The Winter Wizard - Chapter 31 - A Fight Outside the Gates

Along with Daenerys, Jorah, and the remnants of her khalasar, Harry made his way through the Red Waste, a name that felt more like an understatement the longer they traveled. The cracked, lifeless terrain seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. The sun was unrelenting and the sky itself a pale, washed-out blue that shimmered with heat mirages. Harry had certainly seen unpleasant things in his life, the cupboard under the stairs, the Forbidden Forest, the lower dungeons at Hogwarts, even Sir Nicholas’ Death Day Party … but this place? This was something else entirely. It was an oven where hope went to die slowly.

Everything was a struggle. The sand turned to powder underfoot, providing no purchase. The winds were hot and carried with them red dust that coated everything. Water was rationed and seemed to grow more scarce as each day progressed. The horses moved slower by the day, ribs beginning to show on the leaner beasts. The dragons seemed to be the only ones who were enjoying themselves in the heat.

He rode next to Jon now, both of them bouncing slightly in their saddles as the horses trudged across the rippling sand. Their faces were streaked with dust and sweat, their clothes damp and sticking to their skin.

“This,” Jon muttered, “is the single worst thing I’ve ever done.”

Harry laughed dryly. “I’ve done some pretty dumb things, but yeah … this might top the list.”

Jon looked around, squinting against the sun. “You sure you can’t cool the air down a bit?”

“Cool it out?” Harry echoed, raising an eyebrow. “What do I look like, a human icebox?”

Jon gave him a sidelong glance. “Honestly? At this point I’d settle for a damp breeze.”

Harry chuckled again. “Sorry, mate. I’m good with fighting spells and if comes to it I could probably help with finding water, but changing the weather is a bit above my pay grade … not to mention it’d kind of blow the whole ‘keeping a low profile’ thing. You’ve seen the looks of suspicion we’ve been getting.”

Jon nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. “Yeah. But they’re mostly neutral now.”

Harry shrugged, wiping his forehead with a dusty sleeve. “I get it. We’re outsiders, but I’d like to think we’ve proven we aren’t a threat to them by now. At the very least I don’t know why they are looking at me like that, its not like my family tried to kill Daenerys.”

Jon let out a fake laugh. “Maybe they are judging you for who you are travelling with or maybe they just don’t like you as a person.”

Harry shot him a sideways glare. “Thanks. That really helps.”

Jon took a small sip from his canteen, grimaced at the warm water, and looked toward the front of the group, where Daenerys rode beside Ser Jorah. Her posture was straight, proud … certainly far more commanding than it had been when they first set out. The dragons fluttered around her like strange birds, and the few Dothraki who were riding near her treated her with visible deference.

“What do you think of her?” Jon asked quietly seeing where he was looking.

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again. He looked out at the desert, thinking.

“For the first couple of days after we headed out on this gods-forsaken journey,” he began slowly, “I was concerned. She looked lost and … broken. Understandably, considering what she went through. Her husband died, her unborn child died, and then her khalasar fell apart around her.”

He paused, watching the sun shimmer off the sands.

“But since then …” he continued, his voice softening, “she’s done an almost complete turnaround. She’s leading with focus, not just surviving but guiding people through this hell. She’s … determined. Level-headed. And she’s actually earning their respect. And it’s not just because she has dragons, but because she is taking the time to get to know them. She speaks their language. She’s enduring the same hardships. That apparently counts for something.”

He looked over at her. She was laughing at something Ser Jorah said, one of the small dragons, Rhaegal, he thought, clambering up onto her shoulder and nuzzling her neck. The sight reminded Harry, bizarrely, of Hagrid with Norbert, the big man crooning to his tiny dragon in the wooden hut. But that was where the similarities between her and Hagrid ended as he resembled Fleur much more than she did a half-giant.

As he looked, she seemed to sense she was being observed and she turned her head slightly. Their eyes met across the distance. For a moment, neither looked away. A breeze kicked up a small cloud of sand between them, and just before it passed, he saw the faintest smile touch her lips.

Harry flushed and turned quickly, looking away toward the horizon.

