Disclaimer: I don't own anything from both the Harry Potter Universe or from Game of Thrones. They all belong to J.K Rowling and George R.R. Martin respectively.

Author's Note: Hello there! This is another story that I'm making, which I plan to make as a multi-chaptered drabble like stories in Harry/Tom's POV. This story is going to focus more in how Tom or Harry came to be in the GoT world, and the things that have happened right before the events that will happen in the "Game of Magic", which is my other story that I'm writing.

PROLOGUE

Long ago, before the very first men and the children of the forest appeared in the realms long forgotten, there existed two races who have been at war since the beginning of time. One race live in now we call the Land of Always Winter while the other in the Lands of the Long Summer.

Both immortal races were given by their respective Gods the power of death and life, of cold and warmth, and over creatures with the breath of ice and fire…

When the cold ones were for death, the hot bloods were for life. It was not a surprise when the winters could only bear one child in every century while the summers spread and made a plenty.

Soon, the summer lines had grown until they had occupied most of the known world of that time.

It was inevitable that the cold immortals were driven further and further back into their frozen Kingdom in the Lands of Always Winter. And when their numbers had decreased, they had began taking babes from the summers to offer to their God, where the Great Other transformed them into one of their own; amassing them for the last war against their enemy.

However, in the end, the Winters lost the battle, where they had struck a magical bargain with their enemy.

So, for the next hundred centuries the cold ones had been exiled in their Winter Wasteland.

It was during these years that the First Men and the Children of the Forest appeared. And through the union of the First Men and the Summers, the purity of the immortal lines diminished. From them, they bore children with magic in their blood and lived longer than those of their mortal counterparts.

However, through the endless wars and bloodshed that had occurred among those who desires for infinite power, only a few immortals remained while the First Men grew in numbers.

One more, a hundred centuries had passed. The cold ones appeared as promised from the bargain that they had struck. They brought their champion to challenge the Summers rule. But once again, they were sent back to their lands, when their hero fell at the hands of their enemy's best warrior.

And another hundred century later, the remaining summer immortals were completely gone, though their lines continued to prosper and live on.

During this time, men had almost forgotten the existence of the Others that they were almost taken by surprise when they came.

Through the winter woman from the ice, she seduced one summer man, where she secretly gave birth to a son. It did not take long before they were transforming many other babes in preparation for the coming war.

And so, they came once more. They brought the longest night and an endless winter in all the realms of men, together with their undead armies.

It was in this moment that a hero appeared from the lines of both the First men and of the summer…

Azor Ahai he was called – the last hero. And along with the loyal men from the Night's Watch, the cold ones were driven back from whence they came, where they were barred from entering the realms of men by a massive Wall made of ice and magic.

Yet the mortals made a mistake of leaving some of their own on the other side of the wall, where the cold ones still lingered and waited, and took unfortunate children, and killed men and women for their growing army.

As time passed by, the existence of the Others became obscure that most people thought of them as nothing but mere childish fairy tales. It was because of this that the White Walkers appeared early, and made their presence known in the lands beyond the Wall, waiting and preparing for the next opportunity to end the summer lines…

For Winter is coming...

...

In the early years in the Ages of Heroes, the winter woman – now their Queen – had foreseen the birth of the One True King. The one who was prophesied to be either the Destroyer of the Summer Lines, or the Winter combine.

For this reason alone, many babes were taken from their mothers, or were given to them by the mortals who lived beyond the Wall, where they were then transformed in the hope that the cold ones would finally have their King and Champion, who would end their exile forever.

"Shekreachks kirskrocha,

Hukrathchs rakrschas,

Torakshck srekrocrak reko,

Skokrahh ashshcrakjuruch,

Dekrakoch skermoshhath,

Sroklathack hashrekrackshu."

-Srktackherch

Translation:

"Born in mortal form is he,

A princeling he shall be,

By death, he shall rise,

For the summer's demise,

And through blood and bones,

He shall be King to end the thrones."

-Winter Queen

Chapter 2: The Birth of the One True King

The instant Voldemort fell, the boy-who-lived fell as well.

