1 Prologue

Prologue

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Disclaimer: I don't own HP, GOT, or ASOIAF.

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Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Cataclysmic Moon.

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Author's Note: Hello guys and gals. This is going to be an HP/GOT crossover, having elements from both the book and the show-verse. That being said, this is my first time writing and English isn't my native language, so don't set your expectations too high. Constructive criticism is always welcome. I hope you enjoy this.

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Year 2319. The Ruins of London.

A cloaked figure sat quietly in reminiscence atop a pile of rubble.

In the summer of his fifth year at Hogwarts, he was left alone again in Surrey with only the Dursley family for company. He was left to wallow and stew in his regrets. Just like before, nobody contacted him for anything. He felt like a mushroom – kept in the dark and only fed shit. Then Dumbledore came with the news that one of his best friends - Hermione - had been attacked during the summer and had her wand snapped after retaliating in self-defence for casting underage magic against 'influential' purebloods. To complete their job, the death eaters returned and finished her off for good, along with her family.

Harry, of course, was even more furious and disappointed with Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. They had promised Hermione's family and home protection. He already knew from experience that relying on adults wasn't helpful at all, and that the Ministry of Magic was a nuisance at best. This, however, finally drove the point home. So, when Dumbledore casually asked him for help before promising to send him to the Burrow to spend time with the Weasley family until September, he told him to "fuck off" and that he had no desire to see anyone. Before Dumbledore had shown up, he longed for his friends, but now Hermione was gone and he was alone with Ron.

And while Ron was enjoyable and relaxing to be around, at this point, he had no desire for anything fun. His friend was indeed grieving the death of Hermione, but his rather laid-back attitude did not change at all.

'And neither can live while the other survives.'

Harry couldn't sit still anymore, and while he couldn't practise any magic until school, he could work on his body. Like jogging and hitting the local gym.

He completely ignored the Dursleys. In turn, they had enough sense to not bother him at all.

He still didn't get enough food, but thankfully he had a stroke of inspiration. And when he called Dobby, the loyal house-elf answered.

The rest of the summer days were spent pushing himself physically every day to the limit while carefully reviewing DADA, Transfiguration, and Charms theory in the evening. He feasted every day on meals prepared by the kind house-elf. Harry had also found a book on muggle meditation that grabbed his fancy and had finally managed to start clearing his mind successfully after doing his daily workouts.

When the school year started, he dropped everything but the three classes above and Potions. The latter was now thankfully available with his OWL grade without Snape teaching the subject. And he could do better in potions without the overgrown bat hovering over his head. Professor McGonagall had tried to hand him the Quidditch Captain badge, but he simply returned it stating that he clearly remembered being banned from Quidditch for life and no longer held any interest in the sport. He also told his head of house that he would no longer continue attending Divination, History of Magic, Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, and Herbology. Despite this, he explained that he had no intention of ever working at the shitty ministry, leaving his head of house speechless by his crude language. She tried to change his mind, but Harry refused to budge.

Ron tried to get him to relax, but he simply grabbed him to the side and stated that he was done taking shit from people. Harry was planning to prepare himself to fight Voldemort seriously. After that conversation, the redhead relented and left him alone.

But, of course, Dumbledore wasn't done with him yet. When he asked for a meeting, Harry obliged in an attempt to appease the headmaster. However, he quickly realised that all he would be doing was viewing some memories. Completely fed up with the old wizard's tactics, he simply asked the headmaster to get to the point directly or spend some time teaching him actual magic. Or perhaps even no longer bother him at all. Dumbledore finally realised that Harry wasn't beating around the bush any longer. The headmaster relented and admitted he was dying and they discussed long after midnight about Voldemort's childhood and the Horcruxes.

Using his time wisely by avoiding people, moving around the castle under his cloak with a silencing charm, eating in the kitchens, and simply focusing on his magic, body, and mind produced incredible results. He had managed to find obscure ancient tomes and materials in Room of Requirement, which pushed his prowess even further.

