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Harry Potter stood with Jon Snow, just above the grand entrance to Winterfell, waiting for the King's party to approach along the Kingsroad. The air was crisp and bracing, the scent of pine and cold stone in his nose, a welcome sensation after spending the last few hours feeling the tension in the castle grow. He had been invited to stand directly behind the Stark family, as a guest of honor, but had declined, sensing that he still didn't fully belong in their circle, especially for such a grand occasion. He and Jon had chosen to stand on the outskirts, not wanting to be part of the formal welcome with the Stark family. Harry could understand why Jon wanted some distance, and frankly, he wasn't eager to stand in the center of attention either.

"I don't mind the view from here," Jon had said when Harry joined him. "Better than standing where you're not really welcome."

Harry wasn't sure if Jon was bitter or just resigned. Either way, the two stood together, leaning against the outer wall as they watched for the approaching procession. From here, they could see the entire road leading to Winterfell and, soon enough, the first glimmers of the royal banners began to emerge.

He folded his arms, eyes scanning the procession that was just now coming into view. The procession was massive—larger than anything Harry had expected. A sea of soldiers and knights rode ahead, with wagons and supplies trailing behind them, banners of House Baratheon flapping in the cold wind. The royal banners flew high above the heads of the king's men, the golden stag on a black field of House Baratheon easily distinguishable even from a distance. The sound of hoofbeats, the rattle of armor, and the hum of voices filled the air as the King's retinue neared the gates of Winterfell.

"Quite the crowd," Harry murmured, taking it all in.

Jon nodded but didn't speak, his eyes focused on the approaching figures. Harry had quickly learned that Jon was more significantly more observant than talkative, especially when it came to matters of family, power, and politics. For Jon, this royal visit was a reminder of his place in the Stark household—as a bastard, always on the edge of things.

As the royal party drew closer, the first two riders who passed through the gates caught Harry's immediate attention.

"That's Joffrey," Jon muttered, nodding toward a young, blonde-haired boy on a richly adorned horse. His voice carried a note of disdain, and Harry turned to get a better look at the boy Jon had named.

Joffrey Baratheon, the crown prince. He was younger than Harry had expected, maybe only a couple of years younger than Jon, but his expression was already set in a sneer, his sharp features twisted into a look of arrogance. Joffrey held the reins with an easy grace, as if he'd been born in the saddle. His pale, golden hair gleamed in the sunlight, and his clothes were immaculate—a crimson tunic with a golden lion embroidered on his chest, representing his mother's house, House Lannister.

"Charming," Harry muttered under his breath. Even without knowing the boy, it was easy to tell that Joffrey was spoiled, entitled, and used to getting his way. And Harry decided that he would not be surprised in the least if the prince had used the words, 'Just wait till my father hears about this,' on several occasions.

Beside Joffrey, riding a massive black stallion, was a hulking figure in dark armor. His helm was shaped like a snarling dog's head, and his sheer size made him stand out even among the knights surrounding him.

"And that's got to be the Hound," Jon added, his voice a mix of respect and wariness. "Sandor Clegane. Some of the guard were saying that he's sworn to protect Joffrey."

Harry had heard bits of stories about Sandor Clegane, enough to know that the man had a fearsome reputation. They called him the Hound for his loyalty and brutal efficiency in battle. His scarred face, visible even beneath the edges of his helm, marked him as a man who had seen—and survived—a terrible thing. But unlike Joffrey, who exuded arrogance, the Hound seemed to radiate menace.

"He doesn't seem like someone I'd want to meet in a dark alley," Harry commented, eyeing the Hound's grim, scowling face.

Jon smirked slightly. "You're not wrong."

"Although, not exactly the friendliest faces to start the procession with, are they?" Harry said quietly, watching as Joffrey and the Hound rode past the gathered crowd, the prince hardly bothering to acknowledge the people cheering his arrival.

"No," Jon agreed. "They're not."

