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Harrys Potter, Daeron’s Mind.

“So…magic,” said the teenage Daeron, looking at Harrys with a certain amount of suspicion and disbelief, while the two of them walked through the immense and increasingly eerie corridors of the King's disturbed mind.

“Aye, magic,” Harrys said cautiously, while the two continued down the enormous and apparently endless corridor.

Young Potter had read about Mind Palaces in the Peverell Grimoire, magical constructs that naturally formed within the minds of any person. However, a wizard or witch with sufficient magical skill could…modify them at will.

Make them their own personal fortress.

The Peverell Grimoire spoke of wonders, of how a well-organized Mind Palace would protect its owner from mental incursions of any kind, as well as improve memory and provide more efficient management of the user's emotions.

And after seeing the disastrous state of King Daeron's mind, Occlumency had become his bloody priority.

Someone or something had been capable of twisting and disturbing the mind of the most powerful man on the Continent.

Who was to tell Harry that it had not done the same to the rest of the Lords? Or worse yet…

With his own mind or that of his mother?

Contingencies had to be designed and prepared, but before he could work on that, Harrys had to figure out what the hell had the King's mind under its control.

“Don't misunderstand me, but…I was under the impression that magic had disappeared with the dragons a century ago,” said the young prince cautiously, making Harrys snort with veiled mockery.

“Magic isn't a stray dog that simply comes and goes according to the wishes of a master. Magic simply is, although I suppose it is worthy of Targaryen arrogance to believe themselves so important that the death of their winged lizards would have such a tremendous impact on such a fundamental aspect of life as magic,” Harrys said, making Daeron frown softly.

Undoubtedly offended by Harrys's words, but possessing enough intelligence not to react to them.

However, Harrys was no longer paying attention, instead observing his surroundings with a frown.

“Where the fuck are we? I know the Red Keep. These corridors aren't in the capital,” Harrys said as he watched the corridor change from the pink stone of King's Landing's castle into a kind of…dark gray polished stone. The shape of the corridor was no longer square but triangular, with high and gloomy ceilings.

And Daeron answered distractedly, still looking behind them, undoubtedly cautious of whatever was still pursuing them.

“We are in Dragonstone, near what was once the Incubation Chamber, where my ancestors and the Dragon Keepers cared for the dragon eggs,” Daeron said distractedly, although Harrys was able to notice a certain tone of annoyance in the monarch's voice.

Harrys raised an eyebrow, curious about the King's unexpected reaction, and asked.

“For finding yourself in an important part of your family's history, you don't sound interested at all,” he said calmly, interested in the monarch's answer.

Daeron did not answer immediately. The two continued along the path, Harrys observing the stone platforms that held the now-inert Dragon eggs, although Daeron's subconscious did not seem interested in the winged reptiles.

“My ancestors…were stupid, arrogant, and proud. The Dance of Dragons…an elegant name for the greatest massacre House Targaryen inflicted upon itself. A proud, capricious, and arrogant woman, clinging to her right to the throne while ignoring the obligations that came with it, the other, an idiot and irresponsible fool manipulated by his Hightower lackeys, culminating in the death of such majestic creatures,” Daeron said, evidently furious.

Harrys remained silent, listening calmly.

“The Hightowers are still bloody rich and Lords of the Hightower, the Baratheons and the Lannisters retain their titles and lands, but our dragons…thinking about what was lost infuriates me, that's all,” the King said with a heavy sigh, bringing the subject to an end.

And Harrys did not press him, perfectly understanding the King's reaction, even agreeing with him.

“You think the same way as he does,” Harrys said calmly, at the same time they reached the end of the corridor, directly toward the room with the Painted Table, an enormous hall carved into the Mountain itself, with a magnificent view of Blackwater Bay.

Valyrian architecture was exquisite, evidently constructed through arcane arts, considering that everything seemed to have been made from a single stone, completely smooth and without imperfections.

However, Harrys's admiration for the architecture of Dragonstone was interrupted by none other than Daeron, who looked at him with curiosity.

“Huh? I think the same as whom?” he asked curiously, making Harrys shrug while gently caressing the Painted Table.

