Harrys Potter, Potter Manor – The Crownlands.

“My Lord! Welcome. Your new concubine is ready for you. Would you like to take pleasure in my body before we begin? I am bathed, oiled, and perfumed for you,” Shiera purred, posing provocatively and seductively for his pleasure, continuing with her incessant game of trying to seduce him.

And something told him that the more he rejected the beautiful but dangerous woman, the more obsessive her mission to get into his bed became.

Alas, unfortunately for Shiera, Harrys had just released his seed inside his future wife, leaving a thoroughly satisfied and spent Gwyn in her chambers, so, at least for the moment, he desired nothing from the woman standing before him.

Although he had to admit that Shiera had dressed to impress, taking her role as a Potter concubine very seriously.

Harrys found her standing beside the window, her platinum hair falling in endless waves over her shoulders, shining even among the shadows of the room, revealing the end of the day with the orange glow of the horizon.

Her face was simply extraordinary. The rumors were true when people said that Shiera Seastar was one of, if not the most beautiful woman in Westeros: pale skin, delicate and perfectly proportioned features, soft lips curved into that enigmatic smile that never allowed anyone to know what she was thinking. And her eyes, different from one another, possessed an intensity capable of making even the most powerful man feel watched.

Eyes that, much to the obvious frustration of the seductive woman, were completely ineffective against Harrys.

Oh, she tried to hide it, but Lord Potter could easily identify the way her eyes narrowed for an instant, the slight tightening of her lips whenever her tactics failed, the wounded pride of the supposedly most beautiful woman in Westeros.

It was far too amusing for Harrys, if he was being honest.

The black-and-gold robe, the official colors of House Potter and House Peverell, embraced her figure with deliberately provocative elegance, leaving a scandalous amount of skin exposed, covered with elegant silk threads, chains, and small golden details that she wore and used as though they belonged to her by right.

Around her throat rested the silver choker, custom-made, elegant and beautiful, and above it, the Peverell medallion: a silent declaration of her new place, on her knees before Harrys Potter.

“I don't have time for your games, Shiera. Your brother will be arriving shortly, so I will simply extract the conversation from your mind,” Lord Potter said naturally, clearly catching the seductive woman’s attention.

“Oh?” was all she said, her gaze curious, but the mention of Daeron Targaryen’s imminent arrival made the blonde woman refrain from trying to satisfy her curiosity about Lord Potter’s actions.

Harrys did not even bother answering. He simply walked toward the dangerous and lustful woman, placing the tip of his wand against Shiera’s temple before giving his order.

“Now… close your eyes and think about the memory you are going to share with me. When you have it, nod softly. I will take care of the rest,” Harrys said firmly, making Shiera bite her lip in concentration.

For several seconds, complete silence reigned in the room, Harrys entirely focused on his wand and Shiera on her thoughts, until the beautiful woman absentmindedly nodded, causing Harrys to gently rotate his wand and begin extracting the memory with extreme delicacy, not truly wishing to hurt the woman.

Shiera opened her eyes with excitement, watching hypnotized as Harrys placed the strange, almost liquid silver substance into a glass vial, sealing it with a cork and making it levitate toward an elegant and luxurious shelf at the side of the room, which, much to Shiera’s surprise and curiosity, was filled with similar vials, each containing different substances.

“It is an Arcane Repository, designed by one of my distant ancestors, Lord Hardwin Potter, an arcane device that preserves the memories, recollections, and knowledge of all the Lords of the family. It possesses memories spanning thousands of years, including those of my father, and it will also possess mine, for the future heirs Gwyn will give me,” Harrys said firmly, frowning when he saw Shiera laugh softly while looking at him with curiosity.

“Oh, what a wonderful object! I imagine it is something Kings and Princes would treasure dearly,” Shiera said, looking at the object curiously and watching as the vial floated gently, while elegant golden letters appeared, writing her name before disappearing into the interior of the strange device.

“I thought you would watch what happened,” Shiera said curiously, making Harrys shake his head.

“No. If the memory is as useful as you think, I want to watch it calmly and with a clear head. Besides, we have guests,” Harrys said before straightening his back and beginning to walk toward his desk.

Shiera merely raised an eyebrow, just as the office door was knocked upon.

“My Lord, King Daeron has arrived,” Howard said, making Harrys nod calmly.

