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Assistant: Title: Howl
        Author: stridermagic stridermagic 
        Chapter: 1/1 
        Summary: Brandon Stark, heir to Winterfell and brother to Ned Stark, doesn’t die in the throne room at King’s Landing. Instead, something carries him away to land amidst another time and to a world of magic.
        Contents: Chapter 1
    

    


  

  
  
    
    
  
   
  Brandon Stark couldn’t breathe, gasping for air as the cord around his neck tightened. He stared out across the throne room as his father burned alive, still gasping for breath as he tried to reach the sword to cut the cord. He distantly heard King Aerys laughing, a high pitched sound, making goosebumps roll up his skin, as black spots appeared within his vision. His lungs burned and his feet twitched as he tried to move. The sword had been placed just out of reach but if Brandon moved just a little, mayhaps he could… The cord tightened around his body even more, the Tyroshi strangle device living up to its’ name.

  His vision dimmed as he tried to catch his breath, tried to move towards the sword. His arms shook and his body trembled before his eyes rolled into the back of his head, out of air. The last thing he heard was the king’s maniacal laughter and his father screaming as he was burned to death. 
 


  He woke up to an arm holding him down as someone tried to remove the cord around his neck. Brandon let out a strangled breath and tried to bolt upright only to collide with the… woman who was trying to help him. 

  “Be still! I’m trying to help!”

  The hand on his chest pushed him down, firm and strong, not dainty like most women in Westeros were. Brandon hesitantly lay back down, still struggling to breathe and not succeeding. The Tyroshi strangle device pushed in on him tighter still and his heart still beat faster, like it was trying to push its way out of his chest.

  “F@ck, this thing is tight.”

  One of the woman’s hands reached out to slip underneath the Tyroshi strangle device, along with a wooden stick and Brandon sucked in as much air as he could. The woman muttered something under her breath and then he was free, carefully held within the woman’s arms as he sucked in more air desperately. Energy rose around him, curling around him and then disappeared.

  Tears pooled in his eyes and he very much wanted to swipe them away. He didn’t want anyone in the throne room to see him vulnerable, much less the woman who was helping him. He felt like a skittish dog, panting uneasily, trying to catch a breath and hold it. 

  As he recovered, his body still trembling and twitching from the lack of air, he studied the woman who had just saved his life. The woman who was half holding him in her arms, his upper body in her lap. The young lady looked to be the same as he did, though mayhaps she was a year or two younger than him. She wore her long, black hair in a horsetail but it seemed to be trying to escape the tie that she had collected it with. Her bright, almost glowing green eyes were studying him as much as he was studying her. The strange scar on her forehead tempted him much as he raised a shaky hand to touch it, tracing it gently. 

  It looked like one of those lightning bolts that touched Westerosi ground during a summer storm, forking across her skin. The scar itself was bright red and looked like it hurt. Brandon winced at the thought of someone hurting this woman, this woman who had intervened in the throne room to save his life. Though she wasn’t familiar to him, no sense of recognition flitting through his mind.

  The woman blinked, grasping his hand within her own and laying it back on his chest. Her touch felt like a warm brand, the warmth slithering into his chest and making it so that he could finally catch his breath. He gasped with it, one long, deep breath, and let it out slowly, his cheeks reddening with relief. “You alright?”

  Brandon sucked in another long, deep breath and nodded. “Aye, I’m alright. Thank you.”

  The woman raised an eyebrow at something and then Brandon finally took a look at his surroundings, expecting to see the throne room of King’s Landing. Only, he wasn’t in the throne room at the Red Keep. He was in what looked like a tent but it was far bigger than any tent he had ever seen. “Where am I?”

  “Who are you?” The woman questioned, watching as he sat up and rubbed at his neck. “You just appeared out of nowhere and… I should really be used to this by now.”

  Brandon blinked and drew his fur cloak tighter around his shoulders. “I’m Brandon, of House Stark. Who would you be, my lady?”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed and then she snorted. “I’m no lady, Brandon. It’s just Hariel Potter, or just Harrie to my friends.”

  Brandon watched her as she stared at him, her cheeks reddening slightly at his look. 

  “Anyway, this… whatever it is… held you tight,” Harrie remarked, holding it up with a piece of wood. The Tyroshi strangle device looked innocent once it had been removed from his body but Brandon still flinched away from it, his father’s screams filling his head. Harrie blinked and dropped the device far from him then peered at him, her eyes curious. “Where… did you come from?”

  “King’s Landing in Westeros. Where am I? And what...” Brandon trailed off, glancing around at the tent as he pulled his cloak around himself tighter. Winds buffeted the tent walls but the fabric held, keeping its occupants warm. 

  “Westeros. F@ck. I don’t know where that is but we’ll try to get you home,” Harrie remarked, brushing her hair back from her forehead. “Who did that to you?”

  “The king is mad,” Brandon spoke, reaching up to his neck and feeling the rope burn there. There was heat at his neck, aching heat that he had never felt before and hopefully would never feel again. “He… Prince Rhaegar kidnapped my sister and ran away with her. I was trying to call the king out and my father and I thought… I thought that he would have one of his kingsguard fight for him. Not…”

  Harrie stared at him, reaching out her hand to lightly grip his chin, tipping his head up. Brandon startled at the woman’s forwardness, the warmth from her fingers invading his body in a welcome way. Her eyes were not on his as she gazed at his neck, missing his grin at her touch. “I have some paste for that bruise there, if you want. That looks painful. And… king? Prince? You come from a land that still has kings and princes?”