Jon noticed and smirked. “Careful. You’re staring.”

“I was not staring.”

“You definitely were.”

Harry coughed and mumbled something unintelligible before finally saying. “Just … observing.”

Jon chuckled, but mercifully let it drop.

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Harry heard the shouting before he saw them. He quickened his pace through the sparse, scattered tents, following the harsh voices until they came into view.

Jon and Ser Jorah stood face-to-face near the edge of the encampment, so close they were nearly nose-to-nose. Neither seemed to care that several Dothraki lingered nearby, whispering to each other in low tones as they watched the confrontation unfold.

Jon lunged forward half a step, and Ser Jorah’s hand twitched toward the hilt at his hip.

“Hey! Enough!” Harry barked, pushing himself between them. He shoved a hand against Jon’s chest, planting the other firmly on Ser Jorah’s arm. The knight’s eyes were smoldering with the same stubborn, wounded pride that he certainly recognized. For a moment, Harry wondered if they’d both just run him through instead.

“Back off, Potter,” Ser Jorah growled, voice low and dangerous.

Jon’s jaw flexed. “Stay out of this, Harry.”

Harry ignored both, shoulders squared between them. “What exactly are you two planning to do? Kill each other in the middle of the Red Waste? Brilliant plan. Really practical.”

Neither backed down as they stared at each other.

Harry exhaled. “All right. If you’ve got so much energy to burn, and nothing better to do, why don’t you duel it out with blunted blades? Better that than whatever the hell this is.”

They both froze. Ser Jorah’s eyes narrowed, but his lip twitched, something almost like a grin, though it held no warmth.

“Fine,” Ser Jorah spat. “Later this evening, when it’s cooler. In the open area outside the Khaleesi’s tent.”

Jon straightened, his eyes flaring. “I’ll be there.”

Ser Jorah gave him a last, contemptuous glance before shouldering past Harry, disappearing into the maze of tents. Harry turned back to Jon, who was glaring at the knight’s retreating back.

“Why’d you step in?” Jon asked, his tone sharp but weary.

Harry sighed. He slapped Jon lightly on the shoulder. “Because it was either that or watch one of you actually draw steel. And if that happened, one of you would be dead. If he killed you, I’d have to kill him out of sheer principle, and not only have I found that I rather enjoy your company but I imagine that the Queen’s khalasar would probably not be over enthused about me killing him.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “You think he’d kill me?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “He certainly looks like if you push him far enough he’d be willing to kill you. But do you think you would kill him?”

Jon hesitated. His lips pressed into a thin line. “I’d give him a good fight.”

“Of course you would. But would you win in a fair fight?” Harry shrugged. “And even if you did win, we’d be on our own again. The khaleesi wouldn’t thank us for murdering her sworn knight. And I’m not a fan of the idea of just crossing this desert with you.”

Jon snorted. “So your brilliant idea is to have him beat me bloody in front of half the camp?”

Harry grinned. “Think of it this way, he’d never willingly teach you a single thing about how he fights. But in a duel? You’ll learn more in one match than in a week of sparring with a lesser fighter.”

Jon stared at him, deadpan. “Thank you. Really. So much.”

Harry patted his shoulder again, teeth flashing. “You’re welcome.”

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Harry and Jon made their way to the clearing outside Daenerys’s large, patchwork tent. There, Ser Jorah waited, arms folded over his chest, a blade resting in the sand by his feet. A wide ring of Dothraki surrounded the space, eyes glinting in the later evening light. They murmured among themselves in rapid Dothraki, their eager smiles clearly evident.

When Ser Jorah spotted Jon, he sneered. “I was worried you’d come to your senses and run.”

Jon stepped forward, voice calm but flinty. “I’m a Stark. I know something about honor.”

As he watched Ser Jorah bristle at Jon’s response, Harry missed Daenerys’s approach until she was standing right beside him.

“Is it true this was your idea?” she asked, voice low but pointed.

Harry gave her a helpless shrug and a grin. “Well, I did suggest they use blunted blades. Figured it was better than an actual sword through the gut.”

