Disclaimer: I do note own the Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire series.

Authors note: Well I'm not going to beat around the bush, yeah, this has taken a looooong time.

Long story short, back in late December of 2017 my computer motherboard blew up and took every other major component with it including my hard drive. On top of losing an expensive laptop I lost five 10k chapters I was preparing to upload, two for SOFH, two for Harrion Stark and one for a new fic I was writing, a Harry Potter/ Witcher crossover. That was back in December 2017 and I only recently managed to scrounge together the money for a new computer and gather the willpower to rewrite several thousand words from memory. I updated my profile with a summary of what was happening but I didn't have the heart to post an update to my stories. I know how irritating it can be to see a story finally updated and have that hope dashed because it's just an update on the story status.

On a brighter note I really have to thank people for their reviews. The reception has been positive and I've still been getting reviews to this day after years of inactivity. Maybe I'm on a blog or community somewhere? Who knows, but it has certainly made me happy and guilty in equal measure.

In a long overdue response to the numerous guest reviews, I'll answer them now, there won't however be specific responses, just a general statement to clear some things up as most of the queries have been along similar lines.

No, this won't be a harem story, as I stated in Chapter one, Harry will have multiple partners through his life who he will have varying measures of fondness for. So, you know...like real life.I'm sure most of you can guess who is the penultimate and true pairing will be.

No, Harry won't be perfect, nor will having knowledge a coming war and returning enemies mean that things will be easy for the North, only that they are better prepared. The appeal of ASOIAF, is that the world isn't perfect, the hero doesn't always win and he doesn't always save the victim in time. There isn't even one single overarching enemy, everyone wants to rule the world and everyone has some scheme to do so. Harry's got his work cut out for him.

And will Harrion Stark follow his family's proud history of living with honour? Maybe. Maybe not. Sometimes doing what is right, not what is easy, isn't always honourable. Eddard Stark learned that lesson in his final hours. But sometimes doing what is honourable isn't always honourable in the eyes of others as Jamie did on the steps of the Iron Throne. Everything in life is ruled by perspective. This will be somewhat of a recurring theme in the story as it is in most ASOIAF fics.

Two of my reviewers also mentioned the Boltons and potentially working with them. The Boltons will have their place. That's all I will say.

Now, I've gone on enough, please enjoy the latest chapter and be sure to leave a review letting me know what you think.

Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born.

- Maester Aemon to Jon Snow

Ten years later

A light layer of snow covered the valley. The wind coming down from the high mountains passes moaned quietly through the trees which swayed lightly in response. Nothing moved, nothing bar a single goat tied to a solitary post. It stood calm, grazing at the tough shrubs at its hooves, the only thing able to grow in the harsh wilderness of the Northern Mountains.

Just inside the treeline snowflakes settled down on a figure wrapped in thick fur. The figure was still and almost indistinguishable from the rest of the snow covered forest, like a ancient state left to the elements. A small bow sat ready in its arms.

'I move no more than swaying tree, make no more noise than a whispering breeze.'

The goats head lifted, eyes and ears pointed towards the forest edge. Suddenly it began to frantically pull at the tether tying it to the post. The snow bound figure perked up. Slowly it reached down to the snow around its body and brought a fistful to its mouth, taking a small bite, the small breaths of air coming from its mouth vanishing.

'The snow will cover my breath. It won't know I'm here.'

A wolf emerged from the opposing treeline and it crouched, becoming as still as the other hunter, eyes roaming the seemingly deserted clearing. It focused on the bound goat and, seemingly decided, began to lope towards it.

The hunter slowly drew and nocked an arrow, not yet drawing the bow back.

'Take my time, let him come closer. You can't hold the keep the bow drawn for long.'

The wolf came nearer, its lips drawn back, sharp fangs glistening and quietly growling. Fear set in at the sight of the fierce creature, looming so close. The hand holding the bow trembled.

'I do not tremble, I have no fear.'

The wolf began to run towards its prey. The hunter drew the arrow back, hand still slightly shaking and not from the cold. The predator was almost upon the goat when the wind picked up, changing direction with a strong gust of wind blowing the branches of the great pine trees in the opposite direction.

The hunters breath caught, the wind would turn his arrow.