  “You don’t?”

  “We… Well, the nonmagical folk still have a queen,” Harrie remarked, her eyes flitting up to his and meeting the leer there. Harrie rolled her eyes, dropped her hand and pulled back from him. “She’s not particularly the ruler anymore but there were other queens. Queen Victoria and Queen Elizabeth the First and there were others… You say you’re from Westeros. I haven’t heard of that country.”

  “We’re not in King’s Landing right now?” Brandon questioned, his heart skipping a beat as he hurriedly stood up. 

  “No? Brandon!”

  He rushed over to the tent door, avoiding the table in the way and the tent compartments that held strange looking things, and stepped out into a strange world. They were in a forest, pale light shining through the trees and a cool breeze ruffling the leaves and plants. He could hear a stream nearby and Brandon saw another young woman walking back from the north. This woman had brown, bushy hair and narrowed brown eyes as her eyes caught his. She wore the same strange sort of clothes that Harrie wore, pants that covered her legs, made with a kind of material that Brandon had never seen before.

  When the woman caught a look at him, her hand went down to the holster at her wrist instantly, her eyes widening.

  “Harrie? Who is this?”

  “Hermione, I think he’s okay. Brandon, come back inside,” Harrie spoke, slipping her hand over his and tugging back into the tent. “And no, we’re not in Westeros, wherever that is.”

  His knees buckled and his heart raced at the thought, at being in a strange world. His body trembled, his blood racing as it remembered being held within the strangle device. Harrie let out a light gasp before following him down, catching his eyes. “You’re alright. No other wounds that I didn’t see?”

  Brandon slowly shook his head, his eyes caught on Lady Harrie’s. “No.”

  “There’s a spare bed inside,” Harrie whispered, laying her hands over his and helping him up. “Come on.”

  Brandon followed the woman back inside the tent, the warmth from her invading him and warming him up still. His stomach roiled still and just as they turned into one of the tent’s compartments, he sicked up, bending over and retched. A hand rubbed his back and kept his hair out of his face as his last meal came back up. 

  “He’s in shock,” Harrie remarked to the other woman, her hands still rubbing his back. “Brandon, in bed. You’ll feel better.”

  He barely stood back up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and let her push him into bed. It wasn’t a bed of furs but it was still comfortable as Harrie handed him a cloth, gesturing for him to use it to clean his face. He wiped his cheeks off and let the cloth fall to the ground as Harrie pulled some blankets over him and then stepped back.

  “We’ll talk further in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Lady Harrie of England.”

  Harrie’s lips twitched up into a small grin. “I’m not a lady, Brandon. Besides, if you wanted to talk that way, it’d probably be Lady Harrie of House Potter. Get some sleep.”
  
  Hermione stared at her best friend and at the stranger who had appeared in their tent. “Harrie, what in Merlin’s name happened?”

  “He just appeared in the tent,” Harrie whispered, tugging her friend back into the main room of the tent and shutting the cloth door behind them. “His name’s Brandon Stark and I don’t know. We’ve never had this happen before.”

  Hermione frowned, her eyes drifting over to the rope device that was still on the floor next to the table. “Did he apparate here? Because if he did, we need better wards.”

  “I don’t think he’s a wizard,” Harrie said, keeping her voice quiet. “He kept staring at my scar though so maybe he is.”

  “I heard him talking,” Hermione remarked. “He sounded…”

  “Like wherever he’s from is still in the medieval ages?” Harrie finished, shrugging in confusion. “He’s certainly not my picture of a lord or king. In the history books, those guys used to be old and fat and not at all attractive in the pictures and stories. Brandon looks like a human personification of a wolf.”

  Hermione snorted. “More wolf like than Remus?”

  Harrie rolled her eyes. “Remus doesn’t like who he is, hasn’t accepted his wolf. Brandon looks like he just takes advantage of what he looks like. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Brandon is a better werewolf than Remus is but Brandon’s not a werewolf. Though there is something about him. Some old power or something.”

  “Harrie, we don’t have time for this.”

  “Not even to help him go back home?” Harrie questioned, gesturing to what used to be Ron’s bed and now held Brandon in it. “Though if wherever he’s from is that brutal… This rope… thing…”

  Hermione pulled out her wand and picked up the device on the tip of it, examining it. “How was it on him?”

  “It looked like it was slowly strangling him to death,” Harrie muttered. “Pulling in all his limbs and crushing them. It just looks like an innocent piece of rope now but it was brutal, Hermione. He looked dead when he landed right in front of me. I don’t know who would have done something like that.”

  Harrie flinched at the memory, paling a little bit. “I never want to see that…that rope in action again.”

  “Punishments were brutal in the medieval era,” Hermione offered wearily, dropping the device into her pack to look at later. “And still are in the wizarding world. We’re at war, Harrie. We can’t be handling him and the horcruxes at the same time.”

  “Assuming that sending him home will take a while, we could ask him,” Harrie said, yawning a little. “I’m pretty sure Westeros isn’t even in our world. Ask him if he wants to help.”

  Hermione blinked and peered over to the bed where Brandon was then back to her friend. “If you’re sure. I wouldn’t know how to go about sending him back now. Maybe if we had access to a good library...”