She shook her head slowly, silver hair catching the torchlight. “The fact that they are using blunted blades is the only reason I’m allowing this to occur.”

Harry dipped his head. “Glad to hear it. They’ve obviously got have issues and animosity to burn. I thought it better that they burn it out here.”

Daenerys snorted. “Boys.”

Harry laughed. “Boys.”

She looked out at Ser Jorah and Jon, who were circling each other now, blades held loosely as they were each taking in their opponent. “Do you really think the best way for them to ‘work things out’ is for Ser Jorah to beat your friend into the dirt?”

Harry grinned, eyes fixed on Jon’s posture, as he shrugged. “Might not be so one-sided … Jon’s a quick study.”

Daenerys lifted an eyebrow. “You expect the boy to best Jorah Mormont?”

Harry considered, eyes flicking from Jorah’s confident steps to Jon’s searching ones. “Not tonight. But if they fought five times? I’d bet Jon would win at least three.”

Daenerys barked a short, surprised laugh. She studied Harry, lips curling in a knowing smile. “I’d bet otherwise.”

Harry shrugged, still watching the pair circle like wolves testing for weakness. “Well, you saw what I came here with. Not much to bet, unless you’d like my horse. And I’d prefer not to cross this desert on foot.”

She turned back to him, her eyes sharper now — curious and cunning. “I know there is more to you than you are letting on about your story. I have let you travel with the khalesaar because I do not get the feeling you mean us any danger and …  well, if you lose, I want the truth about you. All of it.”

Harry’s smile faded a fraction. He met her stare, feeling the weight behind it. He raised his eyebrows. “And if I win?”

Daenerys tilted her head. “What would you want?”

He looked away for a heartbeat, over the circle of faces and restless horses. “Honestly? You seem to be in pretty much the same place as I am, without much extra to spare and I imagine the things you have … you will really need. And even if you had mountains of gold, I’ve never cared much for it. Grew up with nothing and some of the best people I know had nothing to their names … whereas several of the people I know who came from wealth were … insufferable.”

Her expression softened, but only slightly, as she gave him a reappraising look. “So?”

Harry’s lips twitched. “I can’t think of anything now. But if you truly want to bet, I’d like to decide later.”

She raised her eyebrows but Harry shook his head and said, “And of course you have the right to say whether what I’m asking for is fair or not. I would hold no grudge over whether you decided that what I ask for was too much.”

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Finally, she dipped her chin. “Deal.”

A roar from the circle pulled their attention back, Ser Jorah had lunged, striking Jon’s blade aside and driving a shoulder into his chest. Jon stumbled back, barely regaining his balance before Ser Jorah advanced again. Sparks danced off the blunted edges as they traded quick, testing blows.

Harry crossed his arms. “See? He’s learning already.”

Daenerys snorted. “Is that what its called.”

Harry smirked. “He’ll surprise you.”

They watched in tense silence as the duel wore on. Jon found his feet quickly, but Jorah was certainly the better fighter and each blow he delivered was punishing. For every solid strike Jon managed to slip past Ser Jorah’s guard, the knight landed four or five, snapping into Jon’s ribs and arms, sending echoes through the night.

It soon became clear to Harry that Ser Jorah was drawing it out. Whenever victory was in reach, he’d step away or prevent himself from swinging, allowing Jon to stagger back to his feet.

And then finally Ser Jorah decided to end it and Harry winced as Jon caught a strike to the thigh that dropped him to one knee. And without waiting Ser Jorah closed the gap between them his blade hovering at Jon’s collar. After a couple seconds he stepped back, giving him room to stand again. The circle erupted in cheers and whistles, the Dothraki delighted by the show, if not the outcome.

Daenerys shook her head, lips curling in a half-smile. “At this rate, it seems you’ll owe me the truth, Harry Potter.”

Harry blew out a breath, half-amused. “Maybe … but it’s not over.”

Daenerys gave Harry a smug look. “I look forward to our talk.”

She turned, moving through the crowd with her dragons being carried in small baskets behind her. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, then made his way toward Jon, who was sprawled on his back in the sand. A few Dothraki were gathered around him, slapping him on the shoulder and muttering encouragement in broken Common Tongue.