Harry James Potter ended up in a coma, and the entire Wizarding World had grieved at the news.

They did whatever they could to revive their saviour. Yet the mediwitches and wizards at St. Mungos, who had examined the boy, could not fathom the underlying cause behind his comatose state.

They had searched high and low for the cure, had called other mediwtiches, curse breakers and muggle doctors from around the world to treat him; until finally, they had exhausted most of their magical and non-magical resources on him.

The Saviour of the Wizarding World would not wake.

Harry James Potter remained unresponsive, even after the countless treatments and experimental cure done to him, where most had little to no effect on him at all that had left everyone quite baffled.

Until one day, after more than a year had passed, one brilliant witch had gotten an unexpected visit from her friend inside her dream.

Like the rest of the Wizarding World, Hermione Jean Granger was devastated to hear that her friend, Harry Potter, had ended up in a coma – her brave friend who had sacrificed and had done everything he could to destroy the Dark Lord - but only to end up living a half-life.

Working alongside the mediwitches, the muggle doctors, cursebreakers and other practitioners of the healing arts, Hermione had aided them in their search to revive her friend. As well as done her own extensive research on the subject, yet she could not solve the mysterious ailment that held her friend captive.

Until one day…

One summer night, Hermione had an odd dream.

"Hermione!"

Someone was calling for her. She wondered who it was.

"Hermione!"

The voice sounded so…very familiar.

"Hermione," came the voice again, but it was growing louder and closer.

Until finally…

"Hermione, it's me."

It was Harry. She should have known it was him.

"Harry?" she asked uncertainly as she tried to peer through the darkness that surrounded her – a pitch-black darkness that no light could pierce.

"Yes, it's really me! Merlin! I'm glad I could talk to you now!" the voice informed her in apparent joy.

"Harry? Is that really you?" Hermione asked again, warily this time, looking around for her friend.

Where ever she was currently, this doesn't look to be an ideal place to be meeting with someone she knew.

"Yes, it's me, Hermione! Believe me!"

"If it's really you, then could you answer a few questions of mine that only Harry would know?"

There was a long suffering sigh after she had said it.

"You are so predictable, Hermione. You won't easily trust something or someone without interrogating or investigating first," the unknown person said.

"Of course," was her matter-of-fact answer, "That only proves that I'm not stupid or easily manipulated by anything or anyone. Now, whoever… or whatever you are, I want you to answer my questions first."

Later, after Harry had answered more than a dozen questions that Hermione had fired at him. He finally told her what had happened to him and what he wanted her to do.

"Please Hermione! Do this for me! Take the Hallows and bind Death to you, for he is the only one who can save me from this half-life! I can't bind him to me when I'm in this state!"

"But, Harry! If I do this, you will die!"

"I'm already half-dead, Hermione! Tom Riddle is a parasite! And he is eating away what is left of my soul! My body is in a coma and the rest of me lingers in the realms of the living!"

"I can't do this, Harry…It's like me killing you!"

"If I continue to live, then Voldemort will find a way to get back to the living! It's better if I die and moved on, but I can't enter the afterlife as well if I still have Voldemort's soul latching unto me! His soul has nearly merged with mine! We must act fast before he awakens and take what is left of me!"

"What can I do for you Mistress?"

"You said that I can make a wish for every hallows that I have in my possession?"

"Yes, but once you have made a wish. You must return one to me."

"Then, I shall give you the cloak in exchange for granting my first wish."

"For your friend to escape his fate. He must die and be reborn into another. He can't move on into the afterlife so long as that abomination is inside him."

"Reborn where?"

"Somewhere where magic thrives, and only there he can fight for his soul, and destroy the other that resides inside him."

"And what if the other fights back?"

"Then, whoever wins will be the one who can enter my realm once he dies in that world, while the one who loses will be lost forever."

"Promise me, Hermione… Promise me."

"I will Harry. I promise."

"When the time is right, you may follow him."

"I will someday... That will be my second wish in exchange for the resurrection stone."

"Seventy years in this world is seven years in the other. You have plenty of time to prepare before you seek him out."

