297 A.C. Castle of Hightower

Keeping his hand on the damp stone wall he uses the leverage to help guide him up the dimly lit stairwell, being that there isn't any railing and the fall is deadly he doesn't feel like dying.

The soft mossy damp fragrance that seems to cling to his skin always brings a nostalgia as the moldy smell brings him back to the tunnels in the chamber of secrets, despite the fact that it was terrifying at the time, looking back it is one of his favorite adventures and oddly enough it comforts him.

The boneless feeling in his legs tells him he's made it past the halfway point of the tower. If he were to think of a punishment, it would be walking up flights of stairs until they pass out.

Why did his grandfather's ancestors think it was a great idea to build a tall tower of the likes he lives in.

When he had asked his grandfather the man had laughed and stated it was probably compensation for something, which took a second to realize what he ment, which caused him to flush at the blatant tone of his grandfather.

The man had been good to him in the few years he's been here.

Harry is grateful for all the man has provided, it has served as a great distraction from the ache of his siblings.

Being away from his siblings is probably the only true downside, despite having the necklace. They could scarcely use it, since they were all busy and had different schedules.

Willas having taken to his studies as the heir more seriously since his incident, the man has such a brilliant mind.

Harry knows without his help he wouldn't have made even the smallest amount of progress with recreating certain objects from his home world, for instance the vanishing cabinets, though he didn't trust himself on making the cabinet so he made a smaller version enabling them to send each other things.

Harry took full advantage of the copying charm to send his brother various scrolls and things.

Willas has the smarts to rival Tom Riddle at his best, and coming from Harry that's saying something.

One of the advantages of being the grandson of Lord Hightower is the man, or house more accurately owns the Citadel, having founded the grand structure., which in turns gives them and those of blood relation a certain unspoken advantage over even fellow nobles themselves who seek the same knowledge.

A few months into his grandfather's tutelage, he has flourished in a way that he never would have expected, he never would have known the intricacies of certain things if he had been left to his grandmother's devices.

Not to sound cynical but he knows the woman wants chest pieces, while she cares for her family she prefers them manipulatable.

Plus, while the Tyrells are a powerful family with an abundance of wealth and political power, the one thing they lack is a firm lineage with ancient roots to give their hold stability. His grandmother had been very smart to have Mace marry his mother, having the Hightowers had helped solidify their claim to Highgarden.

Harry's family claim laid solely on the word of the Targaryens, who had put them in the position of power they are currently in.

Knowing without them on the throne they needed something to push the more fickle lords into submission before they sought to tried anything.

His feet bring him to the last floor just in time to hear the raspy cackle of Malora along with the tell sign of a plume of smoke coming off a cauldron. With a small smile he steps over the various crates of empty ingredients, Harry is bombarded with the familiar stench of a potion being brewed. The fumes finally reached his senses.

Gently pushing the flimsy old door open the rotted wood oddly strong despite its obvious wear, as the door opens the sight of Malora standing over a potion meets his vision.

Her frizzled hair burnt and fried from long exposure to the toxic fumes without any care, her skin seems to be caked white as if she isn't pumping with blood, but Harry knows it's a side effect of dwelling in the dark arts as Dumbledoor would say. Malora had done a multitude of rituals to grant her various things, but her most prominent is an amplified version of foresight or what Westeros calls Greenseeing.

Harry is one of the only people privy to the drawback of her powers which is how reliant Malora is on a dragon glass candle as a medium.

When Harry had first seen Dragon glass he couldn't help but admire it. The obsidian Has totally different properties than his old world, especially in terms of magic. The beautiful sharp shards have a dark blood-ish maroon sheen that produces a beautiful crimson flame when his aunt sets the candle alight.

Though she says she rarely uses it as it draws too much power for her, fortunately the abundance of visions she gets makes up for the limited use.

She says it's been easier in his presence, but to fully have access the living embodiment of magic would need to be reborn.