Frantically correcting his aim, he loosed his arrow. It flew true and struck the wolf in mid leap, not in chest as he had wanted but in the stomach. The wolf let out a whine of pain and flew to the ground next to the goat who shied away from it as far as its tether would allow.

Several figures dropped to the ground around the hunter from where they had been concealed in the trees. One crouched next to the figure and motioned him towards the wolf. The two moved towards the animal while the others stayed where they were within the forest, watching.

"Tell me, what did you do wrong?" the man asked the hunter, his voice quiet. The smaller figure unwrapped the cloth covering its face, revealing the soft face of a boy. Time within the mountains had made his face lean stripping away much of the baby fat. Silver eyes studied the dying wolf sadly as they came closer.

"I hesitated...and then panicked when the wind changed." Harrion admitted shame faced. He had brought down the wolf but it had not been a clean kill. They finally came up to the wolf. The animal was clearly suffering, gasping and whining as its life slowly drained from it. The shaft had entered at an angle, penetrating through the lungs and into the stomach. It was a messy and painful way to go.

The man nodded, satisfied with the answer.

"You know what to do."

The boy didn't reply, simply drawing a dagger from his belt and knelt by the wolf he had struck down. This was his doing, his panic had denied this wolf a clean death. Still he hesitated. Sinking your blade into flesh was far more personal than firing from afar. A memory surfaced. He remembered his father's words after taking him to witness the execution of a murderer who chose death over the Nights Watch.

'Take no pleasure in killing Harrion but do not shy away from it either. When you kill do it only because you must. Be quick and be clean.'

Placing his knee on the throat of the Wolf keep it still, he thrust his dagger into the wolf's chest, through its heart, cringing at the meaty resistance of it's flesh but making sure to press hard less his hesitancy drive him to once again mess up. The animals struggling ceased and it's head lowered to the ground, eyes glassy. Harry withdrew his blade and looked down at the beast, silver eyes melancholy. His first kill. He thought he would be proud but he felt anything but.

It was as his Father said. He did only what he had too.

"Lessons and techniques can only take you so far Harry. Instinct will lead you in your hunts and battles. It will be what guides your bow and blade when that split second decision needs to be made." Stated his mentor and unofficial uncle, Hewelin Sealgair, as he unwrapped the cloth covering his head.

A happy smile emerged on the man's face. "My congratulations on your first hunt though. You did well."

Confusion filled Harry. He had expected to be berated for messing up the shot. Hewelin was something of a perfectionist.

"But I botched it. It wasn't clean and the goat was nearly killed." The smile on Uncle Hewelin's face only grew as he shook his head.

"Harry!" The man admonished with a laugh. "You are only ten and on your first hunt. Nearly every hunter I know fucked up somehow on their first time. It's a credit that you managed to hit him, a fast moving target and with the wind change. Not bad at all. You have talent boy."

Harry smiled with a bit of pride at the rare praise from his uncle, two of Lord Sealgair's Rangers came forward to retrieve the still nervous goat and the body of the wolf. As the group began to make it's way back to the trees a thought occurred to him and he frowned.

"It seems like bad luck though, killing the symbol of my house."

"The Direwolf is the symbol of your house boy." His Uncle pointed out. "And sometimes you need to thin out the pack to bring it to order."

Harry simply nodded in reply, mind too busy thinking over the Wolf to ponder on his Uncle's odd words.

They reached the rest of the party in the tree line and moved off, the hunt over and now looking for a place to rest for the night. One of the group fell into line besides him, his friend and fellow ward, Asher Forrester.

"Nice shot Harry." The young boy congratulated with a grin. "But come back and talk when you can bend it around a tree and hit a bullseye."

Harry scoffed. He and Forrester had good natured rivalry but Asher was the superior archer despite his own skill.

Still, he wasn't as perfect as he liked to boast.

"I seem to remember the reason you had to do that was because you scared it off. Come back when you can stalk something without tripping over your own feet." This immediately got a storm of denials from the other boy and soon they had descended into their usual banter. Or bickering as the adults like to call it.

The two friends would have traded barbs all the way back to Three Peak, home of the Sealgairs, if Hewelin's chief ranger, Ethan, hadn't threatened to set Freya on them, the much feared Master-At-Arms. Both boys immediately shut up. Neither of them wanted a repeat of their first encounter with the viscous woman, Asher especially. The group once again walked in silence.