“Let him in, Howard. Thank you for the information,” Lord Potter said as he took his seat behind his enormous desk, Shiera walking with a sway toward his side and leaning provocatively against the chair.

“I suppose I can't blame you. My brother is brilliant, but he can also be… too much… him,” she said with a small giggle that Harrys did not answer, focusing completely on the doors slowly opening, revealing Daeron Targaryen, who even in his old age retained that air of absolute dignity and power.

His back was straight, although the aches of age were beginning to become noticeable. His face was wrinkled and his gaze tired, but no less intense and calculating than usual. He was accompanied by two Kingsguard, who foolishly opened their mouths.

“Presenting King Daeron Targa—GAHHHHG!”

The stupid act was interrupted by Harrys, who casually moved his wand, causing the pompous man’s mouth to disappear instantly. The man began desperately moving his hands over his now-smooth mouth, unsuccessfully trying to scream in terror.

All of this happened while Harrys’s eyes never left Daeron Targaryen’s gaze for even a second.

“We all know who the old man standing before me is, and we all know how little I actually care about his title. Do something stupid like that again and what I make disappear will be something you will miss far more,” Lord Potter said in an icy voice, restoring the Kingsguard’s mouth with another movement.

And apparently, one could teach old dogs new tricks, because the man immediately fell silent before retreating and taking his place guarding the office door, his body trembling, undoubtedly as a result of the brief lesson.

After that, an uncomfortable silence settled between them before Daeron Targaryen nodded softly and answered.

“Allow me to apologize for Ser Grafton, my Lord. He has only recently been inducted into the Order and is not yet aware of your… peculiar situation regarding the royal family. Although I must say, seeing magic in person… is far more impressive than I imagined,” the King said, nodding to himself and observing everything around him with interest.

“Train your dogs better in the future, for their own good,” was Harrys’s dry response, his icy gaze observing the calculating eyes of the King.

Lord Potter’s words caused the two Kingsguard to tense, and Harrys was even able to see both of them frown at the insulting words, causing even Lord Commander Ser Gwayne Corbray to take a step forward and respond.

His tone was courteous, but challenging.

“We are not animals, my Lord. We are Knights of the Realm, anointed in the Faith of the Seven and sworn to the service of the Crown,” the Lord Commander said, making Harrys, for the first time since the conversation had begun, respond with something more than silence.

“You eat when you are ordered to, fight when you are ordered to, and attack when you are ordered to. That makes you a dog in my eyes, Ser. A large and skilled one, but a beast at the end of the day,” Harrys said with cruel satisfaction, causing both knights to grip their swords tightly, furious at Harrys’s words… or perhaps because of how accurate they were.

Either way, the young Lord genuinely did not care about the answer.

“I see that your tongue is even sharper than before, my Lord. Although, assuming that now you no longer have to hide your wonderful gifts, there is no reason to continue pretending submission,” King Daeron said.

Harrys did not answer for a long time, simply resting his chin upon his hands and observing the King of Westeros calculatingly, a man as respected as he was feared, as intelligent as he was ruthless.

“I suppose that if you are here, Valarr spoke with you,” Harrys assumed calmly, leaning back in his chair and beginning to tap his fingers softly against his desk.

An apparently innocent gesture.

“Oh yes. My beloved grandson told me about the… complicated situation. Forgive me for making you wait, but you will understand that there was a great deal of information to process. Important and delicate information: a poisoned princess, a direct assault against House Targaryen, and he also told me about your concerns and your… plan. I have my doubts, I confess, but I intend to do everything possible to get to the bottom of this, even more so because of my future grandson. Considering that you have accepted Daella back into your fold, I knew you would come to your senses. And from what I see, Shiera has taken a permanent place at your side, something surprising but welcome, although I am certain Brynden will be heartbroken,” the King said calmly, stroking his chin and nodding softly toward the dangerous woman, who merely laughed quietly while leaning even further against the chair.

Harrys frowned almost imperceptibly, understanding that losing his temper was the last thing he needed at that moment. Harrys might possess magic and, honestly, control of the conversation, but Daeron Targaryen was far from stupid and was undoubtedly the most powerful man in Westeros, not merely because of his title, but because of his terrifying intelligence.

“I am impressed by the confidence with which you speak, Daeron, especially considering that you are now fully aware of the power I possess over you and your family, and how small the Seven Kingdoms appear to me.”

