The Winter Wizard - Chapter 29 - Meeting Daenerys

Harry and Jon rode to the edge of the camp just as the fire was dying down, the horses' hooves muffled by the sand and ash. The last of the flickering flames cast long, quivering shadows across the gathering of onlookers, all of them transfixed by what remained of the pyre at the center. No one noticed the two newcomers as they slowed their horses and dismounted, glancing around with curiosity and a trace of apprehension.

“It’s quiet,” Jon muttered, eyes scanning the crowd. “There’s been no more of that … whatever it was that made the screaming sound.”

They moved through the edge of the encampment, blending into the shadows, unnoticed among the torchlight and murmuring voices. The people were all staring at the smoldering remains of what had either been a building or a pyre, the scorched wood still crackling and smoking.

As they were moving towards the collection of people something moved.

At first it was so subtle Harry thought it was a trick of the light, or heat waves playing off the coals. But then one of the large pieces of mostly burnt wood shift, and a human figure slowly rose from the center of the charred ruin, as if a phoenix reborn from the blaze.

Gasps echoed around them, but Harry didn’t hear them. His world narrowed to the girl who stood amid the ruin, haloed by smoke and ember-glow.

Her hair was long, pale gold, hanging around her shoulders. Her skin, though covered in soot and ash, looked somehow untouched by the flames. And her eyes—violet and wide—stared out across the crowd like she was waking from a dream.

Harry froze, his breath caught in his throat. It’s her.

He knew her face—he remembered it. From the dreams that had haunted his sleep ever since he arrived in this world. He had seen her standing before a great army in the snow. He had seen her riding dragons without fear, almost always alone, always silent.

Now she was real.

He stared for several seconds, his heart thudding in his chest, and then saw what he had missed before. Clinging to her shoulders and arms were three tiny creatures—impossibly small dragons. One green, one bronze, and one black, each no larger than a housecat, but each certainly a baby dragon as given away by their wings, claws, and glistening scales.

Harry’s jaw dropped.

The dragons moved restlessly, hissing and clicking their jaws. The girl raised a hand to calm them, her movements slow and deliberate, as though still caught in the haze of a vision.

And then he noticed something else—she was completely unclothed.

“Ah—!” Harry turned away abruptly and coughed, both to cover his embarrassment. His ears burned. “Ummm, I—uh—that—”

It was his cough that alerted everyone else to their presence.

Dozens of heads turned toward them at once. Faces that had been filled with awe and reverence now twisted into surprise, suspicion, and alarm.

A few shouts went up in what he assumed must be the Dothraki language, sharp and clipped. A couple of the young Dothraki men stepped forward, gripping their curved swords.

But the quickest to move was a knight in Westerosi armor, his breastplate scorched and dented. He drew his sword in one smooth motion and strode toward them, his eyes narrow with suspicion.

“Vezhof anhaan?” he barked in a thick accent—Dothraki, Harry guessed, though the knight’s voice had the low, even tone of a Northerner.

When neither of them answered, the knight frowned and switched to the Common Tongue. “Who are you, and what in the Seven Hells are you doing here?”

Harry froze as the sword hovered near his chest, the edge catching and reflecting the torchlight. His heart thudded against his ribs, but he didn’t reach for his wand. Not yet. He glanced at the knight, whose grip on the hilt was firm and unshaking. But try as he might, what held Harry’s attention more than the steel was what stood just behind it.

Daenerys.

She was still staring at the dragons as if caught between disbelief and rapture. The three creatures, now curled around her shoulders and arms like living jewelry, shifted restlessly but did not leave her.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. All of it was real. She was real.

Then, mercifully for her, one of the women in the crowd seemed to break free of her shock. With a quick motion, she tore a cloak from one of the nearby saddle packs and ran to Daenerys. She draped it carefully over her queen’s shoulders.

Harry let out a quiet sigh of relief and turned back to the knight still holding the blade between them as he repeated his question as to who they were.

“I’m Harry,” he said evenly, keeping his voice calm despite the tension in the air. “Harry Potter.”

The sword didn’t waver.

He turned to Jon, gesturing toward his companion. “And this is Jon Snow, we are …”

“Jon Snow,” Ser Jorah interrupted coldly, still holding the blade steady. “You say it so nonchalantly. But we both know this is no ordinary bastard.”

