The Hedwig cut through the waters of the Summer Sea, its newly enchanted sails catching the wind as Harrold stood at the ship's prow, gazing toward the horizon. His mind, as always, was restless. Pentos, Lys, Myr, Tyrosh, and Volantis had been mere steps in a grander plan. He had stolen wealth, freed magicals, and destabilized corrupt systems, but the pull of something greater had begun to gnaw at him.
Valyria.
The name alone carried power. The ancient Valyrian Freehold, the apex of magical might and dragonkind, now lay in ruins, its lands cursed and shrouded in mystery. Few who ventured into the Smoking Sea returned, and those who did were often driven mad. But for Harrold, it was an irresistible challenge. If there was knowledge or power still hidden in the ruins of Valyria, it could be the key to everything he sought to build.
Late one evening, beneath the starlit sky, Harrold gathered his crew on the main deck. A sense of unease spread among them as they noticed his expression—equal parts determination and excitement.
"I have made a decision," Harrold began, his voice calm but commanding. "Our next destination will be Valyria."
The words fell over the crew like a thunderclap. A stunned silence followed before the murmuring began. Finally, Captain Elissa, the veteran who had helmed the Hedwig since its maiden voyage, stepped forward.
"Valyria?" her deep voice was incredulous. "You can't be serious, m'lord. The Smoking Sea's cursed. No ship sails there and returns whole. The tales—"
"—are mostly exaggerations," Harrold interrupted. "And those that are true often come from those unprepared for what lies ahead. I am prepared."
First Mate Thoren, a wiry man with sharp eyes and a knack for reading people, crossed his arms. "With all due respect, my lord, you've got magic, aye. We've all seen it. But magic or no magic, Valyria's a graveyard. Even dragons couldn't survive what happened there."
Harrold's gaze swept over the gathered crew, his silver-flecked eyes alight with determination. "You're right to be cautious. Valyria is no place for the faint of heart. But think of what we might find—lost knowledge, ancient artifacts, treasures beyond imagining." He paused, letting his words sink in. "I'm not asking any of you to come with me. I'll go alone if I must."
The murmurs grew louder now, the crew exchanging uneasy glances. Finally, Anya Veloro, the ship's healer and one of Harrold's trusted magicals, spoke up. "My lord, your courage is unmatched, but this isn't just about bravery. The tales of Valyria speak of horrors—fire demons, shadow creatures, and waters that boil ships alive. Even your magic might not be enough."
"I appreciate your concern, Anya," Harrold said, softening his tone. "But I am not going blindly. The Hedwig has been strengthened with enchantments, and I will take every precaution. If there is danger, I'll turn back before risking the ship or its crew. But the potential rewards far outweigh the risks."
Captain Elissac shook his head, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper beard. "This is madness, m'lord. And you're saying you'll go alone? What happens if you don't come back? We've seen what you can do, but even you can't fight the whole bloody Smoking Sea."
Harrold stepped forward, his presence commanding. "If I don't come back, you'll know I failed. But you'll also know I failed chasing something worth the risk. This ship and crew have already achieved what most thought impossible. The Hedwig is no ordinary ship, and we are no ordinary crew." He turned to address them all. "I'm not forcing anyone to follow me. If you wish to turn back now, I'll understand. But know this: fortune favors the bold. And I am bold enough to reach for greatness."
The crew shifted uncomfortably, some avoiding his gaze while others stared at him with a mix of awe and disbelief.
"Then swear to us, m'lord," Thoren said, stepping forward. "Swear that you'll take every step possible to be safe. If it's as bad as the tales say, you'll turn back before dragging us all to hell."
Harrold nodded. "I swear it. I'll take the Hedwig only to the edge of the Smoking Sea. From there, I'll go alone, using a smaller enchanted skiff I've prepared. If the risks prove too great, I'll return immediately."
A tense silence followed before Thoren finally exhaled heavily. "You're the maddest man I've ever sailed with, Lord Harrold. But you've got guts. And if anyone can survive Valyria, it's you."
A ripple of hesitant agreement passed through the crew. They still looked uneasy, but Harrold's charisma and unwavering confidence had done their work.
The Hedwig drifted in calm waters, the crew gathered on the main deck as the midday sun bore down on them. Harrold leaned against the railing, his sharp silver-flecked eyes fixed on the horizon. Despite their approach to the Smoking Sea, his thoughts were elsewhere. His growing ambitions demanded not just a mobile force like the Hedwig but a land base, a secure stronghold where his plans could take root and flourish.
