A Wandering Melody (HP SI, ASOIAF Crossover)

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123 AC, Dragonstone

Their eyes met across the courtyard, green against violet, and in that single glance, Viserys knew that his world was about to change.

The hours after Viserys' arrival at Dragonstone were surprisingly dull. As the King of the Seven Kingdoms, there were certain expectations of him during his visits, especially since Viserys had no plans on announcing the true reason for his trip, proclaiming it as nothing more than wishing to celebrate his miraculous recovery with his beloved daughter and her family.

And so, he feasted with most of the nobles on Dragonstone, this time, refusing to drink any wine in anticipation of his conversation with Harry Potter. He had expected to be approached by the man. After all, the attention of a King was something that most of the realm craved.

Yet, nothing came of it. Viserys had to restrain his irritation as countless nobles came to him, wishing him well for his recovery, proclaiming that the gods favoured him. The few highlights were at the sight of his grandchildren and nieces, whom he had missed terribly after Rhaenyra decided to leave for Dragonstone.

That didn't change; his frustration and anticipation grew with every minute that passed, and he hoped to meet this sorcerer, whom he hadn't seen since his arrival. Most people likely realised that some form of magic had healed him, and Viserys knew that he would have some trouble with the faith because of this. Perhaps a conversation with the High Septon could change the details of his recovery as some sort of miracle of the gods, wishing the realm's king a good and long life after testing him with disease.

It was all nonsense, of course, but it would help appease the masses. Even then, he had planned on publicly rewarding the Potters and his daughter, proclaiming that they had found the elixir that healed him, an elixir which was likely worth more than a kingdom. He had no plans on making any offence, but to tie the travellers to the realm, to bring fame, and perhaps even infamy onto their heads, from inside and outside the Seven Kingdoms. He could offer his protection should they stay in Westeros and perhaps pave the way to act as his advisors in magical matters.

Viserys knew that he wasn't the smartest man in the realm, but he had been the king for long enough to learn to play this game, even if he had been too ill to care for it in the last few years.

However, he could not find the travellers, which derailed the advantage he wanted to cultivate, and yet he could not move, with the countless courtiers coming to greet him at his table. Finally, when the people stopped, he leaned towards Rhaenyra and asked, "Where is he? Find him."

His daughter's face soured, but she nodded, nonetheless. She got up and walked up to speak with one of the guards, who went out of the room immediately after. A few minutes later, he returned and whispered something to Rhaenyra, which she repeated to him with a quiet yet baffled tone, "It appears that the Potters are entertaining the children."

Viserys froze at that, "Why?"

From the expression on her face, Rhaenyra didn't know the answer to that question either. The children of Lords were often sent to a small hall of their own after the basic introductions. It didn't happen too often, and even then, it was only for very young children, but it was for their own good, as most nobles tended to drink too much wine during feasts.

For a man to leave the company of royalty to spend time with children, it was a strange concept. Then again, sorcerers could have their strangeness, even if he was slighting Viserys with his absence.

Every political instinct in his body bade him to ignore the man and meet him later, but the Targaryen in him, the young boy whose grandfather left an entire burden on his shoulder, the man who had been healed by Harry Potter's miracle, he wanted to speak with the man who saved his life.

And so, he stood up, followed immediately by his daughter, and walked out of the hall, his Kingsguard following him. Even after all these years, he remembered Dragonstone well. His daughter hadn't changed much in her decades of staying there. He walked towards the smaller hall and stopped as he heard the sounds of laughing children.

He motioned the guards to open the doors silently, and found the dark-haired man wearing his odd clothes, kneeling over one of the children, and pretending to take out a silver stag from one of their ears. There was obviously no magic involved, just basic misdirection, and yet it wasn't to trick anyone, but to give joy and wonder to children.

The woman, Lady Daphne, if he wasn't mistaken, was sipping a porcelain cup with a soft smile on her face, a very different expression from the severe woman he had seen when he first arrived in Dragonstone. The man had obviously noticed his presence and ruffled the child's hair while giving him the coin. The small child marvelled at his newfound treasure and ran to speak with the other children.

Lord Harry walked towards him, and Lady Daphne joined him. Both of them nodded, facing him and spoke up, "King Viserys."

"You will address the King as his Grace," Ser Criston Cole spoke up harshly while palming his sword.