  “When we defeat Voldemort, we can go back to Hogwarts and raid its library. Though…” Harrie trailed off, glancing to Hermione, who nodded. “The Black library in Grimmauld is probably better. Besides, he looked like he could handle himself in a fight. His hands have calluses on them from something.”

  “Maybe against muggles, yes. Wizards? Death Eaters?”

  “There is something about him, Hermione. Can you sense anything?”

  Hermione shook her head. “Harrie, you’re the best of the three of us at that kind of thing. What do you sense?”

  Harrie tilted her head, running her fingers through her wild hair and messing it up even further. “Power. Untapped, untrained power. Not too much but enough. And it’s not like he’s underage. He looked about 20 or so.”

  She glanced back at where the bunk bed was, watching as Brandon’s breathing evened out. Her own breath had caught when he had first appeared, right next to her and trapped as he was. Her attention had been stuck on getting him out of the rope device at the time but… Her cheeks warmed at the sight of him, seeing him with that fur cloak and rugged looks. 
  
  Brandon woke up to rain falling onto the tent walls and to a new, strange world. He raised his arm and dropped it onto his face, scrubbing his eyes as scents and sounds trickled in. His cloak had been taken off during his sleep and had been folded and put on a rocking chair next to his bed. His sword hadn’t come with him, making him realize he had no weapon to fight with now.

  The smell of cooking meat filled the air and he slowly sat up, looked over his leggings and the tunic he had worn. There was no evidence of his strangulation yesterday nor any blood on the material and yet… His neck still ached and the Tyroshi device had rubbed his skin raw. He stood up and walked out of the small section of the tent that his bed was in and looked around.

  The two women were sitting over a table, looking over several books and muttering to each other as they ate to break their fast. Harrie saw him coming over and peered up at him, gesturing to a seat next to her. 

  “Hope you slept well enough,” Harrie said quietly. “Help yourself to food. This is my friend, Hermione. Hermione, meet Brandon Stark.”

  Brandon grinned at the other woman and Hermione blushed a little before turning back to her book. “I did sleep well, thank you.”

  Harrie turned to look at him before pulling over a jar, sliding it open with her fingers. “Here. Some stuff for that rope burn.”

  Brandon blinked. “Do you have maester training?”

  Harrie tilted her head. “I have first aid training. What are maesters?”

  “They’re skilled in healing and historical knowledge in Westeros,” Brandon explained before sighing. “I suppose you don’t have them here then, if you don’t know what they are.”

  Harrie shrugged. “No. Tilt your head so I can smear it on. It won’t hurt.”

  Brandon obligingly tipped his head over and watched as Harrie dipped her fingers in what looked like cream. 

  “Are either of you wed?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Hermione questioned, her brown eyes narrowing as she studied him.

  Harrie met Brandon’s eyes before reaching over to spread it over the burn on his neck. His skin tingled with soft coolness where she spread it, making him shiver a little, and sigh as the pain vanished.

  “There is no man in the tent, is there not?”

  “No. Neither of us are married to either women or men and we have no plans on marrying,” Harrie interrupted whatever Hermione was about to say. “There’s a war on and… well, it’s low on the priority list. Besides, Hermione’s already found someone.”

  “Harrie…”

  “Ron will come back,” Harrie whispered, shaking her head vehemently. Brandon’s eyes sharpened at the slight desperate tinge to her voice and decided not to reply. Whoever this Ron was, he had left and these two women were the only ones in the tent. Capable or not, Brandon did not like that thought and pondered their words more. “Anyway, we can’t send you back right now. We don’t have the resources or books or the time.”

  “I need to go back. My sister needs me.”

  Harrie raised an eyebrow as Brandon walked over to the table and sat down across from her. “Your sister?”

  “Lyanna. She was taken by the prince and… She wasn’t there in King’s Landing,” Brandon explained. “My father… Ned probably thinks I am dead.”

  “Ned?”

  “My younger brother. I have two brothers and one sister. Ned’s probably become Lord of Winterfell now,” Brandon muttered, looking over the plates of food and helping himself to one. He selected one and looked over the food, picking up the fork and taking a bite of what looked like cooked meat.

  “You are from the medieval era,” Hermione said, her eyes glinting with interest. “There are lords and princes and kings where you are from.”

  “Aye. I was the firstborn and was supposed to inherit Winterfell. That’s the seat of House Stark, my house. But now…”

  “We will send you back,” Harrie remarked, catching his eyes and holding them. There was steely determination in her green eyes and Brandon enjoyed seeing it. He hadn’t wanted to marry Catelyn Tully or any other woman. Hadn’t wanted to marry at all when he was younger but… “The war needs to be finished first though. And for that, we need to locate more horcruxes.”

  “We have the locket,” Hermione reminded Harrie, elbowing her friend. “We just need to figure out how to destroy it.”

  Brandon took another bite of the cooked meat, closing his eyes in pleasure at the taste. “What are these horcruxes you speak of?”

  “They are parts of a soul,” Harrie explained, sighing as she took a bite of the food on her plate. “The man we’re up against split his soul into six pieces and we’ve destroyed two already.”

  Brandon’s eyes widened and he paled at Harrie’s words. “This man split his soul? How?”

  “Magic. Dark magic,” Hermione muttered darkly. “It’s what kept him from truly dying when he tried to kill Harrie the first time.”