Jon cracked an eye open at Harry’s approach. “Don’t say a word.”

Harry grinned as he looked down at his friend. “Impressive fight.”

“Shut up.”

Harry knelt and helped haul him to his feet. However, Jon winced with every little movement as he rose. “Gods, I’ve never been in this much pain.”

Harry braced his shoulder under Jon’s arm, supporting his weight as they hobbled back toward their tent. “So … what’d you learn?”

“Shut up,” Jon hissed through gritted teeth. Then, after a moment: “I’ve never fought anyone who uses his style. Obviously he learned to fight in Westeros, but there were several other moves and patterns that he’s throw in which … well …”

Harry nodded, letting Jon lean on him more fully. “Understanding your opponent is half the battle.”

Jon snorted, then winced. “Don’t preach at me. I hate you right now.”

Harry’s grin widened. “I’m just trying to help.”

He attempts to push Harry away, only to collapse in a heap on the sand out front of their tent. Harry doubled over laughing, at the sight of Jon laying on the ground moaning after having pushed away the one thing that was keeping him upright. This in turned caused Jon to start laughing although he stopped abruptly with a groan.

“I can’t laugh. My ribs. It hurts.”

After finally managing to stop laughing at his friend Harry helped Jon off the ground and into the tent before helping him lay down onto the thin blankets they’d spread across the hard-packed earth, ignoring Jon’s mumbled protests that he could manage on his own.

“Yeah, yeah. Stop trying to pretend you are doing all right, you look like you went ten rounds with a troll,” Harry said. After turning to make sure the tent flap was shut to prevenet anyone from outside the ability to look into the tent, he pulled out his wand.

Jon squinted at him. “What’re you doing?”

Harry gave him a look. “What do you think I’m doing? Hold still.”

He flicked his wand in a precise pattern, muttering under his breath. Pale blue light spread across Jon’s battered frame, revealing a ghostly latticework of injuries, besides the numerous deep purple bruises across his ribs and arms, he had also sustained hairline fractures in his ribs, some slightly more than minor internal bleeding, and a nasty cut on his hip where Jorah’s blade had caught him even through the weapons had been blunted.

“Bloody hell, Jon,” Harry muttered. “You’re half bruise at this point.”

Jon made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Don’t I know it. But this was your idea, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Hold still.”

He cast a sequence of healing charms — one to bind the small fractures, another to soothe the torn muscles in Jon’s shoulder, a third to dull the worst of the bruising. After the sixth incantation, Harry pulled back and nodded at him.

Jon lifted his tunic gingerly, inspecting the damage. The darkest bruises were still there, though about half had faded to sickly green and yellow patches. He raised an eyebrow at Harry. “Well, you’re about half done. Want to finish the job? Especially since this was your dumb idea.”

Harry snorted, wiping sweat from his brow. “I took care of the breaks and the worst of the muscle tears. And the bruises that would’ve kept you from sleeping … or breathing properly.” He gave Jon a pointed look. “I can’t heal you completely. If I did, the Dothraki would notice. They’re already suspicious enough about us just for being outsiders. We don’t need more rumors about the pale spirit-witch.”

Jon grumbled under his breath but eventually nodded, the fight draining out of him. “Fair enough.”

After laying down Jon fell into a shallow, snoring sleep apparently exhausted but Harry couldn’t sleep.

Having nothing better to do, he pulled his battered rucksack closer and carefully drew out the small iron-bound box he’d picked up in Volantis. In the flickering lantern light, the runes etched across its surface seemed to dance. He turned it in his hands, tracing the lines with his thumb.

“Come on,” Harry muttered. “What are you hiding?”

Even though he’d tried before he pulled his wand out again and tried a gentle unlocking charm. Nothing. A detection charm for hidden compartments. Nothing. Even a Finite, in an attempt to stop whatever was preventing him from opening it, fizzled out uselessly. It felt almost as if the box absorbed his magic … or perhaps it didn’t care about it at all.