Jon’s expression darkened. The color in his face rose swiftly, his jaw tightening.

“This is the famous bastard of Eddard Stark,” Jorah continued, his voice dripping with disdain.

Harry blinked, surprised by the intensity of the reaction towards Ned Stark. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a bit of movement and turned toward Daenerys—and found her gaze locked on him. There was a brief bit of shock and a look that he couldn’t place. Her violet eyes lingered on him longer than he expected, searching his face as though trying to place a memory. But that lasted for less than a second before her interest disappeared as she looked over at Jon. The shock quickly faded, replaced with something sharp and assessing. Suspicion.

Slowly, deliberately, she began walking toward them, the dragons shifting and clicking softly as she moved. Jorah lowered his sword slightly as she came along side him, bowing his head in reverence.

“Khaleesi,” he murmured.

She ignored him.

Her eyes were fixed on Jon, and her expression hardened.

“Is it true?” she asked, her voice low and cold. “Are you the son of the man who supported the usurper? The one who supported the man who killed my brother?”

Jon held her gaze, not flinching under the weight of her accusation. He paused just long enough to seem deliberate, then nodded.

“I am.”

Jorah stepped forward immediately, his voice tense. “Say the word, Your Grace,” he said, “If it pleases you, I’ll strike him down where he stands.”

Jon didn’t move, but Harry could see his hand twitch near his sword hilt.

Then Jorah glanced toward Harry, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’ll kill them both, if that’s what you wish.”

That caught Harry’s attention.

His gaze snapped to Daenerys again. She was no longer looking at Jon—her eyes had drifted back to Harry. Her expression flickered again, softer now, puzzled. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. She stared at him for several long seconds before finally, slowly, her eyes returned to Jon.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” she asked, her voice still cold, though a little uncertain now.

Jon didn’t hesitate this time. His voice was calm and steady, loud enough for anyone in the crowd who spoke Common Tongue to hear.

“Those were his actions, not mine, and I believe you can only judge a person for their actions,” he said. “Besides that, my father wasn’t fighting for glory or ambition. He fought because your father burned my grandfather alive and killed my uncle. And this only started when your brother abducted my aunt. So do you really believe someone should be judged for the actions of their family?”

A ripple went through the gathered Dothraki, though Harry doubted any understood the words. He imagined the response was more due to the shock of someone addressing Daenerys in such a way.

Her jaw tightened, anger flashing in her eyes. She looked to Jorah, one eyebrow raised in question.

However, Jorah didn’t answer immediately.

Finally, after a long pause, Jorah gave a single, reluctant nod.

Daenerys looked away, her face unreadable.

Harry stepped forward, finally done with being treated like a shadow.

“You have every right to hate what happened to your family,” he said softly, “but Jon isn’t your enemy, neither of us are. We can to see you.”

Daenerys turned to him, her violet eyes locking with his. She said nothing at first. The flames of the nearby torchlight danced along her silver-blonde hair, and the dragons nestled on her shoulders coiled lazily, their scales shimmering with each motion of her hand as she idly stroked them.

After several long moments, Daenerys finally looked away from Harry and turned to Jorah. “Nothing shall be done to these men or their wolf,” she said, her voice low and worn. “Enough life has been lost lately.”

Harry almost winced at the sound of pain in her words.

No one spoke for several seconds. Even Jorah seemed to hesitate, uncertain. The Dothraki watched, shifting uneasily but respectfully as their queen stared off into the distance.

At last, she looked back to Harry. Her tone softened, though her eyes remained guarded. “Besides, I imagine these two have a very interesting story to share,” she said. “One that I look forward to hearing.”

Harry inclined his head slightly as he smiled slightly. “You have no idea.”

She nodded once but did not meet his eyes this time. Her gaze shifted down to her dragons, her fingers lingering briefly on the largest one’s scaled head. Then she turned toward Jorah once again before her eyes shifted to the pile of burned wood she had walked out of. “But not now. I am exhausted,” she murmured. “And it has been a ... difficult night.”

Harry’s heart ached again at the sound of sorrow in her voice. She didn’t sound like a queen. She sounded like a girl who had gone through more than she should have.

She looked at him one final time. “We’ll speak later.”

Without waiting for an answer, Daenerys turned and started walking, her handmaids hurrying to her side. The girls’ faces were unreadable, alternating between awe at the dragons and silent concern for their queen. None dared speak.

