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Valarr Targaryen, Potter Tent – Ashford.

Harrys… was an implacable negotiator.

Few would have dared to speak to his father the way he did, without any kind of flattery or sycophancy, but instead with the most brutal and pure truth.

Something that, Valarr noted, affected his father to a certain extent, no matter how much he wished to hide it.

Prince Baelor was receiving the famous Potter treatment—sarcastic and acidic.

“The tax rate is too low. I can offer a considerable reduction, but seven percent in taxes is… too little, considering the size of your operations in Westeros,” said his father firmly.

Up until now… Harrys had bled the royal house as he pleased. His father was entirely willing to marry Aunt Lily, something logical considering the circumstances.

Harrys’ mother had saved the life of the Heir to the Iron Throne, and Valarr was fully aware of the relationship between them. That his father would seize the opportunity to marry her was more than understandable.

Even more so, considering the gifts of House Potter.

He still had trouble processing it, to be honest—magic in Westeros.

And not those cheap tricks from swindlers arriving from Essos, who took a few coins from the people of King’s Landing.

But real magic. Powerful. Mythical. Like the kind described in the books of Old Valyria.

House Potter would experience a simply meteoric rise. Harrys Potter would take immediate control of a vast amount of land in Massey’s Hook—more specifically Sharp Point—which would become his mercantile center of operations, backed politically and militarily by Dragonstone.

The lands, nominally, would be vassals of Dragonstone… but everyone in that room knew perfectly well that this would only be a technicality.

Harrys was considered dangerous. Though a foreigner, he was a wealthy lord, with strong ties in the North, Braavos, and Pentos, with a damned army of his own and a trade and information network that spanned all of Westeros.

And now that he held nominal control of a maritime territory, Valarr knew it was only a matter of time before Harrys built his own fleet, expanding his influence and power far beyond the Seven Kingdoms.

“The amount of trade I handle will guarantee a constant flow of gold into the kingdom’s much-needed coffers. I am well aware of the delicate state of the royal treasury. This is not an offer you can reject. Even after nearly two decades, dear King Daeron has not been able to recover from Daemon’s rebellion”

Valarr frowned at Harrys’ uncomfortable but true words. Gold was always needed, and King Daeron’s projects, though successful, simply weren’t enough to stabilize the treasury.

“I’ve done the calculations. With seven percent and the scale of my operations, I can guarantee an annual income of half a million golden dragons,” he said, making Valarr and his wife stare at him in disbelief.

Harrys had said that amount of gold as if it were three damn silver stags, as if such an enormous sum were… irrelevant to him.

Perhaps it was, a treacherous voice whispered in his mind. After all, he did not know the true nature or limits of Potter magic.

“Nine percent. Less than that, and I’ll have the Lords rebelling against my father,” said his father seriously, rising to the level of his title as Prince of Dragonstone.

“Nine percent and the assignment of twenty acres of coastline along Potter Manor in King’s Landing,” countered the young lord.

“Ten percent and the assignment of the lands,” said his father, making Harrys nod before they shook hands, closing more than six hours of negotiations.

Valarr had not spoken and felt completely exhausted. He could not comprehend how Harrys still looked completely fresh and calm.

The negotiations had been entirely favorable for Harrys. The hand of the Lady had been… costly for the Iron Throne, and Valarr was certain his grandfather would reprimand his father upon their return.

House Potter, in a single afternoon, had transformed into one of the most powerful and dangerous families in Westeros.

And this had only just begun.

Seeing that the details had been settled, Valarr looked with mixed feelings as his father could not contain the smile on his face, an expression that Lady Lily returned in the same way. The affection and love between them was more than evident.

The topic of magic was brought up. In the case that a prince or princess were to exist between his father and the beautiful Lady, it was most likely that they would be born with magic, receiving basic training from Lily before being sent to Harrys for fostering, who, apparently, was far more powerful than his mother.

And Harrys would decide whether the prince or princess was worthy of receiving a wand, the necessary tool to perform magic.

They were restrictive terms, but immovable. Lily’s power was limited, she was not a Potter by blood and the arcane secrets were entirely under Harrys’ control.

Of course, during the talks, Lily promised assistance in studying the ancient Targaryen secrets, with the distant but no longer impossible hope of bringing dragons back.

