As they walked through the Wolfswood, the ancient trees towering overhead like silent sentinels that had witnessed the rise and fall of kings, the atmosphere gradually shifted from the tension of their initial encounter to something more companionable. The steady crunch of boots on fallen leaves, punctuated by the occasional trill from Fawkes as he soared between the canopy above, created a surprisingly peaceful backdrop for conversation.
Lord Stark led the way with the measured stride of a man who had walked these paths since boyhood, his weathered face thoughtful as he processed everything he'd witnessed in the past hour. Behind him, his sons and ward exchanged glances that spoke of shared curiosity barely held in check by proper Northern manners.
It was Robb who finally gave voice to what they were all thinking, his auburn hair catching the filtered sunlight as he moved up to walk beside Harry. "So," he said, his tone carefully casual in the way of young men trying to appear sophisticated, "you mentioned a seven-year war with a dark wizard. How exactly does someone our age end up in that kind of conflict? Because I have to say, the most dangerous thing I've faced is Theon's cooking."
"My cooking is perfectly adequate!" Theon protested from behind them, his voice carrying that particular note of wounded dignity he'd perfected over the years. "That incident with the fish was entirely Jon's fault for distracting me."
"I asked you to pass the salt," Jon replied dryly, his dark eyes dancing with amusement. "Hardly grounds for setting the kitchens on fire."
"There was no fire," Theon insisted. "There was merely... enthusiastic smoke."
"Robb," Lord Stark said mildly from ahead, though there was no real reproach in his voice. Even he was clearly interested in the answer to his heir's question.
"It's quite alright, Lord Stark," Harry replied, adjusting his pace to match the group's while Fawkes settled more comfortably on his shoulder. The phoenix seemed entirely unbothered by the banter, occasionally preening his magnificent feathers with the casual vanity of a creature that knew itself to be spectacular. "Though I should warn you all, it's not exactly what you'd call a cheerful bedtime story. My life has been... well, 'complicated' seems rather inadequate, but it'll have to do."
"We've got time," Jon said quietly, and something in his tone—the careful neutrality of someone who understood what it meant to carry burdens others couldn't see—seemed to resonate with Harry. Their eyes met briefly, and an understanding passed between them that spoke of shared experiences with being different, unwanted, set apart.
"I'm not interested," Theon announced loudly, with the kind of obvious insincerity that fooled absolutely no one. He immediately fell back to walk closer to their group, his sea-green eyes fixed intently on Harry with barely concealed fascination. "But I suppose I'll listen anyway. For politeness's sake, you understand. Wouldn't want to be rude to our mysterious visitor."
Harry's lips quirked in genuine amusement, transforming his entire face and making him look his actual age for the first time since they'd found him. "Of course. Purely out of courtesy. I'm sure you have absolutely no interest in tales of magic and adventure."
"None whatsoever," Theon confirmed solemnly, then immediately added, "Though if there happen to be any particularly impressive bits involving, say, magical creatures or spectacular battles, I might pay attention. You know, just to be polite."
"Naturally," Harry agreed, his green eyes sparkling with mirth. "I wouldn't dream of suggesting otherwise."
Robb grinned at the exchange, clearly enjoying the sight of someone matching Theon's wit so effortlessly. "Please, continue. We're all... politely interested."
Harry was quiet for a moment, organizing his thoughts while the phoenix on his shoulder regarded the assembled company with the kind of regal dignity that suggested he was perfectly aware of his own magnificence and rather enjoyed being the center of attention.
"I suppose it all started when I was barely old enough to walk," Harry began, his voice taking on the cadence of someone telling a story they'd lived rather than simply heard. "There was this dark wizard named Tom Marvolo Riddle—though he preferred to call himself Lord Voldemort because, apparently, 'Tom' wasn't nearly dramatic enough for someone with aspirations of immortal tyranny."