As they marched through the thick snow Harry's mind wandered and he sighed as a wave of homesickness came over him. It would soon be two years to the day that he had left Winterfell and he missed it dearly. Listening to stories from Old Nan and wrestling with Robb and Jon, doting on little Sansa and playing with Arya, Father's advice and his Mother's comfort. The decision to send him fostering with ruler of the Northern Mountains hadn't been a popular with many, his Mother and the other noble families included. Custom dictated that if children of the Great families were to be fostered, they would either go to another Lord of the Seven Kingdoms or a powerful vassal of the child's Father. Uncle Hewelin was neither but Eddard Stark wouldn't be dissuaded and in the end the compromise had been made that it wouldn't be a formal fostering which would usually dictate he would only return with his coming of age.

Truly when he had arrived he hadn't been expecting much. Despite his Fathers assurances to the contrary, not many people had a high opinion of the Mountain Clans, some even considered them barely a step above Wildlings for their ways. Tales from Old Nan of cannibalism in times of plenty and berserkers who made the Ironborn look tame had been all he had known before he arrived. But from the moment Harry had set foot in the Mountains he had been proven wrong. The clansmen were friendly and welcoming, almost to the extreme really due to the regard that they held the Starks in, and soon he found himself not pining for Winterfell but relishing the chance to grow outside his Mothers overprotective gaze and elder Brothers unrelenting teasing. That's not to say that he had it easy. Everyone was expected to pull their weight, even an honoured Stark, but he had risen to the challenge. He'd made many friends, including Asher and he'd learnt so much. How to track, stalk conceal and fight, not just with blade and bow but his body as well. He was faster and stronger than when he had left home and he couldn't wait to show his brothers what he could do.

'I was allowed to accompany Hewelin back to a meeting with Father last year, perhaps I can this year as well? It's Arya's name day next month as well.'

"Set up camp here. We wake at first light and weather willing we'll be back home within the week."

Harry's head jerked up at his Uncles words and looked around. They had entered a clearing, not dissimilar to the one where he had killed the wolf. It was far smaller however, and the boughs of the trees overhead formed a thick canopy which kept the worst of the snow out. The thought of setting up for the night in such a place would have caused any southerner to baulk. Downright cosy is how a Northerner would describe it.

The two boys set up as they had been trained, children against an obstacle, in this case a thick bramble of bushes no predator could hope to move through, whilst the adults surrounded them with their own furs and a small fire pit in the centre. It irked the boys to be coddled but they knew the dangers of the mountains and didn't argue. Predators rarely attacked Humans and especially avoided groups, but a small child near the edge of a camp, easily caught and dragged away, would be a tempting target for a hungry Shadowcat or Wolf.

"Hey Harry..." Asher whispered from besides him as they settled down into their furs. The Forrester was looking up at the branches above with a troubled expression, the frown a strange sight on his usually carefree face.

"Yes Asher?"

"Have you heard those rumours about the Ironborn? I passed Rory the day we left for this hunt and he said he had heard that Lannisport had been attacked. If they..." Asher faltered but he didn't need to say more.

Harry now understood his friends unease. The last time the Ironborn had reaved in Westeros they had reached as far as Ironrath before they were stopped by a Northern army led by Harry's great, great, great, great Grandfather, Beron Stark, a battle he had perished in but ultimately won. If they had returned to the old ways again...

"Don't worry Asher." Harry said earnestly. "The last time they raided, the seven Kingdoms were ruled by a weak King and the Ironborn took advantage. King Robert would never run from a fight. They'll be stopped long before they reach your home."

His friend still seemed worried but his frown eased and he nodded and settled into his furs, his breathing soon slowing as sleep took him. Harry did the same, looking up at the snow laden branches above, troubled now himself.