In general terms, the negotiations had been… good, somehow.

His father took a small amount of the exquisite drink Harrys had provided with a sigh.

“You’re tougher than a nut, Harrys, but it was invigorating. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to push myself like that in a negotiation,” said his father with a smile, making the young Lord Potter nod with elegance and composure.

“I can say the same. Your reputation precedes you. The Throne is in good hands,” he replied in his characteristic tone, making his father nod before standing, an action everyone around them imitated, exhausted after long hours of discussion.

Lily walked toward his father with a smile, taking his hand gently as she spoke:

“Well, the girls have prepared a dinner to celebrate the occasion and...”

However, his wife Kiera interrupted her with visible embarrassment.

“My Lady… I would like… I would like to touch on one last matter, briefly,” she said, looking toward Lily and Harrys with caution, as if uncertain of what she was about to say.

Valarr took her hand in support, though he too was confused about what his wife wished to address.

“I wish… I wish to know if there exists any magical method to guarantee the well-being of a pregnancy,” she said, squeezing Valarr’s hand tightly, avoiding looking the prince in the eyes, as if ashamed of having to ask such a thing.

At once, Lily and Harrys’ expressions softened, before the Lord spoke.

“There is,” he said simply.

At those words, Kiera looked at him with something close to desperation.

“I request your assistance so that I may… fulfill my duty and give an heir to my beloved husband. We… we have tried many times, but… but I always lose the baby. I am a daughter of Tyrosh, money or wealth is not a problem. My father can give you whatever you desire for...”

However, Harrys raised a hand calmly, interrupting her rushed words.

“That will not be necessary, Princess Kiera. No mother should bury her child. My mother and I will examine you and evaluate your physical condition, free of charge,” Harrys said with solemnity.

His wife made a titanic effort to keep the traitorous tears from falling from her eyes.

“Thank you, Lord Harrys,” she said with genuine and eternal gratitude.

After those words, Lily stepped forward, took Kiera’s hand with seriousness, and said:

“I… I also lost a child. A beautiful girl—Harrys’ sister. She is buried in the mausoleum of Potter Manor. I am sorry for your loss, and you can be certain that I will personally ensure that you never have to suffer that pain again. Never,” she said with determination, the promised dinner forgotten, at least for the moment.

Kiera nodded with gratitude, and Valarr understood her completely. Lily and Harrys did not judge her, unlike those damned whispers that followed them both in King’s Landing, questioning her worth as a woman for failing to perform the “simple” duty of bringing princes into the world.

Valarr knew this subject was difficult for his wife, and that she had found support in Lily filled him with gratitude and hope for the future.

Lily escorted his wife along with his father toward the dining hall, leaving Valarr and Harrys alone, for the first time in years.

Both men, once best friends, now almost complete strangers, looked at each other in silence for a long time.

“That went better than I expected,” said the prince cautiously.

“Those are not the words I would use, but my mother is stubborn,” said Harrys with a sigh.

Valarr did not speak. Instead, he looked directly at Harrys, a doubt that had nested in his mind since the disastrous trial.

“I need to ask you something,” said the young prince cautiously.

Harrys looked at him with curiosity, before nodding slightly.

“If your mother had not intervened… would you have saved my father?” he asked, looking at Harrys intensely, who returned the gaze without any fear.

The young Lord did not respond for several seconds, looking at the Targaryen prince with veiled sadness and determination.

“No. I would not” he said with sincerity and tact, though no less painful for it.

Valarr felt those words like a hammer against his chest, and what was worse, he knew he could not blame Harrys for such an answer.

After the questionable orders of his grandfather, he expected nothing less.

“I tried to stop it,” said Valarr softly, his eyes stinging as his gaze fixed on the Potter family portrait, which now moved.

A painful reminder, in his opinion.

“My father and I tried to reason with the king about the lack of necessity in executing Alysanne Blackfyre, that with Daemon and the twins dead, there was no need for such a drastic action. However… the words of the Bloodraven carried more weight than those of two Targaryen princes,” said Valarr with a heavy sigh.

Harrys did not respond. Like him, he seemed lost in thought, no doubt remembering the time before the rebellion.

Valarr remembered those days as well, the afternoons, the wooden sword games, Aegon and Aemon against Harrys and him, playing for hours in Potter Manor.

