wolves without teeth - absquatulatess - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: in the witching hour

Chapter Text

The Hungarian Horntail in front of her was furious, but Heloise found her exceptionally beautiful despite it. She had thought so back when Hagrid took her into the Forbidden Forest to see the dragons.

But this was different. It was a mother’s rage, Heloise supposed, and she felt sorry for the emotional turmoil the dragon was undoubtedly going through.

“I’m sorry this is happening,” Heloise said, unknowingly slipping into Parseltongue. It took her a second to realize it, and she only did because the dragon stopped looking furious and stared at Heloise with a keen eye.

The audience quieted down to mere whispers and vicious glares as they understood the hisses attributed to Lord Voldemort. Heloise paid them no mind, something telling her to keep talking and abandon her original plan. “There’s a false egg among your own, and I was sent to retrieve it for this tournament.”

“You? A mere child?”

Heloise smashed her shock at the dragon replying. It sounded different than when snakes did—it was rougher, a more guttural sound. The ground vibrated with the timbers of the dragon’s reply.

“Grab the false egg, little one, and I won’t hurt you.”

Heloise almost squeaked in fear and sprinted toward the golden egg without interference from the dragon. The whispers kicked up a notch in the background. And she couldn’t imagine how cruel the words were without feeling a pang of pain in her chest. She hated this. Heloise hated how fickle the wizarding public was to the idea of The Girl Who Lived. It lit a fire of rage within her chest. One day, she was their savior; the next, she was their worst enemy.

“You’re angry, little one,” the dragon spoke again. “I can smell it.”

“It’s at them, not you.” Heloise made sure to reply in Parseltongue. “What’s your name? It would be fair to know as you’ve let me near your eggs despite not knowing who I am, and I want to thank you.”

The dragon made a deep rumbling sound in her throat—something akin to a hum of acknowledgment before answering. “The keepers call me Nari.”

Nari, how pretty, Heloise thought.

“Well, Nari, it’s been a pleasure speaking with you, and I thank you for showing me mercy in light of the circ*mstances.” Heloise impulsively punctuated her statement with a bow.

The dragon seemed amused at her words and actions. “Leave, little one. Your kind is agitated.”

Smiling brightly, Heloise left the pit, victorious and unharmed with the golden egg.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It felt like their second year was repeating itself.

The students of Hogwarts whispered and glared, pointing fingers at Heloise. She and Hermione had taken refuge in their dorm, where Lavender and Parvati weren’t hostile in private. Heloise didn’t fault the other girls’ hesitance in publicly supporting her. It wouldn’t bode well for them if they did—it would be social suicide.

Since they entered their empty dorm, Hermione had angrily ranted, pacing along the space between their beds. But now, she was sprawled on Heloise’s bed and held her hand in a comforting embrace.

“I think you were brilliant either way, Lou,” Hermione said. “Who knew dragons could speak and understand Parseltongue?”

“And I’m better at speaking with dragons than with people.”

“Apparently… We’ll need to fix that eventually—there are expectations of you.”

“If I get to live that long.”

“Don’t say that,” Hermione interjected. “You’re going to win, and Voldemort will fail. And you’ll bring about change in this backward society.”

A moment of silence lapsed between them. Heloise wasn’t too keen on changing the norms of Britain’s wizarding society—especially when it felt like a goal created by others when she was a baby. But finally, she conceded. Heloise briefly pursed her lips together before replying, “Only if you’re with me, Hermione.”

Hermione smiled wryly, and her chestnut-colored eyes brightened. “Always.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Heloise was sleeping when a peculiar tingly feeling spreading across her body woke her up. She stared up at the dark ceiling, wondering what it was. Unsettled, Heloise rolled to her side to see if she would fall asleep again when Professor McGonagall rushed in. It woke the other girls, who groaned with sleepiness and confusion when McGonagall told Heloise to follow her.

McGonagall took her to the Forbidden Forest. The dragon keepers seemed stressed as they tried to reason with Nari. The Hungarian Horntail’s eyes immediately snapped to Heloise’s. The dragon snapped at keepers, and the men scrambled away from her jaws.

“Heloise,” Headmaster Dumbledore called out and approached them with Charlie in tow. “Mr. Weasley was wondering if you could help them quell the dragon.”

