Chapter 3: Jaehaerys (Harry) POV

Notes:

DISCLAIMER- I OWN NOTHING....like at all!

Chapter Text

The Dragonborn

Chapter III.

Author's Note- Thanks to everyone who reviewed the story. I really appreciate both the effort as well as ideas. It always helps to motivate and inspire me. This is the first chapter from Harry's POV. Just to clear, there will not be a Jon Snow/Stark/Targ in this fic as Harry has essentially replaced him; though he will come to interact with the other Stark's and he will also receive Ghost. Also, anytime you see Harry/Haery/Jaehaerys; just remember it's the same person. Harry's points-of-view will be the most frequent. Sometimes their will random less major characters whom I'll write a POV for from the various parts of the World of Ice and Fire, like Jaime, Oberyn, Jon Arryn. or Varys. On the whole though, the most frequent will be Harry, Ned, Rhaenys, Dany, Rhaegar, Lyanna, and those of their immediate circle.

Disclaimer: I Own Nothing.

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Jaehaerys' (Harry's) POV

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As if here were barreling towards the light at the end of a tunnel, he slowly became aware of his surroundings; though his vision was somewhat blurry. His brain was muddled and confused. He was not sure where he was....or even who he was. No, that was not quite right. He was....Harry? Yes, that was his name. At least, it had been. All he could really remember were bits and pieces of memory. Potter....His name was Harry Potter and he was a wizard. But, how was he here; wherever here was? He wracked his brain trying to figure out what had happened. It was just at the cusp of his consciousness....so close he felt if he could just reach far enough....he pulled towards what he was searching for with all his might within his mind.

BAM!

He let out a piercing shriek as he was violently assaulted with a whole lifetime of memories!

He was....No. He had been Harry James Potter- a British wizard. He knew he was that no longer though. He had been killed....again. He supposed one could consider what he was experiencing as an identity crisis. He was Harry Potter, but at the same time, he was not. It was as if he did not hold any particular attachment to the person who had spent his entire life striving to forge a name beyond his title's and moniker.

He had died. Harry Potter had died, and he'd not arisen from the grave once again like he'd managed previously.

He remembered almost everything about his previous life; from his wretched upbringing with the Dursely's, to his life at Hogwarts. For some reason, he was unable to summon up any real feeling of emotion about his past life. It was almost like it was merely an extremely in-depth documentary or detailed biography of someone else that had imprinted itself within the confines of his psyche, and yet; he felt no connection to those whom he assumed (based upon the recollection's he held) had been friends and the extremely small number he had once called family.

Frankly, it had been an all around terrible life. If he felt anything, it was anger and disgust at having been treated and used in the manner he had been. Yes, somehow he could muster up a tiny bit of emotion about that. Even so, it was more his personal indignation on behalf of his past self towards the way people had manipulated him, than it was any real personal anger; like he was somehow far removed from whom Harry Potter had been. The memories were there, and her knew they were of his own past life, he just did not feel connected to them in any meaningful way.

Extraordinarily however, there was one area in which he felt pure unadulterated feeling and true passion: his magic!

Yes, he could feel all sorts of emotion's wrapped up into that aspect of his previous life; short as it had been. He remembered exactly how if felt to cast certain spells; the intoxicating feeling of power as the magic flowed through his veins. There had to be a reason that was the only thing he felt any real tie to. What was it about magic that would allow him to feel emotion when he could tell that there had been people he had cared about....people he had even loved (few though they were)....and yet; he felt no lingering attachment or connection to any of them whatsoever?

His mind whirled as he thought that out.

The reason came to him when he recalled the memory of a wild-haired witch that had likely been beautiful once upon a time, and that had killed someone he believed himself to have been very close to; his godfather. He had wanted to hurt her....make her feel the pain that she had just caused him to endure....the pain of what she had ripped away from him. He had cast the Cruciatus Curse- he remembered it was one of the so-called 'Unforgivable Curses'.

'You have to mean it, Potter.!' Bellatrix had told him.

Intent.

It was the base from which all magic stemmed. Magic was all about intent one way or another; from the visualization of the perfect detail of a sewing needle in transfiguration, to the hate and desire to cause pain and agony of the Cruciatus Curse. A great deal of magic depended on the caster's emotions; a prime example being the Patronus Charm.

That was it!

That had to be the reason he could still feel the emotions his previous self had felt when using his gift's! If he couldn't remember what he was supposed to 'feel'....what his 'intent' might have been when trying to use certain magick's; he'd never be able to actually cast them correctly. He was certain that he was right. It was the only thing that made any amount of sense.

Well, at least that was one mystery solved.

Now, he supposed the most pressing question was where in the world was he?

Harry could remember dying. Lucius Malfoy....the scum....had shot a Killing Curse at him from behind directly after the Final Battle with the Dark Lord. He'd barely had enough time before the sickly green light took his life....again....to see the scum smiling malevolently at him. (In the back of his mind, he idly wondered where the bastard had even gotten a wand from considering Voldemort had 'borrowed' Lucius' own. He'd not have put it past the ponce to have stolen one from one of the many casualties that were laying about in the Great Hall.) Due to his admittedly rather excellent reflexes, he did have just enough time to get off one final spell in retribution. With his war-honed and sharpened senses, he'd managed to almost instinctually fire off a Decapitation Curse. The curse was cast both silently and near colorlessly, and he was certain he'd managed to wipe the gleeful look from the scum's face when his neck made impact with the final spell in the life of Harry James Potter.

As per the usual (from what he could remember of his short, but eventful life), that had been when things had gotten strange.

He had died and been returned to his body, only to be shot in the back by a filthy coward. He had to admit, that was a rather ignoble ending for the supposedly 'Great' Harry Potter. He really couldn't summon enough emotion or energy to care though. He was also already exceptionally sleepy for whatever reason.

He remembered once again going to the train station at King's Cross.

Thankfully, he was not forced to meet with Albus Bloody Dumbledore more than the once in the afterlife! The once had been more than enough for him, thank you very much! That old bastard just couldn't stop himself from meddling even from beyond the grave!

No, Harry was never normal. He was met by Death.

Yes, that's right. Death, as in the Death- the dread Grim Reaper himself.

Apparently, the whole 'Master of Death' legend was more than just a fairytale. He was the only wizard to ever be in possession of all three of the Deathly Hallows. He was not actually Death's 'master'. That idea was patently ludicrous. No one could possibly be that.

It did however, grant him an opportunity.