“My master, Ser Daemon,” Harrys said softly, lost in his thoughts.

Daeron remained silent, looking curiously at Harrys, who continued to be completely distracted.

“Ser Daemon always spoke of the Dance of Dragons with sadness for the dragons and fury toward Rhaenyra and Aegon Targaryen.”

Harrys's answer made Daeron snort with veiled mockery and reply.

“Oh?” Daeron asked, evidently not believing Harrys's words.

However, Lord Potter was not even paying attention to the young Prince of Dragonstone, his mind drifting toward better times, toward the long training sessions with his master, practicing with Aemon and Aegon in the courtyard of Potter Manor while Alyssane brushed Wallace's hair as she sang a soft lullaby.

He could…he could see it if he closed his eyes tightly enough.

Harrys could still hear the twins' laughter, Ser Daemon's firm but warm voice reprimanding them before giving another magnificent demonstration with the sword, the laughter, the smell of the treacle tart his mother made especially for him, the warm afternoons…

When…when life was simple and happy, when his family was not incomplete.

As it was now.

“Ser Daemon always despised a lack of honor, both in small things and great ones. Regarding the Dance of Dragons, he felt a deep contempt for the…cruel and questionable actions of your ancestors, too proud and reckless with their winged lizards to consider a solution that would not destroy the Kingdom in the process. He always believed that, even in war, men should behave as Knights and not as wild beasts. A belief that cost him his life, at the hands of your Cowardly and weak bastard brother,” Harrys replied calmly, raising his gaze toward the now-silent Daeron.

The King did not respond for quite some time, observing Harrys with soft and complicated eyes.

“My brother Daemon rose in arms against my legitimate reign, he…I…”

Harrys focused his gaze on the young prince, watching as he rapidly shook his head, blinking quickly, as if he wanted to concentrate on something…and was failing to do so.

“And apparently…we have reached the root of the problem. My master and mentor, Ser Daemon Blackfyre, and this room,” Harrys said calmly, watching as Daeron became increasingly agitated while the previously calm ocean visible on the horizon began to churn violently.

Daeron frowned, shaking his head over and over, bringing his hands to his face as he began screaming, his face filled with fury and something else, something alien to the King.

Something magical and purulent.

“Daemon Blackfyre was a traitor…Daemon Blackfyre was…was…was…”

However, Harrys pressed on. This room was important. The violent reaction of whatever was influencing the Monarch betrayed the desperation the Entity felt.

“Ser Daemon Blackfyre was a great man…charismatic and skilled, a man with a will of Iron, a man you could not dominate, isn't that right, abomination? That's why you eliminated him!” Harrys spat, looking around furiously.

At those words, a guttural and bestial roar emerged from the very walls of Dragonstone, at the same time Daeron fell to his knees, his hands clutching his head in obvious agony.

“THE BLACK DRAGON THOUGHT HE COULD INTERFERE IN MY SONG! AND HE DIED DISGRACED, HOLDING THE BODIES OF HIS CHILDREN! I…”

However, Harrys had no intention of allowing the entity or being to say anything more. He knew he had a momentary advantage, and Harrys had to exploit it however he could.

“You…are nothing more than a rotting abomination. I can feel your putrid being, decomposing and dying, clinging to life like the vermin you are,” Harrys said with obvious contempt, at the same time drawing his wand and pointing it at the Painted Table.

This object…represented something very specific. It represented power and dominion, the true beginning of the Targaryen conquest, a symbol of Power, as much as Dragonstone itself or the Iron Throne.

And if there was something his magical studies had taught him, it was that symbolism was extremely powerful.

The Iron Throne, the Dragons, the Heart Trees…

“Do you think you can stop me? I have been waiting for thousands of years, centuries of planning! I will not let a brat destroy so many years of work, I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!” roared the female voice, unknown to Harrys.

However, Lord Potter was far from intimidated. This thing…might be terrifying to a Muggle or to a Squib family like the Targaryens, but against a wizard of Harrys's talent and power…

“You talk too much, scum,” he spat before pointing his wand toward the Painted Table and shouting.