Heloise struggled to break eye contact with Nari, but she did anyway and glanced at Charlie. “I’m not sure how much I can help.”

Charlie smiled at her reassuredly. “Anything will help, Lou.”

Heloise was unsure but stepped toward Nari. Slipping seamlessly into Parseltongue, she started speaking. “Nari, what is the issue? The dragon keepers would like to take you back to the sanctuary—”

“They cannot,” Nari exclaimed.

“Why not? Have they been cruel to you?”

“No, they have not. But I have bonded with you.”

Heloise paused. She assumed it might be akin to her witch-familiar bond with Hedwig and Hermione’s with Crookshanks, but— “I thought a witch or wizard could only bond with one familiar at a time?”

“It’s common, yes.”

Heloise mulled over Nari’s response for a moment. “And it’s possible to have a familiar bond with a dragon?”

“It’s rare, but yes.”

Heloise turned back to the adults and relayed the information. Charlie and Professor McGonagall gaped; the former showed more excitement than her professor. And Dumbledore showed nothing past his twinkling blue eyes and a wry smile.

“A familiar bond? I will have to speak with the Ministry about this. I’m afraid I am unsure about the ramifications since I’ve never heard of a witch having a dragon as a familiar—”

“No,” Heloise interrupted, her gut filled with certainty.

Dumbledore was about to propose offering Hogwarts’ grounds to Nari. However, with a war looming, though it appeared confined to her clashes with Voldemort thus far, she knew he would inevitably harm Nari and her eggs if they remained anywhere in the British Isles.

Heloise continued, “It won’t be safe for them here. And I can’t take care of Nari the way I would wish to, especially during the summers. She’s better off with those who make it their life’s career to care for dragons.”

Heloise glanced at Charlie, and he nodded in affirmation of her words. He, too, seemed saddened by the idea of her being separated from her newly found familiar. But, again, she knew nothing about caring for a fully grown dragon, and war was approaching.

McGonagall sighed softly. Her lips pressed down into a thin line, but her eyes shined with pride. “Ms. Potter is being sensible, Albus.”

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. “Heloise will claim the dragon as a familiar when she’s ready, as is her right to do so.”

Heloise felt something primal within her protest, screaming that there was something hidden behind the Headmaster’s words. She pushed the feeling away, thinking of her duties and responsibilities. With Charlie also agreeing, Heloise spoke to Nari.

The dragon seemed offended as Heloise relayed the news. She leaned her head close to Heloise. “I shall wait for you, little one.”

Heloise addressed Charlie. “Nari will follow you to Romania and won’t be causing a fuss.”

She watched as the dragon keepers resumed their earlier actions, reigning the dragon closer to them and away from her. Heloise turned to gaze at Nari as McGonagall herded her back inside the castle. A grim smile stretched across Heloise’s lips, and her heart felt heavy as her blood and magic sang to be with her, flying with the wind blowing in her hair and fingertips.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The newly built Potter Manor glistened in the rising sunlight, and the sight blew Heloise’s breath away.

Nari huffed suddenly, and the breath warmed Heloise in a way that would make others uncomfortable. Nari used her large snout to gently shove her, and Heloise giggled, turning around to stroke the rough black scales on Nari’s snout.

“Don’t be a brat, Nari. I’ve built this for you. You would’ve been uncomfortable at Grimmauld Place. It’s too small and in the middle of a city. You need space.”

Heloise slipped into Parseltongue to speak with the dragon. It was how they had first communicated during the Triwizard Tournament and formed a witch-familiar bond. After the war, Heloise worried she wouldn’t speak Parseltongue anymore; however, when she arrived in Romania, it flowed between them as if nothing had happened. Tom had been part of her for so long that Parseltongue remained ingrained into her nuclei.

Heloise had spent the year after the war in Romania with Charlie, his fellow dragon keepers, and Nari and her fellow dragons, learning everything about dragons and their care. It was well worth the time and effort. Heloise spent time away from the thorns of British wizarding society and learned to care for her beloved familiar.

“For you, I would withstand anything,” Nari rumbled.