"Then, I shall arm myself with knowledge and everything that I can carry along with me."

In another world, in a place of ice and snow, the wail of a newborn infant pierced the deathly stillness in the forest, where a tall white figure stood waiting.

The babe's healthy cry continued on for quite some time, which was soon punctuated by the sound of a loud bang of a door as it closes shut after an old man hurried out.

The man was carrying the squalling infant wrapped in a thick blanket in his arms. His steps urgent as he walked and entered the dark woods, fear gripping his throat when shadows and trees surrounded him, playing tricks with his mind.

The light from the house gradually dimmed whilst he walked far from the source of light, but not farther than he dared.

He came to an abrupt halt in a familiar spot. A tree where gnarled roots peeked out from the snow-covered ground.

He placed the crying babe on the ground and promptly scurried away. The newborn already forgotten as he hurried in fright, not planning to encounter the thing that would take his child.

The sound of the wailing continued on.

The man disappeared inside his house without ever looking back towards the infant he had left out in the deadly cold outdoors.

Bang! was the sound as the man closed the door behind him, where he instantly removed his cloak and went straight to the huge fire blazing in the hearth of his home.

While up on the second floor of the decrepit house, there were more than a dozen women and young girls who gathered around a pale, sweating woman on the bed of hay; blood and birth fluids pooling around the woman's thighs and legs.

"What does he look like, Bregna? My son?" the woman managed to gasp out, despite the fact that she had trouble breathing.

The other women exchanged uneasy glances. They did not want to tell their sister that her son had such unusual eyes.

So, they lied.

"Your son was beautiful, Bregna… with ten toes and ten fingers... He was perfect," They informed, holding unto their sister's hands.

"That's good…," the dying woman said weakly, "I have wanted to hold him before - before he is taken away…my son.."

She trailed off as the light slowly faded from the woman's eyes. Immediately, the women and the young girls began weeping silently at the death of their sister.

It was the first time that one of their own had died from childbirth.

Outside, where the cold wind blew and where the sound of the newborn continued to cry, a white figure detached itself from the shadowed trees he hid behind, slowly trudging towards the source of the noise.

No footprints could be seen as he walked gracefully over the icy ground. He moved silently until he came upon the wriggling bundle that was emitting that loud noise.

Carefully, the tall white figure stooped low and picked up the babe that lay beside the tree and deposited the squalling infant into his arms, instantly controlling its temperature to make the babe more comfortable.

Almost at once, the babe quieted down.

At the sudden dropped of noise, the white figure curiously peered at the babe in his arms.

There was a notable stiffening of the White Walker's posture – almost humanlike in its apparent show of surprise - as it gazed upon the small bundle currently in its arm.

The babe was staring fixedly right back. His unusual pair of eyes - one green eye on his left and blue on his right – was looking up at the white figure that held him.

"Kruskrathch… Skraksch kraekroskrik shuukresh skroaik," the White Walker said in a language that sounded like the cracking of ice, but there was no denying the hint of excitement in its incomprehensible words that had come out hurried.

"Kruskrathch…" it said one final time before the White Walker started walking fast, carefully cloaking its presence and controlling the surrounding temperature to protect the babe from the frigid cold.

Hope have finally arrived to those who have waited long…too long….

But no more…

"Skraksch kraekroskrik shuukresh skroaik,

Horakyeskroa Kruskrathch…

Gurasthsh dagurahashk."

-Srktackherch

Translation:

"With earthen green and eye of azure skies,

The One True King shall rise…

The destroyer of the summer lines."

-Winter Queen

Chapter 3: The Heart of Winter

The undead horse did not make a sound as it plodded over the snow covered ground. The White Walker made sure the gust of the cold wind was redirected away from the babe, who was currently sleeping soundly in its arm; undisturbed even through the noise of the howling wind as they ventured deeply into the heart of Winter.

Manoeuvring the horse forward, the White Walker deftly pulled the reins with its left hand. It lead the corpse animal to a trot through the only clear path over the sea of bodies lying motionless on the ground.