The Dothraki began to follow her in a slow, reverent procession. Their murmurs in their native tongue filled the air like the distant hum of a storm. Every one of them glanced at the dragons, some in wonder, others in fear.

Harry took a step to follow the procession—then froze.

A sword pressed against his chest.

Startled, he looked down at the point of the blade. Then up—at Ser Jorah, who had taken a step forward and put himself between Harry and the retreating procession. His face was hard and unforgiving.

Jon stepped forward immediately, hand reaching instinctively toward his side, however he made no movement to draw his sword just yet. Ghost, at his side, growled low in his throat, hackles raised and red eyes fixed on Jorah.

“Just because she agreed to speak with you later,” Jorah said coldly, “doesn’t mean you get free reign of our camp. I don’t trust you.”

He turned his gaze to Jon, sharp with something darker than suspicion. “Especially the bastard.”

Jon’s hands curled into fists, but he said nothing.

“You’ll both come with me,” Jorah continued, voice tight. “Somewhere you can be watched. Until she’s ready to speak with you.”

Harry met his gaze steadily. “You think we are stupid enough to think we would get a word with her if we start a fight? We travelled far and she already showed interest in talking, what point would there be in causing trouble now.”

A flicker of uncertainty passed across his face but the sword refused to lower.

Harry shrugged. “Fine. We’ll do what you say.”

Jorah nodded slowly, but held out his hand. “Then you’ll have no objections to surrendering your weapons.”

With a sigh, Harry slipped the sword from his belt and handed it over without complaint. That seemed to surprise Jorah, who blinked and looked at him like he’d expected resistance.

Jon grumbled under his breath, clearly reluctant, but after a long, tense pause, he too removed his sword and passed it over, shooting Jorah a glare as he did.

Satisfied, Jorah turned and gestured for them to follow. “This way.”

Harry glanced sideways at Jon. “Well, we’ve made it this far,” he said lightly. “Might as well listen to the man.”

He started walking, but after a few steps he glanced back and saw Jon hadn’t moved.

Harry stopped and gestured back toward the fading procession of Dothraki. “Come on. We were up all night—and it looks like Daenerys had an ... eventful one. Best we have this chat a little later. Might even be able to catch a couple hours of sleep before the sun is fully up.”

Jon sighed, casting a wary look around the camp before nodding. He patted Ghost’s shoulder, and together they followed after Harry.

Jorah led them to a small cluster of woven tents on the edge of the main encampment, half-hidden by the high slope of a sand dune. There was no glamour to the place—just a patch of flat earth and a fire pit with embers still glowing.

“Sit,” Jorah said gruffly.

They did.

A moment later, he raised his arm and called out sharply in Dothraki. Two warriors—lean, scarred, and draped in curved blades—strode over and took up position a few paces away. They said nothing, but their eyes never left Jon and Harry.

Jorah sheathed his sword and turned to go, but paused before walking off.

“Don’t cause trouble,” he said. “If you do, these men won’t wait for orders. And I’ll be checking on Daenerys.”

With that, he left.

The two young men sat in silence for a long while, the flickering fire casting long shadows around them.

Harry glanced toward the guards. “Friendly lot, aren’t they?”

Jon grunted. “We’re lucky we weren’t run through on the spot.”

“True.” Harry leaned back against the sand, arms folded behind his head. “But she didn’t kill us. That’s something.”

“He almost did.”

“But she didn’t.” Harry turned his head to look at Jon.

Jon looked about to object but finally shook his head and looked off into the darkness.

Harry tried to strike up a conversation with the guards, but it became clear very quickly that they weren’t interested in talking — either because they had no desire to, or more likely because they didn’t understand him. One of them gave him a flat, unimpressed look before turning away completely. The other just continued sharpening a curved blade without so much as ever shooting a glance in Harry's direction.

With a quiet sigh, Harry gave up and looked to Jon, who was sitting against a bundled tarp, eyes alert and arms crossed. “We might as well try to get some sleep,” Harry muttered.

Jon gave him a disbelieving look. “We traveled halfway across the world to see her, and now, while we’re this close, you honestly just want to sleep?”

Harry shrugged and gave him a tired grin. “What can I say? Traveling halfway across the world with you was extremely tiring.”