“That’s what you say, but you’re beyond spoiled.” Heloise leaned into Nari’s warmth and gazed up at the manor.

It wasn’t the one her father and her ancestors grew up and lived in, for it had been destroyed during the first war with Tom, but it was the same land and design. The manor was built while she was in Romania. She hired Gringotts to handle all the affairs, and the goblins accepted her business.

Upon her return some days ago, Heloise spent her time cleaning Grimmauld. It was more tedious than rebuilding Potter Manor, but it would eventually be just as worth it when Teddy inherited Grimmauld and all the Black holdings. Kreacher and Winky (who insisted on being on her service instead of Hogwarts after the war) proved incredibly reliable with their abilities and steadfast loyalty. Without them, Heloise wasn’t sure she would’ve been able to do so many things at once.

Heloise patted Nari’s snout. “I’m going to eat breakfast. Winky will bring you a sheep… Don’t try to eat her, please.”

Nari released an amused rumble. “The sheep will do. Those elves smell horrid anyway.”

Heloise smiled, restraining the snort that wanted to come out. A tiny voice inside her head said it was “unladylike.” Actually, the voice sounded like Andromeda. There was no surprise there, as Andromeda had taken it upon herself to teach her etiquette after realizing how terrible Heloise was at everything related to it during one of her visits to see Teddy. Heloise was grateful for Andromeda’s attention as she had another motherly figure to look to, even if she kept that a quiet thought.

Heloise left Nari to explore the grounds and her shelter and went inside, quickly finding herself in the kitchens. There, she prepared herself breakfast before Kreacher or Winky noticed (while the house elves were helpful, Heloise still wanted to make her food sometimes). She prepared two slices of toast (from a crusty bread freshly baked by Winky) and covered it with fresh Irish butter and strawberry-rhubarb jam (made by Kreacher some days ago), along with a fresh cup of coffee (one of the dragon keepers in Romania got Heloise hooked on coffee and all its various preparations.)

She ate slowly, relishing being in her home and thinking about how much she had to do later. But for now… the toast and coffee were good, and she was content.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Heloise returned to the manor with a pounding headache, entering through the informal entrance after hours of sitting in Gringotts and Occlumency lessons with Andromeda.

She kicked off her shoes—a pair of small heels made of black leather and with a round toe—and gently took off the cloak, hanging it on the hook near the door. It was a daily wear cloak of high quality, made of a rich sable-colored fabric and lightly lined for the English summer weather. She hung her crossbody bag—a gift from Hermione for her eighteenth birthday—next to the cloak. It was charmed with an undetectable extension charm, much like Hermione’s beaded handbag they used while horcrux hunting, but it contained fewer things than Hermione’s, which was still packed despite the war ending a year ago. Heloise had plans of filling the bag eventually, for when she went off and traveled from one place to another—countries and towns where the people would only know her as Heloise, not the Girl Who Lived. But that would only happen once her affairs were finished. (And whenever Andromeda deemed her Occlumency satisfactory.)

The goblins weren’t happy about her decision to officially instate Teddy as her heir, claiming he had no Potter blood. But Heloise was sure of her actions. She didn’t have any children yet, and with how her romantic life was going, she probably wouldn’t for some time, even if she most ardently wished for children of her blood.

“Lady Heloise, will you be having dinner?”

Heloise glanced at Winky, restraining her wince at how the house-elf insisted on using the title. At least she wasn’t calling her “mistress” as Kreacher did for months.

“No, Winky. I think I’ll be retiring early today,” Heloise replied, slinking away from the door and into her bedroom. “I promise to eat something extra during breakfast… You and Kreacher can make breakfast tomorrow, too.”

Winky flushed, trembling in delight. “Yes, my lady!”

Heloise watched as the house-elf popped away with a slight grimace. Kreacher and Winky would surely make much more food than necessary. But as long as they were happy, Heloise wouldn’t say anything.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Heloise dreamed of the strange tree that was on her land. The tree had smooth bark, the color of pale bones. It had a face carved into it that leaked blood-colored sap out of the eyes. It stood over a pool of still black water, and its leaves matched the sappy tears. She would think it was beautiful if it weren’t for its eyes that seemed to follow Heloise whenever she was near.