  Brandon blinked and turned to look at Harrie, who nodded. “This man has tried to kill you multiple times? Is there a lord in your household? One who could rally his guards in your defense?”

  Harrie shook her head, her lips twitching up into a slight bemused grin. “In our world, there are no lords or ladies. Well, at least in your sense. Women can inherit land, can vote, can hold positions of power and so on. Besides, my father and mother are dead. Voldemort killed them when I was one.”

  “I am sorry. Your world sounds much like Dorne, where women can inherit lands and rule. The wife of the prince is from Dorne.”

  Harrie made a noise of consideration in her throat, reaching up to run her fingers through her hair. Brandon watched her do it, wondering what her hair would feel like in his hands. “For the time being, we are trying to locate the other horcruxes before we’re all killed. And we’re the only ones who can do it. Everyone else is either not fighting or hiding or already dead. Or making children do it in their stead.”

  Harrie’s eyes darkened considerably and Brandon frowned, worry curling underneath his ribs. His heart thumped loudly in his chest as Harrie swallowed, memories flickering behind her eyes.

  “If you cannot send me back to Westeros now, I would like to help. I am the best swordsman amongst my siblings and horseman.”

  Harrie turned to look at Hermione, sharing a look that Brandon couldn’t decipher, and then looked at Brandon. “We would welcome the help, thanks.”
 


  Harrie watched as Brandon finished eating with wide eyes. He had eaten a lot, eaten all of his dinner without slowing down and Hermione had since gone out to keep watch outside of the tent. She sighed, glancing down to where the locket lay on her chest. Throughout the past couple of days, Harrie and Hermione had filled Brandon in on the wizarding world and what was happening now and she didn’t know how Brandon was feeling about it.

  The man was now pacing around in the little entry way of the tent, not even stopping to grab another bite of food. Brandon Stark was tall, muscular and definitely attractive, hot in a kind of feral way. He had mentioned that House Stark’s sigil was a direwolf, an ancestor of the current wild wolf, and had pointed to a brooch on his tunic, one that had a grey direwolf on a white field. 

  “Brandon, does your house…” Harrie trailed off, unsure how to broach the topic of the power that she could sense in him.

  “Lady Harrie?”

  Harrie’s cheeks reddened and then she shrugged it off as he turned to her.

  “Does your house, family, have old… power or blood to them?” Harrie finally asked, sparing a glance outside to where she could see Hermione walk around. They were going to move tomorrow, hoping to keep avoiding the Snatchers and Death Eaters on their trail. They hadn’t heard anything from Ron since he had left though they had kept listening to the Potter Watch on the radio.

  Brandon’s grey eyes narrowed slightly before he nodded. “My father used to say my sister and I have wolfblood in our veins. I like women very much and love to ride and joust. My sister is the same though she cannot use a blade.”

  Harrie nodded, her heart racing at Brandon’s leer. The locket’s chain burned against her neck, that wrong 
  
    heat
  
   making her uneasy. She still had no idea where the other horcruxes were, had no idea how they were going to destroy the ones they did find. “Wolfblood.”

  “Aye. The blood of the Starks is of the First Men and we used to rule as Kings of Winter before King Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros. Why do you ask?”

  “You have power about you,” Harrie remarked, tilting her head in thought. “I don’t know what it means but it’s untapped and untrained power, not unlike--”

  “Not unlike yours? The power that you and your friend have?”

  “Yeah.”

  Brandon stopped pacing to look at her with heat in his eyes and Harrie glared at him. Brandon let out a laugh and hastened over to sit in front of her. “Your magic is strange to me. What things can you do aside from having a tent that is bigger on the inside?”

  Harrie grinned faintly, feeling like she hadn’t smiled in a while. It felt uneven to her, half on edge and half of her attention on the war going on outside their tent. “Fly. Fight defensively and offensively. Protect people. Heal. Transfigure things. Summon things. Some people can shapeshift but that takes a while to learn.”

  “You are saying I have something like that?”

  “I don’t know.” Harrie stood up, hearing the whisper of the locket and trying to close her mind to it and failing spectacularly. “I hate this!”

  She stood up, reached down to where the locket was around her neck and yanked it off, throwing it on the table. Brandon’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at the locket then to her, a question in his eyes. Her mouth was shaped in a grimace and there were bags underneath her eyes.

  “That’s one of the horcruxes,” Harrie whispered. “It… speaks to me, to us. It doesn’t want to be destroyed but it has to be. Voldemort has to die and…”

  “I have already said that I will help you in any way I can. You speak of these horcruxes like they are hard to destroy.”

  Harrie nodded and began to pace, feeling Brandon’s eyes on her. “They are. They don’t respond to any blasting spells. Hermione and I have both tried.”

  “What about a sword?” Brandon tried, putting his hand on his hip, his fingers flexing as if he was missing something.

  “We don’t have a sword,” Harrie replied, sighing and making a hand wavy gesture. “The one that would do the trick is…We don’t know where it is but…”

  Brandon arched an eyebrow as Harrie’s eyes lit up, something hard and fast flickering in her gaze. 

  “I summoned it to me when I was twelve,” Harrie answered his wordless question. “Hermione!”

  The tent door opened up a moment later, Hermione rushing in with wide eyes. “Harrie?”