In many ways his words were to reassure himself as much as his friend. Truth be told he wasn't sure he had as much faith in the King as he led his friend to believe. His impression of the King was...complicated. His Father had often regaled Harry and his Brothers with many incredible tales of Robert Baratheon and his days with their Father, enrapturing his Sons as they sat by the when the stories came to the events after the Battle of the Trident he refused to speak any more, only saying that their 'wasn't a happy ending', despite their lessons with Maester Luwin apparently saying otherwise. Harry's own questions to other members of the Household hadn't borne much fruit as most either knew no more than he or refused to speak on the subject. That had held up until he had heard a troubling story from one of the household guard, Harwin, of Roberts actions after the sack of Kings Landing. A disturbing story that had left his much younger self with nightmares that night of Lions sneaking into his home and hunting him and his family through the dark halls.

With a sigh the Stark dismissed his thoughts and turned to snuggle deeper into his furs. He was ten, such matters were beyond him and questions for another his troubled mind might have kept him awake and fretting for an hour or more, but a days hard hiking was a persuasive motivator for a body to accept the call to the land of dreams. Slowly darkness claimed him, but not before one last thought lazily drifted through his mind as sleep take hold.

'I wonder what it'll be this time...'

The room sat in stunned silence as they looked upon the figure standing before them at the opposite end of the classroom. They had been told that they would be having a special lesson taught today which would take several hours, an unusual break in their schedule that had the first years buzzing but they couldn't have guessed in their wildest dreams who the one teaching it turned out to be.

Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself and quite possibly the most famous Wizard in the world.

"Now, now, hurry along and take a seat children. Stand their mouths agape much longer and Peeves might get tempted."

An ominous spectral giggle sounded from the Hallway and the fearful class thundered into the room and took their seats to the chuckles of the Headmaster. He turned and began to pace between the desks with a serene smile that calmed the excited and nervous first years. When the whispers and scraping of chairs finally ceased he began.

"Today I will not be teaching you a subject or discipline such as Charms, Transfiguration or Potions. No, today we are going to be studying magic itself, perhaps one of the most complexly simple and simply complex forces in existence."

The class sat in confused silence at the oxymoron before a Hufflepuff raised his hand hesitantly. The old man turned to him.

"Yes Mr Hopkins, you have a question?"

"W-why you though sir? If you don't mind me asking..." the young boy asked nervously.

"Not at all Mr Hopkins. It has always been customary for the Headmaster to teach this subject at least once to first years. As the Wizard or Witch usually with the most power, experience and knowledge, the Headmaster is nearly always the best positioned to teach you about the power you have been born with. It has been a tradition since the founding of Hogwarts."

With the question answered he began, first explaining the origins of Magic, it's first practitioners and then the Magical core that each of them possessed.

It was by far one of the best lessons Harry had been in so far and the Headmaster had clearly taught before. Even when he spent half an hour explaining the first practitioners of magic, the ancients of the old Egyptian Kingdom, a subject that might have sent the less academically inclined asleep, the entire class sat riveted to the edge of their seats as they hung on the old man's every word.

"Now that you can now understand the basics of the magical core and how the early dynasties came to discover it, perhaps we can move on to something that I'm sure many of you have interest in, wandless magic."

At the two magical words excited whispers broke out. Wandless magic was an incredibly hard skill and a demonstration of the power of a Wizard. It shocked many that they would be learning how to cast it in their first year.

"Wandless magic! Fred and George never spoke about this. Just wait, they'll be so jealous." Ron Weasley whispered excitedly besides Harry. The Potter only had eyes for the Headmaster however, who was clearly seeing the conclusion that the class had jumped to.

"Now, now children, calm yourselves, wandless magic is an extremely taxing and potentially dangerous art and beyond a small demonstration we won't be making any great strides in it today. This is a lesson to forewarn you against rashly rushing into experimentation, nothing more."

The disappointment in the class was palpable and expressed by some groans from the Slytherins in back. Groans that were quickly silenced as the Headmaster gave them a glance, the children ceasing the quiet moaning immediately.

"To better understand wandless magic, I have often found that it is best to start in an area many of you will already understand." Dumbledore explained, moving the class on. "So perhaps someone could tell me what accidental magic is?"

Half a dozen hands immediately shot up, all evidentially eager to impress the famous Wizard, none more so that Hermione Granger who almost vibrated in her seat with the need to answer the question, something that drew the Headmasters sparkling eye.

"Ms Granger?"

