Rhaenyra Targaryen, Somewhere, Somewhen.

“Ummm… Your Grace… Queen Visenya… the Conqueror,” her beloved son Lucerys said extremely cautiously, making the woman in question focus her powerful gaze intensely upon her beloved boy.

“You don’t have to speak to me in such a formal manner, young prince, as long as you do so respectfully,” the Conqueror said with complete calm, taking a sip from her elegant goblet of wine as they watched Aemon calmly walk through Diagon Alley.

“By the Gods, look at that man,” her sweet sister Helaena whispered, staring hypnotized toward her descendant, and Rhaenyra could not help but agree.

Aemon looked… simply spectacular. He was no longer wearing the simple clothes from the previous day. Now, the young prince dressed as befitted the heir of an ancient magical house, wearing robes and fabrics so exquisite that Rhaenyra even felt a little jealous, if she was being honest with herself.

Over his black shirt, slightly open at the collar, he wore a dark brocade vest, woven with discreet silver patterns that only revealed themselves when the light struck the fabric. The metallic fastenings were small and elegant, with no family crest or anything of the sort displayed upon them.

The Queen’s experienced eye could tell that these were not really his clothes, something quite understandable considering he had been in this mysterious land for less than two days.

Over them he wore a long wizard’s coat, completely black with white embroidery, fitted at the shoulders and tailored to his youthful figure, but with enough room from the waist downward for him to move with elegance. The edges were decorated with fine silver embroidery, giving him a noble yet rather subtle appearance.

On his chest rested a small silver wolf brooch, simple but clearly belonging to House Stark.

“Of course, the damned Stark Wolf,” his great-grandfather Jaehaerys said bitterly, staring hungrily toward where Aemon was speaking with Professor Snape about potions and cauldrons.

“Wizards certainly know how to dress in style,” her brother Aegon II said with a soft laugh, making Aemond sigh heavily.

Aemon walked confidently beside Professor Snape, both of them heading toward a particular shop. It was small in size, with entire towers of cauldrons of different sizes stacked along the storefront, while a sign informed House Targaryen of the shop’s nature.

“Apothecary Chang. What a strange name,” Daeron I said with a frown, making her beloved Jace respond distractedly.

“It is a common surname in distant Yi-Ti, at least that is what Grandfather’s… Lord Corlys’s journals said,” her beloved son said distractedly, his brow furrowed, undoubtedly still wounded by the hurtful words Corlys Velaryon had spoken about him after the Battle of the Gullet.

And Rhaenyra could only curse the damned Lord Velaryon a thousand times over, especially now that she knew Jace had witnessed that conversation.

However, the Queen’s thoughts were interrupted when Aemon entered the shop, which was much larger inside than it appeared from the outside. They were greeted by a beautiful woman possessing the physical features described in books about the native people of Yi-Ti.

“Severus! I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you had your fill yesterday,” the beautiful woman exclaimed, demure and polite, with that exotic face so… different from anything they knew.

“That woman is beautiful,” her beloved Lucerys said with a sigh, making many of the men present distractedly nod in agreement.

With a polite but distant voice, the professor replied:

“Today I come escorting a student, Mei, someone who actually has a good head on his shoulders and is very competent in potions. So the complete kit will be necessary, Years One to Seven. We must add a pewter cauldron and a brass cauldron, and a pair of dragon-skin gloves, the thinner the better, preferably Vipertooth if you have them in stock,” Snape said with a fluency only obtained through years of experience in his discipline.

All the Targaryens grimaced uncomfortably and grumbled at the part about using dragon skin for something as… mundane as gloves.

“Livestock. Noble beasts reduced to livestock by these… wizards and witches,” Visenya spat with a heavy sigh, shaking her head to herself.

The young woman nodded and, turning to look at her younger sister, said:

“Cho, daughter, please help me put together the professor’s order. Start with the ingredients; I’ll go get the cauldrons.”

Jon, without thinking, replied:

“Daughter?”

He was quite surprised. How old could that beautiful woman be if she had a daughter?

Mei looked at Jon and said:

“Any problem, young man?” with a curious tone in her voice.

Jon quickly replied:

“No, my lady. It’s just that I thought your daughter was your younger sister,” he said sincerely, with a small smile and a light blush on his face.