As Joffrey and Sandor passed, the rest of the royal party followed behind. Jon and Harry, took the opportunity to climb down from the wall and make their over to near where the Starks were standing. As they weaved their way through the people, the crowd around them murmured and whispered names, and Harry strained to listen, trying to match faces to the figures everyone had spoken about in recent days. A sea of soldiers, knights, and courtiers trailed behind the prince, their banners flying high, a blend of House Baratheon's stag and House Lannister's lion.

The largest figure in the group, riding near the front, was King Robert Baratheon himself, sitting astride a massive black warhorse. Even from across the courtyard, it was impossible to miss him—an enormous man with a thick beard and a belly that strained against his tunic. His laughter boomed across the courtyard as he rode in, and Harry could feel the man's energy even from where he stood with Jon.

"That's him, then? Robert Baratheon? The king?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing in surprise as he watched the king.

Jon nodded. "Aye, the king. Fought with my father during the rebellion. They say they were like brothers once."

King Robert certainly looked the part of someone who had once been a warrior, despite the extra weight and the years of feasting and drinking that seemed to have softened his edges. He had the air of someone who had once been fierce and unstoppable, but now … now there was something weary about him, hidden behind his jovial facade.

"Your father looks … different around him," Harry noted, watching as Ned Stark stepped forward to greet the king. Harry had grown used to Ned's quiet, serious demeanor, but now there was a warmth in his expression, an ease that hadn't been there before.

King Robert's laughter echoed again as he embraced Ned, clapping him on the back with a strength that looked like it could break bones.

"You've got fat!" Robert bellowed, grinning at his old friend.

"And you've not changed at all, Your Grace," Ned replied with a small, but genuine, smile. For a moment, it was as though the weight of the crowns and titles had been lifted, and they were simply two old friends meeting after a long absence.

Harry glanced at Jon, who stood quietly, his expression unreadable. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like for Jon, watching his father interact with the king, knowing he'd never be included in such moments. Even if he shared the same blood as the Starks, Jon was an outsider here. Harry had spent years in similar shoes, standing on the periphery of families that weren't truly his own.

Before he could dwell too much on that thought, a large, creaking wheelhouse came into view, pulled by a team of horses. The massive vehicle, painted in the gold and red colors of House Lannister, creaked to a stop just inside the gates.

"That'll be her," Jon muttered under his breath, his tone quieter. "Queen Cersei."

Queen Cersei Lannister. He'd heard enough over the past few days to know that she wasn't someone to be taken lightly. Harry watched as a servant rushed to the wheelhouse and opened the door. And after a moment, Cersei stepped out, her golden hair gleaming in the pale northern sunlight.

The first thing Harry noticed was how striking she was—tall, regal, and undeniably beautiful. But there was something cold and calculating in her expression, a hard edge beneath her outward beauty. She moved gracefully, her gown flowing behind her, but her sharp green eyes flickered over the castle with a look of poorly hidden distaste.

Harry noticed the slight curl of her lip, the tightening around her eyes. Though she didn't say anything as she looked around, it was clear she found the ancient northern castle lacking in some way, its rough-hewn stone and cold demeanor a stark contrast to the luxury she was no doubt accustomed to in King's Landing.

Harry watched as she approached Ned and Catelyn. When she finally spoke, her voice was smooth and polished, but there was an insincerity that Harry could easily detect.

"Winterfell is … charming," she said, her tone overly sweet, the compliment ringing false. "It's no wonder my husband speaks so fondly of it."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Catelyn replied, her own voice careful and measured. She was clearly aware of the insult veiled beneath the queen's words, but Catelyn Stark was far too dignified to react openly.

Harry had heard enough fake compliments at the Ministry of Magic to recognize one when he heard it. He wondered if Cersei ever said anything genuine.

Beside Cersei, another figure caught Harry's attention—a tall, impossibly handsome man with golden armor and an air of arrogance that practically radiated off him.

"Jaime Lannister," Jon murmured, his voice filled with a mix of wariness and disgust. "The Kingslayer."

Harry had heard about Jaime Lannister's reputation—an unmatched swordsman and a man who had earned his title by killing the very king he was sworn to protect. He carried himself with the confidence of someone who knew his skill and power were beyond question, and his smirk made it clear he cared little for what others thought of him.