When Harry noticed that Malfoy was planning something, he didn't bother informing anyone. He knew it would be useless. As always, they would do nothing. So, he didn't waste much time and took things into his own hands. Ambushing him was easy using the Marauder Map and his invisibility cloak. After disarming Malfoy and restraining him, Harry pumped the blond full of veritaserum. After Malfoy revealed his plan, he obliviated the Slytherin back to his formative years, and left him slumped in the hallway, but not before leaving his forearm exposed, revealing the dark mark.

Towards the end of the year, Dumbledore finally called for his help. The headmaster had found the possible location of a Horcrux and wanted Harry to come along with him. The trip turned out to be a disaster, and in the end, the Headmaster simply asked Harry to disarm him and to use his wand in the future.

Two days before school ended, Dumbledore was killed by Snape. Harry had foreseen something like this was going to happen, so he did what he knew to be best; hide. He slipped away from the train station, and instead of leaving with the Dursleys, he left for a small beachside property he had inherited from Sirius that almost nobody knew of. To be safe, Harry kidnapped a Japanese muggle tourist to use him as a secret keeper. In theory, it would work, and it did. He easily cast the Fidelius charm, something which he had researched extensively after the revelation that Dumbledore was dying. He secured the secret on a few slips of paper, which he decided to keep safe in the safe-house and obliviated the memory of the last hour from the tourist. Since the secret was hidden in the soul, he wouldn't need to remember it. In a week, the muggle would be back in Japan, blending in among more than one hundred million others.

The ministry fell, and Harry spent half a year leading lone guerilla warfare, taking a page from the Death Eater's book. It helped to sharpen his skills and magic further, whilst also searching for the whereabouts of the Horcruxes. Slowly but methodically, he decimated Voldemort's followers. It was easy enough with all his current skills and tools in his possession. Ambushing unaware people was much easier than fighting them to the death directly and evened his odds against multiple opponents.

Harry had noticed pretty fast that his cloak hid him from all forms of magical detection, including barriers and wards. Dobby had managed to get him the sword of Gryffindor from the headmaster's office, once again proving that wizards simply underestimated house elves severely. With the sword in hand, Harry had an easy time destroying all the Horcruxes he found. It took him almost three weeks with the elf's help to locate the Diadem of Ravenclaw and subsequently sneak into the Room of Requirements unnoticed. Two months of tracking to acquire the Locket of Slytherin, and six weeks to find the Cup of Hufflepuff and figure out how to sneak into Gringotts undetected.

Shortly after Christmas, he found the last Horcrux. The snake in Godric's Hollow, wearing the skin of Bathilda Bagshot. After quickly slaying the snake, Voldemort angrily appeared with a few of his remaining followers intent on avenging Nagini and seeking to kill Harry. It was a rather short yet devastating battle, and he had been overwhelmed by the Dark Lord, who had sixty years of experience over him. Harry's drive and natural talent inherited from his parents had gotten him far during the last year and a half. If he had more time, he would most certainly be able to beat the Dark Lord despite Riddle's experience and ritualistic advantage. Testament to that, Harry had held his own for nearly ten minutes, and everyone else that came with the dark lord perished during the fight. When Harry was finally struck by the killing curse for the second time, he simply smiled as the green light hit him in the chest.

Seeing Dumbledore in limbo explaining how he was a Horcrux and that he could go back and fight if he wanted to pissed Harry off immensely. He yearned to reunite with his family, yet it was still denied to him, so he settled for punching the old fool in the nose. Harry might have become utterly ruthless and cold, but recognizing that he had been groomed for martyrdom and self-sacrifice didn't sit very well with him. However, he wasn't about to leave wizarding Britain in the clutches of Voldemort, no matter if he was mortal or not. Theoretically, he could end the snake bastard if he hit him with a curse by surprise.

