I've been in the mood to try and do another Game of Thrones crossover. I had considered doing a few of whitetigerwolf's challenges, including 'Mountain Sand', 'Aunt?', and, especially key to this story, 'Red Wolf'. That challenge in particular was what inspired this story, but eventually, I grew out of it. 'Red Wolf' required a Harry/Sansa pairing, and while I would have loved to have somehow gotten Sansa to get a clue before the first season, in the end, she's not that interesting a character.

But her sister Arya is another story.

A sticking point, obviously, is how young Arya is. She's about eleven at the start of Game of Thrones (and nine at the start of the book A Game of Thrones), and that would make a pairing tricky. In addition, I wanted to do a story set during the first season of the series, and one involving an older Harry free of the trials and travails of Hogwarts. So, I decided to do some timey-wimey stuff: Arya disappears from Westeros for nine months, but the Potterverse had her there for nine years, thus making her nineteen. It's not the first time I've done time running at different rates in other worlds, but it's probably one of the more extreme examples.

Also, this Arya is one who has grown up in the modern world. Yes, even Magical Britain is more modern compared to Westeros. She's still a tomboy and a fighter, but she's also more assured of herself and her identity. I was actually partly inspired by Maisie Williams' performance as Ashildr in Series 9 of Doctor Who. But at the same time, she misses her family immensely, and they, in turn, miss her. But she's also, alongside Harry, going to be a force for change in Westeros.

Unlike A Union of Dragons, though, I only intend for Harry to come to Westeros, and Dany is still doing her thing in Essos. How Harry and Dany affect things in A Union of Dragons will be different, as they'll be more dealing with the North, while Harry and Arya in this story would head to King's Landing with Ned and Sansa, whose relationship with Arya is much better now. Still a twit when it comes to Joffrey, but she's not going to be the rather stubborn little teenaged girl she was in canon.

BTW, for those worried about whether Raptor of the 20th Ward will see the light of day, it's still being worked on. I'm five chapters in, and once I hit eight, it's going to be published as a full story...assuming I make it that far. Still, I hope you enjoy...

PRODIGAL DAUGHTER

CHAPTER 1:

THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER RETURNS

It's a terrible thing to mourn the loss of someone who hasn't even been confirmed dead, who may never be confirmed dead. There's a phantom pain, like a missing limb, only, it's where part of the heart would be. It's the uncertainty more than anything else, the possibility that the person in question might still be alive, even though the odds were stacked against it. For a family as tightknit as the Starks of Winterfell, it's especially painful.

It all happened after a bad argument between them, or rather, three of its members. Arya Stark had gotten into an argument with her mother Catelyn Stark (née Tully) and her older sister, Sansa Stark, over a number of issues. They could be boiled down to two issues: how they treated the bastard child of Ned Stark, Jon Snow, and the expectations of Arya being forced to be a lady, to be a brood mare to be married off. Harsh and nasty words were exchanged, hurtful things, and eventually, Arya, after screaming at her mother and her sister that she hated them, fled the dining hall…and fled Winterfell, into the dark of the night.

Ned soon got a search party together to find Arya. She was easy to track, being only ten namedays old…but she had had a substantial headstart in the darkness…and her trail led to a cave, one Ned had warned his children about before, nicknamed 'the Stranger's Maw' by some. Because not far from the entrance to the cave was an abyss that seemed bottomless. And Ned soon had to confront the fact that his youngest daughter, one who reminded him so much of his sister Lyanna, had fallen down that abyss. The usually grim and stoic man had broken down, wailing and grieving. He still searched as best as he could for her, but he had to confront the reality that she was lost, dead or dying at the bottom of an abyss, one he couldn't even retrieve her body from.

This nearly broke the Starks apart. Arguments and recriminations followed. The warmth that had pervaded Winterfell's chilly corridors receded. It wasn't until Ned and his wife had a very long talk, part-argument, part-confession, and part-catharsis, that things began to even remotely resemble something normal again. Jon Snow didn't know the reason why Catelyn Stark had eased off on her cold-hearted attitude towards him, instead being…well, not nice as much as being more courteous and less harsh. Then again, he didn't know the truth about his parentage. But Catelyn did now, and she was horrified at how well her spite towards Jon acted as camouflage for a boy who was actually her nephew. Camouflage for those who wanted to make a palimpsest of the Targaryen bloodline for once and for all.