It was odd to see a man looking at a warrior, visibly capable of cutting him into pieces in seconds, and smiling as if he was addressing an unruly child, "Now, now. There's no need to be this sensitive, and over names of all things. I have to say, this whole name thing is so confusing. We've travelled a lot and met our share of royalty. Most of them don't care, and actually, a few would have been insulted. Apparently, one addresses non-royal nobility with 'your grace'. I just always stick with saying the title. It saves the confusion a lot."

Viserys raised his hand to placate Ser Criston, "It is alright, Ser. Different cultures have different traditions."

The Lady Daphne snickered at that, "Don't I know it. I still remember the time you accidentally asked a woman back in Greece to marry you when you threw her that apple. And to think that you did that right in front of your wife."

Her husband blushed slightly and answered in a whining tone, "That wasn't my fault, and you know it. I thought she was hungry and threw her one. I had no idea what that meant, and even then, we happened to be on an expedition on one of the few islands that kept that tradition."

"You only figured it out when her entire family chased you off their island when they found out you were married to me."

Despite himself, Viserys couldn't help but chuckle at the display. For the first time in a while, people weren't speaking to him as a king. And he couldn't help but be curious about other cultures, "And where is this Greece?"

"Oh, it's very far away," Lord Harry replied, with an odd look on his face, "So, why is the King of the Seven Kingdoms coming to see me, a humble traveller?"

"Why, to thank you for your potion. I feel like a new man. I believe you called it a Phoenix Tear, which came with some sort of magical creature."

The man nodded, "Ah, yes. I found some kind of den of Phoenixes at the top of a mountain. I was chasing some rumours of an extinct civilisation, the dwarves, where the stories said that they lived inside mountains, hollowing them out over hundreds of years. It wasn't where I expected to see birds of fire. They were lovely, and a few offered me their tears. In a way, you are a new man; Phoenixes exist in an endless cycle of death and rebirth. It was an honour for them to give me their tears. It isn't a very common occurrence."

"You speak of these phoenixes as intelligent creatures," Rhaenyra stated with a hint of surprise in her tone.

"Are your dragons not intelligent creatures as well?" Lord Harry replied, "I'd say the phoenixes will most likely be wiser, at the very least, something that comes with age. No one even knows how old phoenixes are, but they are thousands of years old at the very least."

That statement, especially the comparison with their dragons and the age of the phoenixes, told Viserys that he was dealing with a man who was experienced in the Arcane. Most of Westeros believed that their dragons were nothing more than mere beasts, ones that they had tamed. They didn't see the intelligence in their eyes, nor their obvious individuality.

Nevertheless, Viserys decided to change the subject. He had come to see the man for a reason, after all: "You were missed at the feast."

The traveller waved his hand, "I try not to interact with too many nobles. I find that children make a much better company."

Viserys chuckled. That was all too true, but there was also a knowing look on the man's face, which meant that he had probably seen through Viserys' little scheme to tie him to Westeros. Nevertheless, he decided to push one more time: "I had planned on rewarding you for your feat."

"Oh, it wouldn't be right to reward me for something that I didn't do. I gave the tear to your daughter as a gift. She was the one who chose to give it to you, which is a very wise decision, in my opinion. And what a reward it is to have a healthy father once more."

The king suppressed the urge to grimace at the man's seemingly innocent reply. This was a good deflection to what he wanted, and so, he spoke up, "I am blessed to have a daughter as loving as Rhaenyra. And yet, she did mention a few nuggets of information, knowledge that you told her, that I wished to discuss with you privately."

"Sure, I don't mind," the man retorted calmly, "But I'm afraid I don't know the layout of the castle enough to know where to go."

"The painted table should suffice," Viserys replied, while looking at his daughter.

"Of course, Father," his heir replied immediately, and she led them towards the room that he most likely missed the most from Dragonstone. For some reason, Lady Daphne elected to stay with the children. Perhaps it was for the best, and Viserys took the decision to do the same, and would not ask Rhaenyra to come with him. It was better to do this man-to-man.

The chamber was dim, lit only by sconces along the dark stone walls, the air thick with age and salt. In its heart stood the Painted Table, impossibly large, carved from a single massive trunk of black wood, sanded smooth until it gleamed like obsidian beneath the flickering candlelight.

It bore the shape of Westeros in exquisite detail, every river, every mountain range, every holdfast etched into its surface with care and precision. Viserys rested his hand near Dragonstone's outline, fingers brushing the carved isle with reverence, before slowly turning to face his Kingsguard, "Leave us."

