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A Game of Thrones and related Game of Thrones characters, settings, terms, objects, and et all belong to and are the property of George R R Martin and/or his publishers. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is licensed under the Creative Commons as derivative, noncommercial fiction.

Harry Potter and related Harry Potter characters, settings, terms, objects, and et all belong to and are the property of JK Rowling and/or her publishers. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

-+-(To rule from an Iron Throne)-+-

-+-Prologue-+-

The taking of House Potter.

Sirius

Matted auburn hair clung to the girl's head like strands of damp silk, a desperate tilt to her head and neck and tautness in her stance enough to envy a drawn bowstring. She had eyes of rich, vibrant green, not yet jaded by the horrors of the night that had infected the rest of the Potters brought low by uncaring steel.

He favored her with a sad little smile as he hefted Grim into the air again. She did not return the expression, nor did he expect her to. She was going to die and no words of begging, screaming, or pleading would change that, no tears of shame or rage or panic. He had seen enough tears shed to squeeze his heart into a shriveled black lump in his chest, and she recognized that from the emptiness of his eyes and her family's blood liberally rusted across his ringmail and plates in wide splotches from several hours of butchery.

He did not enjoy the task set to him. She could see that as well, from the slowness of his movements. Never resentment, never denial of what must be done, but a quiet hesitancy to proceed straight into it. She would have none of that; "If you intend to end my life, good ser, kindly do so now, before the fighting closes any further to my rooms. I would like a measure of peace still undisturbed as my vision fades and hearing falters."

Her voice was prompt, decisive. A quick death demanded on her own terms. His smile grew just a little sadder at how well this girl of fourteen? -fifteen? -knew about the ways of the world.

But she is a Potter. Grim rose a little higher as he circled about the red-stone table between them. She turned her eyes up to the symbol of her House hanging over the doorway just before he reached her, black shawl beneath a round shield beneath a solid spear atop a stark white field.

He struck her head from her shoulders the next moment. By some chance it rolled to a stop face up, hair clear of the eyes. They flicked but once to his own and then to that symbol again, and damn him for a fool, but Ser Sirius Black could not avoid looking up to it. Only then, eyes taking in the age-old banner of House Potter tilted just too far to the side to conceal the cubbyhole, did he notice his mistake.

He stepped past her limp body and wiped Grim clean on the girl's bedsheets and sheathed the unbending steel, grabbed the folded ladder not carefully-hid-enough beneath the covers as she had heard his boot-steps approach, and stood it upright with a soft clack against the red-stone doorway in the next moment. He only had need of two steps to reach out and rip the hastily hung banner down, displaying the silent babe swaddled in another flag of the House, or so he mistook it for at first glance. The cloth was fine, pale silvery-black all throughout. He turned his attention from it to the silent child within. Only the faintest wisps of unruly black hair decorated the scalp, but those eyes that met his own were just as vibrant, just as accusing, as her own had been. His leather gauntlet creaked as he reached out to scoop the child free of the crevice and hold it aloft.

"The last Potter," he said quietly.

The cloth unfurled enough to display the babe a male. He sighed and stepped down, laying the boy upon the table where his sister had just been executed. His fingers twitched as he reached for Grim's hilt one last time. He drew the cold blade six inches free before the weight of the night's course seemed to press down upon him all a sudden, a veritable flood of Potter faces flashing before his eyes the longer he met the boy's gaze, all of them a mixture of terror, accusation, damnation. His breath rattled in his chest painfully and he forced the steel out six inches further.

Grim had never felt so foreign in his hands than in that moment as he drew it free and held it aloft above the boy's face. All he need do was let go and the sword would fall of its own accord, ending another life before it could begin. If you intend to end my life, good ser, kindly do so now, her voice came last of all from the line of faces slaughtered in the name of his would-be-King.

