Chapter 2

Despite the clear differences in his circumstances, his training kicked in. His grandfather had once told him that missing something, regardless of the situation, could be disastrous. So he observed his surroundings.

Low lighting, smoke clouds, a quiet buzz of conversation, all indicate that I am in a tavern. Probably the Leaky Cauldron mentioned in the letter. "Portkey" must refer to a method of magical travel; strange that I have never encountered such a thing in any of the old tales.

Then he turned his attention to the people smiling down at him. The first was a woman, past her five-and-fiftieth Nameday by Harold's reckoning, dressed in a green robe that covered her whole body below her neck. Perched on her head sat a broad brimmed but obviously female hat, black in color with a pointed top. Her grey-framed face showed that, if she wasn't smiling at him, she could put any Septa to shame. Based on her age and bearing, this might be Deputy Headmistress M. McGonagall; she certainly looks severe enough to be connected to education. Smile appears more relieved than anything; possibly related to the unusual circumstances mentioned in her letter.

The other person looking at him was much bigger. Even the Mountain would be dwarfed by this man. His hair was black, much like Harold's, but much bushier than his own had ever been. He stood at over eleven feet tall, so he could look down his nose at either of the Clegane brothers with ease. His girth was equally impressive; the surprising part was that it suited him, as if meant to be part of him. I guess this means those old tales of giants are more than just tales. He looks like he could break down one of the gates of Casterly Rock alone, given proper cover against archers on the walls.

"Good to finally see you, Mister Potter. I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. This is Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. We worried we might not be able to reach you, the portkey charm took so much to make."

That's strange; I can detect no falsehood in her. She truly is relieved.

Harold stood up, carefully concealing his drawn daggers in the cloak he wore to his Nameday celebration, to greet her. There was no sense in not being polite, after all. It might even allow him to escape without drawing blood.

"I am Harold, of the House Baratheon, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. I have never even heard of Hogwarts, let alone sought out apprenticeship through it. Since you did not get my name right, either in the letter or now, I conclude that you are looking for someone else. Please return me to my grandfather's castle."

Both of the welcoming committee stopped cold at that. The possible giant had such a shocked expression on his face that Harold would have laughed in any other circumstances. Deputy Headmistress McGonagall looked a bit distressed, as if uncomfortable.

"The letter was tied to your magical signature, as all are; it could not have reached you unless you are in fact Mr. Harry Potter. I do not know where your grandfather's castle is, so I can't send you back. Where are these 'Seven Kingdoms' you mentioned?"

Harold narrowed his eyes a bit. Even the least well-traveled Essossi had heard of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Your letter referred to a Leaky Cauldron, which I assume to be this establishment, but where in the world are we? Are we in Westeros or Essos? Or are we in Sothoryos, perhaps?"

The Deputy Headmistress looked her confusion. "I am afraid there are no such continents. You are in the nation of Great Britain, commonly considered part of Europe. Are you telling me that you don't know anything of Earth's geography?"

The Prince of the Seven Kingdoms considered her words and the circumstances of this event. Only his long years of practice concealing his emotions behind a mask of calm rationality allowed him to remain standing, the thoughts in his head disturbed him so.

"We are clearly from different worlds, as I do not recognize any of the names you have just mentioned any more than you seemed to recognize those I have. Since you mentioned the name Harry Potter in connection to me, am I to understand that I existed once in this world?"

The woman nodded.

"You were born Harry James Potter, on July 31st, 1980, to James Charles Potter and his wife Lily Marie Potter, née Evans. Your parents died on October 31st, 1981, when a dark wizard entered their home and destroyed it. It was believed that you had been claimed in the explosion, as everyone else in the house at the time. Your survival was not known until Headmaster Dumbledore glanced at the Class of 1997 Roster of Students and saw that your name was still green as all the others. If you had actually perished, the color of your ink would have turned black."

Harold narrowed his eyes at her again. If I was born here, eleven years ago, to my reckoning, then how did I come to be born in the Red Keep fourteen years ago?

He did not voice the question, knowing better than to give away something like that. He'd already said more than he strictly should in his disorientation at being in a different world.

He did, however, ask a question. "I presume that you have proof of this claim? I should very much like to see it."

She smiled, seeming to think that the battle was won. "Of course. I was quite good friends with your parents after they graduated from Hogwarts, and kept a number of the photographs of that happier time."