  “You summoned a sword to you when you were twelve?” Brandon questioned, looking between the two women with wide eyes.

  “Yes. I did,” Harrie said, looking at Hermione. “I fought a basilisk with it.”

  Brandon blinked, his grey eyes widening even more. “A basilisk.”

  “Think big snake,” Hermione explained, walking up to Harrie, her gaze dropping to the locket on the table between them. “About the height of a two story house.”

  “Fangs and a gaze that would kill you,” Harrie added, closing her eyes, the hair on the back of her arms standing up as she thought about the sword. Imagined it in her fingers, her loyalty to her classmates, to her best friends, to her house pouring from every ounce of her body. She called for the sword wordlessly.

  “You fought that…when you were ten and two?” Brandon questioned, his voice faint.

  “Yes. She did. Alone too,” Hermione replied idly. 

  Her magic sparked under her skin and her fingers curled around cool metal. Brandon and Hermione sucked in a sharp breath and Harrie opened her eyes, glancing down at the sword of Godric Gryffindor in her palm. The hilt shone in the little drops of moonlight that filtered in from the outside. Memories flashed through her, of her twelve year old self fighting Riddle’s basilisk and having Riddle himself whispering into her ear. She snorted when she realized it was much like now, the locket whispering into their ears and with a target on their backs.

  “Harrie! You did it! Merlin, this is good news,” Hermione whispered, awe in her voice, in her eyes. 

  Harrie let out a breath and handed over the sword to Hermione, hilt first. Hermione glanced at her, confusion lighting her eyes up.

  “You should get to destroy one of them,” Harrie said, still holding the sword out. Brandon’s gaze was on the sword, his eyes wide, his mouth opening and closing. 

  “It just appeared. In your hand. How… Was it a spell?” Brandon asked, his fingers flexing and curling as if he was itching to hold it.

  Hermione stared at Harrie, her throat working before she tentatively took the sword from her. Harrie placed the locket in the center of the table, holding it down for her sister in all but blood.

  “No. Or…” Harrie paused, swallowing on a dry throat. “I suppose. More loyalty based than anything.”

  Hermione inhaled sharply, her eyes darkening with determination, and brought the sword down in a deep thrust. The locket broke into several pieces, opening up and the dark magic that it held erupted outward.

  A black cloud erupted from the locket, loud hissing making Harrie and Hermione stumble back from it. Brandon shivered, letting out a choked noise, and Harrie shook, casting the patronus charm even as the locket horcrux fought back.

  Prongs leapt from her stolen wand and charged right at the dark soul magic, bright antlers bent towards the threat. 
 
  Brandon watched as Harrie and Hermione cleaned up their campsite, using the one wand that they had between them, and using their magic. He watched as the tent that he had arrived in shrunk in size until it was just the size of a piece of fabric. The fire in the small pit outside was put out and the wards, the magical equivalent of shields, were canceled. He’d been enamored with the idea of magical shielding since Harrie had described it, picturing her casting her protective charms over Winterfell.

  They were in a small clearing and once they were done cleaning up, the three of them were the only ones who knew there had been people here. There was no evidence of a firepit or horses or a tent. Brandon still, even a couple of days after arriving in this strange world, was awed at the sight of casual magic. Of a kind of magic that he had never heard of or read about, not that he read a lot to begin with.

  Harrie had spoken of flying on a broomstick, flying in tandem with other students as a game. She had spoken of soul magic, something that sounded very unnatural to him, something akin to the shadowbinders of Asshai in Essos.

  “Brandon, we’re going to apparate out of here,” Harrie spoke into the darkness and silence of the clearing. “Hold my hand.”

  “Harrie--” Hermione broke off at the look that Harrie gave her, her lips twitching up into a smile.

  “I would be glad of the opportunity,” Brandon remarked, smiling at Harrie, who shrugged and held out her hand. 

  “Yeah, just don’t move your hand elsewhere,” Harrie retorted easily, glaring at the back of Hermione’s head. Like it was her friend’s fault that she was attracted to Brandon Stark and was distracted by him. Her heart beat quickly at his closeness, heat built in her stomach and it all felt like her body knowing that they would get through this war. Like falling into bed with him meant… hope, or some cheesy thing like that.

  Brandon closed the distance between them and reached out to take Harrie’s hand, feeling the warmth of her body. He heard her let out a quiet sigh, her shoulders curling inward again. 

  “Close your eyes too. It’s weird apparating the first time,” Harrie added.

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “We’re moving so it’s like… being sucked into a tube and then we get deposited elsewhere,” Harrie said, turning to look at him. “Close your eyes. It’ll go over nicer if you do.”

  Brandon dipped his head in a nod and closed his eyes, trusting Harrie to not drop him. Harrie whispered a word in a different language and then he was pulled and pressured by all sides and then they landed in another clearing. His heart raced as he tried to suck in air, breathing heavily and feeling like he was being strangled again. 

  “Brandon… Brandon.”

  “F@ck, I’m sorry,” Harrie whispered, dropping a hand to his shoulder and squeezing. “Should have remembered. Sorry. You’re alright. Just breathe with me.”

  Her other hand pressed itself to his chest, right over his heart and he caught her eyes, trying to slow his breathing. Heat radiated outward from where her hand was, her smaller hand feeling like it might have been bigger for the mark it made. She stared at him, not blinking or looking away at all and Brandon let out a strangled breath and tried to force himself to relax. 