The Smoking Sea and Valyria were too far from his eventual power base in the North. The lack of a safe harbor weighed on him. He voiced his concerns one evening as the crew sat in a circle, their lanterns casting flickering shadows on the deck.
"We are heading into uncertain waters," Harrold began, his tone serious. "Valyria is but one piece of the puzzle. I need a base of operations in this part of the world. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere secure. Somewhere that can serve as our haven."
The crew exchanged glances, uneasy with the gravity of the conversation. It was Thoren, the wiry first mate, who finally spoke.
"Ain't many places like that, m'lord. These waters are too well-traveled. Every island and rock's been mapped by traders or pirates."
"Not every island," interrupted Kerran Daulton, a quiet but steady sailor who rarely joined in such discussions. All eyes turned to him, his weathered face lit by the lantern's glow.
"You've found an island?" Harrold asked, his curiosity piqued.
Kerran nodded slowly. "Aye. Years ago, back when I worked on a merchant vessel out of Volantis. We got caught in a storm, a nasty one that blew us far off course. When the skies cleared, we found ourselves near an island I'd never seen on any chart. Lush, wild, and untouched. We only stayed long enough to gather fresh water and fix the ship, but something about the place felt... strange. Like it wasn't meant to be found."
Harrold's interest sharpened. "Strange how?"
Kerran hesitated, searching for the right words. "Hard to explain. It was like the island didn't want us there. Birds would scatter before we got too close, and there was this... hum in the air, like the whole place was alive. Even after we left, no one could ever agree on where we'd been. We tried to find it again, but it was like it vanished."
The other sailors muttered among themselves, but Harrold's expression turned thoughtful. "If it's not on any maps, and if it's difficult to find, that makes it perfect. We're going to find this island."
Captain Elissa frowned. "M'lord, that was years ago. What if the island's not even real? Or worse, what if it's cursed like Valyria?"
Harrold smirked. "If it's real, I'll find it. And if it's cursed, we'll turn it to our advantage."
The Hedwig sailed eastward, leaving the well-traveled shipping lanes behind. Harrold stood at the prow, his senses extended as he called upon his magic to feel for anything unusual in the surrounding waters. Days turned into a week as they combed the seas, guided by Kerran's hazy memories of the storm that had led him to the island and the magical senses of Harrold.
Finally, after a frustrating stretch of uneventful sailing, Harrold felt it—a faint, magical pulse like a heartbeat, hidden beneath the ebb and flow of the ocean's energy. He closed his eyes, focusing on the rhythm. The island was near, but its wards were strong, almost as if it were alive and defending itself.
"We're close," Harrold said, turning to the crew. "But the island doesn't want to be found. I'll need to tear a hole through its defenses."
Raising his hands, Harrold murmured an incantation. His magic spread outward like ripples in a pond, clashing against the island's protective wards. The clash sent a wave of resistance through him, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on. Slowly, the mist surrounding the area began to dissipate, revealing the outline of a mountainous, green-covered island.
"There!" Kerran exclaimed, pointing.
The crew stared in awe as the island emerged from its magical shroud, its lush vegetation gleaming under the sun. Harrold smiled, though his energy was drained. "Set course. That's our new base."
The Hedwig anchored off a white sandy beach. The crew disembarked, their boots crunching on the untouched shore. Harrold immediately felt the island's magic, a vibrant energy that seemed to pulse through the air, the earth, and even the trees.
The terrain was breathtaking. Towering palm trees swayed in the breeze, their fronds glittering like emeralds. Coconut and mango trees grew in abundance, their fruits ripe and plentiful. Streams of crystal-clear water meandered through the forest, feeding into waterfalls that cascaded down cliffs. Vibrant flowers of every color blanketed the forest floor, their petals exuding a faint, magical glow.
But it wasn't just the natural beauty that caught Harrold's attention. As he ventured deeper into the island, he discovered plants and creatures he had only read about in ancient texts. There were blossoms with petals that shimmered like moonlight, capable of healing even the gravest wounds. Trees with bark infused with natural magical properties that could be used for wands or staves. Strange animals roamed the island—serpent-like creatures with iridescent scales, and birds that mimicked speech with uncanny accuracy.
"This place is more than just hidden," Harrold murmured. "It's alive with magic."
