Harry Potter: A Typical Man(SI OC)

Jon Snow stepped forward now, his armored boots clicking against the frozen stone. His voice was calm but cut through the silence like a blade.

"Will you hear us now?"

I nodded before I could think to stop myself.

Jon turned slightly toward Jon Bonds. "Show her."

Bonds stepped forward, his twin katanas disappearing in twin flashes of light. He raised one gauntleted hand, and a strange, glowing orb of silver and blue floated above his palm.

"This is what we face," Bonds said. The orb shimmered, expanded, and an image bloomed into the air like smoke forming shape.

A great field of snow… and a tide of the dead.

Thousands. Tens of thousands. Wights. Pale blue-eyed monsters. The Night King at the center, tall and terrible, riding a skeletal steed. But it was not just the army that made my blood turn to ice. It was the blade he carried—long, crystalline, glowing with eerie dark energy.

"That sword," Bonds said, "is called the Blade of Victory. It was forged from cursed ice by forgotten gods, said to never lose in battle. The Night King wields it with power no mortal can match. He also possesses a skill that allows him to see strikes even before they happen."

"Like he can read minds?" Tyrion asked, his voice strained.

"No. He sees the intent. The attack. A heartbeat before it occurs. Enough to turn every duel into slaughter."

Tyrion looked pale. Varys, who had slipped into the chamber unnoticed, murmured, "Gods help us."

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the image. The Night King was... beyond anything I'd imagined. A storm wrapped in flesh and malice.

Tormund stepped forward now, his broad chest heaving. "That… is what almost wiped out my people. I saw it. Fought it. If King Crow hadn't come when he did, we'd all be bones on the ice. Burned or broken. This—this is not some tale told around a fire. It is real."

Ghost lowered his massive head and growled. "And while all of you squabble over thrones and crowns, the true enemy marches. Every moment wasted is another death."

Jon spoke again. "We didn't come here to threaten you. We came to ask for your help. You speak of breaking chains and saving the people. This is the war that will decide if anyone is left to rule."

I looked at him. Truly looked.

He could have attacked. He could have brought war. But he brought warning, truth… and a request.

"You came for alliance, not submission," I murmured.

Jon nodded. "And to prove that you're not your father. That you'll be the queen who fights for the living."

The throne beneath me felt heavier. My crown colder.

But something warm stirred in my chest. Hope—or admiration. Maybe both.

I looked at the King in the North and saw not a rival. But perhaps… an equal.

"Then let us talk."

And this time, I meant it.

---------

The chamber had fallen into a heavy, contemplative silence.

The swirling illusions of the Night King's army faded into the air, leaving behind only the crackling torches and the frost still lingering on the black stone floor. Daenerys was no longer seated on her throne. She stood now, pacing slowly, her expression a complex knot of thought and doubt, courage and fear.

Jon Snow stood still, hands clasped behind his back, his transformed armor slowly receding as the tension lowered. Ghost remained beside him, his massive form curled beside the northern company, blue eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.

Daenerys's voice cut the silence. "If what you've shown me is true... then this war is bigger than the Iron Throne. But convincing the people of Westeros—especially Cersei Lannister—will not be so simple."

Tyrion stepped forward. "My queen is right. The Queen in the South does not care for the common good. She'll see this as a ploy, a trick. She must be shown the threat with her own eyes."

Tormund scoffed, stepping forward. "We fought those things in the snow. Lost almost all my people to them. Women, children, warriors—it didn't matter. They came like a storm and left nothing but silence behind. And this lion queen thinks she can sit in her golden tower while the world freezes around her?"

Jon Bonds's tone was sharper, colder. "You want to waste time parading this army of corpses to her doorstep? We could end Cersei and her army in one night. My magic, Ghost, the enchanted weapons we wield—she wouldn't last an hour. Then, you could unite all the kingdoms without bloodshed."

"That's not without bloodshed," Tyrion argued. "That's conquest."

"It's reality," Bonds countered. "We fight the dead, not out of ambition, but necessity. Cersei is not an ally. She's a rot that spreads from within. While we play diplomacy, the dead grow stronger."

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. "You speak of destroying a queen—"

"A queen who blew up the Great Sept with wildfire and murdered hundreds," Ser Davos cut in. "You know what she is, Your Grace."

Daenerys looked between them. Her gaze stopped on Jon Snow.

He met her eyes. "We're not here to tell you how to rule. Only to ask for your help. But we'll help you, too. Bring your army north when the time comes, and I will help you deal with Cersei. We can bring the realm together—for the living. Let us show we are not here for your throne but to unite the realm under the banner of living no matter who sits on that accursed chair."

There was a pause.

Ghost's deep, rumbling voice echoed through the hall. "If Cersei attacks, she will fall. But if she's allowed to scheme, she'll take your dragons from you. She's fire without reason."

Tormund nodded. "She's poison in a crown. If Snow's asking to help her, it's only because he's too damn noble."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "I'm asking because unity is better than more war. But if she doesn't see reason—"

"Then we deal with her," Bonds said. "Quickly. Quietly."

Daenerys was silent again. The weight of her ancestors seemed to sit on her shoulders. She turned slowly and looked at the throne.

"If I do this... if I leave Dragonstone... I will need assurances."

"You'll have them," Jon said firmly. "Help us save the realm, and I'll help you take the throne. Not with blood, but with unity."

She finally nodded. "Very well. We'll plan to reach out to Cersei, but if she refuses, then I will march north. We fight together."

There was a subtle, collective release of breath from the Northern group.

Daenerys raised a hand, signaling the guards. "Show our guests to their chambers. They've had a long journey."