Death had explained to him that he had earned the right to choose.

He could stay dead and move on, he could return to his life as Harry Potter, or....or he could even have a different life altogether; a life he had a part in choosing for himself. Admittedly, it was not much of a choice, but a choice all the same and one that was far more than anyone else had ever been offered in the past.

Death had asked him what he desired most out of a new life- a new beginning?

Harry did not even have to think about it; immediately knowing the answer.

He had only wished to have a happy and loving family. That, more than anything else in the world is what he'd always so desperately wished for; people to love and be loved by in return. It was something that in truth he had never really experienced, yet had always yearned for more than anything else in the world. He thought if he could experience such a thing, he'd be grateful for eternity as it was all he'd ever wanted. He would also not mind doing something good for the world; helping people. He wanted to do something new that would help others because he had experienced more joy and fulfillment in such things than in anything else in life. Beyond that, he wanted to make a name for himself; to not be bound by his scar as he'd always been in the past. Very few people had ever seen him for himself rather than that damned lightning bolt-shaped image.

Still, as he'd said; most importantly to him, he merely wished to love and to be loved.

He wanted a real family.

Death had surprised him.

He was told that if he was willing to fight and help those in need, he would be given all that he asked for, and more.

If he agreed, he would be granted the unprecedented opportunity to retain both his memories....and his magic.

That had pretty much sealed the deal for him.

Harry remembered shaking Death's skeletal hand (as creepy as that was), as Death used his unoccupied hand to place a bony finger on the center of Harry's forehead (and incidentally exactly where his scar rested). After that, all he felt was an insurmountable amount of blinding pain and agonizing darkness. He felt as if every last part of his very being, right down to the last cell in his body and to the very marrow of his bones, was being rendered undone and remade.

His last conscious thought had been his surprise when he heard Death whisper to him in his mind.

"Fate and Death have together granted you a boon for the many sacrifices you underwent to make your last world a better place for all, as well as how you selflessly did not covet the power the Hallows could grant as so many would, and indeed have done before you. You have always been a child of Fate, and that is something that shall never change. Wherever you exist, Destiny shall always be your companion in life; never far from your side and the guiding hand throughout the existence of yourself and all those who walk life's path along with you. Just as the Conqueror's Three once were, so too shall you have two loves now from your first day to your last. Never again will you be forced to walk through the path of life alone as they shall always be with you. You shall also be blessed with a true friend more loving and loyal to you, and to you alone- more so than any your previous life had ever known. All your life they will be at your side as your greatest friend's, lover's, and champion's. They shall support you, love you, and bear your children as together the Three Head's of the Dragon revive, re-empower, and recreate a powerful magical bloodline that shall herald the Eternal Summer and the dawning of a new age that shall last through all the eon's of time. Only you as the Chosen One can save them as you are now and forevermore: The Prince That Was Promised. You have passed all the tests set by the Fate's. Now, your true destiny awaits."

He still had to come to terms with exactly what that little whispered one way conversation meant as he was rather clueless at the moment, though of course he did not fail to note that it almost sounded like prophecy. The last lines especially hit a bit too close to home for him to come to terms with immediately in any case. He would admit that it did sound rather more pleasant than his life as Harry Potter had ever been; not that it should be overly difficult to achieve considering what his memories told him of his past.

He tried to take in his surrounding's once again.

He felt arms around him.

Even though his eyelid's felt heavy with exhaustion, he did his best to force them open.

Groggily, his bleary eye's slowly came in to focus as best they could.

His immediate reaction was that either he was now in a world populated by giants, or he himself was an infant once again. He suspected the former over the latter.

The first thing he saw was a beautiful young girl. She had long dark curly hair and creamy white skin as light as porcelain. Her face was slightly long and narrow with sharp high cheekbones, a small finely proportioned nose. She had full and plump red lips as lush as crimson blood. The smile she was bestowing upon him was near to blinding and one of unconditional love and care. There was a wild sort of beauty the young woman held that was entirely uncommon and that he'd never seen the like of before in his memories. She was truly unique. She was also without doubt one of the most beautiful women he had ever laid eyes on, and he could not help but feel an all-encompassing feeling love for the young woman.

In that moment, he knew she could be no one other than his mother.

Which meant- of course, that he was indeed a baby! A newborn baby at that.

At least he now knew what that god's awful feeling of everything closing in on him as he desperately tried to make for the light at the end of the tunnel had been; it was him escaping the bloody birthing canal!

He shuddered violently at the memory of his 'birth'.

Really, there were some things people should just not remember; their own birth was most assuredly one of them!

It was more than a little strange to have the mind of a seventeen year old in the body of a babe, but somehow it did not feel exactly wrong at all. He found that he had no real attachment psychologically to his previous life anymore; at least for now he didn't. He certainly remembered all of it, but the memories were hazy at best the longer he thought of them; except for the magic of course. That was the part that felt more real to him than anything else. Also, it felt like he was supposed to be here; like this was his real life.

It was almost as if this was where he had truly belonged all along; where he was meant to be.

He felt an intense bond to the woman before him. Something he had never experienced in the memory of his past.

Love.

He felt the love of a child for their mother. For the first time in either life, he also clearly felt that love reciprocated and returned whole-heartedly. He could quite literally feel the love his new mother bore for him, and the magic in both of them telling him unequivocally that he was indeed both loved and treasured.

He relished in the feeling.

He really did have the chance for a whole new life and with a real family of his very own!

He strained his ear's as he listened to hear his mother speak as she seemed to be speaking to him directly.

"Oh, my Little Prince. I am so happy you're finally here. I waited quite a long time to meet you, you know. You are loved my boy; you are so....so....dearly loved. You look so very much like your father too. I just know you'll be a little heart-breaker. How could you not be my little Dragonwolf? Everyone's going to be so happy to meet you too; your father especially! He's waited a long time for you to come as well. Oh Little Pup, you have no idea how happy you've made me. All in the same day I found out the your beloved papa was still alive and I got to hold my precious child in my arms for the very first time. Our family is waiting to meet you, but I almost wish I could keep you all to myself." She whispered quietly as if it was just a secret between the two of them.

In that moment spent within his new mother's arms, he felt well and truly blessed.

"Unfortunately, I suppose I'll just have to get used to the idea that it's not just you and me anymore; I have to share you. I will confess My Son, that your Mama was never very good at that, (just ask your dear uncles), so you'll just have to forgive your mother if she is just a tiny little bit possessive of you. Do not ever forget this though, your Mama love's you more than anything else in the whole wide world, My Darling." The beautiful young woman said to him.