"Accidental magic is when a baby, toddler or young child released bursts of magic, usually in response to a need for something such as a toy or food. Accidental magic always stops when a Witch or Wizard hits maturity or starts to learn at a magical School such as Hogwarts" The brunette answered, her words almost tumbling over the other in her eagerness.

"Textbook answer Ms Granger, and well delivered. Ten points to Gryffindor." Dumbledore congratulated with a smile that made the girl preen.

"What Ms Granger said is essentially correct. However it is the opinion of most scholars that accidental magic is nothing of the kind and is somewhat of an inaccurate term that is stubbornly refusing to give up its place in magical vocabulary. What modern Wizarding society calls accidental magic is functionally no different from wandless magic that some Wizards and Witches are able to utilise."

The classrooms confusion at this was summed up by Ron.

"But didn't he say wandless magic is super powerful? How can babies do it?" The boy muttered, the quiet of the classroom helping to amplify his words making the redhead blush as everyone turned to him.

"Just so Mr Wesley. But to understand how wandless magic is performed by infants, one must look at and understand what is needed for magic to be cast in the first place."

With that he turned and with startling speed drew a triangle on the board behind him, writing a word at each point of the shape.

"May I introduce you to the triangle of power, as a colleague of mine with a penchant for jokes once named it." Dumbledore jested, drawing giggles from the children. "These children, are the three elements which make magic manipulation possible, and are the three cardinal rules of casting spells without a wand."

"Will. Power. Focus." He read, pointing to each corner of the triangle in turn and the word written there.

"To be capable of performing wandless magic, a Wizard needs any combination of these two, though they keyword is capable." He said pointedly. "As without the third, spells beyond the most basic incantations are often wild and even uncontrollable."

"So you don't need to be have a powerful magical core to perform wandless magic?" A student at the front asked, one of the Ravenclaws.

"Precisely Ms Smith. A Witch or Wizard need not be the most powerful, but through either a trained or a naturally strong will and focus they would able to cast some simple spells without a wand. Likewise, a powerful magical with a strong will, or a strong ability to focus their mind purely on shaping their spell would be just as capable."

"Now, back to the matter of accidental magic. This is why babes are capable of wandless magic." Dumbledore explained, turning back to the board and pointing to the first, will. "Unfettered from the self imposed bonds of an adult mind, a child is closer to it's magic than most adults will ever be, allowing their unconscious mind to shape it to their will with ease, circumventing the usual rule of two. As a child grow older, bouts of uncontrolled magic grow less and less common as their mind matures and starts to apply bonds and strictures influenced by the outside world as they perceive it, reducing their connection to their magical core."

The information sent Harry's mind into a whirl as a theory that he had once held began to take shape in his mind. Could it be...

"That's why we have incantations and wand movements." A voice spoke. With a start Harry realised that it was he himself who had spoke. Mortification filled him at his unconscious outburst as the focus of the class settled on him and people turned in their seats. His first year had already been arduous enough with him being the 'Boy who lived', he didn't need even more attention.

"Pardon Mr Potter?"

"Oh, uh, it's nothing Professor Dumbledore, I was just thinking out loud."

"No, please Harry, I would like to hear what you have to say, you may be on to something." Dumbledore encouraged, a strange twinkle in his eye. Slowly sitting up straighter, Harry tried to ignore the class as he explained his theory.

"Well, it just occurred to me that if you can you can cast spells perfectly well without saying the word or even without a wand, then there has to be a point to the wand movements and use of Latin. When you were talking about how a kid growing up will start to close off his or her mind...well, it occurred to me that the wand movements and Latin might just be a mental exercise to focus your mind on your magic and empty it of distractions."

A moment of silence reigned in the classroom before a slow smile grew on the old man's face and the twinkle in his eye grew two fold.

"Precisely correct Mr Potter, twenty points to Gryffindor for such an astute observation."

The award of such an unusually high amount of points drew whispers yet again from the class. Seeing movement from the corner of his eye, Harry glanced to the right and saw the girl from before, Hermione, glaring at him. Before he could even think on what the brunette was angry about the Headmaster continued.

"Mr Potters observation is accurate. Latin is not an inherently magical language, none are, and wand movements likewise serve no purpose beyond the reasons Mr Potter described and some elements of Advanced Runes. This, and the roles that wands play to focus your magical power, will be something that we will be exploring in your second year."