"Voldemort?" Theon repeated, stumbling slightly over the pronunciation. "That's... actually that's rather ominous sounding. Very dramatic. I approve of the name choice, even if the man himself sounds ghastly."
"Oh, he was absolutely ghastly," Harry confirmed cheerfully. "Imagine the worst person you've ever met, remove any redeeming qualities they might have possessed, add delusions of godhood and a complete inability to understand why anyone might object to mass murder, and you're still not quite there."
"Sounds charming," Robb said dryly. "I take it he didn't ask you to tea and discuss philosophy?"
"Not exactly, no. You see, there was this prophecy—" Harry's expression grew sardonic "—because there's always a bloody prophecy, isn't there? Some ancient bit of verse about a child born at the end of July who would have the power to defeat the Dark Lord. Very dramatic, very vague, very inconvenient for everyone involved."
"A prophecy?" Jon asked, his interest clearly piqued. "Like the old stories Old Nan tells by the fire?"
"Rather more specific than most, unfortunately," Harry replied. "Something about 'neither can live while the other survives' and 'power the Dark Lord knows not.' Typical prophetic nonsense—vague enough to be interpreted seventeen different ways, but specific enough to get people killed in rather spectacular fashion."
"And this Voldemort believed it?" Lord Stark asked, his tone carefully neutral but his grey eyes sharp with interest.
"Believed it enough to commit mass murder trying to prevent it," Harry said, his voice carefully level though his hand unconsciously moved to stroke Fawkes's feathers. "Halloween night, 1981. I was fifteen months old, barely old enough to say 'mama' properly, much less pose a threat to anyone. He killed my father first—James Potter—then my mother, Lily. She died trying to protect me, threw herself between us even though she knew it was hopeless."
The group fell silent except for their footsteps crunching on fallen leaves. Even Theon seemed subdued by the casual way Harry spoke of such profound tragedy.
"But something went wrong with his plan," Harry continued, his voice gaining strength. "When Voldemort tried to kill me, the curse rebounded. Destroyed his body, left me with nothing but this lovely souvenir." He brushed his dark hair back briefly, revealing the distinctive lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. "Everyone thought he was gone for good. I became famous overnight—'The Boy Who Lived,' they called me. Rather ridiculous, really, being celebrated for something I was too young to remember and certainly had no control over."
"That must have been... difficult," Jon said quietly, and something in his understanding tone suggested he knew what it was like to be defined by circumstances beyond his control.
"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Harry's smile turned sharp as winter steel. "But I didn't find out about any of this until I was eleven years old. You see, the people who were supposed to be caring for me decided I didn't need to know about magic, or my parents, or the fact that I was famous throughout the wizarding world."
"Where did you go?" Lord Stark asked, his voice carrying that particular note of authority that expected truthful answers. "Who raised you?"
Harry's expression darkened like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. "Ah, now that's where things get truly interesting. The man who was supposed to be looking after my interests—Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—decided in his infinite wisdom that I should go to my mother's sister and her family. The Dursleys." The name came out like a curse word that would make sailors blush.
"They were... unkind?" Robb ventured, clearly picking up on the venom in Harry's tone.
"'Unkind' is rather like calling a dragon 'slightly warm,'" Harry replied with bitter amusement. "They despised magic, despised anything that didn't fit into their narrow little view of normalcy, and they especially despised me for being a living reminder of my parents and everything they stood for."
"How despised?" Theon asked, his usual joviality fading as he caught the underlying steel in Harry's voice.
"I spent eleven years sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs," Harry said conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "Doing all the household chores, being told I was a freak and a burden who should be grateful they didn't dump me on the church steps. They told me my parents died in a car crash because they were drunk and worthless, just like me."
The temperature in the forest seemed to drop several degrees. Lord Stark's hand moved unconsciously toward Ice's hilt, while both Jon and Robb looked thunderous.
"A cupboard?" Robb's voice was tight with barely controlled fury. "For eleven years? You were a child!"