"More than anything my little love." She whispered.

He had never felt so very warm and comforted....so very much loved....ever really. He could listen to his mother's sweet voice all day. It made him feel safe and secure.

He did his best to look up to her and give her a smile.

It came out as more like a gurgle, but she seemed to like it if her cooing at him about how adorable he looked was any indication.

Idly, he did wonder what he looked like. He was somehow certain it was nothing like his previous appearance.

He was somewhat confused by her words about finding out his father was still....alive? How does that happen?

He heard a noise off to the side. It sounded like another person getting up.

"My Princess, would you like me to admit the rest of the Royal Family to meet the Little Prince?" A young voice of another girl said from somewhere to his left.

What was this about the, 'Royal Family'? Did she really just refer to him as the, 'Little Prince' and his mother as a princess?

'What in the world had he gotten himself in to now?' He wondered.

'He could never just be normal, could he?' He wondered silently to himself; now extremely curious about what she was referring to.

"Yes please, Alana. If you don't mind, I'm ready." His mother replied.

He heard a door open and close. Then there was only silence momentarily.

"Your papa is coming to see us, Little Prince. He's going to bring your big sister, and your grandmother the Queen too. They'll all love you so much." His mother told him.

'His grandmother the Queen? Whoa! That was....something else,' he thought.

He soon heard the door open again, and heard what he guessed were chairs being brought near the bed they were undoubtedly resting upon.

He felt a brief stir of the air; almost like someone had quickly rushed to their side as he felt more than saw someone now leaning towards his mother and him.

"Oh, Lya! He's so beautiful!" A deep, yet melodic voice said to his mother.

There was a hint of awe discernable in his tone. The voice also somehow sounded familiar to him, though as he was a newborn, he could not fathom how such a thing was possible. It was almost like some long forgotten sound of comfort or perhaps remembered from a song he heard. He could almost swear he remembered the sound of what he thought to be a harp being played before that would accompany that particular voice.

"He looks just like you, My Love- a true Dragon!." His mother said in a pleased and satisfied voice.

The bed dipped as the man he suspected was his father sat down on the bed next to his mother.

He sensed two more people joining them on their other side.

"Oh My Boy, he look's just like you did as a babe. He's absolutely beautiful, Rhaegar. You did wonderful, Sweet Girl. I am so very happy. Now, if we can only get mine own little one delivered safely, everything will be perfect! Rhaenys Dear, come say hello to our newest Dragon. This is your new baby brother." Said a sweet sounding voice of a woman nearby.

He suspected it was his grandmother....the Queen?

He felt who he guessed was his sister coming closer to look at him.

All he caught was a flash of dark hair and a hint of violet eyes that appeared to be dancing in joy.

"Hello, Little Brother. I'm your big sister, Rhaenys. You never have to worry bout anything, cus I'll always be there for you." The girl....Rhaenys....said to him.

He saw a (relatively) small hand reaching towards his cheek. He knew it belonged to his sister. As she gently rubbed her hand along the side of his downy soft baby cheek, he felt a surge of magic. The only way he could describe it was as if his own magic was singing in joy and excited contentment at his elder sister's touch.

"He's so cute, Papa!" He heard Rhaenys tell their father.

"Lya, he's beautiful!" She told his mother.

'Wait, did they not have the same mother?' He wondered as his sister addressed his mother as Lya.

Curious.

"Thank you, Little Dragon." He heard his mother say to Rhaenys.

'What was with all the dragon references?' He wondered.

Perhaps they owned a dragon preserve?

He had so many question's about his new life and family, but as his cries confirmed, it was not as if he could ask. He supposed he'd just have to be exceptionally observant. At least that was something he'd always been rather adept at. He'd had to be in the house he had previously grown up in. He would discover all he needed to know in time, he was sure.

"Would you like to hold him, Rhaegar?" His mother asked.

He guessed Rhaegar was his father's name.

'Odd name that.' He thought.

"Yes please." His father answered softly.

He was then slowly and carefully placed within his father's arms. His father was cautiously supporting his head, and his hold was strong and gentle.

'So this is what it felt like to be held by your father.' He thought.

It was a very nice feeling; almost as comfortable and right as being held by his mother.

He opened his eye's as wide as he could and strained with all his might to focus on what he could see of his father's feature's. He was very curious as they all kept saying he looked just like his father.

When his infant eye's came in to focus on the young man before him he would have gasped in shock if he were able.

For a moment, he thought he was in the arms of a Veela. No, that couldn't be right. For one thing, there were no male Veela. He could tell the his father's hair color was a unique shade of silver blonde; almost similar to the bloody Malfoy's, but not quite. It was more of a rare shade of a true silver-blonde rather than platinum. At least what little was there was seemed to be silver blonde as for some reason his father's hair was exceptionally short. It looked as if he had only recently had his head completely shaved, and it was only now beginning to grow back in. For some reason, he got the impression that short hair was just wrong on him. Why? He knew not, it just felt....wrong. Beyond that, from what he could tell, his father was most likely the best looking male he had ever laid eyes on. His feature's were near otherworldly. He had high aristocratic cheekbones framed by very pale, yet healthy looking skin, a perfectly proportioned aquiline nose, very full pink lips, a fine jaw, and strong chin. His eye's were very similar to the brief glimpse he caught of his sister's; a deep luminous shade of amethyst that would put the jewels themselves to shame. His violet eye's were framed by long darker silver lashes, and a finely arched brow. All in all, if he ended up looking just like this man....well, he supposed he could force himself to get used to it. He was definitely one of, if not the best looking man he had ever seen.

He just hoped he did not end up quite so....beautiful....he supposed was the only real descriptive to be used.

He'd not like the attention such a thing would render.

If he looked like either one of his parent's he would count himself lucky. He'd never seen a couple as beautiful as the two of them. They were a perfect study in contrasts; light and dark, hot and cold, ice and fire....Yes, he could definitely do worse than looking like this pair.

His father was now looking down at him; staring at him so intently it was if he was trying to memorize every little detail.

"Hello, My Son. I'm your father. I can't tell you how happy I am that you are finally here. Your mother and I love you so very much, Little Prince, so very much indeed." His father told him softly.

He could almost literally taste the love and care his father felt for him as he held him securely in his arms.

"Now, what shall we call you, Little One? We need a fine strong name for such an amazing little prince; after all, you'll be the king one day." His father said; much to his complete and utter shock.