When Heloise woke up, the dream—the color of the leaves and bark, the eyes staring down at her—was still fresh in her mind. She rolled over, seeking out her wand in the dark. Her hand found the familiar handle, fingers loosely gripping the holly wood. Heloise muttered “tempus” and groaned in annoyance when the smokey numbers—3:07—appeared, glowing eerily in the darkness.

Heloise had been hoping to sleep much longer, but she was wide awake and staring at the dark ceiling of her room. Summoning her favorite hoodie and slip-on shoes, Heloise moved out of bed and walked outside. She wanted to see the tree with its strange carved bloody face and leaves.

Heloise had been present when surveyors from Gringotts were on her land. She questioned them about the tree, and they shrugged, stating they’d never seen a tree like it. And then, amid her chaotic life, Heloise didn’t bother researching the tree (or telling Hermione about it). It didn’t seem important at the time. Not until now.

The shoes she’d slipped on moments earlier crunched on the lush grass as Heloise made the trek to the tree. Heloise breathed out at the sight of the tree. The night cast long shadows on the grounds, and the pale white bark seemed to glow.

She stood silent for a moment before kneeling before the pool. Something soaked the fabric of her sweatpants, but Heloise ignored it and uttered thoughtlessly, “What do you want from me?”

The wind blew, and the branches rustled. It almost seemed like the wind contained whispers. Heloise’s ears strained to understand, and she unknowingly leaned forward into the pool.

Heloise squealed and inwardly cursed her rotten luck as she struggled against something unknown and foreign.

Magic? She thought incredulously and finally swam upwards and broke through the pool’s waters, gasping for air and water splashing around her flailing arms. Heloise twisted around and met the eyes of a stunned older man.

“Lyanna?”

“Who the f*ck is Lyanna?”

Chapter 2: voices in the wind

Chapter Text

The stranger helped her out of the pool, strong hands helping her stand on firm ground. Heloise shivered. It was much colder here—wherever “here” was—and a quick glance at the man’s clothes told her how inadequately she was dressed for the weather.

The man stayed silent before unclasping his cloak and sliding it over Heloise’s shoulder. His eyes bored into hers before darting away. Whatever pain-riddled nostalgia from earlier had left. “You’re not Lyanna.”

“No, I am not,” Heloise observed him briefly. “An introduction wouldn’t be amiss…?”

He had stepped away, and they stood at an impasse. His face was stony as he replied, “Lord Eddard Stark.”

Lord Stark was a tall man with a long, somber face, long brown hair, and flinty gray eyes. His graying beard was trimmed close to his face.

“Lord Stark, I’m Lady Heloise Potter.” She curtsied, just like Andromeda taught her, and ignored the uncomfortable feeling of soggy shoes and clothes.

Lord Stark seemed to contemplate something, eyes flickering toward the tree behind her.

Adjusting the cloak and her hair, she, too, glanced at the tree and him. “Lord Stark, do you mind telling me where I am?”

“The North. Westeros. In Winterfell.”

His answer wasn’t helpful as the words meant nothing to her, and Heloise sighed. “I’m far away from home, aren’t I, Lord Stark?”

“You are.” Silence reigned momentarily before Lord Stark cleared his throat awkwardly. “Follow me.”

“Just one second, if you will.” Heloise turned to the pool and crouched down to search for her wand. Instead, her hand caught onto something, and she yanked it out. Her folded invisibility cloak shimmered ominously. Sucking her teeth in annoyance, Heloise unfolded it, finding two items she believed to be destroyed or lost: the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone.

Until now, that was, Heloise thought and scowled. She shot the tree an accusatory glance as she followed Lord Stark. The wind rustled the dense canopy overhead, and again, she swore it whispered with multiple voices: “Heloise Alsephina Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived, The Chosen One, the Master of Death.”

Lord Stark’s step faltered and glanced at her; Heloise smiled at the lord, pretending she hadn’t heard a thing. With Lord Stark’s eyes narrowing briefly, they continued their trek and soon approached a large castle.

Heloise noticed the inhabitants seemed to be just waking up. Maids, guards, and other servants roamed the grounds, the younger ones rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. Eventually, as they neared a place that Lord Stark said was “The Great Keep,” everyone was staring. But that wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling for Heloise.