“Oh,” Mei replied, while her daughter let out a giggle that she tried to hide behind her hand. “You flatter me, young man. I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

The interesting interaction between Aemon and the exotic women caused the vast majority of the Targaryen men to laugh softly, observing Aemon’s obvious interest in both witches.

“Ha! I can’t blame him! That pair are truly delicious,” Aegon IV, Rhaenyra’s grandson, said as usual in a lascivious and depraved manner, completely different from the courtesy and respect Aemon had shown.

All the members of the royal family watched Aemon’s interaction with the pair of women curiously, the queens and princesses pleased not to see even the slightest trace of the condescension men normally displayed toward women in general.

Something the pair of exotic women apparently noticed as well, taking the time to support Aemon and give him useful advice… in addition to their far less subtle insinuations.

Rhaenyra could not even help snorting when young Cho said she would be delighted to show him Hogwarts in depth if he wished, although, much to Rhaenyra’s pride, Aemon merely smiled politely.

“Well, he does not let his desire control him. That is genuinely promising,” Princess Rhaenys said, making several Targaryen women nod at her words, while, to Rhaenyra’s displeasure, her brother and grandson snorted with veiled contempt.

“Pah! The foreign whore was practically fucking herself! Ha! If it had been me, I would have taken them both. They looked quite willing, hahaha,” Aegon IV spat, to the obvious disgust of everyone present.

Alas, apparently Aegon had finally exhausted someone’s patience.

His brother Aemon.

“By the fucking Seven Hells, will you shut up?” the Dragon Knight roared, rising to his feet, his face filled with fury like the dragon he was. Without warning, he launched himself directly at Aegon, punching his despicable brother squarely in the face.

Something Rhaenyra was certain the entire House of the Dragon enjoyed, judging by the satisfied expressions on the faces of kings and queens, as well as princes and princesses.

However, Aegon’s response was not anger or anything of the sort, but…

Laughter?

It was cold, mocking, and extremely condescending. Her grandson rose with difficulty, staring toward Aemon with cruel satisfaction.

“Oh… apparently you really were a dragon after all. I wonder where that fire was when we were still alive, when I forced you to remain on guard all night while Naerys attended to my desires, and you simply stood there doing nothing like the coward you always were,” Aegon spat, standing up and looking at Aemon with a mocking smile.

But the Dragon Knight’s reaction was… explosive, to say the least.

Aemon released a roar, grabbing his brother’s robes and unleashing years of frustration upon the face of Aegon IV, blow after blow.

However… they were both dead, and no matter how hard Aemon struck, there was no pain or blood.

Only Aegon’s increasingly cruel mockery, as he evidently enjoyed watching the honorable Aemon Targaryen lose control.

“You were a coward in life… a true dragon would have done something about it, to hell with the consequences. Don’t come at me with your fucking sermons, brother,” Aegon spat cruelly, at least until his son Viserys intervened, walking between his two sons and roughly separating them.

“Enough,” he simply said, his voice icy and threatening to such an extent that both men obeyed instantly.

Immediately afterward, the rest of the Targaryen clan focused once again on Aemon’s story, who was now inside the largest bookstore Rhaenyra had ever seen.

It was enormous, with at least five floors of shelves filled with enormous books, some enchanted to move on their own as though they were birds.

Rhaenyra looked with a radiant smile as Aemon appeared to be in paradise, observing everything around him with amazed eyes.

An emotion shared by several Targaryen men and women throughout history.

“By the Gods!” her uncle Vaegon whispered, stunned, opening and closing his mouth as he stared hungrily at the imposing sight.

“What I would give to spend even a single day surrounded by all that knowledge,” Daeron II whispered, completely dazzled by what stood before him.

“And to think that all those books contain magical knowledge. It makes me wonder about Westeros and Essos. What happened to them? Where is the magic?” her beloved Jace asked assertively.

And none of the Targaryens had an answer.

The professor and Jon approached the shelf where a young woman was arranging a considerable number of books. She had curly blonde hair, honey-colored eyes, and a small stature.

As they approached her, the girl exclaimed:

“Welcome to Flourish and Blotts. How can I help you?”