Harold accepted the book she handed him and opened it to the first page. There were pictures of several people in it, which he assumed to be what she referred to as photographs. They moved. Pictures don't move! Wait, this is probably some sort of magic; though what its purpose might be I cannot even guess at.

The first of them showed a black-haired young man dancing with a redheaded young woman, both clearly laughing with joy, as they exchanged loving looks. The man looked quite a bit like Harold, most strikingly in the hair, which was the same shade as his own and just as untamable. He saw in the woman his emerald green eyes, alight with intelligence. That had always puzzled people, as none of Houses Baratheon or Lannister had his green eyes, able to scare even a Kingsguard when they burned with magic.

If these 'photographs' are at all accurate, then perhaps I did originate in this world, Harry thought. I still don't understand how I could be born here, then be born of Cersei Lannister, and then return here, but I can work on that.

He turned the page, looking at the other pictures. There seemed to be more of his father than of his mother, and he was frequently accompanied by three other men. The one to his immediate left in most of the pictures had black hair, like James, but sleeker and more refined in style, like Harry's when he grew it long. The one to his supposed father's right seemed somewhat haggard, his dirty blond hair and robes ragged. The third was very akin to a rat, in that he was small and timid in action. Harry supposed that these three had been his father's closest friends.

"The man to your father's right is Remus Lupin, a gifted student and Prefect for their year and House, which was Gryffindor. The one on the far left was Peter Pettigrew, murdered ten years ago by the last, Sirius Black, who also betrayed your parents and you to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

How odd. Given what I've seen here, so far, these people don't seem capable of betraying close friends, as these four obviously are. I'd better look into this.

His mother appeared with three people herself, one boy and two girls. McGonagall introduced them as Severus Snape, now Potions Master at Hogwarts, Alice Longbottom née McKinnon, tortured to insanity, and Andromeda Tonks née Black, married to a muggleborn barrister.

After reviewing the photographs some more, and noting things to look into, Harold declared "You have provided proof of your claim, Deputy Headmistress. The people you have named as my parents resemble me more closely than those I have thus far called by that title. Despite being born with the name Potter, I would still prefer to be known as Harold Baratheon. It is what I have become accustomed to using. Unless the Potter family has established titles here?"

The woman paused, possibly wondering if she could conceal this from him. She decided to trust him with it.

"Very well, Mr. Pot-I mean Baratheon. Your father came from a fairly long line of wizards, which has held the title Viscount of Shropshire for the last seven centuries. You cannot, however take up that title until you come of age. I understand that you may not be at risk of it going to your head, but that is the law."

That part Harold understood. It would not do to ennoble someone who hadn't proven worthy of the honor. He wished he could use the title Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, but this would be a good substitute. I just have to find a way to speed up the process. Hmm…I wonder…

Having established that he was who she thought he was, McGonagall then turned to the subject of Hogwarts.

"Now that that is settled, Mr. Baratheon, we must discuss your schooling. You are a wizard."

Harold nodded.

"I have known that for some time. I presume that Hogwarts was established to train wizards and witches, which I assume are female? And while we are on the subject, how did you get my name? And how am I to pay for this education, assuming that I accept it?"

The teacher confirmed his theory.

"Yes, witches are what we call women who can do magic. Your name was submitted to us by your parents shortly after your birth, along with full tuition payment. They left a trust vault behind to cover your school supplies, lodgings, meals, and incidental expenses at Gringotts Bank. I have your vault key with me."

She pulled out a small gold key from an interior pocket of her robes and handed it to him. It felt rather light in his hand.

"Gringotts will be our first stop, and then we will acquire your robes, trunk, and other supplies." Then she turned toward the door on one side of the tavern, as if to lead him to this bank.

Annoyed that she had avoided what he considered the most important question, Harold drew himself up to his less-than-usually impressive height and asked, very formally.

"Deputy Headmistress, since you do not seem inclined to address the central issue on your own, I must demand an answer. What exactly makes you think that I have agreed to study at Hogwarts?"

The aging educator stopped in her tracks, and turned to stare at him dumbfounded. I suppose refusing to study at Hogwarts is unheard of. I shall have to look into why that might be, as I can think of several rational explanations for such behavior, or lack thereof.

She then answered him with great pride, as if he had somehow unknowingly insulted her.