Through the Great Keep, they walked, passing more maids and guards wearing medieval garb. Heloise watched them with muted astonishment.

“I shall send maids in shortly,” Lord Stark said as they stopped at a heavy-looking door.

Heloise nodded. She felt tired—like her body would give out at any moment—so she gladly walked through the door Lord Stark opened for her. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

Lord Stark remained silent and shut the door, leaving Heloise to her thoughts. She took her shoes off and noted the castle was surprisingly warm. She also slipped out of the hoodie with a grimace.

A knock sounded on the door, and a tiny waif of a girl popped in. A maid, Heloise observed, was younger than her and had a similar color of dark-colored hair and pale skin. She curtsied to Heloise, “I’m here to start the fire, milady.”

Heloise nodded and watched the maid start the fire with surprising ease. She could’ve never done it so effortlessly without the aid of magic. “What’s your name?”

“Sara, milady,” the maid replied, stoking the fire.

“I’m Heloise. Thank you for the fire, Sara.”

Sara glanced at her with a slight furrow in her brows. She stood up and turned to Heloise fully. “I shall bring a bath and dress, and then we’ll launder your clothing, Lady Heloise.”

Sara left the chambers and returned with another maid, who introduced herself as Gwynna. The new maid seemed to be of similar age to Sara but with blonde hair and a baby face. Sara and Gwynna settled a portable wooden bathtub near the fire, filling it with steaming water.

“Would you like our aid, Lady Heloise?” Gwynna asked, settling a dress on the bed.

Heloise stared at the dress and weighed the pros and cons of denying the maids’ help. They thought she was a noble lady who wished they’d brush her hair and dress her, and Heloise instinctively abhorred the idea. But Heloise wasn’t familiar with the style of the loaned dress; she was sure she would manage to f*ck it up somehow. The dress was deep jewel-toned blue with silver accents. It reminded her of the Ravenclaw’s colors. It was beautifully made, and Heloise could see the quality and the time poured into embroidering the dress.

“I wish to be alone while bathing, but help with the dress and my hair would be appreciated,” she replied, reaching up to push her glasses up her nose bridge. Heloise paused momentarily, realizing that she wasn’t wearing her glasses. Somewhere between Potter Manor and Winterfell, her glasses had fallen off, possibly at the pool. But Heloise’s vision was perfect—as if she were still wearing her glasses.

Playing off the hand motion as if she were scratching her nose bridge, Heloise smiled politely at the maids and dismissed them. Sara and Gwynna left with, frankly, unnecessary curtsies, and Heloise restrained her wince of discomfort.

After stripping, Heloise dipped herself into the steaming bathtub water and quickly scrubbed her body with the things the maids left. She sniffed the soap before lathering it, finding it smelled like a gentle lavender fragrance. It wasn’t her usual fragrance; Heloise was partial to orange blossom.

Quickly, she finished and stood up to dry herself off. Grabbing the Elder Wand, she cast a simple ward to notify her of any approaching individuals and glamor to conceal her prominent scars—the infamous lightning bolt scar and the scar inflicted by Umbridge.

Sara and Gwynna returned; Gwynna grabbed her clothes, and Sara started helping her with the dress.

“Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn request your presence, milady, when you’re ready.” Sara tied the dress’ laces tightly, making Heloise suck in a surprised inhale. The maid faltered. “Are you alright, milady?”

So many “miladies,” Heloise bemoaned to herself. She shook her head “no” and let Sara continue lacing the dress. The maid finished and moved to her hair, brushing and plaiting the unruly strands, and Heloise could sense the girl’s frustration.

“I should’ve warned you,” Heloise told Sara apologetically, “My family is known for untamable hair. Leave it the best you can. Stray hairs do not offend me.”

Sara did not seem mollified by her reassurance but plaited Heloise’s hair into a familiar style. Sara had kept her hair loose, sans plaits that whisked the more bothersome strands away from her face. Sara’s fingers touched Heloise’s bangs, unsure what to do with them.

“It’s a popular style where I’m from. I think it frames my face quite nicely,” Heloise explained, using her fingers to move the strands so they wouldn’t dry awkwardly. Or maybe I’m just used to them.”

