Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 07: Mind Magic
"Well…finally alone." Harry's voice was soft in the vast, silent library. He watched the door swing shut behind his uncle Tyrion. The dwarf had stayed a few minutes more, his clever eyes full of questions, before finally leaving with a strange invitation to a brothel.
'Who visits a brothel in the morning?' Harry shook his head. This world's ways were still strange to him.
"No matter. I'd best not waste time." He glanced around, unsure of when the library keeper might return to his duties.
For his first real test of this new magic, he wanted no witnesses. There was always a chance of an unexpected reaction, and if he somehow ended up burning the library down, he didn't want anyone here to see it.
Harry walked to a shelf and picked a book at random. The leather was old, the title worn: The Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. Tales of Ser Duncan the Tall. He was not familiar with that one, so it would serve its purpose.
"Let's hope this works…" Harry closed his eyes. To do magic without a wand, you needed a clear picture in your mind. It was necessary to play a mental image that depicted exactly what you wanted the spell to do. The clearer the picture, the higher the chances for the spell to work. Once you completed that step, it was time to push a wave of magic through your body and onto your fingertips. Because of the lack of a wand, the fingers would have to be the foci instead.
In his mind, he saw himself pulling all the knowledge from the book. Not just reading it, but taking it. He pictured all the information flowing like a river into the great library of his mind...the Mind Palace he had built with Occlumency. It would be like moving a book from the physical world to a metaphysical one that only existed inside his head.
He felt the tips of his fingers grow warm. The magic was ready. He opened his eyes and spoke the incantation aloud, his words firm in the quiet room. "Index Omnia."
A pale, silvery light, visible only to his magical sight, streamed from his fingertips and onto the tome he was holding.
The effect was immediate. A rush of knowledge poured into his mind. The book was about a hedge knight named Duncan. His travels, his fights, his friendship with a Targaryen prince. The information swirled, then settled neatly inside his mental library. It became a new book on a shelf he'd labeled Histories: Lesser Tales.
He opened his eyes and smiled, satisfied. " That worked better than expected for the first time."
The more he practiced, the easier it would get. This library had thousands of books for him to work on.
He looked down at the book in his hands. It wasn't smoking. The cover looked fine. He was about to call it a complete success when he opened the book to the middle. "Oh…hold on."
The pages were blank. Pure white and pristine. He flipped further. More blank pages. Whole chapters, gone. The words had been erased, sucked out by his spell.
"This is bad," Harry muttered. This wasn't what he'd meant to do. It was collateral damage. His lack of a wand and his inexperience with this specific spell had stolen the words and left an empty shell behind.
"Well," he sighed, placing the book back on the shelf. "You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs." He'd have to be more careful from now on. He'd practice on less important books. One no one would miss.
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It was the day of Lord Arryn's funeral. The Red Keep was draped in mourning. A grand ceremony was happening at the Great Sept of Baelor. The King and all the high lords would be there to see the open casket one last time.
Harry, however, had been told by the Queen not to go. "There is no need to expose my children to such a gruesome display," Cersei had said, her face pale and tight. "A corpse is not a fitting sight for a prince."
Harry had the feeling that the former Joffrey would have argued and insisted on attending, perhaps pushed by a morbid curiosity of seeing a human corpse, but he was no longer that person and cared little for being present at a funeral for someone he did not know.
He'd seen enough funerals in his past life. More than enough. Instead, he saw this as a chance. With the castle busy with grief, he could finally leave the Red Keep. He could see the city for the first time.
He told no one of his plans. His mother would have forbidden it. He simply left his rooms after breakfast, the Hound falling into step behind him like a silent, scowling shadow.
"What do you want to do here?" the Hound grumbled as they passed through the castle gates and into the stinking, noisy streets of King's Landing. The air hit Harry with a thick mix of smoke, sewage, baking bread, and unwashed bodies.
"I just realized I barely know the city where I live," Harry said, his eyes scanning the chaos. "I wish to correct that."
"Better stay away from Flea Bottom then," the Hound warned, his hand resting on his sword hilt. "Less you want shit thrown at you."
Harry stopped and looked back at him. "Is that really something they would do to their prince?"
The Hound let out a short, harsh laugh. "That might be the nicest thing they do."
"Hmm." Harry thought for a moment. "Then we'll stay away from there." He pointed down a wider, slightly cleaner street. "I believe that's the way to the marketplace. Right?"
"I thought you knew nothing about the city, Prince," the Hound said, a flicker of suspicion in his dark eyes.