“You do not need to apologize, nor justify yourself, Valarr. You did not give the order, your grandfather did. You were a child… just like me,” said Harrys, as if offering a kind of truce between them.

The prince nodded calmly. Words were unnecessary, they knew each other far too well for that.

“They would be proud… of the man you’ve become. The twins, Alysanne even Ser Daemon. I know they were important to you,” said Valarr, taking a seat once more.

Harrys smiled with sadness, his green eyes lost in a thousand memories, until, with a flick of his wand, he made two glasses and a bottle of reddish liquid levitate toward his desk.

Valarr looked at the label with curiosity.

Fire whisky. A peculiar and unknown name to him.

Harrys poured two drinks, handing one to Valarr, who accepted it with elegance.

“I do not justify their mistakes. Their rebellion was an error, for a cause and a woman that was not worth it. But I miss the simplicity of the world,” said Harrys, raising his glass—a gesture Valarr mirrored.

“For those who are no longer with us. Your mother would be proud… to see what a good prince, husband, and man you have become,” said Harrys with a faint smile.

Valarr returned it as they clinked their glasses and drank.

Valarr downed the whisky in a single gulp, feeling a powerful, pleasant burn travel down his throat.

It had an exquisite taste, something entirely different from anything he had ever tried in his life and...

Valarr’s eyes widened dramatically as he felt something… magical rising from his throat.

“ROAR!” the prince roared like a dragon, at the same time a small flame burst from his burning mouth, making Harrys burst into loud laughter, just like in their youth.

Recovering himself, the prince looked at him in shock and asked:

“What in the seven hells was that?” his curiosity and excitement to try it again more than evident.

“That was Fire Whisky. Did you like it?” asked the arrogant bastard as he laughed again and this time, Valarr laughed with him.

For an instant, responsibilities were forgotten.

For a fleeting moment, they were once again the boys who had been so close—before life had torn them apart so cruelly.

For a moment… they were brothers again.

And they both enjoyed it completely.

Without pressure. Without obligation.

For this night, the laughter they had both lacked for so long returned.

They both needed it.

Gwyn Ashford – Ashford Lands.

“I will miss you so much, my love,” said her father, as he embraced her for the third time, an action Gwyn returned with the same strength as before.

Unlike before, her garments now bore the colors of House Potter—a beautiful black silk dress with golden embroidery, extremely expensive, far more elegant than anything she had ever owned.

Seven hells, the dress cost more than the armor, sword, and horse of her beloved brother combined, Gwyn thought, still in disbelief at the situation she found herself in.

Again, she could not help but look at the fabric in her hands, so… unworthy of a Lord of such high caliber as her future husband. She had made it for him, but… it was far too simple a gift for someone like Harrys Potter.

She would speak with Lady Lily during the journey to Dorne, she would know what kind of betrothal gift would be appropriate, one worthy and...

“My Lady”

Gwyn inhaled sharply, her eyes widening with fear as she heard Harrys’ deep, masculine voice behind her, who had clearly come to take her from her father’s hands, as was proper.

“My Lord!” Gwyn said in surprise as she turned, only to notice Harrys looking with curiosity at the strange fabric in her hands.

“What is that?” he asked, making Gwyn blush deeply and begin to stammer.

“Ahhmm… this… it was… well, it is a betrothal gift that I made, but… I do not think it is worthy of a Lord like you,” she said with embarrassment.

Harrys looked at her with surprise before asking carefully:

“May I see it?”

His tone carried a certain reverence, surprising Gwyn, who, with extreme embarrassment, lifted the fabric—revealing a modest black cloak with emerald lilies embroidered upon it.

“I… I made it as a gift. I used my savings to buy fine fabrics from a merchant at the tourney, hoping that… I am sorry. I know it does not compare to the garments you usually wear, but… I promise I will give you something better soon,” she said with visible distress.

However, Harrys was completely astonished, gently running his fingers over the simple fabric as if it might disappear.

And then he spoke.

“It is perfect.”

At those words, Gwyn froze in shock, lifting her gaze toward her future husband.

“You… you really think so?” she asked cautiously, smiling softly as Harrys nodded.