As they began to exit, Jon Snow paused in the archway. He looked back.

His voice was low, but clear. "You're a better ruler than many I've met, Daenerys Targaryen."

She turned to face him.

"Not because of dragons. Not because of titles. But because you listened. When so many would not."

Daenerys blinked. A small, surprised smile tugged at her lips.

As Jon left with his companions—Ghost, Bonds, Davos, and Tormund—she watched him go, a strange warmth blooming beneath her ribs. Her heart beat a little faster.

Tyrion stepped up beside her.

"You're thinking of something," he said, his usual wit softened.

"Yes," she replied quietly. "I'm thinking... that I may not be the only fire burning on this path."

She turned back toward the throne.

But the thought of the King in the North lingered far longer than she expected.

KING'S LANDING, AFTER 3 WEEKS,

The sun bore down heavily over the Dragonpit, casting long shadows across the ancient, crumbling stones as banners fluttered with uneasy pride. The meeting had been hard-won. Months of letters, messengers, and diplomacy—mostly handled by Tyrion and Ser Davos—had led to this fragile, precarious moment of peace. All sides were present.

Cersei Lannister, draped in black and crowned in gold, stood at the head of her guards—her dead-eyed Mountain looming at her side like a silent executioner. Jaime Lannister stood a pace behind her, his golden hand polished and gleaming. Euron Greyjoy lounged nearby with his usual smirk, arrogance dripping off him like sweat.

Opposite them stood Daenerys Targaryen, resplendent in Targaryen red and black, her dragons screeching overhead before perching atop the Dragonpit walls. Tyrion was by her side, visibly tense. Jon Snow stood firm, his cloak billowing in the wind, with Ghost at his side—silent and larger than life. Jon Bonds stood just behind him, his eyes dark and unreadable, a predator coiled in human form. Ser Davos and Tormund Giantsbane completed the northern delegation.

Tyrion was the first to speak, ever the broker of words. "Thank you all for coming. We're here to discuss a matter that affects not just the Iron Throne, but the fate of all the living."

Cersei scoffed. "You drag us out here, to this dusty ruin, to parrot more tales of frozen corpses?"

Bonds raised a hand. A sudden ripple of silence fell as he muttered a word. A portal shimmered open mid-air, revealing a memory preserved in icy detail: White Walkers marching across the frost-covered woods, dragging their dead army behind them. The Night King standing at the edge of a frozen lake, blade in hand. The Blade of Victory shimmering with doom.

Gasps echoed around the pit.

Daenerys narrowed her eyes, her lips parting. "This is real."

But Cersei stood unmoved. "It's sorcery. Tricks. You show illusions, parlor games. There is no army of the dead."

Bonds stepped forward slowly. "You think this is a trick? Then perhaps the Mountain can test us."

With a blur of motion, the Mountain moved—an instinct to strike. But before he could bring down his sword, Jon Snow unsheathed Longclaw and cleaved the Mountain vertically in half with one devastating upward strike. The air rang with silence and steel.

Gasps turned to screams.

Jaime stepped forward, hand on his sword—but froze. Euron lunged.

"Enough of this farce—" he snarled, sword raised.

Before he could finish, Jon Bonds raised a single finger and a gout of blue flame surged forth. Euron Greyjoy screamed as fire engulfed him, his skin peeling away in sheets until only ash remained.

The Lannister gold cloaks charged to defend the Queen.

And that's when Ghost moved.

His eyes glowed with ancient, glacial power. With a low growl, he raised one paw and slammed it to the stone.

A surge of ice erupted.

Seven of Cersei's guards were frozen solid in place—mid-swing, mid-breath. A single flick of Ghost's paw and their frozen bodies shattered like glass, leaving only icy mist behind.

A cold silence fell.

Even the dragons above quieted.

Cersei stumbled back in shock, eyes wide in primal fear. Daenerys turned to look at Ghost, her breath catching.

"He... He said he would turn my dragons to ice statues if I tried to harm them," she whispered to herself. "And he can."

Tormund stepped forward, his axe bristling with ancient enchantment. "That's what the Great War looks like. This is what nearly wiped my people out. Snow saved us. You should listen."

Ghost stepped forward now, towering and noble. "Enough of this squabbling. While you play games of thrones, the true enemy marches. If not for us, you'd already be ash or bone."

Cersei's voice cracked. "I will not... be threatened in my own city—"

Tormund growled and, in one brutal move, leapt forward, his enchanted axe cleaving through the Queen's neck before anyone could react.

Her head rolled to the steps below, bouncing once.

The pit fell deathly quiet.

Jaime did not fight. He dropped his sword.

"I surrender," he whispered, voice breaking. "I never believed her lies. I tried to stop her."

Daenerys turned to Jon Snow, her voice quiet. "You could've conquered us from the start. Why didn't you?"

Jon Snow's voice was low, resolute. "Because we came to save the realm, not rule it."

She stared at him, awe blooming like fire in her chest. "You could've burned King's Landing to the ground. Your beast—Ghost—could've killed my dragons. But you didn't."

Bonds added softly, "We chose unity. Not domination."

Daenerys looked around. The Lannister forces were kneeling. Her dragons still roared from above. But her heart... it was quiet.

Respect.

Affection.

And maybe something more—for the King in the North who stood unshaken.

"I will march my armies north," she said. "I will lend my dragons. My fleet. My allies. I swear it."

Ghost bowed slightly. "Then let us march. Winter is coming."

Tyrion, eyes wide, looked at Daenerys. "This changes everything."

Daenerys nodded, her gaze still locked on Jon Snow.

"Yes. It does."