Harry Potter: A Typical Man(SI OC)

The snow hadn't even fully melted off the armor I wore the day before, and already Winterfell felt different. Ghost's massive new form towered like a small mountain beside me. His fur shimmered like ancient snow untouched by time, and every breath he exhaled turned the air crystalline. He had become more than direwolf—he was now legend.

And me? I didn't feel like the same man who had died once already.

My body was stronger, leaner, heavier with power. In that strange place Bonds had taken Ghost and me to, we had trained. Fought. Died and returned a hundred times over. I wasn't just Jon Snow anymore. I was a white wolf with the fury of a hundred dragons in my bones. Ghost could speak now. Think like a man. And he had made sure Sansa knew how he felt.

Sansa, to her credit, had not just accepted it. She had defended me. Believed in Bonds. Hugged me like she was afraid I wouldn't return. She watched us go and stayed strong while we vanished from time.

Now we were back.

The great hall of Winterfell was thick with tension. The torches flickered, the wind howled through the broken stones, and snow flurried through shattered windows. My cloak was wet with melted snow, my body still sore from the days of battle and training beyond imagination.

Sansa sat beside me at the head table, her expression calm but tired. Ghost rested behind her—no longer just the silent shadow he once was, but now a being of pure elemental power. Towering, regal, with glistening white fur and glowing eyes of frost. Even when he simply breathed, the air chilled around him.

The hall was filled with lords—House Manderly, House Cerwyn, House Glover, and more. Men who had bent their knees to the Boltons. Men who had refused to answer our call when we asked for aid. Now, they sat stiffly, as though unsure if they were here to make amends or await judgment.

I said nothing. What could I say? That I was grateful they arrived late, after so many had already bled and died? That the weight of Winterfell pressed heavier on me than the iron crown they all avoided mentioning?

Then her voice cut through the silence like a sword unsheathing.

Lady Lyanna Mormont.

"Your son was butchered at the Red Wedding, Lord Manderly," she said. "But you refused the call."

The room stiffened. Lord Manderly didn't respond—he couldn't. The girl's words stung sharper than any blade.

"You swore allegiance to House Stark, Lord Glover. But in their hour of greatest need, you refused the call."

Robett Glover shifted in his seat, his jaw clenched.

"And you, Lord Cerwyn," she continued. "Your father was skinned alive by Ramsay Bolton. Still, you refused the call."

The lords averted their eyes. No one dared speak.

Lyanna stepped forward. No higher than a raven perched on a branch, yet the strength in her voice thundered through the stone hall.

"But House Mormont remembers. The North remembers."

My breath caught. My heart beat louder than their silence.

"We know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark. I don't care if he's a bastard. Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He is my king—from this day until his last day."

My lips parted slightly. I didn't know what to say. I couldn't speak past the lump rising in my throat.

Then Lord Manderly stood. The man was large, but it wasn't his size that mattered now—it was the weight of his words.

"Lady Mormont speaks harshly… and truly," he said. "My son died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. I didn't think we'd find another king in my lifetime… I was wrong."

He turned to face me fully.

"Jon Snow avenged the Red Wedding. He is the White Wolf. The King in the North!"

That name—White Wolf—it rang in my ears like ghost song.

Lord Glover followed, slamming his sword into the floor.

"Jon Snow is King in the North!"

More voices joined, rising in a chant, old words spoken with new fire:

"The King in the North!""The King in the North!""THE KING IN THE NORTH!"

I stood slowly, my legs stiff, as if the stones beneath them were unsteady. My eyes scanned the room—men who once doubted me, men who now shouted my name with reverence.

I turned slightly to Sansa. Her lips curved in the faintest smile. I couldn't tell if it was pride, relief, or something else. Maybe all of it.

Behind us, Ghost raised his head and let out a long, echoing howl—icy mist trailing from his muzzle, white breath against the firelight.

I didn't ask for this.

I didn't want a crown.

But something stirred in my chest—a silent vow. If they would have me as their king, I would fight for them. I would die for them.

Because winter was not coming.

It was already here.

"The King in the North!""The King in the North!""THE KING IN THE NORTH!"

And I—I was ready.

The great hall of Winterfell was quieter now, the echoes of loyalty oaths and the chorus of "The King in the North" still ringing in my ears. The torches flickered above like watchful eyes, shadows stretching along the stone walls as the northern lords took their seats once more. The fire at the heart of the room roared strong, but it was not the flame that warmed me. It was the unity of the North, hard-won and still fragile.

I stood from my chair, the weight of responsibility heavy on my shoulders but one I would carry without complaint. The lords and ladies watched with expectation now, many of them likely wondering what came next. Winter was here. We had won a battle, but not yet the war. And there was still one more truth they had to hear.

I cleared my throat. "Lords of the North. Allies of House Stark. I thank you all. Your support honors me more than I can say."

A few nods. A few fists over hearts.

"But there's something you must all understand," I continued. "Our greatest enemy is not the Boltons. Not the Lannisters. Not even the dragons." I looked slowly around the room. "It is the Night King. And the army of the dead."

The hall grew still.