The bodies near the horse stirred, glowing blue eyes peeling open to peruse the newcomer. But when the wights discovered that it was no enemy that had entered their domain, their eyes instantly closed and went back to their hibernating state.

The corpses were the first line of defence to guard the entrance to the Lands of Always Winter. They were the silent sentinels made of bones and rotting flesh; the guardsmen that would eliminate any potential threats who dare to enter their Kingdom.

The corpses hadn't moved since it had determine that the White Walker was an ally.

Pressing onwards, the figure in camouflaging armour went through the only path that would lead to their destination. The path was wide, enough to fit a hundred riders side-by-side, while the rest of the icy landscape was littered with thousands upon thousands of corpses in all manner of decomposition.

The freezing temperature had made its work to remove the scent of death and rot, covering most of the dead with a patch of hoarfrost and snow. Some were the bodies of children in different ages, of women wearing a variety of clothes from the finest finery to the thick furs and wools of those living in the North, while the men wore a diversity of clothes or armour, which ranged from animals pelts, simple boiled leather over a ringmail, or an impressive suit of armour belonging to the heavy infantry.

The sleeping wights were strewn haphazardly on the frozen wasteland, with arms and legs awkwardly splayed at odd angles - too broken and horrifying to look at.

Despite the heavy snowfall, parts of the carcasses were not covered entirely by the icy precipitation, revealing the bones that were already picked clean; organs and entrails that lay limply on the ground beside them - blackened and stiff from the cold - along with a few torn limbs and heads of those who were decapitated. They stained the ground with purplish or blackish hues from their congealed blood.

Whereas the others still had weapons stuck to them, like an axe on a woman's head, nearly cleaved in half, displaying a sickening amount of brain matter and a flap of scalp with hair still clinging to it. Another had an iron-tipped spear protruding from his back while half of his torso was torn to shreds at the sides, probably inflicted by a melee weapon through a side strike; and judging from the similar long and deep lacerations, it must had been a mace.

The dead man lay face down on the ground, just a meter beside another corpse of a child, perhaps around seven years old, who had an arrowhead jutting out from his empty socket where his left eye should have been. Most of his chest was caved inwards as if someone had crushed it with a terrifying blow, breaking the ribcage and smashing the organs beneath it.

Apart from the human remains, the White Walkers have also included a variety of animals to add in their field of dead bodies, from direwolves - the size of horses; of mammoths and shadowcats, and other creatures that had lived and died in that forgotten part of the world.

However, regardless of the disgusting sight that were left in open display, the White Walker did not deigned the corpses a single glance. Its glowing blue eyes were riveted towards the towering fortress in the distance made of glacial ice.

There, over the all-white frozen backdrop, a multitude of crystal spires and turrets rose up, jagged and radiating a faint blue colour, like a beacon distinguishable from a far.

It was the looming, formidable stronghold of the Others.

The True Seat of Winter.

With the babe secured closely on its right arm, the White Walker squeezed its knees on the horse beneath him, silently ordering the animal to halt.

The undead horse did as commanded.

Afterwards, the White Walker clambered silently off, barely even noticing when its feet stepped on the stiff black entrails that came out from the open belly of the decomposing animal.

Slowly, the white figure walked towards the icy altar ringed by tall, icy spikes, which were uniformly impaled on the ground in a slanting position.

It paused near the altar, carefully placing the babe over the flat surface of the opaque ice, where runes had been intricately etched in the slab. The babe was already awake the moment the White Walker stepped out from ceremonial circle; his mismatched eyes curiously surveying his new environment.

Oddly, the newborn did not cry, though he wriggled inside the woolen blanket that cocooned him when the icy altar began to emit a brilliant blue light. It was shortly followed by a low humming noise and a strong vibration which caused the altar and the ring of ice to tremble.

At the same time, the glacial fortress surrounded by a stockade of deadly icy spikes below the foothill where the ceremony took place, began to flare with the same blue light from the runes that were carved on the walls; runes which had served as a magical protection from prying eyes.

Not a short distance away from the ceremonial circle, the fourteen figures who stood there, broke into excited whispers – or equivalent to it – which was hard to determine at the way it sounded like the cracking of ice.