"Indeed I was," Harry agreed with that same casual tone that was somehow more chilling than shouting would have been. "Rather small for my age, too, which worked out well for the accommodations. Very economical use of space."
"That's not economy, that's cruelty," Jon said flatly, his grey eyes flashing with anger.
"Oh, there was plenty of actual cruelty too," Harry assured him cheerfully. "But let's not dwell on the unpleasant details. After all, it all worked out in the end—I'm alive, relatively sane, and only occasionally homicidal toward people who remind me of my dear relatives."
"Only occasionally?" Theon asked weakly.
"I've learned to manage my impulses," Harry replied with a grin that was all teeth and no warmth. "Therapy through violence, as it were. Very cathartic."
"This Dumbledore," Lord Stark said, his voice carrying the kind of quiet menace that made seasoned warriors step carefully, "he knew how they were treating you?"
"Oh yes," Harry's smile could have cut glass. "Turns out he had people watching me regularly. Mrs. Figg, a neighbor—she was what we call a Squib, someone born to magical parents but without magic herself. She reported back to him faithfully about my living conditions. He knew exactly how I was being treated, and he decided it was... character building."
"Character building," Lord Stark repeated, and there was something in his tone that suggested Dumbledore should be very grateful he was in another world entirely.
"His exact words, according to the memories I eventually saw," Harry confirmed. "Apparently, suffering builds character, and he wanted me to be properly humble and grateful when I finally entered the wizarding world. Can't have the famous Boy Who Lived getting too big for his britches, after all."
"What about your godfather?" Jon asked quietly. "Your parents must have named someone to care for you if something happened to them."
Harry's expression grew thunderous. "Ah, now that's where the story gets truly infuriating. My parents did indeed name a godfather in their will—Sirius Black, my father's best friend and the closest thing to a brother he had. They wanted me to go to him if anything happened to them."
"But you didn't," Robb said, clearly seeing where this was heading.
"I couldn't," Harry replied grimly. "Because dear Professor Dumbledore sealed my parents' will and sent me to the Dursleys instead. And Sirius... well, Sirius was a bit busy being falsely imprisoned for mass murder."
"Falsely imprisoned?" Theon's voice cracked slightly. "For mass murder?"
"Oh yes," Harry said with savage satisfaction. "You see, Sirius was accused of betraying my parents to Voldemort and then murdering thirteen people in broad daylight when confronted about it. He was dragged off to Azkaban—our magical prison—without so much as a trial."
"Without a trial?" Jon's voice was sharp with outrage that spoke to his own experiences with injustice. "How is that possible?"
"Quite easily, as it turns out," Harry replied. "It was wartime, emotions were running high, and Sirius was from an old pureblood family with a rather dark reputation. Easy enough to believe he'd turned traitor, especially when there was a convenient pile of bodies and a missing finger to support the story."
"But he hadn't," Lord Stark said. It wasn't a question.
"No, he bloody well hadn't," Harry confirmed with fierce pride. "The real traitor was Peter Pettigrew—another of my father's friends, someone they'd trusted with their lives. He'd been working for Voldemort all along, feeding him information, setting up ambushes. When Sirius confronted him, Pettigrew blew up a street full of muggles—non-magical people—and disappeared, leaving behind only a finger to make it look like Sirius had killed him."
"Clever," Theon admitted grudgingly. "Utterly despicable, but clever."
"Oh, Pettigrew was always clever," Harry said with disgust. "Clever enough to spend twelve years hiding as a rat, living as a pet while an innocent man rotted in prison for his crimes."
"And Dumbledore knew this?" Robb asked, clearly anticipating the answer.
"He'd read my parents' will," Harry confirmed, his voice growing colder with each word. "They specifically stated that if anything happened to them, it was because Pettigrew was the spy, not Sirius. But he sealed the will, let Sirius be dragged away, and sent me to live with people who hated me. All for the greater good, of course."
The forest around them seemed to grow quieter, as if the very trees were holding their breath in anticipation of violence.