“Confringo!”

His father's wand roared with force, as usual, trembling in Harrys's hands, at the same time a large section of the Targaryen Painted Table was instantly charred, the petrified wood shattering thanks to the immense power of Harrys's spell.

The result was as…interesting as it was concerning.

The moment the table was damaged, a guttural and soul-tearing scream, one belonging to a woman, filled the entire room, at the same time a kind of female shadow emerged from behind the kneeling Daeron.

“NOOOO! I WILL NOT ALLOW IT! I…AHHHHHHG!”

Harrys did not allow whatever it was to say anything else. He simply channeled more magic, launching explosive curses indiscriminately toward the table.

The curses emerged from Harrys's wand like candy, each strike damaging the Table even further and, consequently, making the Entity's control over Daeron's mind weaker and weaker.

And to Harrys's delight, it allowed Daeron to fight.

The Prince of Dragonstone grabbed his hair furiously before screaming.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!!” roaring like the dragon he was.

The result was instantaneous. The female silhouette emerged from Daeron's body, while the room of the Painted Table in Dragonstone instantly disappeared, shattering into thousands of pieces as if it were a damned mirror.

“An illusion. All of this had been nothing more than an illusion within the King's mind,” he whispered to himself, watching as the walls of Dragonstone slowly collapsed, revealing instead what appeared to be some kind of frozen cave.

“Shit,” Daeron whispered with difficulty, evidently exhausted as he struggled to stand. The Prince of Dragonstone was gone, and now King Daeron II had taken his place, undoubtedly during the early years of his reign, considering that he was not as old as he was currently.

“Where are we?” the monarch asked, now much more focused and centered, making Harrys shake his head and reply.

“I don't know. It looks like…some kind of snowy cave, but I don't recognize anything around us,” he said softly, at the same time, to Harrys's disbelief, enormous white roots moved gently, retracting into themselves, frightened of Harrys for some reason.

The ground was covered in blood-red leaves, strangely familiar to Harrys. Both Daeron and he observed the strange and mysterious cave with excessive caution.

“This place is unnatural. I can feel it,” the King said with extreme caution, swallowing as they both reached what appeared to be the central chamber of the enormous cave.

And what they saw…

“Shit,” both men said, completely incredulous and stunned by what they were seeing.

“What…What the fuck is this? What forgotten place of the Gods are we in?” Daeron asked in terror, swallowing as he stared at the grotesque image before them.

And Harrys…could not blame him. What stood before them could only be described with a single word.

Repulsive.

They found themselves in a damp and dark cave. The entire place was filled with mold, white roots, and what appeared to be a gloomy throne made of branches, hides, and roots.

Upon it sat a woman with white hair and sallow skin, as pale as snow itself, and so thin that nothing remained of her body but skin and bones. One of her eyes had disappeared, consumed by branches that entered and emerged from her weak and fragile body at will, while the other, bright and red, partially hidden among her long hair, stared at Daeron and Harrys with obvious malice.

All the roots and branches around them were covered with ravens, all completely still, watching the intruders with lethal intent.

“YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! ONLY I AM BLESSED BY THE OLD GODS! I AM THE THREE-EYED RAVEN! I AND I ALONE AM THE CHOSEN ONE TO RULE THE WORLD!!”

At those words, Daeron approached Harrys and whispered.

“We are in the North. It is the only place in Westeros that still worships the Old Gods,” the King said softly.

Harrys shook his head and replied.

“I have been to the North. This…this amount of magic would have been detected during my travels. You cannot hide this,” young Lord Potter said firmly.

However, the monarch did not relent, his intelligent eyes studying everything around him calculatingly, once again revealing why Daeron Targaryen was considered a brilliant man.

“Even the lands beyond the Wall?” he asked softly, silencing Harrys instantly.

The old man…was right. Young Potter had never been beyond the Wall, and to be honest, this kind of shit fit perfectly with the dark and gloomy stories Lyanna had told him during his stay in Winterfell.

