Harry Potter: A Typical Man(SI OC)

The pyres still smoldered.

Smoke curled into the ash-colored sky, drifting like the final breath of a dying winter. I stood at the edge of the great feast hall in Winterfell, surrounded by laughter, stories, and the living — those who had made it through the long night. Yet despite the warmth of the hall, I felt cold. Cold not in flesh, but in soul. The kind of cold that wraps itself around your bones and refuses to let go.

The funeral had been quiet. Too quiet. We'd buried the dead — so many dead — with sword and song, with fire and salt. Ghost never left my side, not for a moment. Neither did Arya. And when the time came for the feast, when the horns blared and the tables were filled, it was only because we had to.

We were alive.

But Bonds... Bonds was something else entirely.

He had stayed in the shadows for most of the war, a silent storm, calm as death, eyes like thunder waiting to crash. He saved us all. Not just in battle — no, that would've been too simple. He saved the idea of us. The hope, the heart, the last flicker of fire in our chests when everything else had gone dark.

And now... he was leaving.

The hall quieted the moment he rose.

Everyone turned to him, as if some unseen magic pulled their eyes forward. He didn't speak right away — no. He looked at us all. Every lord, every lady, every bloody soul. From Tormund to Tyrion, Arya to Sansa, Gendry to Gilly.

"I was never meant to stay," he said at last, voice like iron dragged across stone. "But before I go, I leave behind gifts."

He turned to me first.

Me.

"Jon Snow," he said. "Take this."

In his hand — a rune. Old Valyrian carved deep in obsidian, glowing faintly with fire.

"There are still dragons in this world. Their future lies in your hands. At Dragonstone and in the Pit, you will find at least a dozen eggs. Place them in a pyre, this rune at the center, light it with dragonfire, and spill a few drops of your blood — and the next generation of dragons will be born."

My mouth opened. Words refused to come. My fingers curled around the rune — it burned, but it didn't hurt.

Then he turned to Daenerys.

And said something that broke her.

"Your curse is lifted. You will bear children again."

She gasped, fell to her knees, sobbed like a storm finally breaking. She ran to him, arms flung around his chest, thanking him between every breath, clutching him like the wind would steal him away.

And still, he wasn't done.

Lords — from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms — stepped forward. Not to boast. Not to scheme. To thank him. One by one. With tears in their eyes.

Lord Royce.

Gendry, now Lord of Storm's End.

Even Ser Bronn of the Blackwater raised his cup in reverence.

And then the Freefolk. Gods, Tormund stepped forward, eyes wet and red, and said the most Tormund thing ever.

"You're a mad bastard, Bonds. But you'll always have a home with us. Even if you eat with a fork."

The hall erupted into laughter.

Then came Davos. The Onion Knight. He didn't say anything.

Just hugged him.

Tight. Like a father to a son.

And then Bran.

Gods.

Bonds knelt before him. Whispered something.

A glow. A surge.

And Bran stood.

Stood.

The hall went silent again.

And then exploded.

Bran laughed, the sound of it strange and bright. He threw his arms around Bonds, eyes shining. "I can be a knight," he whispered.

Bonds just smiled.

And Arya? She didn't speak. She just walked over and put her forehead to his. Silent. Intimate.

"You saved us," she whispered.

"No," he said. "I reminded you what you were worth."

And finally — Arianna.

Of course she'd be last.

She strode forward, proud, beautiful, fierce. The kind of woman even dragons would kneel for.

"My offer still stands," she said. "If you ever change your mind... you know where to find me."

He grinned.

"I do. And that's the danger."

She laughed — a soft, broken thing — and kissed him on the cheek.

And then... he looked at me.

Me.

We walked out into the snow.

Just the two of us.

The air was quiet, the moon a pale ghost. Bonds turned, cloak rippling like wings.

"You're more than your blood, Jon. More than a Stark. More than a Targaryen. You're what comes after. Remember that."

I opened my mouth.

But he was already fading.

Light consumed him — bright, blinding, beautiful. I took a step forward.

"Bonds—"

His voice echoed.

"This world is yours now. Don't waste it."

And he was gone.

Gone.

Just like that.

I stood in the snow for hours. Rune in hand. Ghost at my side.

Tears in my eyes.

A world to rebuild.

And dragons to wake.

Jon Bonds's POV:

The white room was exactly as I remembered it. Endless. Sterile. Clean. And yet not cold. A place outside of time, as if existence had paused just long enough to let me catch my breath.

I stood there in silence for a moment, my armor still stained with blood and ash, my hair windswept from the battlefield, my hands shaking—not from fear, but from the sheer gravity of everything that had just happened. The death of the Night King. The end of the long night. The farewell.

And like that, she appeared. Not in a burst of divine light or with celestial trumpets, but with a soft click of heels on the glossy white floor and a casual sip from a too-fancy coffee mug.

"Hey," she said, her voice light and incredibly… normal. "Mission two—complete. That's a solid win for Team Existence."

Freyja didn't look like the all-powerful, ancient being you'd expect when you hear words like afterlife management or divine overseer. No, she looked like someone who worked HR in a high-end corporate building. Shoulder-length platinum hair. A tailored white blouse tucked into a pencil skirt. White blazer, white heels, silver badge hanging from her lanyard that read: FREYJA — Afterlife Management, Dimensional Crisis Division.

She grinned and tilted her head. "You look like hell, Bonds."

I snorted. "Thanks. You always this charming?"

"Only to people who survived the apocalypse and ended a thousand-year undead reign. So yeah, today's your lucky day."

I smirked. "You came to congratulate me?"

"Officially, yeah." She took another sip from her mug—somehow, it didn't feel out of place at all. "On behalf of the Department of Afterlife Management, we extend our sincerest thanks. Mission in the Twilight world? Resolved. Mission in the Game of Thrones timeline? Resolved. Balance restored. Thread count normalized. Minimal paradox leakage. You did good."

I gave a slight nod. "That's it then?"

"Not quite." She glanced over her shoulder, where the Wheel of Fate spun gently in the distance like it had been waiting all along. "You've spun it once before, so you know the drill. You earned another spin."

"No final test? No riddle?"

"Please. I work for a department. We've got rules. Protocols. And believe me, spinning the wheel is already weird HR territory. So just count yourself lucky."

She took a step back, giving me a quick salute.

"Good luck with the spin, Bonds. Who knows what you'll pull this time. We've had people walk out of here with cursed swords, immortal birds, divine pets, ancient knowledge, whole pocket dimensions, hell—even a magical bakery franchise."

"A bakery?"

"Don't ask. It caused five time fractures."

She winked. "Well. I'm clocking out for now. You've got this."

And just like that, she vanished.

I turned slowly to face the spinning wheel.

Here we go again.

I spinned it and it stopped on purple mark.

Ding,

Highly Advanced Pelican Aircraft ( HALO UNIVERSE )

This is an upgraded version of Pelican aircraft of halo universe with unlimited fuel and anti radar and completely untraced by any method with camouflage mechanism.

Umm good I guess not that I am going to need it in HP world any time soon but who knows, it might come handy in future.

With that my surrounding changed again and I found myself inside a familiar room.

Which is my bedroom room in Yorkshire Dale. With a sigh I slumped on my bed.

Now I have to wait for the time until I meet my Daphne and her parents.