"How did you find out?" Jon asked, his voice carefully controlled.
"That, my friend, is where the story truly begins," Harry said, his tone lightening slightly for the first time since he'd started talking about Dumbledore. "Second year at Hogwarts, there was a rather dramatic incident involving a sixty-foot basilisk that had been petrifying students."
"A basilisk?" Theon squeaked, his voice climbing several octaves. "Sixty feet? How is that even possible?"
"Very carefully bred over centuries, I imagine," Harry replied thoughtfully. "Magnificent creature, really, if you could get past the whole 'kill you with a glance' aspect. Anyway, I ended up in the Chamber of Secrets—long story involving diary-based possession and plumbing—facing down this ancient serpent with nothing but a sword and whatever courage I could scrape together."
"Just you?" Robb asked, clearly impressed despite himself.
"Well, me and Fawkes here," Harry said, reaching up to stroke the phoenix's head affectionately. "He was Dumbledore's phoenix at the time, though he seems to have decided he prefers my company. Can't imagine why." His tone was perfectly innocent, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.
Fawkes trilled softly, nuzzling against Harry's cheek with obvious affection.
"What did the phoenix do?" Jon asked, fascination clear in his voice.
"Saved my life, quite literally," Harry replied with genuine warmth. "Clawed out the basilisk's eyes so it couldn't kill me with its gaze, brought me the Sword of Gryffindor so I could fight it properly, and when I got myself thoroughly poisoned by its fangs, his tears healed me. Phoenix tears can cure almost any poison, you see."
"That's... incredible," Robb breathed.
"It was rather spectacular," Harry agreed. "But the important bit is what happened during that fight. You see, I'd been having visions, hearing voices, experiencing memories that weren't my own. All very disturbing and not at all conducive to academic success. But after the basilisk incident, it all stopped."
"Why?" Jon asked, though something in his expression suggested he might not want to know the answer.
"Because," Harry said with grim satisfaction, "it turned out that when Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby, he'd accidentally left a piece of his soul attached to mine. The basilisk's venom destroyed it, and suddenly I could think clearly for the first time in my life."
"A piece of his soul," Theon repeated faintly, looking slightly green around the gills. "That's... that's not natural. That's not even close to natural."
"No, it definitely wasn't," Harry agreed cheerfully. "Rather invasive, really. Imagine having someone else's thoughts and emotions bleeding into your own for eleven years, influencing every decision you make. Not something I'd recommend."
"But once it was gone..." Lord Stark prompted.
"Once it was gone, I started questioning things that had never made sense before," Harry said, his voice growing more determined. "Why did I have so little money when my parents were supposed to be wealthy? Why had no one ever told me about my godfather? Why did Dumbledore seem to know exactly what I was going to do before I did it?"
"And you found answers," Jon said.
"I found some very interesting answers indeed," Harry confirmed with a smile that held no warmth whatsoever. "That summer, I went to Gringotts—the wizarding bank—to check on my financial situation. The goblins who run it are remarkably efficient and have no particular love for wizarding politics."
"What did you find?" Robb asked, leaning forward with interest.
"That the vault I'd been using was a trust fund," Harry said. "A small allowance set up to keep me comfortable but not wealthy. The real Potter family vault was considerably larger and contained, among other things, copies of my parents' will."
"Including the truth about your godfather," Lord Stark surmised.
"And a great deal more," Harry confirmed. "Family history, magical artifacts, evidence of various investments and properties I'd never heard of. But most importantly, proof that Dumbledore had been lying to me about almost everything from the day I was born."
"What did you do?" Theon asked, clearly captivated despite his earlier protests of disinterest.
"The goblins suggested I retain legal counsel," Harry replied with a grin that was pure predator. "They recommended Ted and Andromeda Tonks—excellent lawyers, and Andromeda happened to be Sirius's cousin, disowned from the Black family for marrying a muggle-born wizard."