A soft rustling made him glance up. Jon had rolled onto his side, groggy but awake, eyes narrowing at the box in Harry’s hands. “You’re still poking at that bloody thing without luck?”

Harry shrugged, lips twisting in frustration. “I can’t get it open. Or figure out what it is. Hermione would’ve cracked it in an hour and made me feel like an idiot for not seeing it.”

Jon gingerly propped himself up on one elbow, wincing at the motion. “Let me see.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, then passed the box over. Jon turned it slowly, his rough fingers tracing the runes. He tapped one side with his knuckle, then the other. Eventually, he put it down, shaking his head. “No clue, I honestly wonder if it is not actually meant to be opened. But for what it’s worth it is warmer than I thought it’d be.”

Harry snorted. “It’s the desert, Jon. Everything is warmer than you’d expect.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “No, I’m being serious. It almost hot.”

Harry frowned, taking the box back. He turned it over in his palms, but to him, it felt no warmer than the heat of his own skin. He eyed Jon skeptically. “Maybe Ser Jorah rattled your head harder than I thought.”

Jon grunted, settling back down. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just too stubborn to think of anything else.”

Harry laughed under his breath, setting the box carefully down between their bedrolls. “Brilliant. The Stark oracle. Go to sleep, you half-broken wolf.”

Jon grumbled something rude but was already drifting back into sleep. Harry lay awake for a while longer, staring at the box, until his eyes finally closed.

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The next few days bled together in a haze of shifting dunes, shimmering heat, and the relentless grit of red dust that found its way into every fold of clothing and every corner of their mouths. More often than not, Harry and Jon rode side by side, sometimes speaking, but more often than not just enduring the sun’s brutal stare in silence.

Harry was given the opportunity to have a couple of conversations with Daenerys during those days as well, moments he found himself looking forward to more than he cared to admit. While there was not a lot they discussed about the present he did find himself learning more about her past and though Harry kept the details of his past mostly hidden he still had to admit that it was comforting to see the way she listened, how her eyes softened when he mentioned growing up with his mothers sister as his parents had been killed.

Oddly enough, Jon’s brawl with Ser Jorah seemed to have shifted something among the khalasar. Where once they had eyed Jon with silent disdain for the way Ser Jorah and Daenerys felt about his father, now they clapped him on the shoulder, offered him the occasional sip from their waterskins, and even nodded respectfully when he passed. Harry suspected it was because Jon had taken a beating like a man and hadn’t backed down, and apparently the Dothraki respected that kind of simple, brutal honesty.

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One night, just before the horizon swallowed the last light, Harry and Jon sat together by one of the small fires at the camp’s edge. Ghost lay curled at Jon’s side, a white shadow that lifted its head every so often to sniff the shifting breeze.

Harry hunched forward, hugging his knees. “It’s ridiculous,” he muttered, glaring at the stars that flickered in the vast black sky. “How is it that it’s hot enough to cook your brains by day but freezing cold at night?”

Jon chuckled, prodding the fire with a stick. “It’s almost as cold as the wolfswood in late fall around Winterfell. Not something I was expecting out here.”

Harry snorted. “If it starts snowing, I’m hexing this entire desert.”

Jon barked a short laugh.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Ghost’s sudden growl cut him off and causing Jon and Harry to look at him. The direwolf’s hackles rose, his eyes locked on the blackness beyond the flickering firelight. His low rumble vibrated against Jon’s leg.

Jon leaned forward, fingers brushing the thick fur behind Ghost’s ears. “What is it, boy?”

Very slowly the great white head turned, those bright eyes locking onto Jon’s face. For a heartbeat, Harry swore he saw something pass over Jon, a flicker behind his eyes, something that made the hairs on Harry’s arms stand up. But it was gone in an instant as Jon blinked, shook his head, and looked back into the darkness.

Jon’s tone was flat but certain. “We’re about to be attacked.”

Harry stared. “What? How could you … ”

Jon didn’t take his eyes off the darkness. “I don’t know how. But there are men coming.”

For a moment, the desert seemed to hold its breath. The fires crackled, the wind whispered across the dunes … and then Harry heard it: a soft twang from somewhere out in the black.