The children missed Arya's presence. Even Sansa, whose spite and hatred in the heat of the moment overrode the true sisterly affection she felt for Arya. She now wanted her sister back more than anything. The only one who didn't really miss her presence was their ward and hostage, Theon Greyjoy. But nobody really gave a crap about his opinion.

It had been nine moons since that fateful night. A night that the Starks would give anything to reverse, to undo, to have Arya Stark returned to them. And this day, a miracle would come to pass, a miracle that was accompanied by another…

A pair of travellers walked the Kingsroad to Winterfell, going through the bleak, cold, mist-wreathed landscape. This wasn't quite unusual in of itself, despite the infrequent traffic along the Kingsroad in this part of the world. Rather, it was the manner of dress they wore, not thick, cumbersome clothes, but strange thin long-sleeved tunics with hoods, and puffy jackets that seemed to be made of a shiny material. Their boots were also unusual, being dark in colour and shiny.

Then again, considering said clothes had been bought at a Marks & Spencer store in London, it was hardly surprising that the clothes would be hard to recognise. They did, after all, come from another world entirely.

Both figures, beneath the bulk of their clothes, were rather slender and dark-haired. They were in their late teens. And both, despite the way they bickered and bantered, had a wariness to them both despite their young years.

"Dammit, why couldn't the ritual send us closer to home?" complained one of the figures, a girl by the sound of her voice if not her words.

"Hey, your home is a pinprick compared to the rest of your world," the other figure, apparently a boy, retorted. "Hermione warned us that the margin of error would be pretty big. Anyway, didn't you say we were only a few hours' walk away?"

"Yeah, I know…but I would've thought we would have seen it by now. Then again, this mist isn't helping," the girl said, her voice becoming a little morose. "I want to see them again! It's been nine years for me."

"Yeah, but according to what Hermione and Luna found out from thaumatological readings and calculations, it's only been nine months here. You know, wibbly-wobbly…"

"…Timey-wimey, yes, I know. Ugh, I'll be glad when we can get Winky to set up a supply line or something. I don't want to miss any more Doctor Who. I've gotten too used to television. Still…will they believe it's me?"

"…If not, we'll head back home," the boy said. "I mean, back to Earth. If you don't want to stay in Westeros, that is."

"Maybe. But…I miss them. I spent the last nine years on Earth, seven of those at Hogwarts. I want to see them again, even if it's only once. I mean, you and Hermione and the Weasleys and Luna…you've been friends and family and more…but…"

"Yeah, I get the feeling. At least your family's still alive," the boy said. "Well, we hope. A lot can change in nine months."

"Don't talk like that," the girl said, the rebuke clear in her tone, but then, she gasped as she finally saw their destination, a faint outline in the distance, thanks to the mist. "…There it is. Gods, we're nearly home. We're nearly home!" She hugged her travelling companion.

The boy nodded, looking at the vast castle in the distance, a somewhat eclectic-looking castle, clearly built in several ways over the centuries, rebuilt from destruction, the new growing from the old. It wasn't a fairytale castle by any means, but a grim fortress, designed to be shelter and safety. But to the girl hugging him, it had been home. And maybe it would be again.

"So, how are we going to do this?" the boy asked. "Are we going to walk up to the gates, or do we use a Disillusionment charm, or what? I mean, we're a bit big to fit under the Invisibility Cloak together, and they'd notice our footprints in the snow and mud, wouldn't they?"

"Yeah. And I'm not convinced we can Apparate," the girl said. "My memories may not be reliable enough. A broomstick each with Disillusionment charms, then? Into the Godswood?"

"Why not? From there, we'll see if we can find your parents…"

Ned Stark came to the Godswood to pray more frequently of late. Not every day he resided in Winterfell, and certainly not on the days his duty took him away from the castle, but certainly more than he used to. He'd never heard the phrase that there was no such thing as atheists in foxholes, but he could understand the sentiment, even if he wasn't actually an atheist. It was, after all, easy to beg for favour from the gods, whether they be the Old Gods or the Seven or the Drowned God the Ironborn worshipped, when you wanted something seemingly only the gods could provide.