Though the island was naturally warded against discovery, Harrold knew it wasn't enough. He spent the next several days strengthening its protections. Using his magic, he layered the existing wards with powerful enchantments.
A Notice-Me-Not Charm was woven into the island's fabric, ensuring that anyone not keyed into its wards would instinctively avoid the area. He added an Aversion Ward, which would cause ships to veer off course should they come too close. Finally, he tied the island's wards to a magical keystone he buried in the heart of the forest. Only those keyed into the keystone would be able to navigate the sea to reach the island.
To test the wards, he sent the Hedwig out to sea and had it return. As the ship approached, it was clear that the wards were working—those not keyed in felt an almost overwhelming compulsion to turn back. Harrold smiled. The island was now as secure as magic could make it. The only other way to reach the island if you are not keyed in is to arrive on a ship that is keyed in. Harrold planed to build exceptions to the wards in every ship he owns since he cant be there to key in every person.
The crew explored the island under Harrold's guidance, marveling at its bounty. The tropical fruits—coconuts, mangos, bananas, and guavas—provided plentiful sustenance. The streams and waterfalls ensured a fresh water supply, while the magical plants and creatures offered resources beyond their wildest dreams.
"This place," Captain Elissa said one evening as they sat around a fire on the beach, "it's like it was waiting for you, m'lord. Like it knew you were coming."
"Perhaps it was," Harrold replied thoughtfully, his gaze distant. "The magic here is old, older than anything I've felt before. But now, it's ours."
The crew nodded, though a sense of unease lingered. The island was a paradise, yes, but it was also a mystery. And mysteries often came with a cost.
Before leaving, Harrold made sure the island was ready to serve as a base. He carved out several hidden storage areas using magic, expanding spaces within the island's cliffs to hold supplies and treasure. He also planted markers for future construction—plans for a hidden fortress that would make the island a true stronghold.
"This island will be the cornerstone of our operations in the east," Harrold said to his crew as they prepared to depart. "And one day, it will be the key to uniting magicals under our banner."
The Hedwig sailed away from the hidden island, leaving it cloaked once more in its magical defenses. As the crew looked back, the island seemed to vanish into the mist, a ghostly outline against the horizon.
Harrold stood at the prow, his thoughts already on the next step of his journey. Valyria awaited, but now, he had a safe haven to return to—a sanctuary for his ambitions and a foundation for his growing empire.
The Hedwig approached the edge of the Smoking Sea, its blackened, turbulent waters swirling beneath a sky thick with ash and unnatural clouds. The crew stood tense on the deck, watching the eerie horizon where the Smoking Sea seemed to bleed into the ruins of Valyria. The air was heavy with dread, and even the winds seemed reluctant to carry the ship closer to the cursed land.
Harrold gathered the crew one last time before setting out. "This is where we part ways, temporarily," he said, his silver-flecked eyes scanning their anxious faces. "I will go alone to Valyria. I won't risk all of you on the unknown. When I return, I'll ensure our safety before we proceed further."
Captain Elissa crossed his arms, frowning. "M'lord, we know you've got your magic, but even you might not be enough to face what's out there. Let us come with you."
Harrold shook his head. "I can't afford to lose any of you. This is something I must see for myself. I've taken precautions—more than enough to ensure my survival. Trust me."
Reluctantly, the crew nodded. Harrold made his way to the smaller boat, a sleek vessel built in secrecy on the hidden island. It was constructed with reinforced magical protections woven into every fiber of its hull and sails. Enchanted runes lined the wood, glowing faintly with a silver hue, their magic forming a near-impenetrable shield. Harrold had personally enchanted the boat with every ward, barrier, and protection he could muster.
"This boat could probably survive a nuclear blast," Harrold said wryly as he climbed aboard, his attempt at humor doing little to ease the crew's nerves.
As the smaller boat slipped away from the Hedwig, Harrold sailed deeper into the Smoking Sea, where the water churned with unnatural fury. The air grew thick with toxic fumes, which hissed as they touched the boat's wards. The magical protections kept the boat steady, shielding it from the boiling waves and the corrosive mist.
Harrold extended his magical senses, probing the environment. The air crackled with the residue of powerful, chaotic magic. It felt like the aftermath of an explosion that had never truly ended, the energy swirling in endless loops of destruction.
"Whatever happened here," Harrold muttered to himself, "it wasn't natural."