"Muggle-born?" Robb asked.
"Someone born to non-magical parents but possessing magic themselves," Harry explained. "The pureblood fanatics consider them thieves and abominations who steal magic from 'proper' wizarding families. Charming people, really," he added with heavy sarcasm.
"So these lawyers helped you?" Jon prompted.
"They did far more than that," Harry said, his expression softening with genuine warmth for the first time since he'd begun his tale. "Ted and Andromeda took me in that summer, gave me the first real home I'd ever known. They helped me navigate the legal system, taught me about my rights, and most importantly, they helped me get Sirius a proper trial."
"It took that long?" Lord Stark asked, clearly disturbed by the implications.
"Almost a year of legal battles," Harry confirmed. "The Ministry of Magic was remarkably reluctant to admit they'd imprisoned an innocent man for twelve years. Bad for their reputation, you understand. But we had evidence, we had the will, and eventually we had Pettigrew himself."
"You found him?" Theon's eyes were wide with fascination.
"Oh yes," Harry's smile turned predatory. "Turned out he'd been hiding with a wizarding family, posing as their pet rat. Rather fitting, really. We cornered him during my third year at school, forced him to transform back to human form in front of witnesses, and got a full confession under Veritaserum—truth potion."
"And then Sirius was freed?" Robb asked.
"And then Sirius was freed," Harry confirmed, his voice warm with affection. "Fully pardoned, compensated for his time in prison, and granted custody of one slightly damaged teenage wizard. Best day of my life up to that point."
"What was he like?" Jon asked quietly, and something in his tone suggested this was important to him.
"Brilliant," Harry said immediately. "Funny, clever, absolutely fearless when it came to protecting the people he cared about. He taught me everything my father would have—how to fly properly, how to duel, how to think strategically. And more importantly, he taught me that I was worth caring about."
"He sounds like a good man," Lord Stark said approvingly.
"The best," Harry agreed, though his voice grew heavy. "He also taught me some rather unconventional skills. You see, the Black family might have been pureblood supremacists for generations, but they were also warriors. They made sure their children could fight with more than just magic."
As if to demonstrate, Harry's hand moved to the sword at his side with the unconscious ease of long practice.
"That's where you learned swordwork," Lord Stark observed with professional interest.
"Among other things," Harry replied. "Sirius said that a wizard who relied only on his wand was a wizard waiting to die. He taught me blade work, archery, hand-to-hand combat, tactical thinking. Said if I was going to have a target painted on my back for the rest of my life, I might as well learn to defend myself properly."
"Wise advice," Robb said with genuine respect.
"It kept me alive," Harry confirmed grimly. "I had three wonderful years with him. The best years of my life, really. For the first time, I had a family, a real home, someone who actually wanted me around. And then..."
"Voldemort came back," Jon finished quietly.
"Voldemort came back," Harry confirmed, his voice growing distant. "End of my fourth year at Hogwarts. Rather dramatic resurrection involving dark magic, murder, and my blood. Not one of my better evenings, I have to say."
"His body was destroyed, but he came back?" Theon asked, confusion clear in his voice.
"That's where things get complicated," Harry replied. "You see, Voldemort had found ways to anchor his soul to the mortal plane. Horcruxes, they're called—objects containing pieces of his soul, created through murder and dark magic. As long as they existed, he couldn't truly die."
"How many pieces?" Lord Stark asked, his tactical mind clearly already working through the implications.
"Seven, originally," Harry said. "Though one was accidentally destroyed when he tried to kill me as a baby—that's the piece that ended up attached to my scar. Another was destroyed in my second year when I stabbed a diary with a basilisk fang. But that still left five more scattered across Britain, hidden in places and objects of significance to him."
"And you had to find them," Robb said.
"We had to find them," Harry corrected. "By that point, I had friends—good friends who refused to let me face this alone. Hermione Granger, brilliant witch, probably the smartest person I've ever known. Ronald Weasley, loyal to a fault and braver than he ever gave himself credit for. Neville Longbottom, who grew from a frightened boy into one of the finest wizards I've ever had the privilege to fight beside."