"Not from first-hand experience. But I memorized a map. I don't want to get lost." He started walking again, his pace brisk. "Let's go to the market first. Then we can visit the docks. There's much to see and so little time!"
He strode forward. Behind him, Sandor Clegane groaned loudly before following, his armor clanking with every step.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
Sandor Clegane watched the prince with a wary, simmering confusion.
The boy walked through the streets without fear, drawing stares from every corner. Smallfolk scrambled out of his way, bowing and muttering. Sandor kept his hand firm on his sword, ready to jump if some fool tried to grab the prince or put a knife in his back.
But Joffrey didn't act like a target. He stopped to talk to people. He smiled at a fishmonger. He tapped an old woman on the shoulder and asked about her wares. The commoners were terrified, but also… pleased? It was a strange mix. They were honored by the attention, but their eyes darted around, scared one wrong move would mean a beating or worse.
An hour passed. Sandor watched in silence, his mind working. The change was too big. Too sudden to make sense of it. Was this some kind of intervention from the Gods?.
The Hound did not believe in any God in particular, so he didn't know.
It had started that morning weeks ago. The servant girl had come to fetch Joffrey. The old Joffrey would have yelled, maybe thrown something. This one had been… polite. He'd gotten lost on the way to the hall. Then came the dawn drills in the yard. Sandor had expected it to last a day. The old prince hated sweat, hated effort, hated pain.
But this Joffrey was different. He took hits. He got bruises and cuts from the practice blades. Sandor had been careful, but it was impossible to spar without some marks. He'd waited for the crying, for the complaints to the Queen. They never came. Instead, Joffrey asked him to hit harder. To stop holding back. And he was learning...fast. Too fast for him to make sense of it.
On the first day, the Prince couldn't hold a sword properly. Now, he could give a decent account of himself against a green recruit.
"What would you like, Your Grace?" an old baker asked, bowing low.
Sandor didn't catch the prince's quiet words, but a short while later, the baker returned with two large sacks, stuffed with fresh bread, meat pies, and sweet buns.
Joffrey turned, hefting one sack onto his own shoulder. "Come, help me carry the other."
"If you wanted bread, the castle has plenty," Sandor grunted, taking the heavy bag. It was another odd thing. To see a prince carrying his own share of the load.
"Come on," Joffrey said, a strange, bright look in his green eyes. "I want to visit the docks. Give these away."
Sandor stared. Give them away? To beggars? It made no sense. Was this a new game? A cruel joke? The old Joffrey might have thrown bread into the mud and laughed as people fought for it. But this… this felt different. The prince's face showed no malice, only a calm purpose Sandor couldn't puzzle out.
He followed, the weight of the food in one hand, the weight of his confusion growing heavier with each step.
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Harry walked calmly through the wide street, the sack of bread a comfortable weight on his back.
So far, so good, he thought. No one seemed to notice a thing.
Every person he'd spoken to today had been part of an experiment. With each smile, each touch on a shoulder, he'd been practicing his magic.
The Mind Arts...Wandless Legilimency was a tricky thing. He didn't dive deep. He just skimmed the surface of their thoughts, like dipping a cup into a stream.
He'd tried different methods. Eye contact was necessary, but it was weak. A physical touch made it stronger. Just a hand on someone's shoulder, even through cloth, created a much clearer link, allowing him to travel much further into the mind of the individual.
He was learning. The minds here were simpler, rougher. Less guarded. Fear and want were loud and easy to read.
Now it was time for the next test. For that, he needed subjects no one would care about. His first thought was the slums, but the Hound's warning was clear. He didn't need a mob throwing filth at him.
The docks were the next best place. Here, the air was thick with the smell of fish, salt, and human misery. By the large fishing ships, a crowd of ragged people swarmed, their hands held out, begging for scraps as sailors unloaded the day's catch. Men with hollow eyes, women clutching skinny children, old folk who looked like walking bones.
Perfect.
Joffrey's lips curved into a small, private smile. Yes. These will do nicely.
It was time to test compulsion charms. To see how much of another's will he could bend with a thread of magic and a focused thought. What could he make them do?. But more importantly...will they notice something?.
He adjusted the sack on his shoulder and walked toward the crowd of beggars. The Hound followed close behind, a looming, confused shadow, likely thinking his prince was trying to play at being a kind-hearted fool like Baelor the Blessed. He had no idea of the prince's true intentions, hidden behind those calm, green, watchful eyes.
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