The broken shores of Valyria loomed ahead, a jagged, ashen coastline littered with the remains of once-mighty cities. Harrold beached the boat on a patch of blackened sand and stepped cautiously onto the land. The air was thick with an oppressive aura, and every step felt as though the ground itself resisted him.
Ruins of obsidian towers jutted into the sky like jagged teeth, their surfaces warped and melted by intense heat. Ancient carvings, once majestic, were now twisted into grotesque shapes. The land seemed alive, pulsating with corrupt magic that whispered faint, maddening echoes into Harrold's mind.
As he ventured further inland, he encountered the aftermath of what he could only describe as a disastrous magical ritual. The scars of the Doom of Valyria were everywhere—enormous fissures in the ground that glowed faintly with molten lava, the bones of dragons fused with stone, and remnants of magical circles etched into the earth, their power long since corrupted.
"This wasn't just a natural disaster," Harrold said aloud, his voice echoing in the eerie silence. "This was a ritual gone horribly, catastrophically wrong."
Harrold's exploration brought him face-to-face with the horrific consequences of the magical backlash. Mutated creatures stalked the ruins—twisted amalgamations of animals and dragons, their bodies grotesque and warped beyond recognition. One creature resembled a six-legged reptile with glowing, mismatched eyes, its roar echoing with a haunting resonance.
He also saw the tragic remnants of humanity. Stonemen wandered aimlessly through the ruins, their gray, scaled skin a horrifying testament to the greyscale disease. Their rasping breaths and mindless mutterings filled the air as they moved in a trance-like state, unable to recognize their surroundings.
Harrold kept his distance, shielding himself with layers of magic to avoid drawing their attention. He studied the environment carefully, observing the lingering effects of the corrupted magic. The air itself seemed to pulse with malevolence, and he realized that prolonged exposure would lead to madness or death, even for magicals like himself.
Satisfied with his findings, Harrold returned to his boat and cast off from Valyria's shores. As he sailed back through the Smoking Sea, he reflected on what he had learned. The dangers of Valyria were far greater than he had anticipated, but they were not insurmountable.
When he rejoined the Hedwig, the crew greeted him with relief, though their curiosity was evident.
"What did you find, m'lord?" Captain Elissa asked as Harrold stepped aboard.
"Monsters, corrupted magic, and a land scarred by catastrophe," Harrold replied grimly. "But I also found a way for us to protect ourselves."
The Hedwig returned to the hidden island, where Harrold began crafting protections for the crew. Using the knowledge he had gained, he created enchanted bracelets for each member of the crew.
"These will shield you from the mental attacks caused by the corrupted magic," Harrold explained as he distributed the bracelets. "They'll also create a protective barrier to filter the air you breathe, ensuring you don't inhale any poisonous gases."
Anya Veloro, the ship's healer, examined the bracelet on her wrist. "This is impressive, m'lord. But are you sure it will be enough?"
"It will," Harrold said confidently. "The bracelets are tied to the ship's wards. As long as you wear them, you'll be protected."
He also reinforced the ship's magical protections, ensuring that the Hedwig could withstand the corrupted waters and hostile environment of Valyria. The runes carved into the hull glowed brighter than before, their magic humming with renewed strength.
With the preparations complete, Harrold addressed the crew once more.
"Valyria is unlike anything we've faced before," he said, his voice steady. "But we are prepared. We have the means to protect ourselves, and we have the knowledge to navigate its dangers. This isn't just about treasure or glory—this is about understanding the past and unlocking its secrets. Together, we will face whatever Valyria throws at us."
The crew, though still uneasy, nodded in agreement. Harrold's confidence was infectious, and the enchanted bracelets on their wrists offered a sense of security.
As the Hedwig set sail once more, the hidden island faded into the distance. Ahead lay the Smoking Sea and the ruined land of Valyria—a place of unimaginable danger, but also untold opportunity. Harrold stood at the prow, his gaze fixed on the horizon, ready to face whatever awaited them.
With the Hedwig anchored closer the edge of the land and the crew armed with magical protections, the expedition into Valyria began by transporting them by the boats. Harrold made sure to create 4 additional boats. The enchanted bracelets Harrold had crafted shielded the crew from the corrupted magic and poisonous air, allowing them to step onto the haunted shores without succumbing to madness or disease.
Harrold led the way, his magical senses extended to detect both hidden dangers and the treasures buried beneath the ruins. The ruins of Valyria were a mixture of awe and horror—magnificent, melted towers that once housed dragonlords, grand avenues cracked and overrun with twisted vegetation, and vast underground vaults sealed by dragonfire and magic.