Nonetheless, out of the incomprehensible words they spoke, a sound stood out most. One word that was spoken repeatedly in an almost reverent manner.

"Kruskrathch…"

Slowly, very slowly, the glow, the noise and the vibration that came out from the Stone of Destiny, diminished.

Its purpose completed.

The prophesied child had finally appeared.

…

Much later…

The tall figure with the crown of ice took the babe from the icy altar and stared at the child's new pair of glowing-blue eyes.

The figure's mouth pulled into a wide smile as he raised the babe up and said to those who had gathered around the runic circle during the ceremony: "Kruskrathch…"

"Kruskrathch…" the other thirteen said in unison before they slowly knelt down.

One by one.

However, the figure with the crown of ice remained standing while he held the silent infant in the air.

"Kruskrathch…" The figure said one final time, just as the babe's left eye began to glow green, as green as emeralds as his pair of eyes stared up at the Night's King.

The Night's King carried the babe in his arms, his Thirteen flanking him from all sides as they were greeted by the members of the court who were waiting in line inside the Throne Room.

Silent and watchful, with eyes glowing blue in their pale-white faces and wearing thin, shimmering fabric in a various shades of blue or white, they watch the entire procession as the Night's King presented the new member of the court – the child who will end their exile forever.

As the Night's King and his Thirteen passed by, the pale figures that stood beside the walls with no more than two hundred strong, dipped their head low and pressed their right hand to their chest in their customary show of respect to their lord.

The White Walkers, or Others as they were sometimes called by mortal men, remained still and quiet as statues.

A pair of unusual eyes peered up at them. Now wrapped by soft, unnatural white fabric, the babe observed the entire proceeding with curious eyes as the figure who carried him marched forward.

One green eye and one blue, surveyed the high-ceiling covered by beautifully-formed icy stalactites, then towards the ice globe lanterns buried on the walls that emitted a faint light, and lastly to the frozen walls carved with odd symbols and ice sculptures of dragons and other unknown creatures.

The Night's King walked onwards, to the end of the line where a feminine figure stood waiting over the steps that led to a throne, with skin and hair so white that it rivals the snow, and eyes the colour of topaz shining brilliantly like a pair of twinkling stars beneath a fringe of white, long lashes.

Beautiful and Otherwordly.

The Winter Queen.

"Hakrushtrackh Macruthsha," came the soft tone of crashing ice as the Night's King halted in front of her, immediately handing the child into her care.

The Queen took the child, giving her husband a calculating look for a brief moment, before directing her glowing topaz eyes at the little bundle tucked in her arms.

For quite some time, the Queen assessed the little boy while the court looked on. Silent as death itself.

"Skraksch kraekroskrik shuukresh skroaik," the Queen recited, looking into the child's mismatched eyes. "Horakyeskroa Kruskrathch."

The little boy suddenly smiled, bubbling softly before raising a small hand to catch a lock of silken, white hair that fell like a white, shinning waterfall from the Queen's head, which was secured by a gleaming crystal crown adorned by blue ice stones.

The Queen smiled softly as she allowed the infant to tag her pale white tresses. Raising her head and turning her attention towards the members of her court, and in a language of ice, she said:

"Shakrshan kroathchishlk! Krusktrathch hakroask sratushak hakruvarkch skravescratk!"

"The Great One has chosen! This child is the one we have been waiting for!"

And in that moment, the Great Hall burst into a cacophony of noises, the sound of gnashing and crashing of ice.

"All Hail the One True King!"

"All Hail the One True King!"

"All Hail the One True King!"

"He is no King yet," the Queen stated to her husband while they both peered down at the sleeping child in what they use as a crib for their kind; a big basin made of ice, hollowed at the centre with a thin white shimmering blanket, but no pillows to cushion the child.

White Walkers were made of sterner stuff. They had no need for comforts like mortal men do. Such things were a foreign concept to them.

Since the day they were born - or transformed, they were trained and honed to become warriors; a living weapon they could use to destroy their enemy.