Him? King?

He was meant to be a bloody king some day?

That was not exactly what he thought he'd signed up for when he agreed with Death to begin a new life; not at all.

"Lya, Mother, Rhaenys....what do you all think would be a good name?" His father asked of those in the room.

"Not Aegon!" Was the first thing out of his mother's mouth.

'Aegon? What was with all the odd names?' He wondered yet again.

His father chuckled deeply. The vibration's against his father hard chest when he laughed felt a bit like an earthquake to his small form, but he still felt safe and secure all the same.

"Okay, not Aegon then." His father agreed easily enough.

"Also no Aerys, Maegor, Baelor, Daemon, Maekar, Aenys, or Aerion." She added quickly.

Okay, alot of weird names.

'Don't they have anything at all normal?' He wondered.

Queen Rhaella laughed at his mother's words.

"Agreed, My Daughter. I do not believe any of those old names would fit this little one." His grandmother put in.

"Alright, if your going to say no to all those, I'm saying no to Brandon, Eddard, Edwyle, Edwin, Rickard, Rickon, Rodrik, Roose, Torrhen, and Willam." His father countered.

He heard his mother just let out an indignant huff before she started laughing which his father soon joined in. The sounds of his parent's amused chuckles was very soothing for some reason and seemed to make him feel very happy and content.

"What do you think, Little Princess?" His mother asked his sister....he thought anyway.

"Obern...Obwen....O..be..ryn." Precocious little Rhaenys finally managed to say; having difficulty pronouncing the full name.

He did not know why, but for some reason, this caused all three of the adults in the room to break in to great peals of laughter.

He wondered who exactly this 'Oberyn' person was.

"Thank you, Sweet Girl. We'll add that one to the list." His mother said with an amused tone of voice.

"What about Daeron?" His father asked.

His mother just hmm'd non-committedly at that.

"Aemon?" His father tried again.

His mother's reply this time was only a slightly more pleased hmm, but not by much.

He wished he could speak. It would be so much easier for him to adjust if he could just keep the same name.

He decided to try it, although he was sure the there was no way the word would come out correctly.

"Harr..."

"Har..."

"Harrr." Was the only thing he could repeatedly try to get out.

No doubt it just sounded like a normal babes nonsensical ramblings.

Much to his surprise however, he thought it just might have worked.

"Harry? Hmmm, not bad....not too bad at all. It just feel's....right....for some reason. How about Harion?" She asked the others.

He saw his father cast a glance towards his grandmother.

"Actually, I rather like that for a nickname. It would definitely work as a casual name if he were to be named for two of the finest men my family ever produced." Rhaegar pointed out.

Unfortunately, he had no idea whom he could be referring to, but it appeared his grandmother did.

"Oh! That would be a wonderful name, My Son." The Queen replied.

"What were you thinking, Husband?" His mother inquired.

"Well, Haery could be a perfect nickname if we named him after my grandfather and the Conciliator." He replied.

His mother hmm'd again; this time sounding much more contemplative.

"Jaehaerys III Targaryen." She said; apparently testing the full name out loud.

Jaehaerys? He didn't know why, but again, somehow it just felt....right....almost natural he supposed.

"Jae! I like it!" His sister proclaimed happily.

His grandmother looked towards his mother.

"I would be honored to have my first grandson named after my beloved father; a fine and proud name that carries love and respect from all corners of the realm." The Queen told her.

His mother was silent for a moment, no doubt thinking it over as she glanced at her good-mother and her husband and step-daughter before glancing back down to her son held in his father's arms; the two looking so very much alike it warmed her heart.

"As long as I still get to call him my little Haery, then I believe Jaehaerys would be a fine name for our boy." She finally agreed.

He could see his father, grandmother, and sister all three smiling at him now.

"To my son, Jaehaerys III Targaryen!" His father proclaimed him to be in an immensely proud tone of voice.

"May I hold my little brother, Papa?" Rhaenys asked quietly.

He hesitated for a moment, no doubt due to her young age before he saw a nod from Lyanna.

"Come sit in my lap, Little Dragon." His father told her.

Once she was situated, their father gently placed him in his sister's waiting out-stretched arms. She carefully supported his head as she held him close to her. Rhaenys was staring down at him with a sweet and loving gaze. This provided him with his first real opportunity to observe his sister up close.

Rhaenys appeared to be no more than about three name days old. She was a beautiful little girl without any doubt. She had slightly tan skin that she must have inherited from her mother as their father was very pale. Her face was the picture of beauty and absolutely adorable. She had gorgeous large eyes of a piercing shade of violet identical to their father's framed by long black lashes. Even as young as she was, she had obviously high cheek-bones and a cute button nose along with full red lips. She was without doubt breathtaking.

As he lay there, he felt such an up swell of happiness and contentment.

Even his magic seemed to be almost purring in joy. He had not failed to notice that both his parent's as well as his sister had some form of magic themselves, though admittedly it was very different from his own. His magic sparked and danced around his sister especially. He felt some sort of inexorable pull with Rhaenys that was unlike anything he had ever previously felt.

Unbidden, Death's last words spoken flashed through his mind, but he dismissed that almost immediately; after all, this was his own sister.

He did not know what it was about them, but his new family seemed to be comprised of some of the most attractive men and women he had ever laid eyes on. He dearly hoped he would fit in with such a fine looking bunch as his new family appeared to be.

Wrapped in the protective embrace of his elder sister, with both of them being surrounded by their father's strong form, he felt his eye's begin to droop closed again as his exhaustion took over against his will. Within moments he found himself deep in the realm of dreams.

***

Harry found that as a baby, time seemed to move both incredibly slow....as well as phenomenally fast. He spent so much time sleeping, whether he wished to or not, that he had a very hard time keeping up with the events that went on around him.

Other aspects of childhood were even less pleasant in his opinion. He was constantly soiling himself for one thing. Of course he knew it was perfectly natural, but that did not stop the mortification he felt over such things. Alas, that particular issue was nothing in the embarrassment department compared to the complete and total mortification he endured while being breast-fed!

No words could describe the humiliation of such a thing no matter how normal he knew it to be. His mortification was only multiplied when he realized that he had virtually no control over it either. He nearly damned nature itself for forcing his infant self to naturally latch on to any teat in sight! It was instinctual, and it was like he couldn't even help himself; it just happened!

Truly, there were some things people just weren't meant to remember. That, was most assuredly one of them.