Professor Snape replied:

“Good morning, Miss Clearwater. I will need the standard sets of books for Years One to Seven at school, plus I would like these titles added to the purchase, please,” he said while handing the young lady a piece of parchment with several books written on it.

The young woman read it in a moment and said to the professor:

“I think we have everything except the last two. Let me check, and in a moment I’ll be with you, Professor.”

Snape simply nodded as the young woman began collecting the books. Both Jon and the professor began looking through the shelves for a tome that caught their attention.

“New Theory of Numerology, Bestiarum Magicum, Quidditch Through the Ages. What in the Seven Hells is Quidditch?” Jon asked himself.

“Quidditch is the sport par excellence of the wizarding world. It is played on broomsticks,” a voice behind him replied.

When Jon turned, he found himself face-to-face with the young woman from before. She was carrying a small mountain of books, and it seemed as though they would fall at any moment.

Without thinking, Jon drew his wand and, with a smooth movement, summoned the books from her hands and held them levitating beside him, while the young woman looked at him with gratitude and amazement.

“Ah, another maiden falling before the charms of the White Dragon,” his grandfather Baelon sighed dramatically, amusement more than evident on his face.

“They recognize Targaryen superiority when they see it, those wenches” Aerion said proudly, making his granddaughter Daena snort and respond.

“They recognize the Stark Ring, you mean, as well as the tremendous stud wearing it,” the Defiant said before laughing at the bitter expressions of the men present.

“That was non-verbal magic, without wand movements, and combining two spells in such a fluid way is impressive. Where did you study? I haven’t seen you at Hogwarts, and if you don’t know what Quidditch is, then you must be a Muggleborn like me, right?” the young blonde asked enthusiastically.

“What the fuck is a Muggleborn?” Aerion asked aloud, receiving no answer.

Everyone was too absorbed in the images. They all fell silent while watching the interaction between the intelligent young woman, who could not stop blushing and stammering in Aemon’s presence, while he treated her with delicacy and courtesy.

“Our little Aemon is quite the gentleman. It must be his uncle’s upbringing, most likely,” his granddaughter Eleana said distractedly, smiling softly as she watched the warm interaction, the women smiling as they saw the overwhelmed young woman blush and stammer out a promise to save the best books for him.

“Smart of him. Having direct contact with the supplier of knowledge and guaranteeing the best copies for him,” the old King said, making several of those present, including his sons, look at him in disbelief.

“I don’t think Aemon treated the young woman well simply to use her, Father. It is quite clear that he is a kind young man with a good heart,” his grandfather Baelon said with a frown, making the old king simply stroke his beard in silence.

They watched the rest of the interaction, with the young Clearwater showing Aemon extremely interesting books, as well as the hilarious reaction upon discovering that, indeed, she was dealing with a Lord.

Although the laughter gave way to caution when they saw the cheerful young woman become practically terrified of Aemon, to his obvious confusion, forcing him to make a great effort to calm her.

“What the fuck happened?” his brother Aegon asked curiously, a question shared by everyone present.

And the sphere gave them the answer a moment later.

“That was very kind of you, my lord,” the professor said, with a tone of voice Jon could not decipher.

Jon simply shook his head and said:

“She offered me help. She was kind and funny. I had no reason to be rude or cruel to her, Professor.”

Snape nodded and said:

“She’s Muggleborn, meaning she comes from a family of parents without magic. So a lot of pure-blood noble wizards and witches, those with magical ancestors, tend to see them more as animals than people. They… usually have a hard life. The vast majority of them end up as concubines and playthings of powerful and cruel nobles.”

Jon shook his head and said:

“That doesn’t make sense. They may not be noble, but they are still people,” he said, frowning in fury.

Professor Snape simply looked at the Young Star, evidently experiencing conflicting emotions over Jon’s words.

“You are different from the rest. You are kind, yet not weak. That is good. Maybe that compassion and kindness is what this world really needs, my Lord,” Professor Snape said quietly as they continued walking.

Jon simply shook his head before answering.

“I… all my life was filled with people looking down on me. I know perfectly well how cruel nobles can be, Professor,” Jon answered in a quiet tone.