The venerable Wizard finished his pacing around the classroom and returned to front, linking his fingers below this waist and looking at the class as they once more returned their attention to him, his expression bereft of his usual smile and cheer as he looked at them seriously.

"Now, we are going to have a small exercise. Each of you is going to place your wand on the desk in front of you and on my wandlessly summon it to your palm."

This drew a reaction from the class, gasps and excited questions springing forth, only to cease as Dumbledore held up a hand. His voice was deathly serious as he spoke, the twinkle and friendly demeanour draining away.

"This is not a lesson to impart new skills. This is not a lesson for you to take back to your dormitories and practice in your free time, because this is a lesson in which none of you are going to succeed. What you will experience is a drain on your core like nothing you've felt before, which if done unsupervised could very well seriously harm you."

The class was deathly silent at these words as the students took in the sobering words. The Headmaster took note of this and his serious countenance gentled.

"This is not setting you up for failure and disappointment, this is not to install a fear of casting magic without a wand. This a demonstration, a safe demonstration, of the dangers of experimenting with wandless magic. This is a demonstration of why in the last hundred years nearly every death we have sadly suffered in these halls have been from students who have recklessly cast wandless magic in their own experiments that they cannot control. Do you all understand?"

The question got a few quiet responses of 'Yes' from the class which earned them a disappointed look, something which was somehow even more scathing to the children than the most fierce criticism from another Professor.

"That was not a rhetorical question students. I asked do you understand?"

"Yes Headmaster." The class loudly replied as one.

"Good, then wands out on desks please." With that the Headmaster returned to his pacing, walking down the centre of the class, robes swishing slowly. Harry took out his wand, placing the Holly and Phoenix feather on the pockmarked desk in front of him.

"Now, remember the exercise we learnt to focus on your core. It sits there still, a warm fire at the centre of your being, an unused muscle waiting to be used, a second heart beating it's own rhythm. Awaken it and bring it forth."

Reaching out with his hand and hovering it over his beloved wand, Harry closed his eyes and did as the Headmaster instructed. It was just as Dumbledore described, like an unused muscle that sat below his heart, electric warmth shooting through his body as he flexed it.

"Do you feel it students? Are you ready?"

"Yes" Harry replied in a breathy whisper as he luxuriated in the comforting warmth running through his body.

"Then picture what you wish to happen, the wand below your hand jumping into your palm. Picture it and hold that image in your mind. Wish for it to happen like nothing else you have wished for in your lives. Summon your wands...now!"

With a gasp Harry let his grip on his magic go, his power rushing forward like a river that had suddenly lost its dam, searing heat flowing into his mind and wrapping around the mental image he held there.

The last thing the Potter's unseen observer saw before darkness took him was the wooden grip of the wand shooting into Harry's hand.

Then nothing. Nothing but the soothing darkness and distant crow caw.

Harry jerked up in his furs, with a gasp and then groan as he acclimatised to the strange sensation of being thrown back in his own mind. Rubbing his eyes as the lethargy of sleep caught up to him, he glanced around. The camp was quiet and still, even the goat was asleep in it's patch of cleared snow, it's thick fur nullifying the effects of the freezing air. Beyond the sleeping Clansmen the first light of dawn was beginning to appear. It would only be an hour or so before the group would be waking and getting ready to leave.

The Stark sighed and laid back in his furs, staring up at the canopy of branches as he had the night before. These...visions, had been plaguing him for a while, though perhaps plague wasn't the right word as they more often than not left him in far more awe and wonder than fear. The first time they had come to him it had been almost traumatic. Barely age six he had gone to bed for the night only to enter a nightmare realm, one of screams and flashes of sickly green light, evil cackling and desperate begging, sights and sounds beyond the innocent mind of a young child. His own screams and crying had awoken half the castle and he had opened his eyes to find his concerned parents and half a dozen frantic guards searching his chambers. The episode had been embarrassing but ultimately put down to nothing more than a bad case of night terrors by his parents.

Then he had a second dream two nights later. Then another two nights after that. Then another.