As the queen and her brother stepped aside, King Robert motioned for his children to join them, and Harry's attention returned to the scene before him. Joffrey, having hidden his earlier sneer, approached with a much more composed and princely demeanor. His arrogant look had vanished, replaced by a carefully practiced smile.

Harry couldn't help but notice the shift. Joffrey was clearly playing the role of the perfect son, his gaze almost predatory as it flicked between his father and Sansa. It reminded Harry of the sly, manipulative tendencies he'd seen in some of the more cunning students back at Hogwarts—people who knew how to put on a good front when necessary.

Sansa Stark stepped forward as well, her face flushed with excitement. She looked at Joffrey with wide, admiring eyes, her hands nervously clasped in front of her. Harry's stomach churned slightly as he watched her expression; it was almost fawning, like the way Ron had looked after accidentally ingesting the love potion meant for Harry.

"Ned, this is Joffrey, my oldest," King Robert said, his gaze never leaving his friend, although Harry was momentarily surprised by the lack of warmth or pride in the introduction.

Joffrey inclined his head slightly as he closed the distance between Sansa and himself, his smile still in place, though Harry could see the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes, as if he knew exactly the effect he had on Sansa.

"A pleasure, my lady," Joffrey said smoothly, his voice dripping with courtesy. But to Harry's ears, it sounded hollow, rehearsed.

Ned gave the boy a nod, his expression impassive. "Your Grace," he said quietly, acknowledging the prince's rank, but there was no warmth in his tone.

As Joffrey exchanged pleasantries with the Starks, Harry found himself growing increasingly wary of the boy. He wasn't sure if it was instinct or just the way Joffrey carried himself, but something about the prince felt wrong.

The rest of the king's children were introduced, though none had the same presence as Joffrey. Myrcella, a delicate-looking girl, offered a polite curtsey, and Tommen, the youngest, looked more interested in tugging on his shirt than standing through royal introductions. Both seemed far less affected by the airs of court than their older brother, but Harry knew better than to judge anyone by appearances alone.

The rest of the procession followed, knights, courtiers, and banners filling the courtyard. Names and titles were exchanged, but Harry quickly lost track, his attention drawn back to the key players—Joffrey, the Hound, Robert, Cersei, Jaime, and Joffrey's siblings.

The air shifted as King Robert's laughter died down, his face growing suddenly solemn. He looked toward the entrance to Winterfell, and for the first time since his arrival, Harry saw a glimpse of the weight the king carried. There was something heavy in Robert's gaze, something far removed from the jovial warrior-king persona he had displayed.

"I need to pay my respects," Robert said quietly, glancing toward Ned.

But before they could move, Cersei interjected, her voice soft yet commanding. "Surely the dead can wait, Robert," she said, her tone dripping with honeyed persuasion. "We've traveled far. Perhaps we should first clean up, get situated … then you can feel free to pay your respects."

King Robert's eyes snapped to Cersei, his expression hardening in an instant. The warmth that had been present only moments ago vanished, replaced by a flash of anger. His voice was sharp and harsh when he responded, cutting through the air like a blade.

"This will not wait, woman!" Robert growled, his booming voice carrying across the courtyard. "I'll not delay this."

Cersei's eyes flickered, her smile freezing into place as she stared at her husband. For a heartbeat, the tension between them was palpable, a silent clash of wills. But Robert had already turned away, his mind set.

"You handle the rest, Cersei," he said gruffly over his shoulder, already walking toward the crypts with Ned. "Look after the servants, the luggage—whatever it is you do."

The queen stood there, her composure unshaken but her eyes cold as ice as she watched Robert walk away without another glance back towards her. The courtyard was quiet, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Harry watched Cersei closely, sensing the barely concealed anger behind her flawless exterior. She didn't say another word, but the tightness in her posture spoke volumes.

Unable to do anything else, Ned nodded, his own face tightening, before he took off after the king, together walking toward the entrance for the crypts beneath Winterfell.

As the crowd began to disperse, Harry exchanged a glance with Jon. There was something unsettling about the shift in mood, as if the arrival of the royal party had signaled the beginning of something far more serious than just a simple visit.