When he woke up, Voldemort was gloating about finally killing the "great" Harry Potter to the small crowd that had gathered in Godrick's Hollow. The Dark Lord had been losing grip on his sanity for some time. While he still had his guard dropped by the euphoric victory and his back turned to Harry's corpse, Harry slanted his eyes open. Noticing Riddle's position, he slightly jerked his wand in his direction and cast a quick, silent, and deadly decapitation curse. Voldemort's maniacal laughter ceased abruptly as his head rolled to the side while Harry stood up. A great burden had finally been lifted from his shoulders. Now, he was finally free from the shackles of prophecy. His fate was his own.

"Someone should have told the stupid bastard that he can't cast the killing curse for shite," Harry had joked softly, seeing people near him still frozen in disbelief. "And someone should also go around and obliviate all the muggles. We can't have things like killing dark lords break the Statute of Secrecy."

The figure shook its head and sighed. Things were far too easy and simple back then. Pondering over this, he looked at the destruction that lay all around him.

Multiple cracks, broken bones, rusty stains, and various rubble covered the ground. Twisted vehicle frames in various states of rust broken beyond repair adorned the landscape. Charred ruins were seen in every direction and the sky was unnaturally crimson. The air was deathly still and filled with the sickening stench of death and decay. Everything was dead. Everything aside from himself.

Finally reaching a decision, Harry stood up. He inhaled deeply and disappeared in a flash of thunder, tearing the grave silence apart with a loud thunderclap.

Deep under the ruins, untouched by the destruction above lay a large, rectangular room. A stone archway stood in a pit in the centre, surrounded by ascending stone benches towards the walls. The room was surprisingly lit, although the dim lights were flickering violently. With a flash of lightning, a cloaked figure appeared in the pit in front of the archway. The following thunderclap caused all the dust inside the chamber to rise, but the cloaked figure subtly waved his hand, and it all dissipated.

Harry looked at the veil intently. The space between the stone arch was rippling. The last time he was here was three hundred and three years ago and he had no idea what he was looking at. Now, though, he could slightly understand the runes inscribed on the archway. While he couldn't exactly recognize all of them, from what he could gather, the archway was a portal. The destination most definitely wasn't the afterlife. However, he could see why it was called the Veil of Death. In the past, it had been used as a method of execution. Without properly activating the portal, you'd end up in between dimensions and most certainly have your body, mind, and soul shredded into oblivion by the inter-dimensional energies.

However, he had nothing to lose as the last living person on Earth. He gently placed his hand on what he recognized as a power rune on the left side and started pumping his magic into the stone arch. The ancient archway seemed to be a bottomless pit, devouring his magic without much change. Yet he did not let this discourage him. Soon, the ripples between the archway slowly began to twist and rotate. Slowly, one by one, the runes started to light up in a soft blue colour and the air began to hum with power. He kept pouring all of his magic relentlessly and he barely managed to light up all the runes before going dry.

As soon as the last rune lit up, the hum disappeared. The only sound was the swirl of the furious vortex between the stone columns of the arch. Drained of magic, his body felt incredibly heavy and barely responsive. Exhausting his magic until he had a sliver remaining made him feel like a baby – struggling to even lift a finger. Anyone else would have long faded in the embrace of Morpheus, but Harry managed to hold on to his consciousness by a bare thread. All he could do was lean slightly forward and fall directly into the portal just before the runes started to fade. As soon as he disappeared into the vortex, the arch cracked and everything turned dark.

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303 AC, near Castle Black

The road to Castle Black was much more daunting than anything she had encountered before. Sansa Stark had travelled in the Vale before and had grown up in the North. Despite this, she had never truly experienced the harshness of the North. She knew from her childhood that the walls of Winterfell had hot water running through them from the underground hot spring, but she could never appreciate it until now.

The truth of the matter was that she had no choice but to continue heading north. She had to reach Castle Black, else she would die trying. The alternative was returning to Ramsay and facing his wrath. She'd rather die than return to the hands of that monster. Even if she somehow avoided Ramsay and his men, she had only more enemies further south. Braving through the cutting northern wind, her group continued slowly make their way through the snow. At least they were lucky – it hadn't snowed enough to make the road untraversable.