Every second night he would return to the same reality, the wondrous and terrifying world of Harry Potter, a simple boy cursed to live with relatives who despised him and worked him to the bone, beating him within an inch of his life for the most minor of infractions, punishments Harrion suffered through it was not all misery. The other boy was surrounded by such sights of innovation that would leave a Maester salivating, and luxuries and comforts that would make a noble envious. A box that could receive images from afar, more food than was contained in some taverns, carriages that could move without horses and a house that could be warmed or cooled depending on flights of fancy. At the time he his young self had marvelled at the heights his imagination in dreams could reach. It was a scant four weeks of these visions later that he had realised that these weren't simple dreams and nightmares brought on by too much cheese before bed. He was somehow viewing himself in another life. It was hard to come to any other conclusion when a glance by Harry Potter in a mirror had left Harrion in shock as, bar green eyes instead of silver and black hair instead of brown, he was looking upon a picture perfect copy of himself.

At this revelation he had thought about telling his parents or Maester Luwin, but each time he had an opportunity to bring the matter up he hesitated. They had not listened to him in his first week of dreams when he had burst into their room and babbled and cried of what his dreams had contained, comforting him as parents do but dismissing them as simple nightmares to pass. Why would they react different now? So he had stayed silent, watching and observing the other Harry, learning and experiencing all that the Potter did, the wonder and pain alike.

Those dreams had been years ago. Recently he had begun to enter territory almost too fantastical to be believed. It had only been a few months since a giant of a man by the name of Hagrid had blown down the door to reveal another incredible world to Harry and his unknown observer, one of magic. His last dream was of said world, the magical school of Hogwarts. An odd name to be sure, but the lessons it taught had the Stark almost looking forward to jumping into bed and letting darkness take him for another class or adventure around the wondrous castle. It was far more enjoyable than the treatment that his alter self endured at the hands of the fat land whales called the Dursleys.

Harry looked down at his hand as it rested on his chest, the innocuous limb no different from his other self. Even the creases and finger prints were the same. The Stark froze as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

'This Harry of the other world shares so many similarities to me. Looks, mannerisms, even a name. Is it truly a coincidence my family have shortened my name to call me Harry too? Could it be I am also able to use…?'

Stifling his rush of excitement at the thought, Harry glanced around, but the camp was as dead as when he had last looked, the other hunters deep in their sleep. Even the lookouts were out of sight, posted outside the clearing and hidden in the brush.

Half climbing out of his furs, he examined the undisturbed snow besides him before finding a small stone no bigger than a coin. Picking it up, he held the innocuous pebble in the centre of his palm and stared intently at it, casting his mind back to the lessons of the Headmaster. He had no wand and didn't know how to make one, but he now knew of a method with which to cast magic.

That is if he was capable at all...

He cleared his mind and focused as his alter self had been taught, focusing inwards to the place he had felt Potters core.

'It sits there still, a warm fire at the centre of your being, an unused muscle waiting to be used, a second heart beating it's own rhythm. Awaken it and bring it forth.'

For a minute he tried everything he had been taught. He cleared his mind, closed himself off to the outside world and fully focused inwards, trying with every fibre of his being to move the muscle that Potter had wielded to raise his wand to his hand. Yet he felt nothing, and as the seconds ticked past despondency and disappointment began to rise. Just as he was about to give up a snowflake caught his eye as it slowly drifted down from the snow laden branches above and past his silver finally came to a stop on his bare hand next to the pebble, a tiny pinprick of pure white on his skin. Strangely it didn't melt against his hand, as if…

His eyes widened.

'I'm doing this all wrong. Different life or no, I am not Harry Potter. I am Harrion Stark, and we Starks are not creatures of warmth.'

Concentrating inwards once more, he looked for that second heart, the unused muscle, this time looking for a soothing cold at the centre of his being.

And that's when he heard it.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

A second heart beat below his own of flesh and blood. With each beat a lancing cold surged down his hand, the sensation both painful and pleasurable at the same time. Each surge was one of power as his core almost purred in being consciously flexed and moved for the first time. Harry let out a shuddering breath as he luxuriated in the feeling. He had never felt anything like this before in his life. Like a man who had been blind from birth only to be finally gifted the blessing of sight.