"Looks like things are going to get interesting," Harry muttered.

Jon gave him a small, grim nod. "Aye. It is said that when the king comes north, they always do."

- HP - WW - HP - WW - HP - WW - HP - WW - HP - WW -

The courtyard of Winterfell was still bustling with activity well after King Robert and Lord Stark had disappeared down into the crypts. The energy of the royal arrival was palpable, the air thick with excitement and tension as the people of Winterfell scrambled to settle the royal party. Harry, still standing near Jon Snow, watched as the servants moved about, guiding horses to the stables and unloading luggage from the various carts that had accompanied the procession.

Harry glanced at the royal chaos in the courtyard. He had tried to make himself useful, but had gotten to the point where he decided to slip away unnoticed, perhaps to help Maester Luwin with whatever needed to be done, when suddenly he heard a voice call out.

"You," a voice rang out across the courtyard. "Come here."

Harry turned to see a tall, golden-haired man in gleaming armor. Jaime Lannister. The infamous Kingslayer. His golden lion crest was impossible to miss, as was the lazy smirk on his face, one that seemed to suggest that the world existed solely for his amusement. Even from a distance, Harry could sense the air of superiority that surrounded him, as if Jaime expected the very stones of Winterfell to bow to his presence.

Harry blinked, unsure for a moment if Jaime was actually addressing him. But when no one else responded, Harry realized he was the target of the command.

"Yes, you," Jaime repeated, this time more pointedly. "Grab that trunk and take it to my chambers. Now."

Harry blinked, his eyes following Jaime's gesture toward a large, heavy-looking chest near a pile of royal luggage. It looked like it weighed a ton. He hesitated for a second, glancing around, half-expecting Jon to step in and offer some help, but when he looked over, Jon was gone.

'Of course.' Harry groaned inwardly. 'He managed to slink away. Probably laughing at me right now.'

Harry was left standing there, facing Jaime Lannister, who was clearly growing impatient. There was a part of Harry that itched to retort. After all, he wasn't a servant, and Jaime's tone—commanding and dismissive—rubbed him the wrong way. He'd put up with enough of that back at the Dursleys.

Jaime's eyebrow arched, clearly noticing Harry's pause. His lips curled into a smug smile, the kind that seemed designed to provoke.

The Kingslayer's eyebrow arched in surprise, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You're not much of a servant, are you?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but before he could snap back with a comment of his own—a comment that likely would have gotten him into trouble—Maester Luwin appeared at his side, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Ser Jaime," Luwin said with a calm authority, stepping between Harry and the Lannister knight. "This is Harry Potter, a guest of Lord Stark. He's not part of the serving staff."

Jaime's eyes flicked over Harry once more, his curiosity piqued. "Potter, you say? A unique name." He tilted his head slightly as he paused, a wry grin tugging at his lips. "Perhaps my brother Tyrion knows of your family. He tends to be more familiar with … uncommon folk."

There was a glint in Jaime's eye as he made the remark, though his tone was more amused than malicious. He shrugged, clearly not interested in pressing the matter further, and casually waved a servant over to deal with the trunk instead. As the servant hurried to comply, Jaime offered Harry one last glance, more out of passing curiosity than any real interest, before striding off, his golden armor clinking as he moved.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly to Maester Luwin once Jaime had disappeared into the crowd. "For stepping in."

"No thanks necessary, Harry," Maester Luwin replied with a small smile. "Lord Stark wouldn't appreciate his guest being mistaken for a servant, especially not after what you did yesterday. However, I'm off to help the steward with organizing the supplies the king's party brought with them. There's much to be done. If you wanted to help, you could stay here and help direct individuals to where they need to go."

With that, the maester hurried off, leaving Harry nodding and standing alone once again. He looked around, still feeling the buzz of activity all around him. But as the chaos continued, Harry found himself slipping into the background, lending a hand where he could, giving directions to servants when asked. He used the excuse that he was acting as the maester's assistant, which seemed to be enough to satisfy anyone's curiosity when his authority was questioned.