  “We’re near Godric’s Hollow, where my parents lived,” Harrie started, her eyes widening. His whole world dwindled to her voice for a few minutes, his blood drowning out anything else as it pounded in his ears. “We’ll be staying here for a week or so. It is mid November and we haven’t seen any Snatchers.”

  Snatchers. Hermione had explained that word to him two days ago and Brandon had near growled at the meaning. People who would betray their own countrymen just for gold upset him greatly and he suspected Ned wouldn’t approve either. Though there were people who fought for gold and he used to have half a mind to go to Essos to join a mercenary company, just to get away from becoming Lord of Winterfell. Now… Essos and Westeros were worlds away and his home, his family…

  He must have made a sound low in his throat as Harrie’s gaze softened, her hand still on his chest. 

  “I’m sorry about not being able to send you back,” Harrie whispered, slowly withdrawing her fingers. Brandon felt the space where her fingers had been like a brand, the warmth of her skin keeping for another minute or two.

  “I’ll set up camp,” Hermione called out, from a few feet away. “Brandon?”

  “I’m alright. Thank you,” Brandon croaked out, reaching out and cupping Harrie’s cheek, tracing circles with his thumb. Harrie was staring at him, her eyes wide and he watched as her tongue darted out. His thumb moved towards her lips and Harrie blinked and pulled away, her breath hitching at the look in his eyes.

  “I can’t. No distractions,” Harrie muttered, standing up and withdrawing. 
 


  “Harrie.”

  “What? Hermione!”

  Harrie let Hermione tug her into the newly set up tent, leaving Brandon alone outside. Her heart was still racing and she reached up to touch her cheek, feeling the cool imprint of Brandon’s fingers. She hadn’t meant for him to get that close. 

  “He could be a good distraction,” Hermione whispered, catching her eyes. 

  “Hey, who’s the daughter of a Marauder here?” Harrie grumbled. “You’re not matchmaking now! Not in the middle of a war!”

  “I’m not saying marry the guy,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying if you’re both willing…”

  “He’s hot, okay? But that’s… all. We’ve only known each other for a week,” Harrie said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Besides, he’s probably got a woman waiting for him where he’s from. He all but said that!”

  “Harrie, it was just a thought,” Hermione replied, sighing.

  Harrie nodded, glancing down into Hermione’s pack to see the remains of the locket. They were another horcrux down and yet… She still didn’t know where the others were. “I just…”

  “Wish Ron were back and the war was over. Yeah, I do too.”
 


  Harrie jolted awake the next night, her heart pounding. Sweat dripped down her forehead, despite the fact that she was just in a shirt and jeans. The dream she had awoken from was hazy now but the faint memory of it put her on edge. She glanced over to the bunk bed where Hermione was sleeping, took in her sleeping, 
  
    calm
  
   friend, and glanced over to Brandon, in the bunk on the other side of her. 

  He was tossing and turning, whining in his sleep, and her heart clenched, moved up into her throat at the sight. Harrie yawned and crept out of bed, wiping her eyes, before padding over to Brandon’s bed, looking him over in the dark of the tent. The night and world outside of the tent was quiet and still, exactly the way she liked it right now.

  At a particularly loud whimper, she slipped her fingers into his left hand, squeezing in reassurance. 

  “
  
    Brandon.”
  

  Brandon turned onto his side before curling almost into a ball, sweat dripping down his temples. Harrie flinched and held onto his hand, brushing his damp hair off his face with her other hand. “Brandon. You’re alright. You’re safe. You’re not there anymore.”

  Another whine traveled up and out of Brandon’s throat and Harrie flinched at the sound of it, not liking it one bit. It was raw and painful and probably what she sounded like some of the time. She’d seen Hermione’s flinch the last time Harrie had woken up screaming and didn’t want to think about that for too long.

  “Shhh. You’re alright.”

  Brandon swallowed and his fingers curled through hers even as he slept before his breathing evened out, the tightness around his eyes smoothing. “You’re alright.”

  Harrie gulped, watched him fall back into a deep sleep again, hitching breath evening out into something approaching calm, before walking over to her own bed. Sleep was a long time coming that night.
 


  “You said you can help me figure out the power I have,” Brandon remarked the next night. 

  Harrie looked up from her bed and yawned. “You want to learn?”

  “Aye, I do.”

  “Alright.” Harrie got up off the bed and sat down on the floor, patting the floor in front of her. Brandon walked over and sat down cross legged in front of her, his grey eyes on her. His dark hair fell past his ears, wild and probably more than like her’s.  “I suspect you won’t be able to do a whole lot of what we do but we’ll figure it out.”

  Brandon grinned, his eyes lighting up in excitement. “I want to be able to change my shape. You said that some of your wizards and witches can do that.”

  Harrie raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Some can. My father and his friends could. Remus is a werewolf and shifts into a wolf once a month but that’s only if you’re bitten. And I don’t recommend that. Remus is miserable.”

  “A wolf though…” Brandon trailed off. “A direwolf.”

  “We’ll see. I know the animagus spell so maybe I can teach the equivalent of it for you.”

  Brandon nodded, watching as she closed her eyes for a brief moment. “First, close your eyes and even out your breathing.”

  “Have you learned how to shift shape?” Brandon asked a minute later.