"This is a graveyard," Harrold muttered as they navigated through the desolation. "A graveyard of gods and monsters."
Their initial forays into the ruins yielded little. Most of the visible structures had been destroyed in the Doom, their contents obliterated or buried beneath layers of ash and rubble. However, Harrold's magic proved invaluable. Using a combination of spells and runes, he was able to detect hidden chambers and sealed vaults buried deep beneath the surface.
The first significant discovery was beneath what had once been a dragonlord's mansion. Harrold's magic revealed a concealed staircase leading to a stone vault, its doors engraved with protective runes. The runes, though ancient, still pulsed faintly with power.
"Dragonlord magic," Harrold said, tracing the symbols with his fingers. "It's weakened, but still dangerous."
Captain Elissa stepped forward. "Can you break it?"
Harrold smirked. "I can do more than that. Stand back."
With a wave of his hand and a murmured incantation, the ancient runes flared bright red before disintegrating into dust. The heavy doors creaked open, revealing a treasure trove within: weapons forged of Valyrian steel, their edges untouched by time; ornate jewelry adorned with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires; and piles of gold and silver coins stamped with the sigils of Valyrian houses long forgotten.
"By the gods," whispered Anya Veloro, the ship's healer, as she stared at the gleaming hoard.
Harrold picked up a Valyrian steel sword, its blade shimmering like liquid shadow. "This is just the beginning," he said. "There's more buried here. Much more."
For the next month, the crew worked tirelessly, guided by Harrold's magic. Each day, they uncovered more hidden vaults and chambers, each yielding treasures of unimaginable value. Some vaults were sealed with intricate puzzles that Harrold had to unravel, while others required brute force or magical intervention to open.
They found:
Valyrian Steel Weapons: Swords, daggers, and even a rare spear, all forged with the unmistakable dark beauty of Valyrian steel.
Jewelry: Necklaces, rings, and crowns studded with precious gems, their craftsmanship rivaling anything in the known world.
Gold and Silver: Coins, bars, and ornate artifacts, enough to make even the wealthiest merchant of Braavos envious.
Dragonlord Relics: Ornate dragon sculptures, ceremonial armor, and decorative items crafted from obsidian and other rare materials.
Despite their successes, not everything had survived the Doom. Most of the books, scrolls, and other records they found were destroyed, their pages reduced to ash or rendered illegible by fire and time. Harrold was particularly disheartened by this loss, as the knowledge contained in those texts could have revealed untold secrets of Valyrian magic and history.
"Even in death, the Doom ensures its secrets remain buried," he said bitterly, holding the charred remains of a scroll.
The crew's exploration was not without peril. Mutated creatures lurked in the shadows, their forms twisted by the magical catastrophe that had destroyed Valyria. Harrold's wards kept most of them at bay, but there were close calls.
One day, a reptilian monstrosity—its body a grotesque fusion of dragon and human—ambushed them near a crumbled tower. The creature's screech sent a ripple of corrupted magic through the air, but Harrold reacted swiftly, casting a barrier to protect the crew. Then a blasting curse chased the monster away.
The stonemen, too, posed a constant threat. Though slow and mindless, their sheer numbers made them dangerous. The crew learned to avoid them, relying on Harrold's magic to detect their presence before they could get too close.
Toward the end of their month-long expedition, Harrold discovered a vault unlike any they had encountered before. It was buried deep beneath what had once been a great hall, and its doors were protected by layers of magical wards far stronger than anything they had encountered.
"This must have belonged to one of the most powerful dragonlords," Harrold said as he examined the runes.
Breaking through the wards required all of Harrold's skill and power. When the doors finally opened, the crew was stunned by what they saw:
The vault was filled with a immeasurable amount of treasure including what seems like magical items.
"This," Harrold said, holding up the dragon amulet, "is more than just treasure. It's power."
Before leaving Valyria, Harrold used his magic to reinforce the protections on the Hedwig and the crew's enchanted bracelets. He knew that even with their immense haul of treasures, the lingering magic of Valyria could still harm them if left unchecked.
He also took time to strengthen the magical wards around the vaults they had not opened, ensuring that no one else could easily access the remaining treasures.
"The less the world knows about what's still here, the better," Harrold said as he cast the final spell.
