The Winter Wizard - Chapter 7 - Words and a Feast (Patreon)

Harry sat at the long, crowded table next to Jon, thoroughly enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells of the grand feast in Winterfell’s Great Hall. The warmth of the roaring fires mixed with the smells of roasted meats and fresh-baked bread, creating an intoxicating atmosphere unlike anything Harry had ever experienced, even in Hogwarts’ Great Hall. The tables were filled with squires, bannermen, guards, and commoners, all raising their cups in merriment as music echoed through the hall, and the royal guests of honor dined at the high table.

Harry had never been to a banquet like this. The feasts at Hogwarts were grand, certainly, but they lacked the raw energy of this one. Here, there was an openness, a roughness to it, where nobles mingled with common folk, and everyone shared in the same cheer.

As he looked around smiling, he felt a slight buzz from the summerwine he had been sipping. The drink was sweet but not overpowering, and while Harry had learned to enjoy it, he had been careful not to drink too much, unlike Jon.

Earlier in the evening, a group of rowdy Northern men near them had passed around tankards of the northern ale, and Harry, eager to blend in, had accepted one. Never having a beer before, he took a large swig, expecting something akin to the warmth and sweetness of butterbeer back home. Instead, he nearly choked on the strong, bitter taste. The men had laughed heartily when Harry, eyes wide and coughing, spit the drink back into his cup, his face twisted in disgust.

“Not to your liking?” one of the men had teased, slapping Harry on the back as he continued to cough.

“I’ve tasted better potions,” Harry had managed to wheeze out, earning more laughs. Even Jon had cracked a grin, though he’d already been a few drinks deep by then. While Harry had abandoned the drinking until he slowly had begun drinking the summerwine, Jon had begun drinking like a fish, now easily on his fifth or sixth cup, looking none the worse for wear, though his cheeks were flushed and was having a slight bit of difficulty sitting straight up.

“You’ll get used to it,” Jon had said, still grinning.

Harry wasn’t so sure, but he did enjoy the summerwine and was happy to nurse his second glass, taking his time with it. He had no intention of keeping up with Jon or anyone else here.

The company around him was lively. They were far enough down the tables that most of the men near them were squires, commoners, or guards traveling with the royal family. Northerners and southerners mixed together, though the northerners’ gruffer voices carried above the others, recounted tales of hunts, battles, and tournaments. But more than that, Harry was fascinated by how much these men seemed to know about the comings and goings of the royal family.

"Did you hear about Ser Barristan? They say he won the last tournament in King's Landing, unseated every man who faced him, including the Hound."

"And Prince Joffrey—he's already started training with real steel. A natural-born fighter, they say."

"And what about the queen's brother, Jaime Lannister? The Kingslayer himself—wouldn’t trust anyone who looks that pretty near my sister, but cold as ice, that one."

The conversations reminded Harry a little of Lavender Brown’s gossiping back at Hogwarts, though these men seemed more focused on knights and lords than on who was dating whom, although there were certainly a fair bit of bawdy jokes made at each other’s expense. The mix of grandeur and mundane detail felt strangely comforting.

A couple hours earlier, when Harry and Jon had first entered the hall, it had already been quite loud, but he still remembered how the hall buzzed louder when the main entrance swung open, allowing the Starks and their royal guests to finally enter the hall, accompanied by a roar of applause. Harry’s eyes immediately scanned the group, having heard whispers throughout the night about the royal family. His attention was soon drawn to a short figure following along after the taller, more stately nobles. Tyrion Lannister. Harry had overheard plenty about him already.

"That's the queen's brother," one of the squires near Harry whispered. "The dwarf."

"Aye, the Imp," another man chimed in, more bitterly. "They say he’s as clever as he is short, though. Real clever that one."

Though no one seemed to deny Queen Cersei’s beauty or Ser Jaime’s skill with a blade, the tone of the whispers made it clear that many did not hold the Lannisters in high regard, and Tyrion was no exception. But when Harry laid eyes on Tyrion himself, he was immediately reminded of Professor Flitwick—small in stature but with a sharp, observant glint in his eye. Tyrion was dressed richly, in Lannister red and gold, but despite surely knowing the content of the whispers aimed at him, his posture was relaxed.