  Harrie peeked her eyes open, glaring at Brandon.

  He grinned and winked at her. She sighed, uncurling her shoulders from their tense posture. “My father and godfather did. I might have learned. It’s possible. The one who betrayed my parents did too.”

  “Who betrayed your parents?”

  “Peter Pettigrew. He betrayed my parents to the Dark Lord and got them killed. I… kind of saved his life back in third year,” Harrie remarked, shrugging at the memory. “Sirius was going to kill him. I didn’t want him to bear that burden.”

  Harrie paused, took a deep breath. Her eyes darkened a little, some emotion visible in her eyes that Brandon couldn’t quite decipher. 

  “I don’t know if I regret it or not,” Harrie said finally, looking off into the distance for a minute before looking back at him.

  “He who passes the sentence should swing the sword,” Brandon echoed, watching as Harrie raised an eyebrow. “It is the House Stark way, the way of the First Men and the old gods. You did not think he deserved to die?”

  Harrie stared at him and then heaved out a great exhale. “I suppose not. At the time, I thought if only we could have gotten him a trial and then my godfather would have gotten proclaimed innocent. And then… sh@t happened and he escaped. Sirius had offered to let me live with him too but then he had to go on the run.”

  “Your… godfather is dead now, if I understood you correctly. Westeros does not have that kind of… relation,” Brandon replied idly, dropping his hands to his knees. 

  “Yes, he died saving my life,” Harrie said, grimacing. “He was a reckless idiot but he loved me. He was family.”

  “Aye, family means the same to me too. I love my brothers and sister,” Brandon offered, sighing. “I perhaps was a reckless idiot too, when I rushed into the throne room at King’s Landing.”

  Harrie’s eyes narrowed at his words. “What do you mean?”

  “After I received the raven that said that my sister had been kidnapped, my father and I rushed to King’s Landing to confront Prince Rhaegar. We did not hesitate at all or think about what we were doing and in so doing, ended up with King Aerys instead.”

  Harrie shuffled closer a little, her green eyes wide. “It was your family, Brandon. I probably would have done the same. You said that the king was mad.”

  “He is. When I return, I intend on doing something about it. He used fire as his champion, instead of one of the knights of the kingsguard as kings should do. Fire. I watched my father burn to death.”

  Brandon’s stomach roiled at the memory and closed his eyes, hearing his father yell and shout in vain. Harrie’s hands on his brought him out of his pain, her fingers entwining with his. 

  “That was not your fault, Brandon,” Harrie whispered, catching his eyes and holding them. “You might have been a little reckless but burning your father alive and strangling you almost to death… That was King Aerys’ doing, not yours. This King Aerys sounds insane and it sounds like he did that enough for it not to be unusual.”

  Brandon dipped his head in a nod and leaned in, reaching out to cup Harrie’s cheek and pressing his lips to hers in a brief, warm kiss. “Thank you.”

  Harrie melted into the kiss and Brandon groaned, deepening it and licking at her mouth. Harrie breathed out a sigh and opened for him, moaning as he nipped and licked into her mouth. Heat built at the base of his spine and his c@ck twitched in interest. “Is Lady Hermione… out?”

  “She’s out getting supplies from the closest town,” Harrie whispered, gesturing outside of the tent. “We have…”

  “Lady Harrie, I do not want to--”

  “I want this,” Harrie retorted, surging in to kiss him again and sliding over to sit in his lap. “If you want this. I don’t know…I’ve never…” 

  Brandon groaned and wrapped his arms around the woman in his lap, hearing her whine. He grinned, shuddering when her c@nt moved over his hardening c@ck. Harrie locked eyes with him and he nodded, unable to deny a beautiful woman what she wanted. His heart thundered in his chest as she moved around on his lap, as she drew him into another kiss. He looked her over as a drop of sweat dripped down her forehead, smoothing it away with his thumb.

  Harrie’s eyes softened at the gesture, her eyes darkening as she watched him slip his fingers around her hip. The shirt she had on was one of Hermione’s, he recalled, seeing both of them wear the other’s clothes. He suspected it was out of weariness, too caught up in everything else to clean clothes. He had caught a few glimpses of it over the past few days as they all dressed in the mornings, had seen Harrie and Hermione exchange clothes easily enough. The two women weren’t sisters but they were close enough to share clothes.

  “May I?” Brandon questioned, his throat and mouth going dry immediately at the sight before him. Harrie peered at him steadily, rolling her hips forward in an attempt to get friction and moaned. No woman had ever been this forward with him in Westeros and no woman had been this daring, not even Barbrey Ryswell. He had only been with Hariel James Potter for two weeks but she had gotten under his skin in a very short time.

  Harrie nodded, watching him as he reached out to slip his fingers underneath her shirt, slipping over the other fabric in the way. She was already wet, the fabric wet enough that he groaned. Goosepimples spread over her skin as he touched her shoulder, running his fingers over her smooth skin. 

  Harrie sighed, reaching out one of her hands to grasp his wrist, meeting his eyes slowly. “Be gentle with me?”

  Brandon sucked in a breath, looking her over. “Is this…”

  “First. Yes. We’re not going any further than…” Harrie trailed off on a louder, ho@rs@ groan as Brandon traced his fingers over the fabric covering her center. “‘M not getting pregnant during a war.”

