In his own room.
Harry held his little sister by the hands as she clumsily took step after step.
Her small head was covered by short red hair that barely reached her shoulders, and her feet moved awkwardly across the fur carpet.
"That's it, Sansa," said Harry gently as he watched her take another step.
She let out a toothless giggle, giving a couple of little hops as she looked up at him.
Suddenly, her legs gave out, forcing Harry to catch her before she could fall flat on her face.
Harry laughed softly as he lifted her into his arms. Sansa giggled happily while calling him "brother."
Completely unaware of how close she had come to falling.
Harry looked at her affectionately as his lips pressed together slightly. Sansa was a little absent-minded. It had really taken her a long time to start calling him "brother" despite all his repeated attempts to teach her.
Not to mention that she was already more than a year old and was only just beginning to walk. Perhaps he was partly to blame, since he spoiled her too much. With little else to do, he had spent countless hours carrying her around from place to place.
Even so, Harry loved his little sister without restraint. Her birth had finally cleared away the reluctance he still felt toward fully accepting his new life.
Sansa let out an adorable giggle as she reached toward his face with both hands. Harry played with her, pretending to bite her fingers.
Making the little girl burst into laughter as she tried to pull them away.
The sound of someone knocking on the door interrupted their game.
"Young lord, Lady Catelyn has given birth safely. Lord Stark asks that you come and see her," said a maid as she opened the door.
"I understand. I'm coming," said Harry without turning around. Adjusting Sansa more comfortably in his arms, he stood up and walked out of the room, followed by the maid.
"What do you think was born? A sister or a brother?" said Harry as he carried Sansa and looked into her round blue eyes.
"Brother!" said Sansa with a giggle, repeating the word that always seemed to delight Harry as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"You think so?" said Harry with an amused laugh, not entirely sure she had understood the question.
Upon reaching the infirmary, a strong smell of herbs assaulted his nose, though the faint scent of blood did not escape him.
Quickly scanning the room, he spotted his mother. Her eyes looked somewhat dull, and her damp hair clung to her forehead.
His father sat beside her with a relieved expression while resting a hand over hers.
At the sight of them, her eyes seemed to brighten as though their presence gave her strength. She weakly patted the bed, inviting them to come closer.
Harry smiled with relief as he sat carefully beside her. He knew childbirth was extremely dangerous without the medical advances the Muggles had possessed in his previous world.
And while he was decent at healing magic, without a wand and with his current abilities, there was little he could do.
In Catelyn's arms, a tiny baby barely visible beneath the blankets fed peacefully.
"Mama!" said Sansa in an adorable voice as she stretched out her arms toward her.
"Look, Sansa, you have a little sister now," said Catelyn as she pulled back part of the blankets, allowing both of them to see the baby.
"Her name is Arya. Arya Stark," said Catelyn with a smile.
Harry sat on the bed opposite his father, with Sansa on his lap, and the four of them shared a rather emotional moment.
Though perhaps only he noticed Jon's absence.
But considering his mother's condition, he did not dare mention it. So the four of them remained together in a warm and peaceful atmosphere.
His mother soon needed to rest, so the three of them left, leaving Catelyn with the midwives and several maids attending her.
"Give me your sister. You still have lessons with Maester Luwin today," said Ned as he held out his arms and took Sansa.
"Alright. Take care of Mama," said Harry with a nod before running toward the Maester's tower beneath his father's gaze.
The route was familiar, though the first few times it had been difficult to navigate the vast castle, which felt like a maze if you did not know it.
Skillfully avoiding the mud and puddles in the courtyard, he eventually reached his destination.
Greeting the guards casually, Harry entered the tower for another lesson. He was genuinely interested in the history of this world.
Unfortunately, despite having learned to read and write long ago, he had spent more than a year pretending he could not. He really did not want to appear unnatural.
Even in his previous world, with its standardized education system, children did not learn to read and write at the age of five.
But in his eagerness to gain unrestricted access to books, he had set those concerns aside and demonstrated rapid progress.
According to Maester Luwin's standards, he had officially learned to read and write two days ago.
Even so, this had greatly surprised Maester Luwin, who had told him he possessed remarkable intelligence and that if he were not the heir to House Stark, he would surely make a name for himself as a Maester of the Citadel.
Harry could only respond awkwardly to such praise. While he did not consider himself stupid, he was far from being as intelligent as Luwin believed.
After a long year of lessons, that day he would finally be free from that particular nightmare.
Reading books aloud to an old man or writing letters on his behalf was not especially entertaining.
"Maester Luwin, I'm here," said Harry as he entered the study.