Lord Potter’s words received an immediate response.

The King of Westeros leaned forward, his gaze lively and alert.

“Oh! But we are already allies, my Lord! You may be many things, Harrys, but someone who turns his back on his family is not one of them. Baelor will marry your mother, who will become Queen of Westeros, and it is quite likely that the Realm will soon celebrate the arrival of a new prince or princess. A blood tie is not easily broken, not to mention the eventual sons and daughters Daella will give you. You may be punishing her at the moment, something I approve of, let me say,” the King said with complete naturalness before leaning forward and continuing.

“And regarding what happened at Court, well… it was an unfortunate matter, I admit, but you cannot blame me for canceling an engagement that, in my eyes and with the limited information I had about you, was completely unequal. After all, a princess of the Realm married to a foreign Merchant Lord? It was inviting trouble, to be honest,” the old King said, making Harrys snort at the old man’s incredible cynicism.

“And I suppose that now… considering the nature of my lineage, I am worthy of having the honor of marrying a Targaryen princess? Do you even hear the shit coming out of your mouth, decrepit old man?” Harrys said with mockery in his voice, causing the Kingsguard to grip their swords helplessly while Daeron looked at him with a booming laugh.

“Oh, by the Gods, how refreshing it is to have someone speak to me without holding back. I had forgotten what that felt like,” the King said before focusing his gaze on Harrys again and responding.

“But let us not speak of hypocrisy, my Lord. You cannot judge me for my actions in not considering you worthy of my granddaughter because you failed to meet certain requirements, when you and your mother did the same thing,” the King said cunningly, confusing young Potter.

“Ah? What requirements are you talking about?” Harrys asked, genuinely confused by the old man’s words.

King Daeron merely smiled before leaning back and answering.

“Oh, you know… you and your mother are selective as well. After speaking with my beloved children, I began thinking about the choices Lady Lily made when selecting your wife. First, my granddaughter Daella, a Targaryen princess with Dayne blood. Then the young Gwyn, of Ashford lineage, a house anchored in the Reach for centuries, with strong ties to the blood of the First Men. And of course, we cannot forget that the mother of Lord Ashford is, naturally, Lady Cassana Blackwood, who, like the Daynes, has direct ties to the First Men,” the King said with complete naturalness, sending the message implicitly, one Harrys received loud and clear.

“And that is the same reason Lily rejected Rhaegel’s offer for the hand of my other granddaughter, because unlike Daella, who is a Dayne, Aelora has an Arryn mother, an Andal house and therefore… without a single drop of magical blood, completely useless to you, much to the misfortune of my beloved granddaughter. Both Daella and Gwyn are..how do you call them, Squibs? they are fertile women with magical ancestry, practically guaranteeing that the heirs they give you will be witches and wizards. Am I wrong?” the King said, his intelligent eyes staring directly at Lord Potter.

Harrys could not help raising an eyebrow at the old man’s impressive deduction, an extremely accurate one, no matter how much Harrys did not wish to admit it. Even Shiera looked genuinely surprised, both eyebrows raised in complete shock.

“Interesting theory, but at the end of the day they are nothing more than assumptions and conjecture, am I wrong?” Harrys said with evident disinterest on his face, making the King merely nod softly.

“Of course. I understand how these conversations work, my Lord, and I know that compensations and concessions will have to be made for what happened. We shall have that conversation more calmly in King’s Landing. For now… let us concentrate on what truly matters,” the King said.

Both Harrys and Daeron leaned forward and exclaimed at the same time.

“Alyssane Blackfyre.”

And the moment those words left both their mouths, Harrys noticed it instantly.

Daeron Targaryen’s eyes became unfocused for an instant before gaining a hard edge in those amethyst orbs.

“Alyssane Blackfyre, daughter of my bastard and usurping brother. All enemies of House Targaryen must die,” the old man spat, his tone of voice so different from the one he had been using before that Harrys even doubted whether it was the same person.

“Alyssane Blackfyre was a sweet and innocent girl, one who was executed like a dog on your orders!” Harrys spat, baiting him with his words.

Something… something was wrong.

The wards of Potter Manor were warning him that a foreign magical influence was exerting control over the King.

Apparently, Valarr had been right, Harrys thought bitterly, remembering the damned bet he had lost with his best friend.