"It sounds like you had a good group," Jon said with something that might have been envy.
"The best," Harry agreed warmly. "Though it took us years to find and destroy all the Horcruxes. And while we were hunting, Voldemort was rebuilding his army, recruiting followers, starting a war that would make the first one look like a friendly disagreement."
"How long did it last?" Lord Stark asked.
"Three years of open warfare," Harry replied. "Though it felt like a lifetime. This wasn't like Robert's Rebellion—quick, decisive battles with clear outcomes. This was grinding, bloody conflict that touched every part of our world. No one was safe, nowhere was secure. Everyone lost someone."
"You fought in battles?" Robb asked, clearly trying to imagine what that would be like.
"I fought in the war from the time I was fifteen," Harry said simply. "Started as a scared kid who just wanted to survive long enough to finish school. By the end..." He shrugged. "By the end, I was something else entirely. I'd learned to kill when necessary, to make the hard choices, to live with the consequences of both action and inaction."
"That's a heavy burden for someone so young," Lord Stark said quietly.
"War doesn't care how old you are," Harry replied with bitter wisdom. "It takes what it wants and leaves you to deal with what's left."
"Who did you lose?" Jon asked softly, recognizing the weight of grief in Harry's voice.
Harry was quiet for a long moment, his hand unconsciously moving to stroke Fawkes's feathers as if drawing comfort from the phoenix's presence.
"Sirius died in the second year of the war," he said finally, his voice carefully controlled. "Killed by his own cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange—one of Voldemort's most devoted followers. Mad as a hatter and twice as vicious. She caught him with a killing curse during a battle at the Ministry of Magic."
"I'm sorry," Jon said simply, and the genuine sympathy in his voice seemed to reach Harry in a way that elaborate condolences might not have.
"Then Remus Lupin—one of my father's best friends, like an uncle to me. Brilliant wizard, good man, fought like a demon when cornered. Nymphadora Tonks—barely older than I am now, Andromeda's daughter, my cousin by adoption if not by blood. Ted Tonks, who'd been more of a father to me than anyone had a right to expect."
He paused, taking a shaky breath.
"Dozens of friends from school. People I'd grown up with, shared meals with, studied beside. The Weasley twins—Fred and George, pranksters who could make anyone laugh even in the darkest times. Hannah Abbott, who used to help me with Herbology. Dean Thomas, who taught me about football and art. So many others..."
The forest around them had grown very quiet, as if even the wildlife understood the solemnity of the moment.
"And then there was Fleur."
Something in the way he said the name made them all pay closer attention. Even Theon seemed to understand that this was different, more significant.
"She was..." Harry paused, struggling for words. "She was everything. The love of my life, my partner, my equal in every way that mattered. We met during the Triwizard Tournament when I was fourteen, but we didn't really get to know each other until after Voldemort's return."
"What was she like?" Robb asked gently.
"Brilliant," Harry said immediately, his voice warming with memory. "Absolutely brilliant. She was part veela—magical heritage that made her incredibly beautiful—but that was the least interesting thing about her. She was fierce, brave, had a tongue sharp enough to cut through steel when she was angry, and she loved with everything she had."
"She sounds remarkable," Lord Stark said quietly.
"She was a warrior," Harry continued, his voice gaining strength. "Could duel with the best of them, fly like she'd been born with wings, had a strategic mind that could see patterns others missed. But more than that, she was kind. She'd take time to help younger students, volunteer at St. Mungo's—our magical hospital—send money to her family in France even when she barely had enough for herself."
"How long were you together?" Jon asked.
"Three years," Harry replied. "Three years of stolen moments between battles, of letters sent through phoenix post because it was safer than owls, of planning a future we weren't sure we'd live to see."
"What happened to her?" Theon asked quietly, and for once there was no hint of his usual irreverence.