There was one aspect of his second childhood (or first considering what he remembered of the first time could hardly be called anything approaching normal) that he actually did like. He found himself very fond of watching and listening to anything and everything around him. In doing so, he learned a very great deal about his current life and family. The more he learned, the more amazed he became of just what his new position in this world was....or rather what it was supposed to be in any case.

He was the heir to a royal family.

There was just one problem; they had recently been overthrown.

Apparently, the entire country had been embroiled in a civil war of late.

Essentially, it all boiled down to one man's jealousy: Robert Baratheon of some place called Storms End.

He had been both betrothed and obsessed with his mother, Lyanna. The problem was that Lyanna loathed him; and by that, he meant she absolutely hated the man she commonly referred to as the 'Drunken Whoremonger and Lech Lord of the Stormlands'.

His father, the Crown Prince Rhaegar, was already married. They had problems of their own too, besides the fact that theirs was an arranged marriage, and the only passion that burned within the pair was that of dear friends and political allies. His father's first wife, the Princess Elia of Dorne, could no longer have any children after the birth of his sister, Rhaenys. At the time, his father was attempting to garner support to overthrow his own father King Aerys, who was apparently a complete lunatic with a fire fetish and prone to burning to death anybody that struck his fancy- be they friend or foe. Before he could overthrow the 'Mad King' as he was called, his father needed a legitimate heir.

They had faked the birth of the so-called 'Prince Aegon', but that was of course only a temporary solution.

During the Tourney of Harrenhal, his father believed he had found the answer to all of his troubles. That was when he met his mother Lyanna, and the pair of them both proceeded to fall hopelessly in love.

His mother was the only daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, and apparently the ruler of the largest of the so-called 'Seven Kingdoms'. He had heard enough to know that his parent's had approached his grandfather, Lord Rickard, and his father asked for his mother's hand in marriage. Apparently, Targaryen's had long held with some rather....peculiar....marriage practices (he tried not to think too much about exactly how peculiar some of those practices turned out to be- his paternal grandparent's being a prime example). Learning that it would be his own first born grandson that would one day sit the Iron Throne (him), Lord Rickard gave the pair his blessing, and they were wed.

Before the news could spread and certain people could be informed (Robert Baratheon in particular), someone lied to his Uncle Brandon, and told him that his father had kidnapped and raped his mother. Brandon, fearful for his little sister, rushed to the capitol demanding satisfaction. His other grandfather, the Mad King, arrested him on charges of treason and sent for Lord Rickard. When he arrived, the Mad King had both his other grandfather as well as his Uncle Brandon brutally murdered. Robert Baratheon started the actual rebellion though as he believed his 'beloved' had been kidnapped and raped and was determined to bring about the fall of the entire Targaryen Dynasty and kill every last one of them; despite the fact that they were his own blood relatives.

He almost succeeded too.

It was only magic and a stroke of very good luck that his father still lived at all after his defeat on the Trident, and it had only gotten worse from there.

The Lannister army, led by a Lord Tywin Lannister, convinced his grandfather he was there to help. When the gates were opened, he then proceeded to sack the city.

His grandfather was killed (no great loss there in his opinion), and they brutally murdered and raped his stepmother and who they believed to be her children. His sister only just barely escaped the butchery when her mother had her smuggled out of the capital and sent to his own mother in Dorne.

Now, they were apparently holed up on their ancestral island of Dragonstone (He had finally figured out that all the dragon names and comments were because his family actually used to ride and control dragons of all things! How awesome....not to mention terribly ironic....was that?), whilst they awaited the arrival of his mother's brother Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.

He loved listening to his mother's tales of all her family and their life in the North. It always sounded so very amazing. He knew he would love to see it in person one day. (Imagine snow in the summer!)

Upon his uncle's arrival, they all hoped to finalize their plan's of where exactly they should depart for temporary exile and how to ensure they were restored to their rightful throne.

Frankly, Harry found it all so very exciting, and thought it to be just like something out of a fantasy novel. He certainly had not been sent to some place dull! Though he could do without all of the rampant violence that apparently was the norm throughout this world he now found himself in.

He vividly recalled the first time he ever laid eyes on his mother's eldest surviving brother, Lord Eddard (call me Ned) Stark of Winterfell. He seemed to epitomize everything he heard his mother say of the North and its people. He was tall and trim; yet powerfully built. He had dark hair and a long face with kind icy grey eyes. He heavily resembled his mother with their mutual Stark features, though his mother's eyes were of a more stormy blue-grey hue.

He remembered how warm and kind his uncle had gazed upon his mother and himself the first time he had met him. The was a tenderness in his eye's that transformed his entire visage from his cold Northern exterior to easily reveal the warmth hidden within. He had looked upon them as if they were the most precious things in the world, and one could see clearly just how much he loved and cared about his remaining family; especially considering all those that he'd already lost. Harry would never forget the gentle look the stern lord bore when he held him for the first time. He knew his uncle was a kindred spirit with him and that he would do anything to insure the safety of his family just as Haery himself always would.

After his mother and her brother had gotten to spend enough time alone with each other for what had to have been the first time in a very long while, as well as managed to grieve for their mutual losses together, the rest of his family present had entered. During the discussion that followed, he managed to keep his eye's and ear's open long enough that he learned quite a bit of the plans they had decided upon.

On thing was certain, they had a great deal of work before them in order to make sure that the future found them in a strong enough position of power to actually have a fighting chance to regain their birthright.

From what he understood, they had decided on some place called Braavos to begin their journey into exile. He was glad he managed to remain conscious (Again he lamented just how much time a baby actually spent sleeping!) long enough to learn all he did as he was worried for his family. So many of them had already been killed, and he did not wish to lose any more. That conversation had also been rather enlightening.

They would not be going empty-handed or cap-in-hand into exile, that was for sure.

Apparently, both sides of his family had large amounts of gold hidden away in Braavos. His Uncle Ned enumerated several plans of his own that would help them to eventually retake their throne. He was also going to be sending his other uncle, (his mother's younger brother) Benjen Stark, to help them in their quest. His mother had been positively thrilled to learn of that arrangement as she dearly missed her childhood partner-in-crime as she called his Uncle Benjen.

He learned that the Targaryen Royal Family owned several residences on the neighboring continent of Essos that even his father had been unaware of. The Queen had been trained in the financial aspects of the Crown by her father and grandfather extensively in the years before the death's of Aegon V and later Jaehaerys II. They were in a much better financial position than his parent's had feared as Queen Rhaella enumerated, she had never shared that particular knowledge with King Aerys; let alone anyone else. He shuddered to think how their life would have been had his lady grandmother not been around to tell them all she knew of the Royal Family's secrets which were....apparently....vast and quite numerous.