Harry watched Tyrion as he made his way to the head table, taking in the way he moved through the room with confidence, despite his size. As he watched him, he saw in Tyrion the same quiet intelligence that had made Flitwick so respected. But as Harry continued to observe, the comparison faltered slightly—Tyrion was clearly well into his wine and seemed to be enjoying it far more than anyone else.

Jon, already tipsy by the time the royal family and the Starks had entered, grabbed Harry’s shoulder and grinned proudly. “That’s Benjen Stark, my uncle. First Ranger of the Night’s Watch.”

Benjen Stark was dressed all in black, his face serious but kind. He was a tall man, with a commanding presence even amidst the royal party. He shared the Stark look—dark hair, gray eyes, and a grim demeanor that seemed to come from living in the North. As Jon waved drunkenly at his uncle, Benjen caught sight of him and nodded back with a small smile, though he did not approach.

“I’ll be joining him soon, you know,” Jon said, his voice slurring slightly from the drink. “The Night’s Watch. I’m going to the Wall.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You’re still thinking of that?”

Jon nodded, staring into his cup. “It’s a place where men can start fresh, where birth and blood don’t matter. It’s the only place for me, really.”

“You sure about that?” Harry asked, genuinely curious.

Jon shrugged. “It’s where I belong.”

Seeing that Jon was in no condition for a serious conversation, he didn’t press further. While, Harry couldn’t imagine wanting to leave Winterfell, or the people Jon clearly cared about, to go to a place as harsh and cold as the Wall sounded. Harry certainly could understood the feeling of not feeling as part of a family and wanting to escape more than he would have liked to admit.

The feast continued, the noise growing louder as more people drank and ate their fill. Harry’s attention drifted from the conversations around him, focusing instead on the high table. King Robert Baratheon sat at the center, a massive figure of a man with a booming laugh and a beard wet with ale. Beside him was Queen Cersei, her golden hair gleaming in the firelight, her face expressionless as she watched the revelry. Harry couldn't help but feel a tension between the two—King Robert, so loud and full of life, and Cersei, so cold and detached.

As the evening wore on, the hall grew rowdier. Men were beginning to stand up at random intervals and break out into bawdy songs, their voices clashing with the music of the minstrels. Harry was content to sit back, watching the chaos unfold with a half-amused smile.

“Another round?” Jon asked, slurring a bit but grinning widely as he raised his empty cup.

Harry shook his head, laughing. “You go ahead. I’m still working on this one.”

Jon shrugged and waved down a servant for more.

The lively energy in Winterfell’s Great Hall had waned and waxed as the night progressed, but the warmth of the fires and the lingering buzz of wine and ale kept the conversation alive. It had been a few hours since the royal family and the Starks had taken their places at the high table. Plates had been cleared, and refilled, songs sung, and many were either deep in their cups or settling into more subdued conversations.

Jon, meanwhile, was feeding pieces of meat under the table to Ghost. Harry had completely forgotten about Ghost until he saw the animal’s pale eyes gleaming beneath the table, silently accepting Jon’s offerings. The wolf had been so quiet and still, it was easy to forget he was there at all.

“You’re spoiling him,” Harry said with a smirk as Jon handed another thick slice of meat to his direwolf.

Jon grinned in return. “He deserves it.”

Just then, a shadow fell across their table, and Harry looked up to see Benjen Stark standing there, a warm smile on his face. Dressed all in black, the First Ranger of the Night’s Watch cut an imposing figure, but his presence was calming, especially compared to the rowdy men still celebrating around them.

“Uncle Benjen!” Jon exclaimed, rising to his feet a little unsteadily, but clearly happy to see him.

Benjen clapped Jon on the shoulder. “Easy there, lad,” he said with a chuckle. “You’ve had more than enough wine, by the looks of it.” His eyes sparkled with a mixture of affection and teasing. “Although I suppose I was around your age the first time I got drunk the first time.”