Turning his mind back to his task, he looked down at the pebble that lay in his palm. He wished for it to rise, he wished for it unlike anything that he had wished for in his short life, flexing his core and forcing the power to flow into his palm, icy cold seeping in his his outstretched limb as his magic responded to his command.

'Rise.'

And so it did. Slowly at first, with a shake and a wobble as Harry's grip on his core almost slipped in his amazement at the incredible sight, but quicker and quicker with Harry's growing confidence and will. Soon it stood a foot above his palm, hovering in the air as Harry's power held it aloft perfectly still. The air visibly shimmered around it.

As Harry looked on, fighting hard to keep his focus on his core and spell going, he lost sight of the grove around him. Snow rose from the ground and began to disintegrate into flakes, the particles flowing across the camp to whip around him like one of the legendary hurricanes that graced Storm's End. Above the head of the Stark the tree's groaned as the limbs were drawn to Harry's power like a moth to the flame and beneath his hand the snow hardened into ice, spindly icicles reaching up to his limb like a demonic hand reaching forth to grasp his own. All this went unnoticed by the boy, so enraptured was he by the wondrous power flooding him and the sight of his magic at work. It was only when a small clump of snow landed on his head that he was distracted, quietly sputtering and shaking his head. His concentration broken, the stone dropped back into his palm. Clearing the snow from his eyes, he was just in time to witness the miniature blizzard as it slowly drifted to the ground around him and the trees of the grove snap back into place with a woody groan. Silence and calm once again returned to the clearing.

Swallowing hard as he realised what his magic had done, he noted with relief that no one had noticed the commotion, the lightest sleeper, Ethan, simply grunting and rolling over to the other side, no doubt dismissing it as a winter gale so common in the mountains.

Discarding the stone and quickly slipping back into his furs, Harry tried to calm himself as he grappled with the magnitude of what he had just done, unconsciously attempting to cling to the last vestiges of his magic as it slipped from his grasp and back into his core, leaving him with a strange sense of emptiness and longing.

'Idiot, idiot, idiot! There is so much I don't know about this power. Who knows what could have gone wrong? I might have hurt myself and even the others.'

Still, despite his self deprecation, he couldn't stifle the feeling of elation that rose in him.

He, Harrion Stark, had magic. Honest to the gods magic. The possibilities were staggering, possibilities only matched by the dangers they posed as well from his own ignorance.

There was so much he didn't know. How did his magic work? How was it different from the magic of his alter self? Why was it cold and not warm like the old Headmaster had described? Was it because he was a Stark? Where could he learn more?

Unfortunately the Stark had no answers for himself, nor did he have the faintest idea of where to look for them. He knew from the brief lesson on the subject he had been taught that Maesters were reluctant to even acknowledge that magic had once existed, and even proponents such as Maester Luwin who was one of the few to study the mysterious force had said that the power was nearly gone from the world. There might once have been places of learning or books on the matter but if any were left after the Doom of Valyria they were likely on the other side of the world or perhaps locked up the Citadel of the Maesters in Old Town.

Still, there was one source he had that no one else in the world possessed. His dreams. There seemed to be differences between his magic and that of Potters, but it seemed the core principles remained the same. He could still learn, and then experiment on his own. Carefully of course. Even across the breadth of space and time the stern eyes and words of Dumbledore resonated.

'Next time lets do this in a safe place, no more doing it next to sleeping camp mates. What was I even thinking...'

Forcing down his excitement, Harry settled down again to return to much need sleep before the sun rose and they were back on the trail again. The spell hadn't been exhausting, but he did notice a distinct drain and lethargy that he had not felt when he had awoken. He would need every minute of rest before the gruelling trek ahead.

He never did notice the keen eyes of his Hewelin watching them from the depths of his own furs.

AN: Lots of little developments in this chapter. Asher, magic and Harry isn't really Harry but is totally Harry at the same time and is getting a front row seat of Potter's story. What secrets will he learn? Might he bring over a bit of modern sensibility to Westeros? Overthrow the Bourgeois and take the Seven Kingdoms for the Proletariat? Probably not but it'll be definitely be fun to show what he parts of modern society and technology he gets inspired by.

Hope everyone enjoyed and is intrigued enough to leave a review. Praise, criticism and suggestions are welcomed in equal measure.

I'll see you in the next one.