Harry's expression grew cold as winter steel. "Death Eaters tried to kidnap her. It was during the final year of the war, when things were at their worst. They wanted to use her to draw me out—they knew I'd come for her, knew I'd risk everything to get her back."
The temperature around them seemed to drop several degrees, and Fawkes let out a low, mournful note that seemed to echo through the trees.
"They didn't consider her human," Harry continued, his voice growing harder with each word. "Because of her veela heritage, they thought of her as little more than an animal. They planned to..." He stopped, took a breath, continued. "They planned to do things I won't describe in detail. Suffice to say their intentions were not remotely honorable."
"But she fought them," Jon said. It wasn't a question.
"She killed six Death Eaters before they brought her down," Harry said with fierce pride that blazed through his grief like sunlight through storm clouds. "Six trained killers, and she was barely twenty-one years old. But there were too many of them, and she was protecting a group of younger students who'd been caught in the crossfire. She could have escaped if she'd abandoned them, but that wasn't who she was."
"She died protecting others," Lord Stark said with deep respect.
"She died as she lived," Harry confirmed. "Fighting for what was right, protecting those who couldn't protect themselves. The students she saved went on to fight in the final battle. Three of them are alive today because Fleur Delacour decided their lives mattered more than her own."
They walked in respectful silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts about love, loss, and the price of war.
"Her death changed me," Harry said finally, his voice quiet but steady. "Changed how I approached the rest of the war. Before that, I'd been trying to minimize casualties on both sides, trying to find ways to end things with as little bloodshed as possible. After Fleur..." He shrugged. "After Fleur, I stopped pulling my punches."
"You went after them," Theon said, and for once there was no mockery in his voice, only understanding.
"I went after them all," Harry confirmed grimly. "Every Death Eater who had been there that night, everyone who had given the orders, everyone who had stood by and let it happen. I hunted them down one by one, and I showed them exactly the same mercy they'd shown her."
"Which was none at all," Robb observed.
"Which was none at all," Harry agreed without the slightest trace of remorse. "By the time I was finished, Voldemort's inner circle had been reduced by two-thirds. The survivors were either dead, captured, or had fled the country entirely."
"And Voldemort himself?" Lord Stark asked.
"I saved him for last," Harry replied, his smile sharp enough to cut glass and completely without warmth. "By the time I finally tracked him down, he was desperate. Most of his followers were gone, his Horcruxes were destroyed, and he knew he was running out of options."
"Where did you find him?"
"Ancient ritual site in Scotland," Harry said. "Stone circle older than recorded history, built on a confluence of ley lines that amplified magical energy. He was in the middle of some sort of ritual when I arrived—trying to achieve true immortality, I think, or maybe trying to transcend humanity entirely and become something more."
"What happened?" Jon asked, clearly fascinated despite the grim subject matter.
"We fought," Harry said simply. "Magic like you cannot possibly imagine—forces that could level mountains, spells that could unmake reality itself, power that made the very air burn around us. Space and time were bending under the strain, the boundary between life and death was wearing thin, and I'm fairly certain we violated several fundamental laws of physics."
"That sounds..." Theon paused, clearly struggling for words. "Terrifying doesn't seem adequate."
"It was the most beautiful and terrible thing I've ever experienced," Harry said quietly. "Like watching gods go to war, if gods were petty, vindictive, and absolutely determined to kill each other in the most dramatic way possible."
"How did it end?" Robb asked.
"In the end, I had a choice to make," Harry replied, his voice growing distant as if he was seeing it all again. "I could try to capture him, try to find some way to redeem him, show mercy to someone who had never shown it to anyone else in his entire existence..."
"But you didn't," Lord Stark said.
"No," Harry said, the word flat and final as a gravestone. "I thought about Fleur, about Sirius, about every person who had died because of his ambitions and his complete inability to accept that some things—love, friendship, simple human decency—are more important than power. And I killed him."