“And who’s this?” Benjen asked, turning his attention to Harry.

“Oh, this is Harry Potter,” Jon said quickly, gesturing toward him. “He’s been staying here for a while, as a guest of the family. And this is Ghost.” Jon bent to give his direwolf a quick scratch behind the ears.

Harry rose politely, feeling a bit awkward but giving Benjen a nod in greeting. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but Benjen’s expression softened, and he extended a hand toward Harry.

“You must be the man to whom I owe thanks for saving my niece,” Benjen said warmly.

For a moment, Harry felt like all the in the general vicinity were on him. Harry nodded quietly, unsure of what to say, his modesty keeping him from making any boast of it.

Benjen laughed softly at Harry’s reaction, clearly amused. “Modest as well, eh? That’s good. There are enough braggarts in the world, but when you do something notable, lad, you should be proud of it.” He patted Harry firmly on the shoulder. “You saved Arya’s life. That’s no small thing.”

Harry smiled a little, still not sure how to respond to such praise. His mind flashed back to the scene in the Wolfswood, to the deserter, the fight.

Benjen continued, clearly sensing Harry’s discomfort. “I also heard you saved another on your way to Winterfell, young Eira,” he said. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” His tone was light, but there was real admiration in his eyes.

Harry nodded again, this time more at ease. “It wasn’t anything special,” he said, his voice low. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time and couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

Benjen smiled broader, impressed. “Spoken like a true man of the North, even if you’re not from here. The North is in your debt, Harry. Eira’s uncle is one of my brothers on the Wall. When I bring the news back to him, I’m sure it’ll be the best thing he’s heard all year. He’ll be relieved to know she’s safe.”

There was a weight to Benjen’s words, a sincerity that made Harry feel both proud and uncomfortable at the same time. He wasn’t used to such open praise, especially from a relative stranger.

“Thank you,” Harry finally managed, offering a smile in return.

The conversation soon shifted as Benjen turned back to Jon, clapping him on the back. “And you, Jon. How have you been? I hope Winterfell’s not been too soft on you.”

Jon grinned but then quickly sobered. “I’ve been good, Uncle. But I’m better now that you’re here.”

Benjen’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though he knew where this conversation was headed. “And why may I ask is that?”

Jon stared at his uncle for several seconds, his expression growing more serious. “I want to join you at the Wall. I’m ready.”

Harry noticed the slight tension in Benjen’s face, a reluctance he hadn’t seen before. “The Wall is no place for a boy, Jon. It’s a hard life, and once you take the black, there’s no turning back. No family, no land, no titles. It’s a life of service, and it’s a cold, harsh life.”

Jon’s face tightened, and Harry could see the determination in his eyes. “I don’t care about titles or land. I don’t have a family here, not really. At least not one that—” He trailed off, but the meaning was clear. Jon’s status as a bastard weighed on him heavily, and it was obvious that he saw the Wall as his escape.

Benjen shook his head. “You have a family, Jon. You have your brothers and sisters here. And you have your father.”

Harry listened quietly, sensing this wasn’t a conversation for him to get involved in. He could tell Jon had been thinking about this for a long time, and Benjen’s words weren’t what he wanted to hear. But before he could even think about adding anything, the men to Harry’s right, Crownlanders from King Robert’s party, pulled him into their conversation, their boisterous voices cutting across his thoughts.

“Tell me, lad,” one of the men said with a grin. “What’s your take on the North? Bit colder than King’s Landing, eh?”

Harry forced a smile and nodded, though his mind was still partially on Jon and Benjen’s conversation. “Yeah, but you get used to it. Just don’t lose your toes to frostbite.”

Seeing the smile on Harry’s face the Crownlander broke into hearty laughter.