After a month in the ruins, the Hedwig finally set sail, its hold bursting with treasures beyond imagination. The crew was exhausted but elated, their spirits buoyed by the wealth they had uncovered. After what they had to endure, everyone agreed that they need a break and the tropical hidden island seems like the best option.
Harrold stood at the prow, gazing back at the desolate land of Valyria. "This is only the beginning," he said quietly.
As the Hedwig left the Smoking Sea behind, the crew couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. Valyria had been a land of horrors, but it had also been a land of untold riches. For Harrold, it was a step closer to his ultimate goal—a legacy that would stand the test of time.
As the Hedwig sailed away from the Smoking Sea, laden with the treasures of Valyria, Harrold stood at the prow, lost in thought. He had survived the desolation of Valyria, uncovered its secrets, and secured its riches, but the experience had left a lasting impression on him. The land's haunting emptiness, the horrors of mutated creatures, and the echoes of lost glory served as a stark reminder of the fragility of power and the cost of unchecked ambition.
When they approached the hidden island, Harrold gazed at the lush green shores with a sense of relief. This place, shielded by its natural wards and hidden from the eyes of most, was a sanctuary. It was a blank slate, a place where he could build something enduring.
"This is where it begins," Harrold murmured to himself as the Hedwig dropped anchor in the clear blue waters.
Gathering the crew on the beach, Harrold announced his decision to name the island Orsus.
"Orsus," he explained, "means 'beginning.' This island is the start of something greater—a foundation for a legacy that will outlast us all."
The crew nodded in agreement, some murmuring the name under their breath as they took in the island's beauty. The white sandy beaches gave way to dense jungles, dotted with coconut palms, mango trees, and vibrant tropical flowers. Streams of crystal-clear water trickled down from the rocky hills, pooling into freshwater basins that would easily sustain life.
Harrold paced the shores of Orsus, the gentle lapping of the waves at his feet contrasting with the storm raging in his mind. The moon hung low in the sky, casting silvery light across the island's pristine sands. Behind him, the Hedwig rested in the hidden cove, its masts swaying gently in the ocean breeze. The crew was resting, their spirits lifted by the treasure they had found in Valyria, but Harrold's thoughts were far from restful.
He had come so far—farther than he could have imagined when he first arrived in this world. From a lone Gryffindor thrust into an unfamiliar realm to a figure of growing power, gathering magicals, wealth, and influence. And yet, as he stood amidst the spoils of his efforts, a heavy truth settled on his shoulders: he was just one man.
For months, Harrold had been the architect of every move, the driving force behind every decision. He had led his crew across the Smoking Sea, delved into the ruins of Valyria, and uncovered treasures that would have been lost to the ages. He had scouted for magicals, warded the island, and protected his crew from dangers they didn't even understand. But the weight of his responsibilities was beginning to show.
He thought of everything that needed to be done—the magicals still scattered across the world who needed protection, the supplies Orsus required to become a true sanctuary, the North waiting for his eventual return, and the looming threats of the Faith of the Seven and the Targaryens. Each task felt monumental on its own, and together, they seemed insurmountable.
Harrold clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He was powerful, yes, but even he couldn't be everywhere at once. He couldn't oversee every operation, protect every magical, and ensure every piece of his plan unfolded perfectly.
What he needed, he realized, were people he could trust implicitly—agents who could act on his behalf. People who were loyal, capable, and intelligent enough to carry out his orders without constant oversight. But trust was a rare and fragile thing, especially in this world.
The crew of the Hedwig had proven themselves, but they weren't all suited for the roles he envisioned. Most of them were sailors, skilled at navigating the seas but lacking the cunning or magical aptitude required for the delicate tasks ahead. His magicals were still untrained, their potential untapped. Could he mold them into the agents he needed?
Harrold's thoughts turned to Anya Veloro, his healer and morale officer. She had already proven herself trustworthy, her calm demeanor and sharp mind making her a natural leader among the magicals. Then there was Lyessa Morin, the magical he had left in Pentos to gather others like her. She had been nervous but determined, her eyes blazing with a quiet resolve when he entrusted her with the bracelet and gold. These were the kind of people he needed—individuals who could think for themselves but remain unwaveringly loyal.
But trust didn't come easily to Harrold, not anymore. He had seen too much betrayal in his long life, too many alliances broken by greed, fear, or ambition. Even now, he relied on magic to ensure loyalty—subtle spells to nudge trust in his favor, magical contracts to bind his people to him. It was pragmatic, necessary even, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Trust isn't given freely," Harrold muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the waves. "It's earned, and sometimes… it's forced."