They were Immortals. Not easily bent or broken. They were supernatural beings of ice and snow, cold and hard as the thickest glacier itself.

At the age of one, they were taught the language and their ways, and through the use of the magical properties that came from the sap of the Great One's Tree, the process of the child's development could be accelerated.

Hence, by the time they reached four years of age, children were immediately trained how to wield weapons and were forced to live in the barracks below grounds; deep beneath the castle, where they must endure the harsh training given to them, and effectively remove all sense of fear that would potentially weaken them.

For children who were transformed, still had some humanity left in them, and so it must be done to drive away that weakness before they are brought back to the surface and send them on specific missions.

However, the child in front of the Queen and the Night's King was different. They knew the child was chosen by the Great One for a reason, but they never knew how the child could be so different from the other children they had taken.

This child still had a heartbeat and a soft tuft of black hair on his head, not white like the rest of the children who had been transformed in the past.

The chosen one's transformation was incomplete. Perhaps it will never be complete.

"He is only but a princeling," the Queen murmured, "The Great One has yet to test his mettle before the child becomes the One True King."

There was a moment of silence as the two continued to look at the slumbering infant.

"Have you seen something that you need tell me, shreskhriath?" The Night's King asked suddenly, breaking the silence. "This morning. I've noticed you staring at the looking glass and you looked quite distraught. What have you seen that made you look so afraid?"

For a second, the Queen seemed to hesitate, but reluctantly answered him in the end.

"I've foreseen many things, shreshmakrom, but never have I seen anything that causes me to worry as much as what I saw this morning…"

"What is it? What did you see?" The Night's King asked tentatively in concern.

"Our race exterminated through the hands of one girl," The Queen said, placing her hands at the rim of the ice basin and gripping it tightly until a crack appeared. Fortunately, the child did not wake from the sharp sound that it emitted.

The Queen seemed not to notice for her glowing topaz eyes had a glazed over, replaying images of the future that only she could see.

The Night's King merely observed her in silence.

"A mortal girl with glowing eyes, carrying a sword of light that can destroy a thousand army of wights," the Queen said, looking down at the infant once more. "A girl who will be the princeling's downfall."

"The future is not always set in ice, shreskhriath. Surely, this can be avoided. You have no reason to worry."

"But I do, shreshmakrom. I do. The Great One has plans for this child….but only through death he shall rise up as the One True King."

"If he must die to become the prophesied King, then why are you worried?"

"Because of that mortal girl…"

"Who is this mortal you speak of?"

"Someone who will come looking for the princeling…. A friend and an enemy. She is the one who will kill and fullfill the prophesy...A mortal girl who will become his lover, his weakness and who will bear him a son; an unborn child with fire and ice in his blood, transformed into a weapon to destroy us all…"

"Is this the only one you have seen, shreskhriath?"

"No, it is not all. I have seen a war, a war that I have never knew the likes before. Wherever our King and that girl steps, the world trembles and breaks. Their footsteps can be felt through every corners of the realm, rousing powerful enemies and allies alike. And when they meet in the battlefield of their own choosing, the dragons and other creatures made of ice and fire, and of sleeping enemies shall come to play, crushing everything and everyone who are in their way. It is the Last War that we must win, lest our entire race shall perished before even the world ends."

"Is this normal for a child to start learning his letters at his age? He's just barely two months old and he can already stand by himself, and picking up things that is too advanced for his age. Even with the help of the magical elixir from the Great One's Tree, this development is beyond astonishing," murmured one of the Night's King Thirteen as the group watched the child walked through the vast gallery, viewing the histories of their kind etched on the walls, where scenes of ancient battles played out and stories of fallen heroes, drawn only by the best of their artisans.

With their kind, they had no need of books, when they could create something more lasting and beautiful to remember and appreciate the history of their race, the never-ending wars that they had wage against the Summer Court, carved and painted in unearthly colours through high icy walls that would never melt.

It was their library as was their heritage chamber.

"He is a child prodigy as expected of our prince. Why are you even surprised when he has been chosen by the Great One himself, Krashkran?" The Night's King asked, turning his attention to the General.