"Your grace…" Ser Criston protested.

"That is an order," he insisted harshly, "That includes you, Rhaenyra."

His daughter's face reddened faintly in embarrassment and anger, but she nodded, seeing the resolute look in his eyes. Finally, Viserys turned towards Harry Potter, the smile vanishing from his eyes and asked, "Well, Harry Potter. You have my attention. What do you know of the Song of Ice and Fire?"

Viserys didn't expect the man to burst into laughter, "Did you and your daughter rehearse this? Because she said it exactly like you did. This is hilarious."

"I'm glad you find the end of the world to be amusing," the king spoke back while gritting his teeth.

"There's always an end of the world, some inescapable disaster happening at some place, at some time," Harry Potter replied casually, "You get used to them after a while. Though I have to admit that I haven't seen Fate being this heavy-handed when it comes to your line."

Viserys found himself struck back at the thought, "My line was blessed indeed, since before the doom of Valyria."

"Oh, you poor man. Fate paying attention is rarely a good thing. You're a small fragment of a tapestry that's larger than you could possibly comprehend, one that needed your family, your line, for something. Did you wonder why your family was chosen out of all of the other Dragonlords in Valyria? There were families with stronger dragons, specifically designed to fight battles. There were families that had specialised in magic far stronger than whatever pittance Visenya could perform. So, the question remains. Why you?"

Viserys thought of the question for a second before coming up with his best answer, "Because we were the only ones who would have fled Valyria for just a dream."

"Do you seriously believe that a civilisation of magic users wouldn't even entertain a prophetic dream? No, they would have taken it very seriously and would have likely been convinced to conquer Westeros as well. What this tells you is that the prophecy doesn't care about the strength of a dragon or the power of your magic. It doesn't care for kings or smallfolk. It cared for your blood, and only your blood. You might think that you have some large role to play, and perhaps you do, but a descendant of a bastard of your house could play a much bigger one. This prophecy has existed from before the Doom and has been in motion for even longer. Civilisations continents apart know of it. You're a small fragment of a whole, and obsessing over it will not help you or anyone. In my experience, prophecies are rarely fulfilled in the way you expect anyway."

That brought Viserys short, in both anger and fear, "I will not have my ancestor's feats and sacrifices be discarded as if they have no meaning, nor did I come to speak of vague prophecies or promises. Tell me what you know of the Song of Ice and Fire, tell me the specifics."

"Alright then," Harry Potter replied, before he suddenly touched Viserys' temples.

The King was about to call for his guards, only to notice that the scene around him had changed completely. He found himself in the Red Keep, the Iron Throne reduced to molten slag as fire raged in the night sky above. The first vision came in flame. Two dragons, one black and another green, spiralled through the skies over King's Landing. They tore through the clouds, roaring with fury, their bodies crashing against one. Every breath scorched the earth. Beneath them, the Red Keep burned, its spires melting into slag, before the two dragons killed one another, falling into the city.

Then came the second. The throne room, shattered and wild, cast in the sickly glow of wildfire. A man stood before the Iron Throne, barefoot and caked in ash, hair dirty and tangled. His eyes, a familiar form of violet, were filled with madness. He was laughing, cackling, really.

"Burn them all!" he howled, again and again, as green fire licked at the walls and pooled around his feet. "Burn them all!" His voice cracked with frenzy, a shriek that echoed against stone and shadow. And yet, no one came to stop him. There was no one left.

And then came the silence. The third vision. Winter, long and unending, had taken the broken city. The fire was gone. The ash had settled. Snow blanketed all, white, untouched, endless. Viserys couldn't help but shiver at the sight of it.

Moments later, the painted table returned, and he found himself gasping as Harry Potter removed his hands. "What was that?"

"A future," he replied, "A possibility in a sea of others. I told you that prophecies rarely ended well for the people involved."

"Can I stop it, any of it?"

"Of course you can," the man replied, "The future is always in flux, always changing from one choice to another. Prophecies are not absolute, visions even less so."

"How?" Viserys practically begged.

"Well, for one, you can start by being a better king," Harry Potter replied in a neutral tone.

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AN: That was harder to write than I expected, and I'm not sure about a few things, especially Harry being this hard on Viserys. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.

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If you want to support me check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr

I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions of them so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.

Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.