Instinct took over. His wand was in his hand before the sound finished echoing. “Protego!” he barked, slashing the wand through the air in a sharp arc. A shimmering barrier of blue light snapped up around him, Jon, and Ghost just in time. An arrow struck the shield dead-center. If the shield had formed a heartbeat later, it would’ve buried itself in Harry’s chest.

He hissed out a breath, adrenaline pounding in his ears. “Bloody hell.”

Ghost’s growl rose to a snarl as distant shouts erupted on the far side of the camp. Harry spun toward the sound, wand raised, as the camp came alive … Dothraki yells, horses shrieking, and what he was pretty sure was the glint of steel in the firelight.

Jon was already up, grabbing his sword from the pile of gear. “Stay close to me, you’ll be ok.”

Harry snorted. “Right. Because you’re the one with the magic shield.”

Harry’s feet had just hit the sand just as the first shapes burst from the darkness, screaming in harsh, guttural tongues. Raiders or slavers, rough men with a variety of different weapons and ragged armor, storming from the shadows into the flickering circle of firelight.

From his position Harry watched as they struck the outer sentries first, who were still trying to figure out what was going on, knives flashing under the moon.

Harry’s hand clenched around his wand. He shot Jon a quick look. “Ready?”

Jon’s eyes were already dark and cold, his sword drawn. He gave a sharp nod just as Ghost bounded away from the fires, fangs bared. The white direwolf disappeared into the gloom with a low snarl.

“Where’s he going?” Harry called over the din.

Jon watched Ghost before he looked back to Harry. “The archers. I think he’s going after the archers who are staying in the darkness.” His voice was grim but certain.

Harry allowed himself a tight, humorless smile. “Good boy.”

A roar to their right drew their attention. Five raiders were almost on them, blades raised. Harry thrust his wand forward. “Confringo!”

The leading attacker was violently thrown backwards, limbs twitching as he hit the ground twenty feet behind him. Jon lunged in, steel ringing against steel as he caught a blade of a man who was approaching Harry. He shoved the man back and parried a second swing, teeth bared.

The two of them quickly managed to subdue those men, but the attackers kept coming. The night filled with screams, iron clashing, the crackle of burning canvas as tents went up in flames. Amid the whirl of shadows and torchlight, Harry and Jon fought back-to-back, ducking blades and lashing out with spell and steel.

A sudden roar of Dothraki shouts broke through the noise, but it was impossible to tell if this was good or bad. Harry’s eyes darted through what seemed to be an almost non-stop parade of opponents … and then he saw Ser Jorah, fighting like a bear in the middle of the melee, cutting down a pair of raiders with brutal precision. Jon spotted him too and started hacking a path through the chaos.

Harry followed, flinging hexes that sent men flying back, limbs twitching. Together, they pushed through until they reached the older knight.

“Jorah!” Jon shouted. He parried a blow aimed at the knight’s side, then kicked the raider away.

Ser Jorah didn’t pause, his eyes wild under sweat-matted hair. “We have to get to the Khaleesi!” he barked. He swung his sword in a wide arc, sending blood spraying across the sand. “My guess is they are after her!”

Harry’s heart lurched and he turned and bolted before Jon could argue, sprinting back the way they came hoping he would be able to travel another route to get to Daenerys’ tent.

It took the better part of ten minutes before he finally neared Daenerys’s tent. However, the first thing he noticed was bodies … her guards. A few still groaned and crawled in the sand, but most were silent, eyes staring.

His chest hammered as he rounded the corner. The large tent loomed, its flaps open, lantern light spilling out, and in the gap in front of the tent entrance, he saw a group of her remaining guards facing down a nearly twenty raiders.

“Expulso!” Harry bellowed, flicking his wand. A ball of force hit the nearest attacker square in the chest, blasting him backward into his comrades. The sudden explosion turned the tide for a heartbeat, enough that Daenerys’s last guards tried to take advantage of.

He kept moving, spells bursting from his wand in a blur — Confringo, Incendio, cutting curses, little flares of light and force that made quick work of the raiders. And then all of a sudden, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glint of movement … a spear arcing through the air.