  His heart raced at the thought that he was the first one to touch her and he growled out as he slipped his hand under that material, sliding down to cup her intimately. Harrie whined, her arms wrapping around him and bucking up into his hand as he rubbed her folds.

  “F@ck,” Harrie whispered, her voice husky with arousal. Brandon smirked and she groaned. Harrie’s hips jerked and a few drops of sweat dripped down her forehead, her tongue sticking out on a hard breath.

  Brandon smiled and stroked her, rubbing circles within her folds and feeling her slick cover his fingers. Harrie swore under her breath, her fingers freezing as she bucked into his hand. Her black hair was splayed all over her shoulders, wild and free of any tie or string and she looked beautiful on his lap, sweaty and undone. Harrie whined, her arms wrapping around him and bucking up into his hand.

   He stroked through her folds and found the spot that made most women cry out beneath him and this woman was no different as Harrie shouted out her release, her muscles clenching around his fingers. Brandon reached over to her hair and ran his hand through the strands, cupping her neck, holding her as she slumped against him.

  Her body trembled in the aftermath and Brandon moved to more comfortably hold her in his lap. Her head was tucked into the crook of his neck, her breathing unsteady as she sighed, her fingers clutching his sides.

  “Next time I try to teach you something…” Harrie paused to catch her breath. “It’s not going to end this way.”

  Brandon huffed, letting her lean against him and enjoying her warmth at the same time. “I said I would help in any way.”

  If his c@ck was hard and aching, that was no one’s business but his own.

  “This…” Harrie breathed, her fingers running up his side and making him shiver. “I did not expect that but… it felt good. It felt…wonderful.”

  “Good. I am glad, Lady Hariel Potter of England.”
 



  Harrie had a blood nose, a bruise coloring her shoulder, and she was looking at him with annoyance in her eyes. He would be offended if he thought it was directed at him but he knew it wasn’t. In all the history that he knew of, mostly due to his lessons with the maester as the heir to Winterfell, Westeros had never really had this kind of war aside from the long winter. And the fight against the Others but it had been so long. He’d never really thought about what it was like to fight in a war for survival like this.

  Hermione was likewise injured, bruised ribs and a slight limp to her step.  

  “Take another deep breath.”

  Brandon swallowed and followed her lead, his eyes closed. His fingers curled into the dirt beneath him, the wind howling around them in their newest location. Gryffindor’s sword lay next to him, ready to be picked up at a moment’s notice.

  Hermione was walking around them, around their tent, laying down the magical warding that would protect them. They had traveled to another spot than they had initially planned on, after running into a group of Snatchers accidentally. 

  “Focus on what makes a wolf,” Harrie started, her voice loud in the otherwise quiet clearing. “Running on four legs, howling…. Hunting. Picture…a direwolf in your mind. If that is the Stark animal--”

  “Northern. They live beyond the Wall. Never south of it.”

  Harrie made a noise under her breath before sighing, a slight hint of fond exasperation in her voice. “Very well then. Picture one in your mind. Draw on that energy in your body, the one I can sense.”

  Brandon coughed and was slightly tempted to open his eyes but restrained himself. Mostly. He pictured the dogs that ran alongside him and his father when they went to go hunt. Galloping across the northern land and the woods, their pads hitting the dirt. “What…”

  A hand landed on his chest, pressing down gently. Pressure and energy brushed up against him, 
  
    through
  
   him, and…
  
    something
  
   inside him answered. He heard a howl as if from far away, something ripping apart inside him. His heart thundered in his chest and his blood roared, echoing the howl of a wolf.

  He heard Harrie scrambling backward even as he doubled over, 
  
    shifting
  
   shape, muscle and bone cracking. He blacked out from the heat of it, the sudden use of muscles he didn’t even know he had, and came to on the ground, panting, his tongue out, his vision at a different angle than it had been before.

  Harrie looked at him for several minutes, her eyes wide, swallowing once, twice. “I… 
  
    Brandon.
  
  ”

  Brandon let out a low whine, letting his mouth open, showing a hint of fangs. He was warmer than he had been a moment before, fur coating his body and back.

  “That’s…”

  He tracked Hermione as the other woman paused in her movements, her eyes going wider, her skin paling.

  “That…is a direwolf? He’s…as tall as a small pony, maybe a few inches taller,” Harrie asked slowly, her eyes still wide before a slow smile grew on her face. “It’s the forbidden dog.”

  Hermione let out a choked sound, what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. 

  “Brandon? Do you know me?” Harrie questioned, sitting on her arse a few feet in front of him, a little hesitant.

  Brandon huffed and barked, pawing the dirt and standing up. He could see his tail out of the corner of his eye, feel the blood rushing through him. The clearing around him looked the same and different all at once, colors more vibrant and the thin flicker of magic around them.

  He threw up his head and howled, the 
  
    wolfblood
  
   inside him thundering. He wanted to run, wanted to hunt. He stood up and padded over to Harrie slowly, smelling the way her nerves were getting to her.

  He licked her hand and dipped his head in a nod. Harrie met his eyes, searching for something before nodding back, a true smile now. “You’re gorgeous. All black and very…lethal looking. Can I…Do you mind if…”

  Harrie stretched out her hand towards him and Brandon huffed, bent his head down to lean his head against Harrie’s palm. The noise that left Harrie’s throat was pure wonder, something soft and curious. And it made Brandon’s heart skip a beat.'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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