Sansa winced in pain. The cuts all over her body were throbbing again. Riding a horse did not help alleviate the pain between her legs. Her moonblood came a little less than a sennight after escaping the clutches of Ramsay Bolton. It only added to her growing pains, but it was a sign that she was not carrying the child of that monster. Sansa had been in pain for so long that she had forgotten how it felt when nothing hurt.

In the distance loomed an impossibly tall wall, carved entirely out of ice. A few rays of sunlight speared through the cloudy sky and illuminated the gigantic structure. They were finally nearing Castle Black. The road so far had been tiring and rough, taking a toll on her. She had lost her home and her family, and the only thing she had left was her estranged half-brother Jon Snow. Sansa had always been cold and distant to him as a child, but she knew Jon wouldn't turn her away. He had always been kind to her, regardless of how she treated him.

Bastards can rise high in the world.

The voice of Ramsay rang in her head and her wounds flared up painfully once again. She had heard in Winterfell that her brother had become the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Sansa also knew that most of the people in the North were probably angry with Jon for letting wildlings through the Wall. They were just as hated in the North as the Lannisters, if not even more.

Castle Black was finally visible. It couldn't be called much of a castle – it was a mash-up of stone towers and timber keeps. There were no actual walls, but the towers and keeps were designed in such a way that there was only one entrance, adorned with a small shabby gate. The whole fortress, if it could even be called that, looked incredibly bleak without a hint of liveliness.

When they arrived at the 'gate' of Castle Black, she noticed that it was quiet. There was a lack of noise surrounding the keep. No horses braying in the stable, or the quiet hum of people talking. The silence was as if someone had died and they were all attending a funeral. As they crossed the gate, a grey-haired black brother spotted them over from the wooden keep adjacent to where they were crossing.

"And who the fuck are you?" His tired voice broke the deathly silence.

"We are travellers and we wish to talk to Lord Commander Jon Snow." Brienne came to the front and answered.

The man furrowed his eyebrows before sighing. He looked at Brienne warily but shouted. "Open the gate!" Within a few minutes, the gates were open and they met the black brother, who now had a dour expression on his face.

"You're looking for Lord Commander Snow?" Brienne nodded, steadying her horse. "Then I regret to inform you that the Lord Commander has passed."

Sansa felt her strength leave her. She swayed and almost fell off her steed, barely managing to stay on her saddle. She was used to loss and bad news, but this was it - now she had finally lost everything. Her last remaining family member was gone. She was completely alone in the world. Her stomach twisted into a painful knot and she felt her insides turn to ice. Sansa wanted to scream, but she felt her throat constricting and all she could let out was a strangled sob.

"This is Lady Sansa Stark. She is the Lord Commander's sister." Brienne clarified. The man's eyes widened, and he bowed his head at her.

"I am sorry for your loss, m'lady. We're now preparing for his funeral. If you want to say your goodbyes, I can lead you to his chambers." Sansa nodded wordlessly, dismounted her horse, and numbly followed the man into one of the stone keeps while ignoring her pain. Brienne and Podrick quickly dismounted and trailed after her. They followed him to the commander's solar. It was a rather small room, she noted, but she realised that she had gotten used to the Eyrie, Winterfell, and The Red Keep, which were all great castles. Castle Black could barely even be called one.

There, on a table in the middle of the room, was her last brother. Theon had said that he hadn't killed Bran and Rickon. But even if Sansa trusted him, which she didn't, that would mean they were stuck in the northern wilderness on their own. A young child and a cripple with no help or supplies made their chance of survival simply nonexistent.

Jon looked so peaceful that she would have thought he was sleeping if he wasn't deathly still and if there weren't bloody holes in his black clothing. Next to the table, Ghost was lying on the ground whimpering quietly. This was the first time she had heard Ghost make a sound, and it only brought tears to her eyes.

"Pardon me, m'lady." Sansa jumped at the young voice. She had been so distracted by Jon's dead body that she did not see a young man sitting close by." Are you Jon's sister?" he asked.