They were also still in possession of the largest navy in Westeros.

The vast majority of the Targaryen Fleet was anchored around both Dragonstone and the neighboring island of Driftmark where they had spent the majority of the recent war in idleness. As ownership of such a fleet was their most powerful asset at the moment, it was decided that their navy must be preserved at all costs.

Obviously, they could not just order the entire fleet of nearly one hundred warships and the like to raise their anchor's and join them in Braavos with the Dragon banner's of House Targaryen still flying proudly. The Usurper (as everyone called this Robert Baratheon fellow), could never be allowed to find out that they had any military power remaining to them whatsoever. They'd never have a moment's peace otherwise.

Therefore, his family came up with an ingenius plan in his opinion. The fleet was to broken up into four or five sections, and every last vestige of Targaryen ownership stripped from the ships utterly. Also, large amounts of the crew were to be dismissed from active service until only skeletal crews that were the bare minimum to actually sail the ships remained. Only the most loyal and completely trustworthy of men sworn to silence would know to whom they truly owed allegiance to. Once complete, the different sections of the Royal Fleet would set sail to different parts of the so-called Free Cities of Essos under trusted leadership. There, they were to open commerce as sell-sail mercenaries and ships for hire.

That would serve numerous purposes.

For one thing, no one they did not want to know would have any idea that the Targaryen's were still a power to be reckoned with at sea. They would be able to quickly move troops and or blockade any ports needed when the time was right. They would also be able to maintain and expand the size of their fleet without the need to dip into their own funds that could be put to better use elsewhere by hiring out their navy to the many Free-Cities and their (apparently) never-ending squabbles with each other. Their crew's would also stay in top condition and fighting form with the many jobs they were likely to be purchased to sail for. Also, some of the ships could be repurposed into a trade fleet. He'd also heard them say that such a venture was likely to also produce extra gold to begin the raising and training of their own new regiment's of men to help retake their throne.

This had all been concluded as part of a deal with his uncle Lord Stark. They would open a shipping company that would begin to mass export Northern product from Stark-owned lands. A large amount of those lands were owned by his mother herself as not only part of her dowry, but also lands she inherited from her brother Brandon (though she was apparently building the capitol up to give to her niece, his cousin Elaena, as a dowry at a later date). Warships flying the Direwolf Banner's of House Stark would escort the commercial fleet that had been repurposed for that arrangement. It all had the potential to bring in large amounts of gold for both House Stark and House Targaryen.

All in all, Harry thought they not only had a viable plan for their future, but a smart one at that. After all, the more they grew their economic might, the more lords could be persuaded that they had more to gain by supporting their rightful king over the Usurper.

He knew one principle was the same no matter what world he lived in: money talks. That was something that was unlikely to ever change no matter where one was.

Listening to his Uncle Ned's ideas that he intended to implement when he returned to the North had been interesting. Most were the brainchild of his grandfather Lord Rickard who died before being able to see them to fruition. He was especially interested in learning about the Wildling's and the Wall.

From the brief descriptions he had managed to gleam together, the Wall sounded absolutely amazing. Not only that, but he was certain that something like that in this medieval society would never have been possible without the heavy usage of magic. It sounded as if magic had once been quite common in this world, but that for some unknown reason, it was now much more scarce. It was similar to the plight and supposed extinction of the dragons in many regards. The fact that the two seemed inter-linked, and had seemingly began to decline at the same time was not lost on him. That was definitely something he'd planned on studying up on more at a later date for it sounded rather suspicious to his mind.

Or, perhaps he was merely paranoid.

The old adage had always held true for him though: 'it was not paranoia if they really were out to get you!'

That very night, after the highly informative and....illuminating....discussion he overheard, his grandmother the Queen went into labor.

His parent's tried their best to keep his sister and himself from overhearing what sounded to him like the untold amounts of agony his sweet lady grandmother was currently enduring, but he was more than aware nevertheless. He dearly hoped she would be alright. In the waking hours he had spent with the beautiful queen, he had grown very attached to her. Not only was Queen Rhaella one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, she was also one of the most kind and loving to those she called family despite the fierceness he could easily see lay within her.

He had overheard enough to know that his grandfather had been horrifically abusive to his....sister-wife....and queen. That had been beyond appalling to learn. To know that after all she had suffered and endured from the Mad Dragon, and to have finally escaped from his insane grasp to have the chance of freedom and a peaceful life with a family that adored her only to quite possibly die in childbed....it was beyond the pale.

He knew how dangerous childbirth could be in an era such as the one he now lived in. A great number of women and children alike succumbed to the many maladies that were possible within the birthing chambers. Something that was so simple and generally safe in his old world was fraught with dangerous peril and potentially lethal consequences in his present universe.

All the while his sweet lady grandmother was enduring the agony that was heard by all, his family had been forced to make some difficult decisions. Word had reached them from the Lord Admiral Velaryon that the Usurper's brother, their cousin Stannis Baratheon, was assembling a fleet for the invasion of the isle's of Driftmark and Dragonstone. Events were conspiring to force his family to begin to move faster than they would have liked, but it needed to be done.

They had decided that his Uncle Ned and his men (with the exception of Ser Mark Ryswell who would be joining them in their exile and likely to become a member of his father's Kingsguard), would be taking the portion of their fleet that was to be used as the basis of the new Northern Navy to make for Dorne.

The story they concocted (and the one that was to be forwarded to the Usurper), entailed his uncle finding his mother dying of a fever at the Tower of Joy where she had apparently been residing throughout much of the rebellion. After supposedly defeating and killing the three members of the Kingsguard that were known to have been placed with her, Ned had purportedly entered the Tower, only to find his mother enduring her last moments of life. Therefore, in one fell swoop, four of the highly recognizable soon-to-be exile's would be 'known' to be deceased; Ser Mark had also unfortunately succumbed during the 'fight'.

His mother's goodbye to her brother was heartrending. Neither of them had any idea of just how long it would be before they ever saw one another again; such were the times and the uncertainties all their lives were now enduring. Before he departed, his uncle had gotten down on bended knee, and sworn the fealty of himself and all of House Stark; recognizing his father as King Rhaegar I Targaryen (though he had heard his father insist that he was not to be referred to as king by anyone until he actually sat the Iron Throne). Uncle Ned swore to do his absolute best to carry out their mutual plan's to the best of his abilities, and that he would do all in his not inconsiderable power to restore his family to their rightful throne.