Harry smiled politely and tried to keep his attention on their conversation, but his attention kept drifting back to Jon and Benjen, who were now speaking in hushed but heated tones. He couldn’t hear every word, but he could sense the tension building. Benjen was obviously trying to dissuade Jon, trying to get him to see that life at the Wall was not the answer he thought it was. But Jon was stubborn, and Harry could tell he was growing more and more frustrated.

Harry was just about to try and excuse himself from the Crownlanders’ conversation, so he could try and defuse Benjen and Jon’s conversation, when he heard Jon’s voice rise above the general noise of the hall.

“I’ll never father bastards!” Jon shouted, his face flushed with a mix of anger and drink.

The entire surrounding area went momentarily quiet, and heads turned toward the confrontation. Benjen looked taken aback, his mouth slightly open as if he hadn’t expected Jon’s outburst. Harry froze, his heart racing, unsure of what had just happened.

Jon stood abruptly, knocking over his chair. “You don’t understand!” he yelled at his uncle, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ll never be accepted here! I’ve never been!”

Before his uncle or anyone else could react, Jon stormed out of the hall, his footsteps heavy and unsteady as he disappeared into the shadows beyond the firelight.

Benjen stood there for a moment, watching his nephew leave, a look of deep sadness crossing his face. He ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed heavily, clearly torn.

Harry felt a pang of sympathy for Jon. He had seen that look in people’s eyes before—the look of someone who felt like they didn’t belong. It reminded him of how he had felt growing up with the Dursleys, always on the outside, never fully accepted.

Benjen Stark turned to Harry, his expression still grim but not unkind. "I’m sorry you had to see that," he said quietly. "Jon’s ... going through a difficult time."

Harry nodded, understanding more than he might have admitted out loud. He had seen that kind of turmoil in people before—in himself, really. He didn’t know the full extent of what Jon was dealing with, but he could recognize the feeling of not quite fitting in, of being an outsider. Unsure of what to say, Harry looked over in the direction Jon had fled. “He’ll be okay,” was all he could manage.

Benjen hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the high table where Ned Stark sat with King Robert and the royal family. His eyes lingered there before he turned back to Harry, his decision made. "Looks like my brother needs me," he said with a half-smile. "But thank you again, Harry. I’ll try to have a word with Jon later, once he’s had time to cool off."

Benjen gave Harry a final pat on the shoulder. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, lad. You’ve earned it." With that, Benjen strode off toward the main table, weaving through the lingering groups of revelers as he made his way toward Lord Eddard.

Harry watched him go, his mind still on Jon’s outburst. It wasn’t the first time Harry had seen someone lose control, but it was certainly the first time he had seen Jon react that way.

Trying to shake off the tension, Harry turned his attention back to the table of squires he had been sitting with. They had quickly moved past the little commotion and had begun swapping stories about the knights they served, of training and discipline. Harry found himself enjoying the company and light hearted conversation more than he expected.

One of the squires, a lanky boy named Rafe, was in the middle of describing a jousting match he had witnessed in King's Landing. “Ser Barristan the Bold knocked Ser Westerling off his horse with one hit,” Rafe said, his eyes wide with admiration. “You should have seen it. It was the cleanest hit I’ve ever seen, he flew straight backwards and Ser Barristan didn’t even smile!”

The other boys laughed, and Harry smiled, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Jon. After the better part of another hour of conversation had passed, he finally excused himself, deciding it was time to check on Jon who had still not returned.

As Harry made his way out of the hall, the cool air of the corridor was a welcome change from the heat and noise inside. He wasn’t sure where Jon had gone—likely to his chambers or outside to the godswood—but as he was considering his next move, he suddenly collided with something solid.

Or rather, someone.

Harry took a step back, his apology already on his lips. "I’m so sorry, Ser—"

His words died as he looked down to see the figure he had bumped into was not a knight but a man much shorter in stature, with sharp, intelligent eyes and a wry smile. Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf, stood before him, his eyebrow arched in amusement.

"Ser?" Tyrion repeated, a dry laugh escaping him. "You mistake me for a knight, my boy, and I assure you, I am no such thing. But as long as there’s no insult behind that slip, I might even decide I like you for thinking such a thing."