Sansa couldn't bring herself to speak and she simply nodded while trying to wipe off her tears. An uncomfortable silence settled in the air until she could gather some strength to speak. "How..." Her voice was quivering, but she braved on. "How did he die?"

The young man's face twisted into a scowl and grimly replied. "He was betrayed. Some of the black brothers were not happy that Jon had allowed the wildling to pass the Wall. And after the news of Stannis' defeat came, they lured him out in the night and stabbed him to death. But Edd, one of the men loyal to Jon, went to call the wildlings for help. We caught the traitors and threw them in the black cells. They will be executed after the funeral."

His words chilled her further. She thought it was cold before, but now she couldn't suppress her shivers. Jon had been betrayed... just like his father and just like her brothers. Just like her uncle Brandon and her grandfather. Was that to be the fate of all the men of House Stark? However, before she could say anything, a group of people rushed into the room.

The two were women that looked otherworldly among the bleakness of Castle Black. The first was tall with long red hair and was dressed in a thin red gown. She seemed to be completely unaffected by the cold and she wore a choker on her neck adorned with a red ruby. Sansa had never seen her before but something about her seemed familiar. A moment later she realised what it was; the lady fit the description of Stannis' infamous Red Priestess – Melisandre of Asshai. The other woman was a wildling – dressed in white leathers and furs with dark honey-coloured hair flowing towards her waist. She had high, sharp cheekbones and piercing blue eyes.

They were followed by the dour night's watchman who opened the gate for them, an old man with thinning grey hair who was missing the fingers of his left hand, and a tall, red-headed wildling covered in fur.

"My lady." The old man nodded politely to Sansa before turning to the red woman. "Is there anything you can do for him?" These words finally snapped Sansa out of her grief. What could they even do for her brother? He was already dead. Were they going to try a crazy ritual, or a magic spell to bring her brother back?

The priestess was intently looking at her brother's body when she finally replied, "I don't know, Ser Davos. But I will try." The old man was the famous Onion Knight, who had managed to save Stannis Baratheon at the siege of Storm's End by smuggling onions.

"Could you fetch me some water?" She had turned to the dour night brother who simply nodded and left. Then she slowly walked over to Jon and beckoned the young man. They started undressing Jon's body. Sansa averted her gaze, respecting her brother's privacy. To the side, however, she noticed that the blond wildling woman was looking with keen interest instead.

After some time, the shuffling of clothes finally stopped, and Sansa dared to look to see if they were finished. Jon's body was naked, and only his private parts were covered by a small cloth. His chest and belly were littered with holes. Ugly purple stab wounds adorned his torso and the cruellest one was over his heart. It was like someone had twisted the knife after sticking it in. Sansa once again could feel her tears threatening to spill from her eyes and barely managed to hold them back.

Finally, the night's watchman arrived with the water. The young man and the priestess carefully cleaned his body of blood and the Red Woman finally started her ritual. She could barely feel time passing. The only thing left in her was a tiny spark of hope that whatever sorcery they were doing would bring her brother back, and she would not be alone. She stood there and kept staring as the woman chanted in what she vaguely recognized as high Valyrian.

But it was all for nought. The red priestess finished her chanting, and Jon was still laying there, unmoving. She had long stopped believing in gods, fairy tales, and songs. But she had also heard in whispers about some of the weird magical feats that the priestess had done. Maybe this ritual would bring her brother back. Alas, it was not meant to be. The seconds tickled by, and Melisandre stopped, yet nothing happened. Everyone slowly left the room but Sansa and the young man.

"M'lady, we should prepare him for the funeral now." She looked at the young man, but could barely see him from the tears pooling in her eyes.

"What's your name?" she managed to croak out weakly.

"My name's Satin, I am...was the Lord Commander's steward." He replied quietly.

"Satin, do you mind...if you leave me alone with my brother, just for a little while?"

Satin gave her a sad smile and nodded. "I'll be back soon with some clean clothes for him to wear."