"All the gods be damned, I can not do this," he uttered at last. Grim fell hard and bit deep into the table as he shifted his hand but an inch to one side, angled away from the boy. It hung there vibrating silently. The tightness in his chest relented as soon as his fingers came away from the hilt, and the Potter boy's eyes broke from his gaze with a flinch. The babe began to wail, then, a shrill piercing note as strong as any bugle horn rang forth from atop the Wall. It was a futile call to arms from any remaining member of the next-to-deceased House for aide.

And aide did come though not of the kind the boy could have wanted.

Within moments two of his men rushed in, Ser Remus Lupin and Ser Petyr Pettigrew. The latter chewed at his lips nervously, ratty brown hair sparse and compact black eyes darting. "What is it, Black?" he rasped anxiously. "Has the night dulled your aim, exhaustion your grip? Need you my dagger?"

Ser Sirius grimaced and turned to face them, slapping Petyr's hands away from the concealed daggers looming in the back of his cloak as the smaller man began to draw one from either hip. "Save your poisons for another day. I need but a few minutes rest to recover after near six hours of chopping through flesh and bone. Go tell Regulus that I've finished the Potter cousins and children."

Ser Petyr blinked, looking to the babe still wailing incessantly. "B-but Black, you haven't-"

The third member of their party reached out and clamped a hand across the boy's lips, intending to smother him. "I hear the fighting goes well against Jaime Potter and his grandfather," the scar-faced man interjected. "If we hurry... what is it, Black?"

Ser Sirius reached out and lifted Grim into the air, not quite aiming it at the worn knight's startled face. "I said I would finish this myself," he uttered coldly. "Go with Petyr and inform my brother that I have executed every name upon my list. And stay for the feast if you desire, but I have needs to sate of my own when this godsforsaken night is over."

Ser Remus released the boy's face and backed away, aiming the slightest of bows in the other ser's direction. "Come on, then," he uttered to Petyr the next moment and continued back the way they had come. Ser Petyr watched him go and found Grim pointed between his own eyes when next he looked to Sirius.

Releasing a squeak of protest, he hurried out, leaving the two alone again.

This time the babe kept his voice to himself. The eyes were more worn with exhaustion than before, half-lidded and drooping further, chest slow to rise and fall. Ser Sirius cursed Remus' initiative, but a moment later realized the opportunity presented just the same.

He closed the door to keep out any further prying eyes, scooped a double handful of ash and nearly dead embers from the silent fireplace burned to its last, and set it down atop the girl's bedding. The sparks leapt and fell with only a bit of encouragement from his breath. In no time at all a crackling flame danced wickedly about the surface and spread toward whatsoever it could find.

Satisfied that the room would soon be in cinders, he checked to be sure the boy was still alive. Tiny lungs drew in breath and expelled it, even as the eyes were shut tight. He ripped a long strip from the girl's skirt and wrapped the last Potter heir in it rather than keep the odd garment, then placed the tiny boy into a deep fold sewn into his voluminous cloak near the back. It was already filled with jars of ointments to slow blood loss and sooth pain, but as he had no need of such yet, he dumped them out upon the table to make room. The boy fit just-so inside and weighed but a little more.

"This will be a hard life, child. I hope for both our sakes that I can lie as well as I think I can." The smoke filling the space began to make it hard to breath as it doubled back upon itself, and so he wrenched open the door again, paused to glance upon the girl's corpse already being consumed in the blaze, and stepped out into a new future, for House Black as well as House Potter.

End of Prologue.

A/N: This is meant to be a Fusion rather than a straight Crossover. As such please do not expect to see Eddard Stark or any of the other much beloved GoT characters make an appearance, merely their land of Westeros and similar settings/situations as viewed through HP characters. I know that may appear to be an abomination in the eyes of loyal fans, and having progressed as far as A Storm of Swords since I first wrote this a couple of months ago, I understand that the appeal I first felt toward such a concept could be more trouble than it is worth. Even still, I intend to keep at this until I'm through, however long that may take. I hope you can enjoy the story. Thank you.