Jon scowled, but Harry could see the corner of his mouth twitch upward just a little. Still, Jon grumbled something under his breath and didn’t lie down. Harry, meanwhile, leaned back, used his folded cloak as a pillow, and closed his eyes.

He was asleep before Jon’s muttering even faded.

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That night, Harry dreamed he was flying. Wind roared in his ears, and below him stretched a ruined stone courtyard, blackened and cracked. Standing in the middle of it was Daenerys, her silver-blonde hair blowing in the wind, her purple eyes watching him. Behind her loomed a massive mountain — no, a volcano — its slopes glowing with deep cracks of red light. And though she said nothing, he could feel the weight of her gaze like fire pressing against his skin.

Then he woke.

Harry’s hand reached for his wand instinctively. Sunlight filtered through the linen canopy overhead. Judging by the angle of the light and the lack of warmth on his face, it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours since he’d closed his eyes. Still groggy, he sat up slowly — only to find someone watching him.

A young woman, one of Daenerys’s handmaids, he guessed, sat perched on a bundle of supplies where one of the guards had been sitting earlier. She had olive-toned skin and expressive eyes, her hands folded in her lap. She didn’t speak at first, just pointed at Jon and Ghost.

Jon was still asleep, his breathing even, his arms crossed. Ghost, however, was awake and watching the handmaid with a single open eye, unblinking.

The woman stood and motioned for Harry to follow her. “Khaleesi is ready to speak with you,” she said softly, her accent thick but her meaning clear.

It took Harry a second to remember that “Khaleesi” meant Daenerys. He stood, brushing off his cloak. “Both of us or just me? Is she ... is everything all right?” he asked.

The woman offered no response. Whatever she thought, she kept it to herself as they walked in silence.

They reached a large tent — not overly ornate, but with polished stakes and rich cloth clearly indicating it belonged to someone important. Two guards flanked the entrance but made no move to stop them.

Inside, Daenerys sat cross-legged beside a low table. Her three dragons were scattered around her — The largest one’s glowing eyes fixed on Harry the moment he entered. The tent was warm, almost uncomfortably so, and the air smelled faintly of fire and something musky, the dragons he realized, remembering the smell from Hagrid’s hut.

The handmaid gave a short bow and slipped out, leaving the two of them alone except for a pair of guards stationed discreetly in the back of the tent. Close enough to intervene, far enough to offer the illusion of privacy.

Daenerys looked up at him. Her silver-blonde hair was slightly tousled, as though she hadn’t slept, and dark circles smudged the skin beneath her eyes. Yet her voice, when she spoke, was composed. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “I ... was unable to sleep.”

Harry inclined his head slightly. “I know the feeling.”

“I spoke with Ser Jorah,” she continued. “and while we agree that you are a mystery. Your companion ... if he is truly the son of Lord Stark …” she paused, her voice catching ever so slightly before smoothing out again, “… then you’ve traveled far to get here.”

Harry let out a small laugh. “You have no idea.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she asked directly, “Why did you come? What brought you so far east?”

Harry hesitated, then glanced at the dragons before returning his gaze to her. “Jon and Ghost, the direwolf, came because they wanted to make sure I was safe.” He paused. “But me? I came ... because of my dreams.”

Her posture shifted, just slightly. Her eyes narrowed. “What dreams?”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he met her gaze and said, “I dreamed of you.”

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, color rose to her cheeks before she coughed and looked down. Harry reached over and poured a small cup of water from the jug on the table beside them, handing it to her without a word.

She took it, gave him a curious glance, and sipped.

After a moment, she spoke again. “And what exactly did you dream of?”

Harry looked away, choosing his words carefully. “Some of it didn’t make sense. But I saw ... plenty of things. Ice and fire. Darkness rolling over the land. I saw a large fight, I saw you alone struggling to make it through unscathed.” He looked back at her. “I saw other things but I had this ... feeling. That you might be needed to stop what’s coming.”

Silence fell between them like a curtain. She stared at him, eyes intense and unreadable. There was something in her expression — like she wanted to say something but couldn’t.

A few seconds passed, then Harry gave a soft, bitter laugh. “But what do I know? Personally, I find the art of trying to see the future to be complete nonsense. Certainly had a rubbish teacher, which probably colored my view on it.”

That made her smile, just faintly.

“But,” he continued, more seriously this time, “despite everything — despite how strange it sounds — I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to come here. That this was where I needed to be. I’m just glad I didn’t have to make the journey alone.”