Harry felt his cheeks flush slightly. "Sorry," he said quickly, though Tyrion didn’t seem offended. "I wasn’t paying attention."

Tyrion studied him intently for a moment, his gaze sharp and curious. "No harm done. But I must say, most who bump into me are eager to speak with the youngest son of Tywin Lannister or to gawk at the dwarf of Casterly Rock. You, however, seem to have your mind elsewhere." Tyrion’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he tilted his head, his expression questioning. "What has you so distracted, that you seem not to care for the honor of running into a Lannister?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Tyrion cut him off. "Ah, I see," he said, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "You’re looking for young Jon Snow, aren’t you? He was stomping around outside like a child denied his supper."

Harry nodded, surprised that Tyrion had picked up on that so quickly.

Tyrion chuckled again, shaking his head. "Jon Snow ... he’s got all the seriousness of his father, doesn’t he? More’s the pity, really. Ned Stark could do with a smile once in a while, and his bastard son? Even more so. I would suggest a drink, but from the looks of it, Jon’s already had his fill." Tyrion paused, his grin widening mischievously. "Perhaps he needs something else—something warmer. A woman’s touch, perhaps?"

Harry didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just smiled awkwardly.

With another laugh, Tyrion waved off the comment and said, "Go check on your friend. And tell him from me: life is far too short to be spent brooding alone in the dark."

Tyrion gave Harry a nod and, without another word, strolled past him into the hall. As he entered, he snatched a mug of ale from the hands of one of the Umber men, who looked ready to protest until Tyrion drained the mug in one go. The Umber men stared at him for several seconds in silence before they broke out in cheers, and quickly invited him to join them.

Harry shook his head, amused despite the tension of the evening. Tyrion Lannister was unlike anyone he had met before—sharp-tongued, quick-witted, and utterly unconcerned with what others thought of him. He admired that, in a way.

The cool night air greeted Harry as he stepped outside, the crispness of the North a sharp contrast to the warmth of the hall. The moon hung high in the sky, casting silver light over the stone walls of Winterfell. The castle had grown quieter as the evening wore on, with most of its inhabitants still feasting and celebrating or heading off to bed.

Harry made his way toward the training yard, his instincts guiding him there. Jon’s outburst had been emotional, and Harry figured he’d need a space where he could blow off steam. If Jon was anywhere, it would be somewhere he felt comfortable and other than the godswood, and as he walked there Harry couldn’t think of a place Jon seemed more comfortable.

As Harry entered the yard, he spotted Jon sitting alone on a bench near the archery targets, his head bowed and his hands resting on his knees. The training yard looked different under the moonlight—quieter, more isolated. The soft whisper of the wind and the distant noise of revelry from the great hall replacing the usual shouts of practice and the sounds of steel clashing.

Jon looked up at the sound of Harry’s approach, his face shadowed in the dim light, his expression conflicted. He seemed surprised to see Harry but didn’t say anything, just nodded slightly in acknowledgment. Harry took a seat next to him on the bench without saying a word at first, letting the silence settle between them.

"Jon?" Harry finally broke the quiet, his voice soft.

Jon didn’t look at him, keeping his gaze fixed on the darkened yard. "What are you doing here?" His voice was thick with frustration, though Harry could tell that it wasn’t directed at him.

"I came to check on you," Harry said simply, leaning back on the bench. "You seemed ... upset."

Jon scoffed, though it lacked real bitterness. "Upset? That’s putting it mildly. I made a right fool of myself in there and then stormed off like Rickon does when he doesn’t get a toy."

Harry shook his head. "You didn’t," he said quickly and quietly. "You just needed to get out, that’s all."

Jon clenched his jaw, staring down at his hands. "It’s more than that, Harry. It’s this whole place. This life. I don’t belong here, and I never will." His voice was low, almost a whisper, weighed down by emotion.

"You have a family here," Harry said softly. "People who care about you."