He had even held him, and kissed his brow in goodbye.

He wished things were not as complicated as they seemed to be as he thought he would have very much liked growing up with an uncle as good and honorable as Ned Stark around.

He was certainly a step up from Vernon Dursley in his opinion. (Admittedly, a dog off the streets would have been a better uncle than that fat walrus had ever been.)

The same day that his uncle and the portion of the fleet that was to be heading north departed from Dragonstone by way of Dorne, his grandmother finally gave birth to a little girl she name the Princess Daenerys. The baby girl was as healthy as could be, and would be called Daenerys 'Stormborn' due to the fierce storm that had begun to rage across the island that very day.

Luckily, except for the small detachment of the fleet that had remained as their escort to Braavos, the other sections of the Royal Fleet had already departed for the distant Free-Cities they had been assigned to sail towards (and were therefore out of the storm's path). Had the remaining portion of the fleet not been ordered by his father to raise their anchors in order to ride out the storm, it was highly likely they too would have gone down with the storm.

As it was, they lost three warships, but miraculously, the rest survived relatively unscathed.

Unfortunately, at the moment they were in desperate need of another such miracle as it appeared the his sweet grandmother was fading fast; the agonizingly long birth of his new aunt had almost completely destroyed the ailing Queen. She had lost a tremendous amount of blood, and they had begun to fear that she would be lost to them.

Harry refused to accept that.

He had just gained a wonderful family for the very first time that he could remember, and he was not prepared to lose any of them!

His father was especially distraught as he loved his mother dearly.

His young uncle Prince Viserys was even worse off. He had been traumatized enough during to his unstable and violent father's reign, and they all feared what the Queen's death would do to the little boy who could not be any older than six or seven name days. (Name days and turns of the moon and the like were still taking his brain quite a bit to translate and understand.)

There appeared to be no hope in sight, and the next evening his mother and father brought him to the Queen's chambers as she had summoned them with the desire to lay eyes on her grandson one last time.

He was being held in his father's arms when they entered the sickroom. Queen Rhaella was propped up on a great many pillows and looked pale as a ghost from the loss of blood. On her other side was the newborn Princess Daenerys. The Princess was an adorable looking baby from what he could see. She shared with him what he had come to realize were the trademark feature's of House Targaryen with her silver hair and violet eyes easily identifying her heritage. The tiny little girl looked so happy and content laying next to her mother; completely unaware that her only surviving parent was likely enduring her final minutes in the world.

When his grandmother reached out a pale shaking hand to caress his infant cheek with tears in her eye's, his heart broke for them all.

He could not help but to damn whatever fate's had decreed such an unjust ending of such a warm and loving woman. The ending of someone who had endured literally years of torture and agony, and who had finally found a bright light in life because of the golden sword of Ser Jaime Lannister; only to die so soon thereafter leaving a heart-broken family and two extremely young children behind.

No, it was not right at all!

When her hand gently touched his cheek when his father carefully placed him in his grandmother's trembling arms, he once again felt the faint hum of some kind of magic he could feel around all members of his father's family. (He had felt something similar around his mother and uncle as well, but somehow different at the same time.) He did not know exactly what type of magic it was, only that it was quite different to his own; though he was becoming aware that he also possessed the same forms of magic as they did alongside his Wizarding power's.

Unbidden, his mind flashed to the distant memories he had of the years he had been forced to spend with his own magic healing him in order to survive the abuse his past self had endured all throughout his so-called 'childhood'.

He knew it was a latent; yet powerful form of accidental magic- healing magic. He most assuredly would never have survived the Dursely's cruelty and abuse otherwise. His power's thrummed with acknowledgement; almost as if his magic were....aware....and trying to tell him something.

He thought he knew what it meant, but was it possible?

Could he really do it?

He had never before attempted such a thing. He'd never had the need to. However, his power's as a child had never been up to the level of what he was certain they were now. He did not know how, but his magic was far stronger than any normal babe's power should be; even a wizarding babe. The only explanation he could come up with was that....miraculously....the powers he possessed upon his death had managed to remain with his soul and had accompanied him into his new life.

He distinctly remembered Death telling him that he would keep his magic, but he'd not thought he'd possibly have the same amount of power he possessed at age seventeen in his new infant form (not to mention the new powers he could sense). If that were true, than he may just have enough magic to at least try and heal his grandmother. This was the first time he'd ever experienced having a grandmother, and he would not allow anything to separate him from his new family if he could at all help it.

Family was by far too precious a gift to lose any of them.

He had to try.

So he did.

As he lay in his grandmother's arms, he concentrated on the swirling raw magic contained within his core. It took him a moment to access his core, but he located the veritable ocean of power that lay within himself fairly easily. He had been forced to learn how to access his core when he finally decided to teach himself Occlumency as best he could. (It had come as absolutely no surprise to him that Snape had not even tried to teach him correctly.) He felt his small body thrum with his magic as he immersed himself in his core and let the magic flow outward unhindered.

As his magic flowed, he began to concentrate it into his small hands.

He knew he had done it when he heard the gasps around him. His eye's were closed, but he was sure that were he to open them, both his hand's and his eye's would be glowing. He knew he had to act fast before someone removed him.

Concentrating with all his might, he forced as much of his magic as he possibly could into his ailing grandmother. He knew intent was the key to all magic, so his only thought was to heal- to....make....her....better!

He could feel tiny beads of sweat breaking upon his brow as he pushed his power's to work faster and more potently all throughout Rhaella's body; urging his magic to work as efficiently as possible. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the now louder exclamations of shock....and awe....and perhaps even a hint of fear....yet he forced himself onwards. He was sure by this point that both himself, as well as his grandmother, were likely to be glowing brightly with the power of his unleashed magic; yet he was determined to persevere. He poured out all the magic he could into healing the dying woman, and when he was sure he was most likely well past the point of magical exhaustion; he stopped- not wanting to accidentally kill the both of them.

The light around him faded into nothingness, and Haery had but a second to open his violet eye's. He quickly look up into his grandmother's lighter violet gaze and saw that some of her color had indeed returned to her cheeks. It was the best he could do. He had to hope it had been enough. He did his best to give her a gummy smile, and then promptly succumbed to a rather severe case of magical exhaustion amidst the panicked shouting of his parents.