For one breathless second, he didn’t know if it was meant for Daenerys or her last remaining guard. He didn’t wait to find out. He thrust his wand up. “Arresto!”

The spear froze in midair, suspended for a heartbeat before Harry flicked his wrist, sending it spinning back through the air. A distant scream confirmed it had found its mark.

He winced. Sorry, mate, but shouldn’t have thrown it.

He looked back to the tent and saw that the fight in front of the tent was nearly done. Only three raiders remained and the dirty, ragged men were looking between the dragon queen, her snarling dragons, and Harry. One tried to raise a sword and charge towards Daenerys. Harry flicked his wand. “Bombarda.”

The man flew backward, crashing against a tent post with a sickening crack. The closest man to him started to run towards Harry with a scream, only for Harry to levitate a rock the size of a man’s head and drop it squarely on his skull. He crumpled without a sound.

The last raider looked at Harry, at Daenerys, at the snarling dragons coiled behind her … and then turned to run.

“Stupefy!” Harry said sharply. The man hit the sand face-first and didn’t move.

Only then did he turn to Daenerys. She stood in the tent entrance, her silver hair loose and wild, her eyes wide but steady. The dragons behind her hissed, scales rippling.

She looked at Harry with a mix of relief and something else, something sharper. “Harry … what was that?”

Harry wiped sweat from his brow, breathless. “Just found I was starting to enjoy your company and didn’t want anything to happen.”

She laughed, though it was a strained sound. “Thank you.” She glanced past him taking in the bodies on the ground. “you saved me …” she paused and looked back to the dragons, “and them.”

Before Harry could reply, more footsteps pounded up. He spun, wand raised, but it was Jon and Ser Jorah, flanked by half a dozen Dothraki. Some were wearing a few pieces of armor, but most of them were half-naked.

Harry immediately hid his wand in his robes as Daenerys stepped forward, voice clear. “Harry saved me. And the dragons.”

Jorah’s eyes flickered to Harry as his jaw tightened. For a moment, the knight looked like he wanted to say something but eventually he inclined his head, stiffly respectful. “You have our thanks.”

Harry shrugged. “I just did what everyone was trying to do.”

Daenerys immediately turned to the Dothrake and called out. “Secure the camp. Make sure there are no more of these rats hiding in the shadows.”

Jorah barked orders, pushing the Dothraki into motion. “Secure the camp! Sweep the dunes, make sure no one’s left alive!” He turned to Jon and Harry. “You two, sweep the perimeter. Anyone left breathing, you deal with them.”

Harry nodded towards Ser Jorah before pointing at the man he’d stunned. “That one’s still alive. Might be useful for questions.”

Ser Jorah barked a command to two Dothraki, who dragged the unconscious raider away. Harry clapped Jon on the shoulder. “Ready?”

Jon gave him a tired grin, teeth glinting in the torchlight. “Always.”

However, before they could leave Daenerys called Harry over and as he approached her eyes flicked down to where he had slid his wand. Her voice dropped so only he could hear. “We need to talk. Later.”

He nodded. “I know.”

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After making their way into the dunes they were quickly met by Ghost who padded ahead of them, his white fur stained red around the muzzle. The desert was quiet now except for the wind and the distant cries of wounded men from the camp.

As they made their way through the darkness they stumbled on two raiders trying to crawl away into the darkness. However after being found they tried to attack but Jon and Ghost finished them quickly.

Less than five minutes later, Harry found one hiding in the shadows of a dune, clutching a bow and tracking Ghost with his bow preparing to let the arrow fly. However, a flick of his wand sent the man sprawling down the dune where he must have broken something as he didn’t get up again.

Hours passed like that, dark shapes wandering through the dunes, the occasional clash of steel or the dull thud of bodies hitting sand. By the time the first hint of dawn touched the horizon, they’d circled the entire camp twice.

They finally regrouped near the area where their tent were set up, Ghost trotting beside them, silent. A torn strip of cloth hung from his teeth, proof of some unlucky archer who’d thought he could hide.

Jon ruffled the wolf’s ears. “Good boy.”