Dragons, the fact that he is in a world that has mythical creatures as a real as magic is a major comfort, as he does have to hide as much, though he knows if he were to just go and use his magic freely he'd either be hailed as a god, or burned at the stake, maybe, probably both.

Stepping beside his aunt he turns his gaze towards the burbling concoction brewing in her cauldron, he will never be a potions expert, but he's confident in his ability to make them, especially since he wasn't stunted for petty reasons.

"Do you want me to speed this up?" He can't help but ask, looking at her wild eyes he's wondering why the woman is creating a…

Oh, he doesn't want to know why she's making a Westerosi version of the draught of the living dead.

"Would you be a dear?" Her nasally voice making the rasp seem even more heavy, her wild eyes never leaving the concoction as she expertly stirs the bleak bubbling substance.

Lifting his hand he feels the elder wand slip into his hand out of the pocket dimension it rests when he isn't in need, with a flick of his wrist a soft lavender colored spark springs towards the cauldron the only purpose is to kickstart the potion's process.

He's found the hollow has become a part of him after his 'death', he doesn't necessarily need to use the cloak to be invisible anymore, but it's good for if he wants to sneak more than one person.

Thinking of the few escopabes he and Garlan had done before he was shipped off to Hightower.

Marlora has found that his magic speeds up the process of potions, at least Westerosi, or planetos potions at an accelerated rate; her theory is that the potency of his magic boosts the ambient magic of Westeros.

"It's time, little death." The title makes him withhold a sigh, though he's thankful someone he trusts is in the know.

Still it was startling for him to be so blatantly addressed as such.

"Time?" He asks, but doesn't elaborate knowing she'll answer.

"The old falcon's days are numbered," is all she says, her gaze Nemet leaving the cauldron.

"Hm, Jon Arryn?" Harry muses.

"Yes, he'll be the catalyst." She answers in a dull tone once again never letting her gaze rise away from the potion.

He wonders if it helps organize her mind using the rhythmic swirl of the cauldron to focus.

"An old guy dying that makes the world crumble?" He mutters. The hand of the King isn't someone he knows, but he's heard stories of the falcon who fostered two lords under his wing.

Too immersed in her work she didn't hear him, deciding it wasn't worth it he asks,"Do you have any leads on the night king?" He watches as she stalls in her stirring, actually looking into his eyes.

Her mismatched gaze peering into his, the milky eye that she uses to look into the flames only has sight for the future, "forums he's not woken fully, and won't until the wolf of fire and ice traverses through the lands of always winter."

"The wolf of fire and ice?"

Giving him a bland look Malora continues as she reaches for a vile before dipping the small bottle into the milky grey substance, corking it she holds it out to Harry with a smile. "I can't give you the answers to everything that wouldn't be fun."

"Alright, I get it." He says with an eye roll, knowing not to press further.

Luckily for him, he likes a mystery.

Outside catches his gaze, with a few steps towards the window he is able to look out as the sun starts to set, the burnt orange glow casting a warm sheen over the city as night befalls upon them.

He can't help but think about Sirius.

Harry trusts that Death wouldn't betray him, he doesn't know how he knows, but he does. And he knows that he'll meet Sirius when it's time, but he wishes the damn deity would stop thwarting his attempts.

The deity had appeared in a dream of his, telling him that he should focus on more important things, like preparing for the long night.

He begrudgingly pushed off when the deity told him Sirius was needed where he was, the only thing that made up for it was getting to see a vision of how happy Sirius is.

Even if he was jealous of the kids he's gotten to be an uncle too.

He wasn't able to see much, just the fact that Sirius wasn't in any mortal danger.

"You're such a worrywart," turning towards Malora, the rasp of her voice coming out fondly. He can see her wrinkles deepen as she appraises him, "you're a god little death, nothing will happen to you."

"I'm no god." He muttered looking away, she always insists that he was a deity, "and it's not me I'm worried about,"

He hopes his family, all his family will make it out, but knows it's wishful thinking.