"I meant no offence, Krashmakrom. I merely find it unusual. It also made me wonder…if the prince starts learning his letters at this age, do you plan to send him early down the pits along with the other boys, Krashmakrom?" the General asked respectfully, to which the Night's King gave him a pointed stare.

"It is for the Queen to decide what to do with the prince's training. I will speak to her of this matter later," was the Night's King curt response.

"But it is still too early for him to go down there, shreskhriath. He is the prince –"

"Indeed, he is, and so he must be train in the arts of war as early as possible. No matter what his current age might be, so long as he's ready and had finished learning the basics of life and of our ways, then I will send him there."

"Still -"

"You forget yourself, shreshmakrom. The prince is no ordinary child…He is not one of those breakable mortals from whence you came. Do not treat him as such. He is no weakling as proven by his prodigious skills in learning anything he came across. He is not our son. He is the prophesied King who will end our exile forever. His training must start at the earliest possible time. Do not question me on this, shreshmakrom. I am your Queen, and you are only the King consort and my High Priest. I can take away your army of wights as easily as I have given them to you. Do not forget your place... Brandon."

The Night's King flinched at the name. He knew the Queen was angry at him, for she would never use that name given to him at birth, unless to inflict injury upon his mind.

That name no longer exist. The mortals have purposely destroyed all the books referring to him in connection to the atrocity that he had committed in the name of his Queen.

The people who had known him then had been ashamed of his absolute betrayal. Now, only the name they knew him by were spoken with good intention, but not the things that he had done afterwards. His brother had made sure of that so no one would know the whole truth.

Lies upon lies.

The humans were rather good at that...at the games they play.

He had been the blight upon his family's name. He knew he had no need to concern himself with it. His family had been dead to him long ago. Yet it still pains him to be reminded of the life that he had lost; the simple life as a member of the Night's Watch before he met his Queen.

Author's Note: Ok, I have done a lot of research when I wrote this short drabble. Anyway, since G.R.R Martin said that the Others or the White Walkers are like the Aes Sidhe in Scottish Mythology or Tuatha Dé Danann in Gaelic, or in simple term the "Fair Folks" or "Fairies". I have decided to add something about the Mythology in this story.

You must have heard of those stories because it sounded like the same thing that happened to the Others/White Walkers.

In the Gaelic Mythology, the Tuatha Dé Danann were driven away and were defeated by the Milesians. Afterwards, the fair folk made a deal for their surrender. And as part of their terms, the Tuatha De Danann agreed to retreat and live underground somewhere in the Irish lands.

Anyway, that's what I thought what happened to the Others/ White walkers as well.

As for the children being transformed into white walkers, well I think that's based from the Changling Mythology, where the fairy folks swapped babies with their own.

Lastly, since G.R.R Martin's story is titled the Song of Ice and Fire. Well, I did some tweaking with this story. And since we are talking about fairies I added another element to this story, so I included something like the Winter and the Summer Court, which I refer as the Winters and Summers.

In addition, the place of Valyria is part of the Lands of the Long Summer, so in my story, the Valyrians are the descendant of the Summer Court, who can control dragons and fire. The Valryians are well-known for their silver-gold hair or platinum hair and purple eyes. Features that were unusual in the realms of men.

...

So, here's an explanation in what exactly happened to Harry. Since Harry has a part of Horcrux inside him, he doesn't know that some parts of his soul had already merged with Voldemort's horcrux. By the time he was killed and was sent into that King's-Cross-limbo, the little abomination he saw under the chair is actually half of his soul and the other half is Voldemort's. But there is still a part of Voldemort's soul that lives inside Harry the instant he came back alive. So, when Voldemort's killing curse rebounded against him in their last duel. The Dark Lord was killed – his vessel was destroyed, and Harry ended up in a coma, fighting against the last remnants of Voldemort's soul inside him - the parisitic one that would slowly consume him.