“We will discuss this more calmly. Now…let's get out of here,” Harrys said while raising his wand, its tip glowing with contained magical power as he prepared for the next spell.

“I don't know who the fuck you are…but it is obvious that, at least partially, you are responsible for my Master's death. I don't know where you are, but rest assured, I will find you sooner or later, you piece of shit,” Harrys spat furiously.

And an instant later, hell was unleashed through the young Lord's wand, breaking the mysterious Three-Eyed Raven's connection with the King…

And making both of them return to the present.

Baelor Targaryen, Harrys's Office – Potter Manor.

“Well, at least we have one less problem,” his brother Maekar said while swallowing, watching as the immense and terrifying bird feasted upon the animals it had hunted while defending the castle.

Even while eating, this…Thunderbird lacked no elegance whatsoever. It opened the bodies with precision, devoured the juicy meat, and left the filthy entrails and hides, tossing them toward the Targaryen guards who could do nothing but stare in terror.

“Although the positive side is that we will have plenty of high-quality leather in the near future,” Baelor tried to joke, only to grimace uncomfortably upon seeing his brother's face, filled with disbelief.

All of this while his beloved Lily and his mother watched with obvious concern over the still-inert bodies of Harrys and his father.

“How much time has passed?” the Queen asked for the third time, making Ser Corbray respond calmly and patiently.

“A couple of hours, Your Grace. We…”

However, the Lord Commander's words were interrupted the instant the King and Harrys gasped at the same time, Lord Potter's wand tip illuminating with a white radiance, while the young Lord made a kind of…strange movement with his hand, as if he were trying to pull something out of his father's body.

Something that resisted coming out.

And then…it happened.

“AHHHHHHHG!”

A guttural and feminine shriek invaded Baelor and the rest of his family's ears. Ser Corbray drew his sword, only to stare incredulously as Harrys and his father began screaming furiously, at the same time a…purulent black shadow emerged from his father's very being.

“BY THE GODS!” Maekar screamed in terror, while Lily and the Queen stood, Baelor's mother with a face of absolute terror and concern, and Lily with one of determination.

An instant later, his father's body fell to the floor, gasping and trembling, but apparently alive, while Harrys raised his wand toward the…thing that had been inside his father.

His face was furious, filled with a rage and hatred that made Baelor shudder just from looking at him.

“See you soon, abomination,” Harrys spat, his wand trembling, while what appeared to be…cracks emerged in the thin wood, as if it were barely capable of containing the power of its wielder.

The…entity let out a shriek of fury and hatred before a white radiance emerged from Harrys's wand, banishing the mysterious and malevolent shadow from Potter Manor, and in the process…

SNAP!

“Shit!” Harrys spat, dropping his smoking wand, which had broken in half, completely inert at Lord Potter's feet.

“Harry!” Lily exclaimed, rushing toward her son's injured hand, but not before looking with extreme sadness at the shattered wand on the floor.

At the same time, Ser Corbray and Ser Grafton quickly lifted their stunned father while his beloved mother spoke to him desperately.

“Daeron, my love! Are you all right? What happened?” the terrified Queen asked, gently and desperately taking the King's face in her hands.

His father looked at his wife in confusion before shaking his head again and replying.

“I…I feel my mind is clear, clearer than I ever remember it being…my father…he is gone…as are the voices…” the King whispered with a sigh.

Baelor and Maekar looked at each other in surprise, confused and worried to see their father so…strange.

At least until Harrys spoke for him.

Lord Potter was distracted, holding the broken wand in his hands, his face filled with regret and pain.

“Daeron had…an unwanted guest inside his mind. He had had it since childhood. He will be confused and weak for a while, but he will live,” Harrys said softly before letting out a heavy sigh and clenching the pieces of wood with helplessness and fury.

Baelor and Maekar looked at each other in silence, not wanting to bother the already-irritated Lord any further.

Harrys said nothing else. He simply left the room, staring intently at the destroyed wand in his hand, Lily behind him, looking at him with obvious concern on her beautiful face.

Baelor had no idea what the hell had happened, but something told him it would have severe repercussions on his life.

He was not wrong.