***

Still feeling ridiculously tired, he slowly came back to the land of awareness. The first thing he noted was that he was being held within someone's arms. Being an infant at present, this had become a quite common occurrence.

He blinked his eye's open sleepily as he attempted to stifle a yawn.

He looked up, and met the loving light violet gaze of his grandmother the Queen.

"Hello, Little Prince." Rhaella whispered down to him with a smile.

He did not sense anyone else in the room at present save them.

"You had us all so very worried, Jaehaerys. You've been sleeping for three full days, but I knew you'd come around in your own time, Little Sorcerer." She informed him.

He blinked drowsily at that.

'Three full days? He must have completely exhausted his core for him to remain unconscious for that long with as large a reserve of power as his small body held. She must have truly been on the brink of death for his magic to have been forced to exert itself so thoroughly.' He thought to himself.

"I have to thank you, My Beloved Grandson. Were it not for you and your magic, I would have not survived the night, of that I have absolutely no doubt. You completely healed me! No trace of the fever or loss of blood remained. I even look more like myself again from the times before my brother's insanity and cruelty took hold. You truly are a miracle, Little Prince. I'll never be able to thank you enough. I'll admit to you Little One, if to no one else, that I was so scared. Not for myself of course; I'd long since resigned myself to an early grave....sometimes welcomed it even." She whispered and he had the distinct impression that last sentence was spoken more to herself than to him.

"Yet, I would never have left your father, and Viserys, little Dany nor you and your sister alone; not if I could possibly help it. They still have need of me, and I so very grateful for the opportunity you and your magic granted me." The Queen whispered down to him.

She paused momentarily, and he did his best to give her a smile.

"Maybe some of Aerys' madness wore off on to me, but I would almost swear you understand far more than a child your age should." Rhaella admitted; shaking her beautiful silver head with ruefully bemused expression.

"Nonetheless, I am forever in your debt. Our family may appear to be in desperate strait's at the moment, but I for one, am delighted to be able to witness and help you all grow into the magnificent prince's you're surely destined to be....and I have a strong feeling that you, my precious grandson....will be growing up to be the greatest of them all! I'm so glad Dany will have family the same age as her to grow up beside. Maybe one day I'll get some more precious grandchildren and you'll get some brother's or perhaps ever another sister, hmm? We have a whole world of opportunities laid before us, and I'll do whatever I must to insure my second chance at life is not wasted. Your sweet father and you will be restored to your rightful throne. I will make it so. Believe me, a determined Targaryen can be a very dangerous thing when they set their mind's to a task, and I am most verily determined." She swore; meaning every single word that she spoke to her infant grandson.

"I always told your father when he was growing up that the Blood of the Dragon was potent and powerful....very powerful indeed. Most do not know of it this era, but our blood is filled with magic. We were not like the majority of the Forty. We never possessed the dragonhorn's of old. No, we only had our own magic to rely upon. Whilst we may not have been the richest or the most politically powerful of the Forty; our sorcery more than made up for it. There was a reason that we maintained our position amongst the Forty for so many millennia despite our lack of resources. So much that made us what we are was lost by our submission to the Faith. I have no doubt the Dragonlord's of Old Valyria would have been turning in their grave's when we let ourselves be bound by what they would have undoubtedly considered uneducated barbarian's. Five thousand years of knowledge; lost to appease savage's. We'll need every advantage we have to reclaim the Iron Throne, and I suspect that you will have a very great deal to do with that." The Queen told him quietly.

He was totally enraptured by what his grandmother was telling him. Apparently, their family was much more aware of magic than he had thought.

"Most of us have been born with the gifts of our ancestor's to this day still; some much more than others. It's always been there, we need only to use it. You however....I know you are far stronger than any of us have been in ages....perhaps since before the Doom itself! I used to study all I could in secret when I was a child myself. I've always been fascinated by sorcery. Of course my interests had to be kept hidden, without the dragons, the Faith could never be allowed to know any of us even retained the knowledge; to say nothing of retaining and actually daring to practice our abilities. Yet, I did just that. I studied as much as I possibly could. I vividly remember the descriptions of what some of the ancient sorcerer's were said to be capable of; so many great and wondrous feats of magic." She described; much to his own shock.

"The legends of the Dragonborn were ancient long before the Doom." She continued.

"The Dragonborn were said to be the first sorcerer's. None of the legend's say how they came by their amazing abilities. They only told of what they could do. They could do such wondrous feats of magic! Everything else paled in comparison as little more than parlor trick's. However, the legend's also said that the Dragonborn would come again. They said that one day, when the last of the true blood of the Valyrian's would be in their greatest hour of need, the greatest of them all would come. He would come, and restore all that was lost. The dragons would roam the world once again, and the powers of Old Valyria would be restored by the Dragonborn; by he who was the dragon made flesh." His grandmother explained to him as he lay there positively enraptured by her tale.

She smiled down upon her grandson as she felt such a great amount of love for the little prince in her heart.

"I don't suppose you can turn into a dragon, can you, Little Prince? I suppose even as powerful as you are, that would be quite the feat indeed. Nevertheless, that is what the legends tell us the Dragonborn can accomplish. I must confess though, I would not be overly surprised if somehow- you could do exactly that." She raised an inquisitive silver brow.

Of course she did not expect an answer.

She was rather surprised when her small grandson begin a gurgling laugh that was more akin to giggling.

Once again, she was struck by the most ridiculous notion that despite the complete impossibility of the idea, her grandson could indeed somehow actually understand what was being said to him.

Haery himself was more than a bit stunned by the old legend his grandmother was describing to him. He felt the oddest sensation. It was almost as if the Fate's themselves were acknowledging her spoken word's as truth. For a brief moment, he felt angry.

'Why was it always him?' He wondered morosely.

Then, his mind whispered that really? Did he expect his life to be anything different no matter what world he was in?

He would have snorted to himself in self-derision were such a feat possible.

He would never be normal.

As he considered that- unlike his previous life, here he was surrounded by love and affection, and that he therefore had that much more of a reason to actually fight for them against whatever the Fate's held in store for him; maybe it was not really all that bad.

He had begun to accept that perhaps that was okay.

Normal was over-rated in any case.

Of course there would be legend's in the world that was now his own about his animagus form that was supposedly impossible in either world.

He just gave his grandmother another smile as sleep began to lull him back within it's warm embrace. He was so glad he had been successful.

His grandmother would be just fine.

He could sleep easy.

For now anyway.