He hated that part of himself, the part that relied on the Confundus charm or magical contracts to secure loyalty. But he couldn't afford to take risks, not with so much at stake. Every decision he made was a step toward the future he envisioned—a world where magicals could live without fear, where his sanctuary in the North would become a beacon of hope. If he had to manipulate a few minds to get there, so be it.
Harrold turned his gaze to the jungle-covered hills of Orsus, the island that was quickly becoming his stronghold. He had named it Orsus—the Beginning—because that's what it was. This island was the foundation of everything he planned to build, and he would need more than raw power to see it through.
He began to think about the roles he needed to fill. Spies, diplomats, enforcers, and scholars—each would play a part in his grand design. Some would need to operate in the shadows, gathering information and eliminating threats before they became problems. Others would need to navigate the courts of lords and kings, spreading his influence and ensuring his plans weren't thwarted by politics. And then there were the magicals themselves—frightened, untrained, and scattered across the world. Someone would need to lead them, to teach them and mold them into a force that could defend themselves and their sanctuary.
When Harrold first awoke in this unfamiliar land, it was as though he had been reborn. He had no idea where he was or how he had come to be here. The memories of his life before—his time at Hogwarts, his house pride as a Gryffindor, his battles against darkness—were sharp in his mind, yet they felt distant, like echoes of a different existence.
The first time he laid eyes on Brandon Stark, Harrold had been cautious. He hadn't known the customs of this world, its rules, or even its name. But his magic was still his, as strong as ever. A discreet Legilimens allowed him to peer into Brandon's thoughts, and in doing so, he began to piece together the puzzle of this world. Westeros, they called it—a land of lords, banners, swords, and oaths. A land where power was held by those who commanded loyalty and ruled with authority.
It was in those moments that Harrold made his first critical realization: to survive in this world, to thrive, he would need to become a lord. Titles, lands, and alliances—these were the currencies of power here. And so, Harrold began to craft a new identity for himself, one that could navigate the treacherous waters of Westerosi politics while still allowing him to pursue his ultimate goal: to carve out a place of true security and freedom for himself and his people.
Later, when he met the Maester at Winterfell, Harrold seized the opportunity to delve deeper. While the Stark children sparred and played, Harrold used his Legilimens to sift through the Maester's mind. He unearthed a wealth of knowledge: the histories of the Seven Kingdoms, the Free Cities, the rise and fall of Valyria, the Targaryens and their dragons. He learned of the old gods and the new, of the maesters' chains, and of the intricate web of loyalties that bound the great houses of Westeros.
Each piece of information solidified Harrold's understanding of this world. Magic, he realized, was all but forgotten here—reduced to myths and whispers. This gave him an unparalleled advantage, one he intended to exploit to its fullest.
He knew then that he was no longer the naive boy who had once leapt into danger without a second thought. This world demanded cunning, strategy, and the willingness to wield power decisively. Harrold had the magic, the knowledge, and the will. Now, all he needed was the opportunity.
Over the centuries, Harrold had come to see himself not as a hero nor a villain, but as something in between—a grey wizard, neither bound by the rigid moralities of light nor the destructive impulses of darkness. He had learned that power often required subtlety and manipulation. A well-placed Confundus Charm or a carefully executed Imperius Curse could achieve far more than brute force or idealistic speeches.
At Winterfell, he had used Confundus on Rickard Stark to plant seeds of trust and goodwill, ensuring the Stark patriarch would see him as a worthy ally. He had done the same to Brandon, nudging the young man's instincts toward loyalty and friendship. At the Iron Bank, where the holders of wealth were notoriously shrewd and unyielding, Harrold had subtly bent their thoughts with magic, ensuring his audacious proposals were met with enthusiasm rather than suspicion.
Harrold did not take such actions lightly. He did not revel in controlling others, nor did he seek domination for its own sake. But he understood the necessity of such measures. In a world where trust was fleeting and alliances fragile, his magic was a tool—one that allowed him to shape events in his favor and protect those who had placed their faith in him.
It was strange to think of how far he had come from his days at Hogwarts. Back then, he had been brash, impulsive, and fiercely loyal to his friends. A true Gryffindor, with all the virtues and flaws that entailed.