“Ah… then it is racism without reason. Sad, but not surprising,” his brother Daeron said with his natural courtesy, making many of those present snort with amusement.

“Well, they are our inferiors. We are nobles and they are not,” Aegon said as though it were the most logical thing in the world.

But Daeron did not remain silent and answered with certainty.

“That young woman was charming, intelligent, educated, and kind-hearted, but above all… she possesses the innate ability to manipulate the world at her whim. She has the Gift of Magic. What makes you think you are superior to her in any way, brother?” Daeron challenged fiercely, silencing not only Aegon but several of the Targaryens who thought similarly.

Including, to some extent, Rhaenyra.

“Apparently, growing up as a bastard has given Aemon quite a bit of empathy and kept his feet firmly on the ground. A good omen for the Realm,” his granddaughter Daena said, making everyone distractedly nod as they now watched the moment everyone wanted to see approach.

The moment Aemon would obtain his wand.

“This will be good,” Rhaenyra said aloud, giving the scene before her her full attention.

“It’s here. Here you will get a wand of your own, one that will fit your magic the best. It will be an amazing experience, I assure you,” the professor said as they entered the store.

All the Targaryens held their breath, observing with intense interest the old but no less mystical shop, filled with dust and enormous shelves packed with boxes, which Rhaenyra assumed contained wands.

“This is… strange. At first glance it looks like an ordinary shop, but… there is something about it that I simply cannot decipher,” her beloved Jace said with a frown.

When Jon entered, he saw no one. The store was full of dust and several shelves containing elongated boxes that he assumed held the wands.

Suddenly, he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.

Without thinking, he turned around and threw a Depulso toward the presence behind him.

The spell was precise and powerful, so much so that the floor of the shop and the window behind the stalker cracked from the impact of the spell.

To the stalker’s credit, he was able to conjure a shield to protect himself, but the force of the spell pushed him several feet backward, and he looked at Jon with a smile on his old face.

All the Targaryens were surprised by the naturalness and terrifying speed with which Aemon had cast the spell, although the expressions of approval and pleasure were difficult to ignore.

“He performs magic with incredible naturalness,” Aegon V said, watching as Aemon frowned while the old man began talking about the wands of Professor Snape and Aemon, which apparently belonged to an important witch, judging by the reactions of both men.

But although that was interesting, what truly mattered to Rhaenyra and the rest of the Targaryen clan was Aemon’s wand.

“This will be good,” her beloved son Aegon III said, just as excited as the majority of those present to see what the young Aemon’s wand would be like.

Although that excitement slowly transformed into uncertainty when they saw how every wand the old man gave Aemon was… incompatible with the young dragon.

“And this is the expert? He cannot find a wand for Aemon! What insolence,” Jaehaerys spat like a furious beast, watching the sphere intently as the boxes continued piling up while the old man in question, far from becoming concerned, became increasingly excited.

Ollivander was quite pensive, muttering to himself with great enthusiasm:

“Incredible. His power is great. All wands fear him…”

“As they should,” Aemond said with determination before continuing to observe.

Jon said with some annoyance:

“So you don’t have a wand that I can use?”

Denying it, the old man replied:

“No, young man, but that doesn’t mean that you will not get a wand. It means that, in more than seventy years, I will have to craft a tailored wand to suit you. It will be very exciting. Let’s begin!”

The Targaryens watched in amazement as, with a simple movement from the old man, the entire shop practically changed in an instant.

The enormous shelves and counter disappeared, giving way to an immense room filled with samples of wood and jars containing strange substances.

Every single Targaryen was paralyzed and hypnotized in complete silence, watching the process required to create the precious magical wands.

It was a magical process, yes, but it was still methodical, an art in every sense of the word. They all watched in silence as none of the woods proved suitable for Aemon.

Until it happened.

Aemon’s face lit up, calling the beautiful magical bird they had previously seen in Headmaster Dumbledore’s office. It appeared in the shop in a flash of fire, carrying something… familiar in its talons.

“That is the Heart Tree branch Aemon took from Winterfell!” Joffrey said with a smile, making everyone present open their eyes in realization.

“So… it wasn’t a coincidence? The Gods… or whoever sent him to this… United Kingdom, knew he was going to need the Heart Tree branch?” Baela asked aloud, receiving no answer.