Deciding that it was unlikely anyone else was left in the area, they trudged back into the camp, the early sun revealing the extent of the damage. Dothraki survivors were tending to the wounded, gathering the dead. Some nodded respectfully as the two passed, not just to Jon, Harry noticed, but to him too. He shook his head realizing that likely either the news of him saving Daenerys had spread or someone had started rumors of him using magic after witnessing him.

Near the center of camp, they spotted Ser Jorah, sweat-soaked and barking commands. Harry and Jon made their way over. Ser Jorah glanced at them, his eyes rimmed red but sharp as ever.

“Well?” he rasped.

Jon spoke first. “No one left breathing. Ghost saw to that.”

Harry gave Ghost a scratch behind the ears. The direwolf’s tail thumped once, lazy.

Jorah grunted approval. “Good work.”

Harry tilted his head at the bustle around the Queen’s tent. There was a hum of energy there, not fear, but excitement.

“What’s with all the fuss?” Harry asked, rubbing a gritty hand across his face. “Everyone looks … almost excited. Which is weird, considering about a quarter of the camp nearly got carved up a few hours ago.”

Ser Jorah followed his gaze. He let out a low breath, the ghost of a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Look there.” He said as he pointed into the distance. Harry squinted. At first, all he saw was the endless shimmer of heat and the shifting sand. But then, far out, where the dunes flattened, he spotted a tiny smear of black against the horizon.

“What is it?” Jon asked before Harry could say anything.

Ser Jorah’s voice was rough but hopeful. “Qarth. We must have missed it when we made camp last night. Too dark to see. But based on where we should be that should be Qarth.”

Harry exhaled, tension leaking from his shoulders for the first time all night. “So we’re close.”

Ser Jorah nodded. “Closer than we thought. Another day, maybe less, and we’ll be behind their walls. Water, food, … maybe even allies.”

Jon let out a low, tired laugh. “Finally. I’m ready to get this bloody sand out of my boots.”

Harry snorted, glancing at his filthy, sweat-caked clothes. “And out of everything else. If I never see another sand dune again in my life, it’ll be too soon.”

He looked past them to the Queen’s tent, where Daenerys’s pale hair flashed in the sunlight before she vanished back inside. He knew she’d come looking for him soon enough but for now, all he felt was relief that they’d made it through the night.

Kind Regards,

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If you like this content do not hesitate to smash that like button and subscribe. Haha but seriously if you do enjoy the story - do favorite it, other than messaging me or leaving a comment it’s the only way I know if you are enjoying the stories and chapters.

Story Note 1 – Just to clarify the structure of this chapter, I wrote brief little snippets sort of jumping in to show an important scene before jumping out and letting time progress before relating another scene. I did this as I hadn’t wanted to try to describe the entire march which while a lot could have happened, especially between Harry and Daenerys, I had wanted to avoid dragging out the journey.

Story Note 2 – Oof sure imagine that is not how Jon would have preferred the fight to go but I sure hope Harry is onto something and Jon learns from the fighting. I imagined that Ser Jorah would have to be a reasonable enough fighter who has incorporated other fighting styles from Essos into his repertoire. Which ontop of his experience proved to be too much for Jon who is still learning as a fighter.

Story Note 3 – Did Jon and Ghost just warg … what?!? Or maybe that was just a coincidence …

Story Note 4 – I’ve never written a fight like this before so I do really look forward to your feedback. I had a lot of comments about Harry not being vicious enough when he first arrived in Westeros which I maintain was accurate as he had never interacted with people who has a whole believed in a kill or be killed attitude so he used more of stunning/disarming spells. But I think overtime Harry has certainly grown to realize that he needs to be more aggressive and this fight I hope represented that. That being said do let me know how it went.

A large thanks to those of you out there who enjoy my stories, I promise to keep updating the stories as long as you all are enjoying them, and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to leave feedback or have reached out to me directly.

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Disclaimer – It has come to my attention recently that I unfortunately do not own any part of the Game of Thrones nor Harry Potter universes That includes but is not limited to the characters, locations, … Who knew.