The room had a dark appearance, and the faint smell of old books immediately greeted him.
He could barely make out the old man sitting half illuminated by candlelight.
"Harry, come in and sit down," said Maester Luwin with a smile.
"We have officially concluded your lessons in reading and writing. All you need now is practice, so we will move on to more important subjects," said Luwin with a proud smile.
At the Citadel, he was nobody, but he hoped that one day Harry's name would echo throughout the realm, and alongside that name would come the honor of being the man who had taught him since childhood.
"I assume you already know the map of Westeros," said Luwin as he pulled out a large parchment.
"I've seen it in my father's study," said Harry with a nod, recalling the continent that curiously resembled Great Britain.
Luwin spread the parchment across the desk, where the shadows of the candles danced across its surface.
"Westeros is governed as a single realm under the name of the Seven Kingdoms, with King Robert Baratheon seated upon the Iron Throne."
Harry tilted his head as he looked at the map, which was divided into more than seven territories.
"Seven?"
"The name comes from ancient times. Before the Conquest, the continent was divided into seven independent kingdoms," said Maester Luwin with a smile.
Sliding his finger across the map, he eventually reached the sea.
"Aegon Targaryen, the Conqueror, a remnant of ancient Valyria located across the Narrow Sea."
"With unstoppable momentum, nearly every kingdom fell before him," said Luwin in a serious voice.
Harry frowned slightly as he rested his chin on his hands and leaned a little closer to the map.
"If he conquered them all, why did he keep each kingdom intact?"
"That is a good question," said Luwin with a satisfied nod.
"He lacked the ability to govern the entire continent himself. The Houses that surrendered kept their lands and power, but now they served the Crown," said Luwin as he lightly tapped the image of King's Landing on the map.
Harry studied the map in silence, his eyes moving from one territory to another.
"His army must have been enormous. Why couldn't he rule everything himself?" said Harry as he looked at Luwin with confusion.
He would have assumed the logical approach was to reward trusted followers with each territory.
Luwin let out a small chuckle.
"He did not have a great army," said Luwin, shaking his head with a mysterious smile.
Luwin leaned over the map before pointing toward a small island.
Dragonstone.
"He had dragons."
Harry lifted his eyes from the map and looked at Maester Luwin, his mouth opening slightly before closing again.
"Three dragons were enough to bend the entire continent to his will. No castle could protect its lords from their fire," said Luwin with a solemn look.
Harry remained silent as he stared at the map. His mind raced with possibilities.
Dragons capable of destroying castles?
It was difficult to believe considering how little magic he could sense.
Unless the North was different.
"Now... let us talk about your House. How it began, and how it survived until the present day," said Luwin, pulling Harry from his thoughts.
....
Harry left the tower with a distant look in his eyes.
He would never have imagined that House Stark possessed a history stretching back eight thousand years.
Eight thousand years ruling the North.
His eyes unfocused slightly as he looked around.
Walking through the castle, his feet unconsciously carried him toward the godswood.
Looking at the white tree that was at least eight thousand years old, Harry smiled with interest.
He wondered what would happen if he planted some saplings.
Would they produce magic as well?
Sitting down before the tree, Harry skillfully gathered the tiny threads of magic flowing from it, filling his body with warmth until he felt slightly bloated.
Looking down at his own hands, he let out a quiet laugh.
They almost seemed to emit a faint glow because of the magical saturation.
There was no record of this in Godric's spell. He could only assume that using it from such a young age had caused changes he did not yet understand.
With his body once again filled with magic, Harry rose to his feet and placed a hand against the weirwood.
His fingers rubbed against the smooth bark.
Feeling it beneath his fingertips, he imagined a beautiful white wand.
Letting out a sigh, he withdrew his hand from the weirwood.
Shaking his head, Harry started back home. The sun was already beginning to disappear beyond the horizon.
Once he returned to the Great Keep, Harry went to visit his mother.
She looked much more energetic now, and a small smile rested on her face.
Approaching his youngest sister, he smiled as he looked at her dark hair, a characteristic feature of the Starks.
At some point, without him even realizing it, the name Stark had begun to sound pleasant to his ears.
Lying beside his mother's legs, he gently rested his head on her lap while telling her about everything he had learned that day. In turn, she occasionally told him things from her own perspective.
Catelyn smiled as she reached down and stroked his hair.
There was happiness in her eyes.
But there was concern as well whenever she looked at her son.
....
"Tell me, do you think Harry is strange?" Catelyn asked softly in the darkness.
The candles had long since been extinguished, and the small sounds of the night were barely audible.
"I think he's special," said Ned after a moment of silence.