"Many of you have heard whispers. Tales told by old men around dying fires. Of the Long Night. Of the Others. Of the wights. I am here to tell you they are real. I've fought them. I've killed them. I've died because of them."

That caught their attention.

Lord Manderly blinked. "You what?"

I nodded. "I died. At Castle Black. My brothers betrayed me. Put daggers in my heart." I pulled open my tunic and showed the faint scars. "But I was brought back. And now I know why. To stand between the darkness and the living."

Gasps filled the air. Whispers followed.

I turned toward the shadows where he waited, leaning against a pillar like he hadn't a care in the world.

"This is Jon Bonds. The man who helped us retake Winterfell. You know him as the one who turned the tide at the Battle of the Bastards. But he's more than that. He is a wizard. A warrior. And the only reason we're not all dead."

Bonds stepped forward, arms crossed, a lazy grin on his face. He was dressed simply, though nothing about him was ever simple. His hair was wind-tossed as ever, the ends slightly frosted from the cold. His mismatched eyes gleamed in the firelight—one emerald, one sapphire.

There were murmurs. Even Lord Manderly, who had been the first to stand for me, looked uncertain.

"A wizard, you say," said Lord Cerwyn skeptically. "Like the stories? Spells and potions?"

Jon Bonds raised his hand and snapped his fingers. A puff of frost spiraled from the air itself, forming into a snowflake the size of a man's fist, floating gently into Lord Cerwyn's lap.

"Better than stories," Bonds said with a grin.

Sansa tried to suppress her smile. She failed.

"I am here," Bonds continued, turning to the hall, "not just as a friend of House Stark, but as a messenger. There's a threat beyond the Wall, a king of ice and death, one whose blade is said to have never met its match."

I stepped forward again. "The Night King. And the blade... the Sword of Victory. An ancient weapon. One that can see your movements before you make them. That's how he was never truly defeated 8,000 years ago. The Long Night ended not because he was slain... but because he was pushed back."

There was a pause.

"Pushed back..." Lord Glover echoed. "You mean to say... he still lives?"

"Not lives," Jon Bonds replied. "Exists. Endures. Waiting for his moment to march south and turn every living creature into a puppet of his will."

"And what of the dragon queen?" asked Lord Cerwyn again. "She's landed at Dragonstone. Will she not march upon us to demand fealty?"

Jon Bonds smirked. "She will summon us, aye. But we won't go to bend the knee. We'll go to remind her that no dragon, no matter how fire-breathing, stands taller than a wolf made of ice."

At that moment, Ghost raised his head. The great direwolf stood, fur glowing faintly with frost. And then...

He spoke.

"We do not kneel to fire."

Gasps swept the room. Men stood. Chairs scraped.

Lady Mormont's mouth fell open. Lord Manderly clutched his chest.

Sansa, beside me, covered her lips to stifle a laugh.

"A talking wolf?!" Robett Glover exclaimed.

"He's more than that now," I said, placing a hand on Ghost's massive shoulder. "He has been gifted power beyond what even dragons could match. And so have I."

I looked around at the stunned faces.

"Jon Bonds gave us something called... a Devil Fruit. A gift of power. One turned Ghost into a being of frost and fury. The other... changed me."

With a thought, I transformed. Not into a beast, but a man cloaked in ice-forged armor wearing the skin of the wolf who ended Gods. My eyes glowed pale. My limbs moved with speed and strength I had never known.

The lords stepped back, awe in their eyes.

Bonds continued. "I can do more. I can make your soil fertile, even in winter. Grow food faster. Larger livestock, stronger soldiers. Trained in magic and steel, before I came here I enchanted many caves near the northern mountains that are now filled with metals and dragonglass that will be needed for the weapons and armor to arm our people to teeth when they fight the greatest battle for the living."

"And you would do this... for free?" Manderly asked.

"Not free," Jon Bonds said, his voice sobering. "For survival. You are the wall between humanity and extinction since the age of heroes. If the North falls, the rest follows. I will make sure the North never falls."

One by one, they came forward.

Lord Cerwyn clasped his wrist. "For my people. Thank you."

House Hornwood bowed. "We owe you our lives."

House Mormont stepped forward last. Lady Lyanna, fierce-eyed and small, stood before Bonds. "We welcome you as one of the North."

The room stood in unity.

Sansa stepped forward now, her voice clear and decisive.

"If the Dragon Queen calls for an audience," she said, "then my brother, Jon, Ghost, Ser Davos, and Tormund Giantsbane will travel to Dragonstone. We need allies for the battle to come, and if dragons are to fly again, they must fly alongside wolves."

Ghost stood tall once more and rumbled, his voice low and resonant. "I will keep every Northerner who walks with my alpha safe, by ice and fang."

That silenced the last of the skepticism. Even the most hard-nosed of the old lords could not help but bow their heads in agreement.

"We will ride south," I said. "To Dragonstone. To bring allies, not bend knees. With Jon Bonds and Ghost at my side, no dragon shall rule the North. We will stand, united—wolves and men alike."

A cheer broke out. Ghost howled, and the air danced with frost.

And for the first time... I felt we had a chance.