Harry can't be revived in the HP world or go to the afterlife, not with a horcrux still latched inside him. Well, basically, neither can live while the other survive kind of thing. Fortunately, since Harry had touched the three hallows, he was able to see Death, and Death had told him what to do to escape his fate. That's where Hermione comes along, and because Harry knew that she would never abused the power of the Deathly Hallows, she was the best choice to become the Mistress of Death.

"With one wish for every hallows, where Death had sent her to follow." - Death wanted the hallows back, but in exchange he will grant the owner one wish for each hallows. Like a genie. However, everything always have a price in the end.

Lastly, Harry's eyes are emerald green while Tom Riddle (Voldemort) has blue eyes. When Harry is born in that world, he is neither Harry Potter or Voldemort, but both. Thus, the eyes. Green and Blue.

I'm making things up as I go along since no one knows what the White Walkers/ the Others are like, what their Kingdom looks like and their lifestyle, and since G.R.R Martin still isn't finished with the "Winds of Winter'' so I'm going to just use my imagination. But I hope you can imagine the scene that I describe. I apologize for the amount of grammatical errors and misspellings if there were any. Like I said, English is not my first language and I hope you didn't get confused when reading this chapter.

Since I mention in the first chapter that I will be adding Irish Mythology in this story, so here it is.

In Irish Mythology, the Tuatha De Danann had brought four treasures from their Cities, and these are: Coire Dagdae (Dagda's Cauldron), Sleá Bua (Spear of Lugh), Lia Fáil (Stone of Fal) and Claíomh Solais (Sword of Light of Nuada). I'll be using three magical treasures in this story, namely Lia Fáil or sometimes referred to as the Stone of Destiny. Legend has it that it was said to cry out during the coronation of High Kings of Ireland. Currently, it is located at on the Hill of Tara in County Meath, Ireland.

In this chapter, I'm using that Stone of Destiny where the White Walkers placed the baby on it. In the TV series, you can see the icy spikes that ringed around an altar.

The next magical treasure will be the Spear of Lugh, and I quote from Wikipedia in regards to its magical properties that,"No battle was ever sustained against it, or against the man who held it." Meanwhile, Claíomh Solais (Sword of Light of Nuada), "No one ever escaped from it once it was drawn from its sheath, and no one could resist it. The sword is also described in the Tain legend as 'Nuadu's Cainnel' - a glowing bright torch." - (sounds like the Red Sword of Heroes, don't you think?)

Anyway, those are the magical items that I'm going to mention in this story, but I will be naming them differently.

Another thing that I would like to mention. Yes, I'm naming the Night's King, "Brandon." I read from A wiki of Ice and Fire that Old Nan suggested to young Brandon, that the Night's King was name Brandon, a Stark of Winterfell and the brother to the King of Winter. Perhaps even the brother to "Brandon the Breaker." the King of Winter at that time, who was the one who drove the Night's King and his Queen out from his Nightfort with the help of Joramun (then the King-Beyond-the-Wall) And together, Joramun and Brandon the Breaker freed the Watch from the Night's King rule, and afterwards erased all records of him to hide his true identity. (Sorry, if you got confused with all the Brandons. But seriously what's with the Starks naming their children Brandon?)

Lastly, since I believe that the Land of Always Winter have no trees, I'll assume that they don't use paper to write. Perhaps they will use an icy slab to write things, like the old times where the ancient people used stones to write and preserve their beliefs and history. Just imagine the Egyptian hieroglyphics that were etched on the Tombs Walls and Temples, but more beautiful and etched in icy walls with an added colour in the White Walker's Heritage Chamber.

I mention the Great One's Tree in this chapter. I will clarify that it is no ordinary tree. It is a tree made of icy crystals. Like I said, I'm making things up.

And the White Walkers/ the Other's custom in raising their children are more military-like. Think of Sparta. Since they are only few of them, it's quite reasonable that the children are bred for war, training them to fight and defend their Kingdom against an enemy who clearly outnumbered them. That's also probably the reason why they are taking boys instead of girls.

With one wish for every Hallows,

Where Death had sent her to follow,

Either a friend or a foe,

To a place of ice and snow,

To a land of the free... or not at all,

To the Kingdom-Beyond-the-Wall.