Daeron stood up, his face filled with fury and completely different from the calm and calculating man of moments before.

It was… as though he were not the same person.

“Daemon Blackfyre and his descendants are a danger to House Targaryen! They must all be found and tried for treason against the Crown!” the furious King spat in such a strange manner that even the Kings guard noticed it with considerable suspicion.

Harrys stood up and stared directly into the old man’s eyes, fully aware that the person he was listening to was not the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Treason against the Crown? Against his beloved elder brother? Daemon Blackfyre was many things, and traitor was not one of them. But you already knew that… whoever you are, possessing the King’s body,” Harrys spat, beginning to exert pressure upon the magical influence inside the King’s body, watching with satisfaction as this… magical leech seemed to writhe in fear before Harrys’s magic, desperately attempting to cling to the King’s body with everything it possessed.

Harrys’s words were like a bomb to the Kingsguard, who placed their hands upon their swords, uncertain about what the hell they were supposed to do in a situation like this.

“Your Grace? Are you well?” Ser Gwayne asked cautiously, afraid of invoking the monarch’s wrath upon himself.

Daeron, for his part, upon hearing the voice of his old friend and protector, seemed to return to himself intermittently. His dilated pupils, hesitation, and rapid blinking began as he repeatedly shook his head, looking at Harrys with eyes that asked…

No.

That begged for help.

“I… AHHHG… I… AHGHHG…” he screamed repeatedly, trying to fight against whatever was influencing him.

However, it was evident that the old man was suffering, and although the man was not particularly liked by Harrys, apparently he was not entirely guilty as Harrys had believed.

“Ser Gwayne, have your companion go and find my mother, as well as Princes Baelor and Maekar. Have them come here as soon as possible,” Harrys spat with so much authority in his voice that neither of the two challenged his orders. They simply obeyed, causing Ser Grafton to run from the room, leaving Harrys, Shiera, and Ser Gwayne with a king in agony.

“AHHHHHG!” Daeron screamed again as he began scratching at his face beneath the helpless gazes of Shiera and Ser Gwayne.

“What can we do?” the desperate knight asked, looking at Harrys with pleading eyes.

However, Harrys’s mind was moving at tremendous speed, trying to identify the origin of whatever was afflicting the King, knowing that there was only one way to find out.

It would be risky. He had barely begun reading the Peverell grimoire, as well as the darker branches of magic practiced by his bloodthirsty ancestors.

He… he had only one option.

Legilimency.

A branch of dark magic that Harrys had never practiced on people, only with Huggin. However, he knew that time was running out.

If he did not get rid of the leech quickly, it could cause permanent damage to the King. Therefore, drawing a deep breath and gripping his father’s wand tightly, Harrys pointed it directly at the old King’s face, much to the surprise of both Shiera and Ser Gwayne.

But before either could say anything, he uttered the incantation, channeling his will in the manner described by the grimoire.

“Legilimens!”

And then, his office, Shiera, Ser Gwayne, and everything around him simply disappeared, plunging Harrys into total darkness that quickly gave way to an endless vortex of memories through which Harrys navigated without any fixed direction.

The sensation was… indescribable. It was simply impossible to make sense of the disaster before him. Daeron Targaryen’s mind was a complete mess. There was no other way to describe it.

And then… just when Harrys thought he would be expelled from the King’s mind, something happened.

He heard a voice.

The voice of a small child.

And in the blink of an eye, the vortex of memories disappeared, causing Harrys to crash down into a dusty and old room.

“Ahhh, shit,” the Lord spat, struggling to his feet and looking around curiously.

It was… a room in the Red Keep, enormous and luxurious, but… cold in some way. There was an enormous desk covered with books of every kind.

But more importantly, there was a small boy on the bed.

A child with pale skin and silver hair, his face hidden between his knees as he cried and trembled for some reason.

“Where the fuck am I?” Harrys asked himself, surprised when the little boy raised his head in astonishment, his violet eyes filled with surprise and such naked hope that Harrys could not help but be shaken.

He was looking at the face of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Daeron Targaryen…

As a child.

“You came! The Gods heard my prayers! Will you help me?” the little prince pleaded, his voice broken and his eyes begging.

Harrys merely nodded in silence, thinking only about the monumental problem he had gotten himself into.

And he could only whisper one thing.

“Shit.”