Now, after centuries of life and countless battles, he viewed the world through a different lens. Loyalty was still important, but it had to be earned. Courage was still vital, but it had to be tempered with wisdom. Harrold no longer charged headfirst into danger; instead, he planned, calculated, and ensured that when he acted, the odds were always in his favor.
Standing on the cliffs of Orsus, Harrold allowed himself a small, bitter smile. This world had tested him, shaped him, and forced him to evolve. He was no longer the naive young wizard who had stepped into the unknown with nothing but a wand and a handful of spells. He was a lord now, a leader, and a master of his craft.
And yet, deep within him, there remained a spark of the Gryffindor he had once been—a spark that reminded him of the values he still held dear. He would build a sanctuary for magicals, a place where they could live free from persecution and fear. He would protect those who followed him and ensure their futures were secure.
But he would do so on his own terms. Whatever it took—whether through diplomacy, deception, or domination—Harrold would carve out his place in this world and leave a legacy that would endure long after he was gone.
This wasn't just about power anymore. It was about legacy. He had lived too long and seen too much to settle for a simple life of wealth and privilege. The magicals needed him, even if they didn't realize it yet. Without him, they would remain scattered and vulnerable, easy prey for the powerful forces that sought to destroy them.
"The North," Harrold murmured, his eyes narrowing. "That's where this ends. That's where we'll build something lasting."
But first, he needed to build his network. He needed agents who could act in his stead, who could be trusted to carry out his will. And he needed to train the magicals, to prepare them for the challenges ahead.
As the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, Harrold turned back toward the hidden cove where the Hedwig rested. He had decisions to make, plans to put in motion. The ship would leave for Volantis soon to gather supplies, but his work here was just beginning.
He would shape Orsus into more than just a sanctuary—it would become the heart of his power, the foundation of a movement that would change this world forever. And when the time came to return to the North, he would be ready.
For now, though, he would take one step at a time. One decision, one plan, one ally at a time. He had lived for centuries, and patience had become his greatest weapon. With Orsus as his base, his crew as his foundation, and his magicals as his purpose, Harrold was ready to face whatever came next.
This island would become the heart of his plans, a sanctuary for the magicals he had sworn to protect. It would be a training ground, a forge where raw potential could be shaped into something greater. He would turn Orsus into a place where magicals could learn, grow, and prepare for the challenges of the world—a haven where they would finally belong.
Harrold's vision for Orsus wasn't small. It couldn't be. The world was dangerous for magicals, and they would need more than hope to survive.
Education: Many of the magicals he had rescued were illiterate, their potential stifled by years of neglect and fear. Harrold planned to teach them the basics—letters, numbers, and languages. He would ensure they could read, write, and communicate effectively, giving them the tools they needed to navigate the world.
Gift Mastery: The magicals varied in their abilities—some had powerful gifts they couldn't control, while others barely understood what they were capable of. Harrold would teach them to master their powers, guiding them to use their magic effectively and safely.
Specialized Training: Orsus would train healers, military tacticians, and sailors. The Hedwig had proven that magical ships could change the tides of power, but they needed skilled hands to guide them. Harrold would create an elite fleet of magical sailors, capable of navigating and protecting the Hedwig-class ships he envisioned.
Defense and Combat: The world wouldn't accept magicals easily, and Harrold knew there would be battles ahead. He would train the magicals in combat—both magical and physical—preparing them to defend themselves and their future sanctuary in the North.
Orsus would become more than a training center. It would be a crucible, forging the scattered magicals into a unified force.
As Harrold laid out his plans, a familiar frustration gnawed at him: time. Even with his magic, there was only so much he could accomplish on his own. Teaching dozens—potentially hundreds—of magicals would take years, time he didn't have.
The problem wasn't a lack of skill or knowledge. Harrold knew exactly what needed to be done. But the sheer scope of the task was daunting. He couldn't be everywhere at once, and delegating was risky. While some of his magicals had shown promise, none were ready to take on the responsibility of teaching others or managing the island.
That left one solution. Harrold had long avoided a solution, knowing the risks it carried. But now, standing on the shores of Orsus, with the weight of his plans pressing down on him, he realized it was the only way forward.
Magical Cloning.
AN – If you recognize anything, they don't belong to me. Please note that I am using AI to help me write the story. If the words, dialogue feel little off, that's the reason. I simply do not have time, energy or the talent to write without AI. If I did, I would publish my own book. I am writing because it makes me happy and hope you will find it interesting. If not, there are plenty of other talented writers and many amazing stories to read.