“Would you do me the honor of putting it on me?” he asked, making Gwyn beam with radiant joy as she nodded quickly.

With trembling fingers, the future Lady Potter placed the cloak over Harrys’ broad and strong shoulders, touching more than necessary, but unable to help herself.

The fabric settled perfectly over the young Lord, while Harrys caressed its texture gently.

“You have a gift, my Lady. It is… perfect,” said Harrys with complete sincerity, making a pleasant warmth bloom in Gwyn’s chest.

“I can… I can make more for you! One in black and gold like House Potter” she said quickly, making Harrys smile and reply:

“And I will wear every single one of them with pride, knowing they were crafted by these skilled and loving hands,” he said with a smile, taking Gwyn’s hands and making her blush, as a small and mischievous warmth stirred deep within her.

Without releasing her, Harrys looked at her father and said:

“The wedding will take place at Potter Manor, after the official announcement of my mother’s engagement to Prince Baelor. I will send a raven with the details, good father,” said her future husband, making her father nod calmly and respectfully, his reverence toward Harrys more than evident.

“Perfect, my Lord… take good care of my little girl,” said her father, looking at Gwyn with a wide smile and tears in his eyes.

“I will,” Harrys promised, taking Gwyn’s hand firmly, the cloak she had made resting proudly upon his shoulders.

Gwyn silently promised that when she had the means and time, she would create something even better for him.

“I also have a gift for you,” Harrys said with a smile, making Gwyn look at him with surprise and anticipation.

Spoiled? Perhaps. But when your handsome, masculine, and dominant betrothed takes you by the waist with possessiveness and tells you he has a gift for you… there was no other way to react.

And before Gwyn could ask what he meant...

A commotion erupted around them.

Lords and Ladies stared in shock as a beautiful and luxurious carriage, drawn by two imposing, magnificent, and unknown winged beasts, similar to eagle-horses, arrived with the Potter–Targaryen procession.

It was golden, enormous, and likely worth more than her father’s entire castle. Gwyn wondered if her gift was inside and...

“It is yours,” Harrys said.

Gwyn, her father, and her brother stared at him in complete shock.

“Mine?” Gwyn asked in disbelief.

Harrys nodded.

“You will be Lady Potter. Sooner rather than later, you will bear my children. This is only the beginning of the rest of your life. I enchanted it myself—completely secure and impenetrable. It will be our flying transport to Sunspear,” he said calmly, now shocking not only the Ashfords, but the entire Targaryen procession as well.

“Flying...?” asked Egg in disbelief, a reaction shared by the entire royal family without exception, as they stared at the magnificent carriage with awe… and envy.

Gwyn, in particular, enjoyed the shocked expression on the princess’s face, who quickly looked between Harrys and her with a frown.

Gwyn simply wrapped herself around Harrys’ arm, pressing it against her chest with satisfaction, enjoying the intimate moment, and even more, the burning jealousy of the beautiful princess.

“Come along, honey, we must get comfortable for the flight,” said Lady Lily, taking Gwyn’s arm elegantly and guiding her toward the carriage, as one of Harrys’ knights approached with another of those magnificent beasts, this one far larger, with black plumage and golden eyes.

“Your mount is ready, my Lord,” said the man, with a tone of superiority that clearly enjoyed the stunned expressions of the royal family.

“Thank you, Howard. You will be in charge of the rest of the caravan that will travel with the Targaryens. We will meet in Oldtown in a week,” said Harrys, making Ser Howard nod respectfully before heading toward the Potter soldiers preparing the caravan.

Gwyn climbed into the carriage, only to fall completely silent.

Inside… it was a damned palace.

Much larger on the inside than on the outside.

What was the limit of Potter magic?

Before the doors closed, she saw her future husband mount his powerful beast—larger even than the carriage the royal family was using—and, looking toward Prince Baelor, say:

“We will meet in Oldtown in a week.”

Moments later, his powerful "hippogriff" rose onto its hind legs and released a deep cry like that of an eagle, before beginning to run and beat its wings. lifting into the sky before the whispers, envy, and fear of the nobles of Westeros.

“It is time to go,” Lily said, closing the carriage doors, which began to move at great speed before also rising into the air.

Next destination, Oldtown.

And the consequences of the outcome of his birthday tournament.

Westeros won't be the same.