"Completely?" Jon asked.
"Completely, finally, permanently," Harry confirmed with grim satisfaction. "Made absolutely certain there would be no coming back this time, no clever tricks or hidden contingencies. Tom Marvolo Riddle died in that stone circle, and I made sure his soul was scattered to the winds where it could never be reassembled."
"And then?" Theon prompted.
Harry gestured vaguely in the direction of the crater they'd left behind. "And then all the magical energy he'd been channeling for his ritual had nowhere to go. Imagine a river suddenly dammed—all that power, all that raw magical force, had to go somewhere. It backlashed through whatever connection still existed between us from when I was his accidental Horcrux."
"That's what brought you here?" Robb asked.
"That's my best guess," Harry replied with a rueful smile. "One moment I was standing in a Scottish stone circle watching my enemy die, the next I was waking up in your forest with Fawkes singing over me and no idea where—or when—I was."
"When?" Lord Stark repeated sharply.
"Magic can do interesting things to time and space when it's not properly controlled," Harry explained. "For all I know, I could have traveled backward or forward decades, or even centuries. The fact that none of you have heard of Britain suggests I'm either very far from home or very far from when."
They walked in contemplative silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts about the incredible tale they'd just heard.
Finally, Jon spoke up. "The prophecy you mentioned at the beginning—'neither can live while the other survives.' It was true?"
"In the end, yes," Harry replied. "Though not in the way anyone expected. It wasn't about destiny or fate—it was about choice. As long as Voldemort existed, I couldn't have a normal life, couldn't have the people I loved safe, couldn't have peace. And as long as I existed, he couldn't achieve his goals, couldn't have the world he wanted. One of us had to give way eventually."
"And you chose to be the one who survived," Robb said.
"I chose to be the one who ended it," Harry corrected. "Whether I survived was... less important than making sure it was finished."
"But you did survive," Lord Stark pointed out.
"I did," Harry agreed, reaching up to stroke Fawkes again. "Though I'm not entirely sure how, or why, or what it cost me. I suspect I'll be finding out for years to come."
"Well," Theon said with determined cheer, clearly trying to lighten the mood, "at least you've got a magnificent flaming bird and mysterious magical powers to help you figure it out. That's got to count for something."
Harry laughed, and for the first time since he'd begun his tale, it sounded genuinely amused rather than bitter. "True enough. And apparently I've found myself in the company of honorable people willing to offer hospitality to strangers with complicated pasts. That's more than I dared hope for when I woke up this morning."
"The North remembers," Lord Stark said simply. "We remember our duties, our honor, and our debts. You'll find sanctuary at Winterfell for as long as you need it, Hadrian Potter. Whatever brought you to us, you're welcome in our halls."
"Thank you," Harry said quietly, and the gratitude in his voice was profound. "All of you. I know my story is... difficult to believe."
"We've seen you appear in a burst of magical light with a phoenix as a companion," Robb pointed out with a grin. "I think we're past worrying about whether your story is believable."
"Fair point," Harry conceded with a smile.
As they continued through the forest toward Winterfell, the conversation gradually shifted to lighter topics—Jon asking about magical education, Robb inquiring about the differences between their worlds, Theon peppering Harry with questions about magical creatures and whether any of them might be impressed by his archery skills.
But underneath the easier conversation, each of them was thinking about what they'd learned. Here was a young man their own age who had fought in wars, who had loved and lost, who had been forced to make choices that would have broken lesser men. Yet he walked among them with quiet dignity, treating Jon with the same respect he showed Lord Stark, deflecting Theon's occasional thoughtlessness with humor rather than anger, and showing genuine interest in their lives and their world.
By the time the towers of Winterfell came into view through the trees, they were no longer escorting a mysterious stranger to their home. They were bringing family.
And high overhead, Fawkes sang a song of new beginnings, his melody echoing through the ancient halls of their destination like a promise of adventures yet to come.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!