It had been a hard nine months for the family. After Arya's disappearance, Cat, in her grief, targeted Jon more than ever, so much that Ned finally and reluctantly decided to tell her the terrible, terrible truth…that Jon Snow was not actually Ned's bastard child with some unknown woman, but the trueborn son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. Cat was horrified…but she also understood Ned's reasoning for keeping Jon's heritage secret. Robert Baratheon, the current King of the Seven Kingdoms, had a prodigal hatred of all things Targaryen (which Ned considered somewhat hypocritical, considering that it was a Targaryen grandmother that allowed Robert to sit on the Iron Throne), and if Jon's true heritage came out…Robert would likely call for his head, in much the same way as the Mad King had called for Ned and Robert's own. And while she didn't show Jon any love, lest he question why she changed so much…she at least treated him with more courtesy and respect, as a human being, even if not part of the family.

Sansa had been beside herself with remorse. Ironically, her relationship with Jon had improved markedly, in contrast with how her mother took a turn for the worse briefly. Then again, Arya had been loved by both, despite Sansa and Arya's bickering, and Sansa wanted nothing more than to have Arya back. So too did Robb, Bran, Rickon, and Jon. Not so much Theon Greyjoy. He seemed apathetic to the whole matter, but he wasn't family. As much as Ned wanted him to identify with the Starks, to try and imbue the young Ironborn with honour and altruism, he knew Theon resented him on some level. Theon, after all, was a hostage as well as a ward.

Ned sighed quietly, the grim-looking patriarch of the Starks looking more aged than ever. Winter is Coming, his House's words said. A grim reminder of inevitability. It was like a memento mori, a reminder of death. For winter brought death, and nobody knew how long it would go for.

Many Houses had threats in their words, official or not. The Baratheons had Ours is the Fury, and the Lannisters had two, one official, and the other not. The official words were Hear Me Roar, and the unofficial ones, A Lannister Always Pays Their Debts, was a reminder that Lannisters would repay monies they owed…or slights rendered to them. The Greyjoys had We Do Not Sow, a reminder of their rapacious attitude towards those on the land. But those were personal threats and warnings, not something that was more proverbial and general, a reminder all men would do well to heed.

But even as he walked through the Godswood, towards the weirwood tree with its carved face and red leaves and sap, a monument to the Old Gods, he found himself suddenly alert. Something did not belong. He realised he could hear something. Voices. Young voices. He approached more warily, knowing the voices came from the direction of the weirwood tree.

"…Have to say, it looks impressive."

"To me…it's like I've never left."

Ned felt his heart still at that voice. It sounded familiar, and yet, older, much older. The voice of a young woman. It couldn't be, though. It was utterly, utterly impossible. This was some prank, some jape or jest by the gods, Old or New. He didn't hurry, though, afraid that if he did, he might frighten them off, or else burst the illusion.

"It's beautiful, really, in a sort of creepy way. No offence to the Old Gods," came the first voice, the voice of a young man. "You all right there?"

The voice of the young woman, now thick with emotion. "I…it's just…it's just…I'm back after so long…"

Ned strode into the clearing, and found a pair of hooded figures, wearing strange clothes, in front of the weirwood tree. The young man seemed to notice him, turning. "Oh…hi. Sorry we're trespassing, but…look, this is going to sound like a very stupid question…but are you Lord Eddard Stark?"

"Aye, I am," Ned said, watching the young man carefully, his hand straying towards the hilt of his sword. "And who are you?"

"…Well, that's a very difficult question to answer, because you don't know my name," the young man said, before reaching up to his hood and pulling it down, revealing a rather thin young man with a messy thatch of raven black hair, and emerald eyes that peered at him from behind strange glass lenses perched on his face. A lightning bolt-shaped scar snaked its way from beneath his fringe. "My name is Harry Potter."

"And your companion?" Ned asked, noting that the young man was correct, he hadn't ever heard of the name 'Harry Potter'. But then again, his companion's voice…that was more concerning.

The young woman turned to face Ned, and walked towards him. When she felt she was close enough, she carefully raised her hood away from her head, revealing her face. Impossible, impossible, impossible…it couldn't be her. She wouldn't be so old so soon!

And yet, her features seemed to be hers. Short dark hair framing her long features, now blossomed into a young woman, her eyes glittering with intelligence…but also with tears of both sorrow and joy. He knew it wasn't Lyanna, whose bones were in the crypts of Winterfell. But it couldn't be his daughter, who had been gone but nine moons, and yet seemed to have aged nine years!

"Hello, Father," Arya Stark, now a girl of nineteen said. "I'm home…"

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

Wow. So, Harry and Arya are together? And they've arrived back at Winterfell, maybe a month or so before the events of the first season. But they have a lot of explaining to do…

No numbered annotations this time.