"Hogwarts is the premier school of magic in Europe, and well-known throughout the world as a high-class establishment, producing graduates of superior quality than other schools. How else would you learn to control your abilities? Our curriculum will prepare you best to live in the wizarding world."

Harold thought about that, and dismissed most of it as the sort of exaggeration he'd heard from the many merchants in Lannisport and Casterly Rock. He couldn't blame her for it, because she was Deputy Headmistress and thus somewhat obligated to promote attendance at Hogwarts, but it still meant very little to him.

"I'm sure you think it is just so, but I require more solid proof. Do you have list of graduates and how successful they have been in their lives?"

"I'm afraid that information has been restricted to protect the privacy of our citizens. The first such law was passed in Anno Domini 1436, and the latest in 1878, also Anno Domini. For your reference, today's date is the fifteenth of June, Anno Domini 1991."

Her answer was less than satisfactory, but Harold knew that getting around laws without an existing accessible power base was quite difficult. The only thing of that description he knew he possessed in this world was his hereditary title, which he could make no real use of for several years. He was woefully ignorant of his resources in this world. I'll just have to correct that. Whatever would Grandfather say if he found out about this, assuming he didn't go mad first?

After resolving to read up on as much of his House's history and wealth as he could, he returned his attention to the Deputy Headmistress. He knew that he was currently unable to make his way home, and that he would need her help in discovering one.

"Very well. Lead on, then. A visit to this Gringot's would be the best place to start."

He lightly fingered his gold key with one hand as the woman preceded him out what looked like the back door of the Leaky Cauldron. What in the name of the Seven are they doing using gold for a key? Surely steel would be less costly? This points to one of two things: either there is some magical reason to prefer the more expensive material, or the constant use of magic has supplanted their reason. I really hope it's the second one; it's so much easier manipulating simpletons…

On the other side of the door there was a walled brick courtyard. Professor McGonagall strode up to one wall, pulled out a stick approximately the length of his underage forearm, and tapped a specific brick with it. She made of show of counting three up and two to the left to it using a metal cylinder of some kind as a reference, presumably so that he could find it on his own next time.

Then his astonishment finally overpowered his self-control. The brick wall shrinking back to open an archway was not too difficult to comprehend, even if he wondered how the now-folded away bricks would fit in that small a space. No, he was gaping at what lay on the other side.

It looked like any random market street in King's Landing, somewhat restricted space, shops with displays of merchandise in view of the public, and the general style of the buildings. But the magic was just so showy and flashy that he didn't even register the familiarity of the other bits for nearly a minute. Brightly-colored bursts of light and flame and smoke broke out everywhere he looked, owls and cats and other beasts swooped overhead or scurried along the ground, and everyone in view wore such vivid colors it almost made his own formal wear seem almost dull by comparison.

His guide cleared her throat, and Harry gave way to Harold almost immediately, his mouth snapping shut with a click as he reined himself back in. The severe woman seemed amused by his reaction, and perhaps just a bit relieved. Perhaps she was disconcerted by my formality earlier, and is glad that I still have some child-like reactions. Hmm…

The two then set off down the now-revealed Diagon Alley. She pointed out some of the stores to him, informing him how useful he'd find them in the coming years.

Eventually, they came to the tallest building Harold had yet seen in this new world. It was made of white stone which gleamed in the sunlight, and looked much more impressive than all the wood and dull stone establishments they'd passed. He climbed the shining steps behind his guide all the way to a set of gold doors, which would not have looked out of place at Casterly Rock, had any of its Lords not decided against the expenditure.

Standing in front of the door on either side were two of the strangest creatures Harold had seen. Under the very familiar steel-looking armor suits, they had the stature of children no more than nine or ten Namedays, with wickedly-sharp teeth and pointed ears.

"They are called Goblins, Mr. Baratheon," Professor McGonagall explained, having noted his interest. "They operate and guard the Bank, which is their sovereign territory. Be very careful when dealing with them, as they will not hesitate to take advantage of you in any way they can. As all of your accounts can only be accessed under the name of Harry Potter, I recommend you do not mention any other name in the bank."

Harold had already grasped one of her pieces of advice from the visibly high quality of the guards' weapons and cruel expressions, but appreciated the confirmation anyway. Then the doors opened, and the elderly witch and young wizard stepped over the threshold.