"Harry never cried. He always seemed calm. Even his eyes moved with a composure that no child should possess."
"I suppose what I'm trying to say is that sometimes it feels like he doesn't need me."
"With Sansa, the contrast became impossible to miss. The two of them are completely different," said Catelyn in a soft, somewhat melancholic voice.
Many times she had felt as though her son did not love her, as if a wall stood between them.
"It's better now, isn't it?" said Ned, not entirely sure what to say.
"It is. It's just... I'm worried. Sometimes I feel as though I can't understand him. Perhaps I'm not fit to be his mother," murmured Catelyn.
Ned let out a quiet sigh before reaching through the darkness in search of her hand.
"Didn't he ask you about the weirwoods? I remember he seemed quite happy while talking with you," said Ned as he gently rubbed his wife's hand.
"He did, and I barely know anything about weirwoods," said Catelyn, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
"Perhaps next time he'll ask you about the Seven."
"Something tells me he won't," said Catelyn, letting out a small laugh.
"Harry... he—" said Ned before being interrupted.
"Waa! Waa!"
"I'll take care of it," said Catelyn as she quickly got out of bed and walked toward Arya's cradle.
With practiced ease, she lifted the baby into her arms before opening her robe slightly.
Arya immediately fell silent the moment she got what she wanted.
Catelyn gently cradled her head as her lips curved into a small smile.
Arya was easy to understand.
Ned let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.
Perhaps relieved that he did not have to finish his sentence.
....
Time passed quietly in Winterfell.
Before long, another Stark had joined the family.
At the training yard.
Harry held a small bow firmly as he looked toward a target ten meters away.
His father watched from one side alongside Jon, while Rodrik stood nearby observing his stance.
A month earlier, he had begun training both Harry and Jon. As the castle's master-at-arms, it was one of his duties.
Rodrik's eyes settled on Harry's small arm as it pulled back the bowstring.
It remained steady.
His gaze was equally steady upon the target.
"Loose," said Rodrik with a satisfied nod.
Harry's fingers opened.
The bowstring snapped forward with force, launching the arrow with a whistle before it buried itself in the center of the target with a solid thud.
"Well done," said Rodrik with a nod. The little bookworm was not bad at all.
"You've learned how to maintain proper form. Now all that's left is practice and increasing the distance," said Rodrik as he absentmindedly played with his beard before turning his attention toward Jon.
Ned looked at Harry and gave him a smile, his eyes softening slightly.
From a balcony overlooking the yard, Catelyn stood with Sansa and Arya at her sides, both leaning against the wooden railing.
In Catelyn's arms, a red-haired boy not yet a year old babbled happily.
Brandon Stark.
The newest member of the family.
Sansa cheered enthusiastically while Arya imitated her by shouting nonsense of her own.
Harry waved at them with a smile before looking at Jon, who was waiting for his turn.
Making a gesture toward him, Harry stepped aside.
Jon's lips curved upward as he walked forward and stopped before the target.
Taking a deep breath, he grabbed an arrow, nocked it, and drew the string back.
With a whistle, the arrow flew forward and struck the target close to Harry's own shot, causing a small smile to appear on his face.
"Well done," said Ned with an approving nod toward Jon.
Jon's smile immediately widened.
From the balcony, Sansa and Arya applauded enthusiastically as well, causing Catelyn to blink as she looked at them, though she remained silent.
Jon looked toward his brother with a smile.
Just as he was preparing to step aside, the castle steward, Vayon Poole, arrived in a hurry.
"My lord, an urgent message has arrived for you," said the steward as he handed over a small scroll.
Ned frowned slightly, as such things were rarely good news.
Breaking the seal and unrolling the message, Ned began to read.
The further he read, the worse his expression became.
Harry quietly crept closer, but even standing on tiptoe he was not tall enough to see the contents of the letter.
Seeing Harry trying to spy on it, Ned suppressed a smile before rolling the message back up and lightly tapping Harry on the forehead with it.
"The Greyjoys have rebelled. Send word to the Houses. We are going to war," said Ned as he looked toward Rodrik with a solemn expression.
The announcement stunned everyone present.
Catelyn took a deep breath as she pressed her lips together, holding Bran closer to her chest while staring at her husband.
Ned looked at his wife and immediately saw that her expression was not a good one.
With a sigh, he walked toward her to offer comfort.
Harry looked toward the balcony where his mother stood before turning his eyes to the sky.
Tiny currents of magic drifted weakly through the air.
Feeling the meager magic within his body, Harry sighed with a complicated expression.
It seemed he had spent too long living comfortably.
He had forgotten that feeling of helplessness.