——-

Highgarden

Willas looks to see that the chest his brother had created is shifted in color on the handle telling him there is something inside.

Hobbling towards the dark oak chest, his leg flaring with the familiar prickling pain he's endured since the tourney.

Flicking the latch on the top he pries open the deceptively ordinary chest Harry had sent him after they had completed the runes, well he came up with the sequence then had his brother create it,not to say Harry couldn't have figured it out on his own.

Willas knows how intelligent his wayward brother is, despite the way Harry seems to downplay himself, ever so modest.

Now, don't get him wrong Willas adores all his siblings but Harry has a special place in his heart.

Reaching inside he grabs the parchment paper, his brow lifting as he reads the familiar chicken scratch handwriting, Harry's words.

Sitting down on the chest letting his leg ready as he reads the letter, his brother must be busy if he's sending him a letter, while it's not a long one he knows Harry and can read what isn't said and what wasn't thought of.

Willy,

Sorry to force you to endure my writing, but I'll be on the road instead of taking a ship so it will be more difficult to contact you as privacy won't be as easily affordable.

Grandfather is worried of the possibility of bandits, and has taken it upon himself to send an escort of 40 knights.

a little obnoxious? Don't you think?

This makes an un-lordly snort escape at the thought of some unfortunate bandits just lucky enough to try his brother.

Willas doesn't have the same relationship with their grandfather as Harry, but he knows the man through letters with Harry as a messenger boy.

He'd bet a lot of money that if Layton didn't already have an heir he'd have declared Harry his with no hesitation.

Anyway, I'm not sure how long we'll be given that my entourage will slow me down.

I had wanted to keep it a secret to surprise our family, but it would be difficult to not be noticed with all my…protection

Once I'm able to get into an actual bed and get away from these smelly ass men I'll try and contact you.

Malora said it's starting.

She won't give me much information, saying some things are meant to happen.

I'm not sure how long we have, but fortunately I'm coming back, so we'll be able to form a plan.

'Well time to speak with grandmother.' Willas thinks, wincing as he stands the tingling sensation of his leg falling asleep, a phenomenon that happens when he sits, but can't stand on the leg for more than a few minutes. A conundrum he's been cursed to live, he hasn't spoken to Harry about it.

Not wanting Harry specifically to worry.

Harry would feel useless and wallow if he knew Willas was in pain and Willas doesn't think or expect Harry to be able to fix everything.

Haedrian is a powerhouse, with a vast array of abilities that always put him in awe, but still Harry, his dorky little brother, is a boy of ten and seven. It's only natural that he isn't at his full potential.

Plus they have bigger things to worry about than some ol' cripple.

——-

A man watches in the shadows as his eyes fixate on the small boy, compared to the taller men around him, the black hair and green eyes contrasting against the light grey tunic and dark pants showing the man that he has found who he's been searching for.

The man had felt the presence of the god of death from the moment their vessel had been born.

The man knows he shouldn't feel such excitement as he does, but he can't help it when he's in the very presence of his master and lord.

Sadly it's not time to introduce this person to their lord, they have assignments to finish, hopefully the fools let him give them the gift without a fuss so he can give himself to his master fully.

A man is told not to think but to act as the will of the many faced god.

As he slips into the shadows his form morphs into an unsuspecting frail woman, his presence going unnoticed even to his lord.

With a bland smile the man wonders what this face has in store for the realm of man.

A/n:

I'm trying to get to the start of the series, I hope I'm not rushing it too much to where all the characters seem bland. I just want to get to some good stuff.

Sorry for no Sirius, I'll admit I'm still figuring out his role other than being a reason for Harry to be in Westeros.

Is Harry a god? Or is his power just to great that a mortal will mistake it so?

Who do you think was the man? ;P

Do you like the direction I'm taking this?

Would you be a greenseer or a warg?