidently stated, "Oh, we're Jedi."

"What!" Hermione whispered under her breath.

Ron whispered back, "See what happens when you let him watch muggle pictures?"

"Movies, Ron, movies. And he went on and on about redeeming his lost childhood, what was I supposed to do?"

Meanwhile, Lannister looked puzzled. "Jedi? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that particular phrase."

Harry chucked. "No, I guess you wouldn't. We're not from here—on the run, in fact, from the Sith. But we're the good guys, we promise."

The man gave Harry a long stare.

"So, what exactly are your skills?"

"Well, we can read, write, and blast people to bits with ma—my Force." Ron shared an amused look with Harry while Hermione tapped her foot.

"Ron, it is a bit more complicated than that. You almost never read when you have other options. Such as making me do it." She ended the comment with a laugh.

Glancing at a confused and bewildered Tyrion, Harry decided some introductions were in order. "Hermione is the smart one. She's probably forgotten more about magic than the other two of us put together have learnt—not that that says really that much for her skills, or ours, or….she's smart. Ron's our strategist and, amazingly, the dolt reads people surprisingly well now. And I'm just the brawn."

Tyrion had to interrupt. "You're the brawn? I would give that title to….Hermione?...before a strip of bone like yourself."

Ron grinned. "Mum's tried to fatten him for years, but the man just won't gain muscle. And, yeah, well, when you're the Master of…" Ron reconsidered his words thanks to a stomp on the foot from Hermione. "…the Force you really don't need bulk to be brawn."

"And the three of you work together? What exactly do you do?"

Harry and Ron both gave the floor to Hermione. "We recently have been trying to heal the sick and wounded refugees pouring into the city, both when they first get here and when they get injured or raped afterwards. Of course, we wouldn't have to do that if—"

Harry interrupted. "We don't like seeing people hurt, and all three of us have promised in different ways not to use the Force for that purpose."

A passing glance on Tyrion's face showed that he had been debating using them for exactly that sort of purpose. Instead, he conceded with a, "You give me a headache, and it has been a long day. My man will find you appropriate chambers here and we shall talk tomorrow. I'm sure you can understand, having found your skills, I'm not sure I want to let them go just yet."

"And we have little desire to go, if you can use them in a way that helps more people, instead of harming them."

Hermione whispered to Ron, "I really don't want to stay here."

Ron whispered back, "I don't think we have much of a choice."