No one had one, after all.

“It’s called the Heart Tree, originally from my homeland, from the frozen lands of the North. It’s a tree that doesn’t stop growing unless it is cut down. It is very revered by my family,” Jon said.

“I didn’t know that… that Heart Trees never stopped growing,” Aegon V said with a frown, making Visenya snort and respond.

“Of course you didn’t. The rotten faith of the Seven Stupid Ones made certain to exterminate all the Heart Trees south of the Neck. I imagine it would be rather difficult to control the masses if trees as large as castles still existed,” the Queen said, leaving everyone thoughtful.

And Rhaenyra did not overlook the contempt in the Queen’s gaze when she looked at all the Targaryens who were associated with the Faith.

It was absolute revulsion, especially toward Maegelle, Baelor the Blessed, and Queen Naerys.

As though the fact that they wore the robes of the Faith were an offense to the Conqueror.

Perhaps that was indeed the case, Rhaenyra thought.

Ollivander nodded and said:

“We have the wood. It’s time to choose the most important thing: the Core,” he said as he began inspecting the branch and preparing it to carve it.

“This will be interesting,” her father said excitedly, making everyone present give their full attention to the important scene.

Jon walked under the watchful eye of the phoenix and Professor Snape. Some of the jars did not make him feel anything; some reacted only slightly.

Until he walked toward one in particular.

Inside was a large heart.

Jon felt that the organ was screaming at him, no matter how strange that sounded.

Reading the label on the jar, he saw that it said:

“Unknown species, Dragon Heart — D.T.”

Jon said it aloud before looking at Ollivander.

“It’s this one. This bottle has the core, Mr. Ollivander. I can feel it, roaring, eager to get out,” Jon said with a concentrated look at the bottle.

The old man walked over to where Jon was and watched.

“Dragon heartstring, from a powerful yet unknown dragon species, only registered once in history near France. Your wand will be a work of art, my lord, I can swear it,” the old man exclaimed as he took the jar and returned to the worktable.

“That is the heart of a dragon?” Helaena asked curiously, watching in amazement as the old man expertly moved the enormous jar, making it levitate and, before the amazed and envious eyes of everyone, beginning to work magic.

Literally, Rhaenyra thought with amusement.

They watched hypnotized as the branch slowly took on an elongated shape, while seven dragon heartstrings were extracted and placed in a spiral pattern inside the wood.

The wood reacted instantly, causing a spiral pattern to appear across the snowy-white surface of the wand.

The process was extremely lengthy, and even so, everyone watched in complete silence, without a single interruption, until eventually the old man finished, raising the precious possession with both hands.

It was… simply beautiful, at least in Rhaenyra’s opinion.

She watched as Aemon held it reverently between his fingers.

The white wood seemed carved into flames, while delicate red veins glowed softly beneath the surface.

The handle was elegant and firm, ending in a ruby-colored jewel.

“It looks… alive, in a way,” her beloved son Jace said softly, lost in the image before him.

“It is done,” he said as he took the wand as though it were a newborn and handed it to Jon.

“Seven inches, flexible, with wood from the Heart Tree of the frozen lands and dragon heartstring from a powerful yet… unknown red dragon, an old companion of an old friend of my father. A work of art, my greatest work to date. The most powerful wand I have ever created. And look at that, it’s singing! A Song of Ice and Fire,” the old man finished, devotion evident in his voice.

“Again… that Song. Would you care to enlighten us, sister? You seem to recognize what it refers to,” Aemond said coldly, making Aegon II snort and respond.

“She wasn’t the only one. The old man over there did it too. Look at him; he looks like he’s going to have a fucking orgasm any moment,” his half-brother said mockingly, making the King in question frown and snap.

“Watch your fucking mouth, boy, or…”

Alas, Aegon was many things, but since the Dance, cowardly was not one of them.

“Or what will you do, old cunt? Kill me? We’re already dead, and it’s more than obvious that neither my brothers nor I are truly accepted by most of you. Perhaps we aren’t incestuous enough,” he spat, generating an uncomfortable silence in the room, with a few exceptions.

Like Aerion, who simply snorted with amusement until Maekar struck him on the head.