She stood still until he left. As soon as the door closed, she couldn't hold herself back anymore and broke out in sobs. The tears now flowed freely. Sansa closed the distance between herself and Jon and simply buried her face in the nook of his neck and cried.

Her half-brother had always been good and kind to her, even if she acted like a bitch. But she now knew firsthand how it felt to be like a bastard after her stay in the Vale. And Sansa bitterly regretted how she had treated her half-brother.

She didn't know how long she stood there, but as she heard the door open again, she reluctantly tore herself from Jon and let Satin do his work. Soon Jon was dressed in the typical black clothes that the men of the night's watch wore. A few minutes later, more people entered and Jon's body was carried outside to the courtyard and she followed them solemnly.

In the middle of the yard, there was a wooden pyre, and Jon's body was gently placed next to another body belonging to a very, very old man. He was wearing a simple black robe, and there were three stones of different colours surrounding his body. Brienne and Podrick were waiting outside, among the other Night's Watchmen and wildlings. There were even a few Baratheon men in the crowd. Nobody was paying any attention to her or the other newcomers.

Sansa slowly walked to the forefront where she found Satin and carefully nudged his shoulder. "Who is the old man on the pyre with my brother? And what are those scaly stones?" She quietly asked.

"He was the maester here - maester Aemon. He was very old, and could barely get out of bed for the last moon. The man was here long before any other men of the Night's Watch. After the Lord Commander was killed, we also found him dead in his bed in the morning. The maester had passed away peacefully in his sleep. And I don't know what the stones are, but they were also his, and his wish was to have all his belongings burned in the pyre with him when he passed away." Satin quietly explained.

Something large and warm moved next to her. It was Ghost, Jon's direwolf. She hadn't noticed his gigantic size before, her thoughts were with her brother, and the direwolf was deceptively sprawled on the floor, but Ghost had gotten unbelievably big. He was almost as tall as her. It was a bit ironic that all direwolves of her trueborn siblings were dead, and only her half-brother had managed to keep his direwolf alive. Ghost looked her in the eyes and gave her a sad, silent whine. Sansa leaned onto her brother's direwolf. She barely had any strength left and would need all the support to get through this.

Her attention turned back to the pyre. Another thin man with grey hair and a dour face lit up a torch and threw it at the pyre. The fire spread slowly but surely. The man sighed and spoke up. "They came to us from Winterfell and King's Landing. North and South. They fought and died protecting men, women, and children who will never know their names. It is for us to remember our brothers. We shall never see their like again... and now their watch is ended." Snow softly began to fall as the man finished his speech.

She tried to hold her tears but simply couldn't anymore. They started small, but the sobs grew and grew. She didn't care that there were people around her anymore. She missed her family, and most of all, she missed Jon right now. She deeply regretted ignoring him while growing up. She was alone now. On the way here, she had hoped that she would finally be reunited with her brother and there would now be someone who would not try to control or manipulate her.

A treacherous thought wormed itself into her head. That she could still reunite with her brother. She could see all of her family. Sansa was strong, she could easily squash this thought. Even after all the tragedy and suffering so far, she clung to life.

But was it worth it?

She hadn't thought of the future on her way to Castle Black aside from finally meeting someone from the family again. All she could think about was her now-dead last brother.

Yes, Sansa could continue trudging along. But she was valuable and would never be left alone. The future only seemed grimmer with each passing moment. Deep inside, she knew what followed – running from her family's numerous enemies. But she was already at the end of the world. Sansa wasn't a fighter, so all she could do to get revenge was to scheme. She only felt smaller and smaller, while the Boltons and Lannister only seemed bigger and bigger. Her numerous wounds all across her body ached painfully. Few of them have had the time to heal properly. Most of them were probably infected.

At that moment, Sansa Stark felt incredibly tired. One might say that she was the least impulsive of her family. But the wolfsblood running through her veins was shown true as she reached a decision. Taking a deep breath to gather the last vestiges of her strength, she rushed forward and leapt into the burning pyre, hoping to join her family and finally rest.