Jon’s bitter laugh echoed across the empty yard. "Family? Lady Stark can barely stand to look at me. And the rest ... they’re kind, but I’m not one of them. I’m Ned Stark’s bastard, Harry. That’s all I’ll ever be. I’ll never be one of them. I’m just ... I’m nothing."

Harry frowned as he shook his head. "You’re not nothing," he said firmly. "I know what that actually feels like, though—to be on the outside, toa actually have no one care for you, to not belong. But you do belong, Jon. Maybe it’s not obvious now, but there are people here who care about you."

Jon looked at Harry then, his eyes filled with doubt. "How would you know?" he asked quietly. "You weren’t born a bastard. You don’t know what it’s like to wear that shame every day."

Harry nodded slowly, understanding that Jon’s pain ran deep. "You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be a bastard. But my mother and father were killed before I was old enough to remember anything. I do know what it feels like to be alone. I grew up with people who didn’t care about me at all. Made me feel like I didn’t matter. But then I found people—friends—who showed me that I do matter. That I belong. And certainly not everyone, but you have those people in your life, Jon."

Jon stared at the ground, his shoulders tense. "I feel like I’m stuck, Harry. I don’t belong here, but I don’t know where else to go. I thought the Night’s Watch might be a place I could go to escape …" His voice trailed off, the uncertainty heavy in his words.

"That’s all it would be though, an escape, a chance to run away," Harry said gently. "If you want to go, then go with your head held high but not as an escape. Although I’m guessing there are other options out there for you but you’ll figure it out. I don’t doubt for a second that you’ll figure it out."

Jon didn’t respond right away, but after a long moment, he glanced at Harry, his expression softening slightly. "Thanks," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

They sat there in the quiet of the training yard, the moonlight casting long shadows across the ground. The distant sounds of the feast and the faint rustle of the wind were the only noises that filled the silence between them. Neither of them said much after that, but it didn’t matter.

After what felt like an eternity, Jon shifted slightly on the bench, letting out a long breath. He turned to Harry with a forced smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

"Well," Jon said quietly, trying to muster some lightness in his voice, "what do you say we head back in? Have one more drink before the night’s done?"

Harry blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in Jon’s mood, but then he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his own face. The heaviness of the earlier conversation seemed to lift, just a little. He chuckled, shrugging and shaking his head.

"Aye, why not?" Harry said, his grin widening. "One more drink. But just one."

Jon’s smile, though still a bit forced, grew more genuine at Harry’s words. He nodded, standing up from the bench and dusting off his hands on his breeches. "Just one," he echoed with a hint of playfulness, though as he said it, there wasn’t a lot of doubt in Harry’s mind that it would likely turn into more once they were back inside.

Kind Regards,

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If you like this content do not hesitate to smash that like button and subscribe. Haha but seriously if you do enjoy the story - do favorite it, other than messaging me or leaving a comment it’s the only way I know if you are enjoying the stories and chapters.

Story Note 1 – Harry has started to meet people, beyond the Starks, who will be important to the story! Of course, Benjen is a Stark but more importantly he is a senior member of the Night’s Watch and might certainly be able to help in the future, should he be in a position to. Plus, I felt the addition of Eira’s uncle added to the dynamic and fit as there were certainly northerners who willingly chose to go to the wall. And Harry has officially met Tyrion! I don’t think I ever thought of it before but as I was writing it I started thinking about if Peter Dinklage played Flitwick. Although we certainly would have gotten a very very different take on Flitwick. But let me know what you thought of their interaction.

Story Note 2 – Felt the Jon and Harry conversation was important to have. I certainly agree that in general Jon is a very cards close to the chest type of individual. However, I felt that in between the friendship, though new, that had started to form between Harry and Jon plus the emotions from his confrontation with Benjen and then the conversation with Tyrion combined with the alcohol might have made Jon a little more talkative and willing to share his feelings than he normally would have.

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.

Disclaimer – It has come to my attention recently that I unfortunately do not own any part of the Game of Thrones nor Harry Potter universes That includes but is not limited to the characters, locations, … Who knew.