“What? It was funny,” the deranged prince said.

“That is enough. This isn’t over yet,” Rhaenyra said firmly, returning everyone’s attention to Aemon, who apparently had paid for the wand and left the shop, heading toward…

“A clothing store? Why the fuck is this important?” her grandson Aegon asked with disgust as Aemon entered the place calmly, being greeted by a mature woman accompanied by a group of young witches.

A woman approached him and said:

“Good morning, young man. What do you need?” with a smile.

Jon replied:

“Good day, Madame. I need five Hogwarts sets, although I also want some personal orders, please. Twenty shirts, twenty pairs of pants, five sets of work clothes, ten robes, and thirty sets of underwear, please.”

As he continued speaking, the woman’s eyes opened wider and wider while the assistants looked at him incredulously. The other customer who was there looked at him with a raised eyebrow, intrigue evident in his eyes.

With a much more respectful and cautious tone, the woman asked:

“Formal or informal, my lord?”

The woman spoke with submission and caution.

"She recognizes her inferior position before Aemon. Perfect,” his brother Aemond said, but nobody paid him any attention, too absorbed in what was happening.

A moment later, they watched as the woman and all her assistants practically gave Aemon their full attention, even closing the shop to the rest of the public, with only one exception.

The woman nodded and said:

“Please stand on that platform to take your measurements, my lord,” she said while closing the shop. Orders of this kind had priority.

Jon placed himself on the platform next to a young woman.

She was beautiful, a princess in every sense of the word.

Platinum-blonde hair, snowy skin without a single imperfection, high cheekbones, grayish-blue eyes, lips of perfect thickness.

When looking at her figure, he could not help but notice how soft and perfect her breasts looked, how narrow her waist was, and how wide her hips were.

Perfect for having children, Jon thought involuntarily.

So lost was he in admiring the young lady that he did not snap out of it until he heard the voice of one of the assistants.

“Oh… now this is getting interesting. Who could that beauty be? Look at her… so young. My descendant certainly has excellent taste, hahaha,” Aegon IV spat, staring with that gleam of depravity toward the mysterious Lady.

Although Rhaenyra could only agree, the young woman… was beautiful, with an elegant bearing as natural as breathing, a simply perfect body, and a face that seemed carved by angels.

Apparently, everyone thought the same thing, watching with amusement as their beloved sons looked at the beautiful Lady with flushed faces.

“It seems Aemon is very interested in that young woman. She appears to be highborn. We shall see what happens,” Queen Alyssane said, making everyone pay attention once again.

“Please don’t move, my lord,” the young maiden said as she began measuring parts of his body for his orders.

Jon was lost in thought until he heard an angelic voice beside him.

“Did you like what you saw, my lord?”

Jon directed his gaze toward the young woman, who was looking at him through the mirror.

“And it seems the mysterious Lady is interested as well. Look at her… she is practically throwing herself at Aemon’s feet,” Queen Naerys spat, frowning at the… frankly erotic interaction between them.

And then the mysterious woman extended her hand, offering it to Aemon with extreme delicacy.

He took it without breaking eye contact.

“I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable, my lady, but you are undoubtedly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life.”

With a slight smile, the maiden replied:

“How flattering, my lord. But I’m afraid I don’t know your name,” she replied with curiosity.

Jon bowed his head and said:

“My name is Jon, Lord of the noble and ancestral House Stark.”

The sexual tension between them was intense. Seven Hells, it was more than obvious that the young woman was extremely interested in Aemon’s physical appearance, although he could hardly blame her, considering… how well-endowed the young dragon was.

Both of them held each other’s gaze in silence, neither willing to yield, at least for the moment, both seemingly determined to fight for the dominant role in their newly forged relationship.

However, with all the Targaryens on the edge of their seats and staring intensely at the sphere…

The image simply disappeared… as usual, leaving everyone present frustrated and annoyed.

“Of course. Right at the best part,” Lucerys spat before sighing and standing up.

“The tension in the room is immense, Mother…” her beloved Jace said, but before Rhaenyra could say anything, the door lit up again, capturing everyone’s attention.

“Who could it be this time?” her beloved mother asked curiously.

Alas, they could only wait.