His words hung in the air as Daenerys looked away, her gaze drawn toward her dragons. Her shoulders stiffened slightly and a flicker of pain passed over her face — so quick Harry might have missed it if he weren’t watching her closely. “You’re lucky, then,” she said, her voice quiet and strained.

Harry felt the change in the mood the moment she turned away from the dragons, and saw a flicker of pain still etched faintly into the lines around her eyes. He grimaced inwardly, mentally smacking himself on the forehead. Idiot.

He shifted where he sat, then leaned forward slightly, his voice soft. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Daenerys turned her head, as she raised an eyebrow at him.

Harry gave a sheepish shrug. “What I said a moment ago—about being glad I didn’t have to make the journey alone—I didn’t mean to be thoughtless. Earlier, when we arrived, Ser Jorah mentioned that …” He hesitated, then continued gently, “That you had just lost your husband. And your child.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment, then back up at her. “I know what it feels like to lose people you love. That kind of pain—it’s something you never forget. But even knowing that, I still can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

At first, she said nothing. Her expression remained composed, but Harry could see the struggle behind it. Her lips parted, and she started to speak, “I didn’t …” Then stopped herself.

She turned her head, looking toward the canvas wall of the tent, her eyes distant. The light shifted slightly as the early morning brightened, and the faint sounds of the camp beginning to stir echoed in the background.

“I didn’t even love him at first,” she said at last, voice so quiet he barely caught it. “He frightened me. I was sold to him like … like cattle.”

Her hand found the scaled head of the nearest dragon, gently stroking beneath its jaw. The creature leaned into the touch, eyes half-lidded, content.

“But he changed,” she continued. “Or I changed. Maybe both. He was a good man in his own way.”

She swallowed hard. “And my child …” Her voice broke and she blinked quickly, breathing unsteadily.

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again. There was nothing he could say to that. No spell, no comforting phrase, no tidy wisdom to mend that kind of hurt. It settled between them, a quiet ache that seemed to echo through the stillness of the tent.

For a long moment, only the soft, rhythmic sound of the dragon’s breathing filled the space. It was strangely soothing.

“I suppose I’ll have to take solace,” she said finally, her voice steadier now, though Harry could see the tears in the corner of her eyes, “in being the Mother of Dragons.” Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. “It’s all I have left.”

Harry watched as she laid her hand across the warm, scaled back of one of the dragons. The creature almost purred at her touch, its narrow eyes glowing faintly in the dim tent. The other two stirred nearby, twitching their wings and yawning, tongues flicking the air.

Unable to come up with the words to help, he stayed quiet.

Minutes passed.

Eventually, Daenerys drew in a breath and sat up straighter.

“Thank you for coming,” she said softly, not looking at him. “I don’t know why your dreams brought you here, but I’m … grateful.”

She stood causing the dragons stir as they looked for her. “But I have a long day ahead of me. I should begin preparing.” Her tone was more formal now, more distant.

Harry stood too, dusting off his trousers. “Of course,” he said, offering a small nod. “And … thank you. For speaking with me. It was nice getting to know you or at least starting that process.”

Her lips curved faintly—not quite a smile, but something close. “I will find time to speak with you again. You and your companion.”

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 – I know that in the books Daenerys had come out bald but I agree with the show that her coming out with hair seems more fitting as it seems like a weird reasoning that her skin was to be fireproof but not her hair. Plus this had a more impactful first meeting on Harry. And while he certainly isn’t as immature as Ron I definitely didn’t want him to make some silly comment about her being bald.

Story Note 2 – And they have finally met (including their first almost private meeting)! The next couple chapters will certainly have some interactions between the two of them but this will be a slow burn. Daenerys just lost her child and Khal Drogo so I wrote it in a way where she will have time to process that. Although her previous dreams of Harry will speed up the process.

Story Note 3 – I imagine Jon and Jorah will certainly butt heads at least a little especially once Jorah finds out Jon knew his father, however briefly.

Story Note 4 – Just in case anyone was concerned about the direction this story is taking this story is obviously a Harry/Daenerys story not a throuple with Jon. Jon will end up in a relationship that will certainly have important implications for the story but it shall not be related to Harry/Daenerys. The red priestess was merely talking about them as family, Harry will be the one ending up being … her … friend.

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.

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.