An hour passed, maybe more. The courtyard had finally started to settle when Harry noticed movement near the entrance to the crypts. The heavy wooden doors groaned as they opened, and out stepped King Robert and Lord Stark. Harry couldn't help but notice the difference in their expressions.

Robert's face was once again flushed with joy, his somber attitude before heading down into the crypts seemingly forgotten. He was grinning broadly and laughing as he clapped a hand on Ned's shoulder, his voice booming through the now-quieter courtyard, as they emerged from the shadows.

"I've done my duty," Robert announced loudly, the mirth in his voice returning. "Now, I need some of that fine northern ale I've missed so much. Stark, where's the hospitality? Let's see if the North still knows how to keep a man warm! And make sure there are a few good men to share it with!"

The change in Robert's demeanor was jarring, like a storm cloud suddenly giving way to bright sunlight. His jovial tone and hearty laughter filled the courtyard, but Harry's eyes were fixed on Ned Stark. There was something off about him—a tension in his posture, a fleeting look of unease in his eyes. It was subtle, but Harry caught it, a quiet sign that whatever had been discussed in the crypts was not just about paying respects.

Robert's booming laughter drowned out any opportunity for further thought. The king's mood had shifted dramatically, and the people around them seemed to sense it. As if on cue, servants rushed to fulfill Robert's demands, bringing out pitchers of ale and mead while a few of the Stark bannermen gathered near the king to join him.

Harry kept his distance, staying in the background, but he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever had passed between Robert and Ned in the crypts had left a mark on the Stark lord. It wasn't something Harry could put into words, but there was a heaviness about Ned that hadn't been there before.

"Come on, Stark!" Robert called out to his friend, slinging an arm around Ned's shoulders as they moved toward the hall that had been set up for the king's welcome feast. "Let's drink like we did in the old days. The South's too soft for my tastes. The wine, the women, all of it! And it's certainly not for a lack of trying. Nothing like the North. Nothing at all."

Ned managed a small smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He glanced briefly around the courtyard before his eyes settled on Harry, catching his eye for a moment before turning back to Robert.

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Story Note 1 – And the party has arrived. Thought it would be fun to rewrite the visit from Harry's perspective and I think it came together pretty well. The next chapter will be the feast where Harry has a chance to interact with some of the characters from the procession and at least two important individuals who did not make it to the courtyard. Any guesses on who?

A large thanks to those of you out there who enjoy my stories, I promise to keep updating the stories as long as you all are enjoying them, and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to leave feedback or have reached out to me directly.

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BioHazard82, outcome 5 - Thanks so much for the feedback and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

rajeshkont - That is a good catch and was done purposefully. For the most part Harry is written as a very act first, think next type of individual, who doesn't necessarily excel at strategy. But overtime Harry will learn there are better ways to act. Especially if he goes through situations where he is at risk. As for the dream/occlumency idea. That is a good catch but his magic is slightly different from the magic here so while it might partially help it will not totally help. Also at no point other than fanfic has Harry shown any serious abilities with occlumency.

Ariadne Venegas - I wouldn't worry that Jon is at risk of making the same decisions. Although it might take him a little time to make different ones.

Fenrir070 - Obviously having a fanfic with Harry in it probably does need magic otherwise it ends up being a little weird and is more an OC at that point who just happens to be named Harry. BUt I'm glad things are starting to come together!

Masso 2010 - That does seem to be a recurring bit of feedback. Although worldbuilding is something that I really try to focus on especially early so it does end up with some of the stories starting a little slower but the trade off is that I think it helps down the road. But i really appreciate when people give it a chance and it's always nice to hear it works for them! If there is any other feedback down the road, just let me know!

et-reader97 - That is such amazing feedback. I'm really happy it worked for you! I guess we shall see what comes out of it. As for Arya and Harry I guess we shall see what comes out of it but there will certainly be more interactions between the two coming up.

Wrixel - Well I would certainly imagine he would need gear if he hopes to survive in the world. And as for the eyes ... that seems like a good guess ... but we shall see ...

orionastro - Really appreciate the feedback and that seems like a fair guess. Although part of the Harry getting hurt earlier and not being able to heal was in an effort to show that the spells he knows do have a limit but there are ways to get around that ...