Sara’s lips quirked into a smile. “We’re finished then, milady.”

“Thank you, Sara, you’ve been an immense help.”

Again, Sara’s eyebrows furrowed minutely.

Was she not used to such simple pleasantries and manners? Probably not, Heloise thought, remembering what some of her peers raised with their wealthy families were like. She even briefly remembered the Dursleys. But Heloise shook the thought away and let herself be led to the Stark’s solar while slipping the Elder Wand up her sleeve without Sara noticing.

Heloise allowed herself to once again observe her surroundings. The stone walls reminded her of Hogwarts—something ancient, something made of magic. Her fingers twitched involuntarily with an instinctive need to touch the stones.

Heloise observed a guard—possibly in his twenties—standing at the door to the solar. His eyes briefly flickered over her appearance, and confusion was apparent in them.

“Lord and Lady Stark are expecting me,” Heloise smiled, putting in all the famous Potter charm she could and watching in amusem*nt that he floundered, ears pinking, for a second before announcing her presence.

Heloise entered the solar. She curtsied to the figures inside, hoping it did not seem as awkward as she felt. “Good morning, Lady Stark, Lord Stark.”

Lady Catelyn Stark was a beautiful woman with fair skin and high cheekbones. Her most stunning features were her long auburn hair and blue eyes. But Lady Stark’s demeanor reminded Heloise of Narcissa Malfoy of all people, and the reminder soured her mouth.

Heloise stared back momentarily until she spoke, clasping her hands gently in front of her and dipping her chin demurely. “Thank you for your hospitality; it is appreciated, especially when I am far away from home.”

Lady Stark gauged her critically with pinched lips. “My lord husband was telling me of the circ*mstances of your meeting… Where is your home exactly, Lady Heloise?”

“I’m from England, the United Kingdom.”

She received blank looks; Heloise wondered if this was what she looked like when hearing “Winterfell” and “Westeros.” She mulled over how to continue, searching for a plausible explanation.

“What I say… It cannot leave this room, not without my permission.” Heloise looked at Lord Stark specifically; the older man nodded. “It’s going to sound insane, but you must listen… I’m from another world…”

Heloise explained about the strange tree on the lands of her ancestral home, her theory that it was responsible for her arrival here, and whatever magic connected these two worlds. And when she finished, Heloise noted that Lord Stark did not seem convinced, nor did Lady Stark, but she hid it better than her husband.

“You don’t believe me, but I can prove it to you.”

Heloise stood. The Elder Wand slid into her hand, buzzing in excitement. Lord Stark’s eyes flew down to the wand, wariness entering, but before either noble could object, she cast the Patronus Charm.

Heloise hadn’t cast it since the war ended and expected her usual bright, silvery stag to take form. Instead, that silvery wisp formed into a dragon. Heloise stared at the corporeal Patronus in wonderment; her new Patronus formed into Nari, albeit a smaller version. To fit into the room, Heloise imagined.

“This is a Patronus Charm,” she explained to the Starks. Nari the Patronus stomped toward the Starks, and Lady Catelyn tentatively raised a hand to the wispy, silvery dragon. “It’s a complicated spell that uses positive emotions and happy memories to act like a spiritual guardian.”

“It’s a dragon,” Lord Stark intoned.

“It takes a different form for everyone.” Heloise shrugged and watched as Nari left the room, flapping her wings; she ignored how alarmed Lord Stark seemed as her dragon did so. “I knew someone whose Patronus was a wolf, and there was someone who had a horse as her Patronus. And there was someone from history who was recorded as having a wooly mammoth.”

There was a moment of silence before the Starks resumed their interrogation, and Heloise answered their questions until they seemed satisfied. The showcase of the Patronus Charm seemed to mollify them, but Lady Stark still showed some restraint until Heloise mentioned that she was an orphan due to war. Lady Stark had softened as her story progressed.

But when Lord Stark questioned her intentions, the wind outside howled. And those voices spoke again: “Heloise Alsephina Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived, The Chosen One, the Master of Death.”

What is this? God’s PA system? Heloise didn’t hide the scowl that appeared on her face. She looked at the Starks, pointing her index finger toward the ceiling. “Now, that? I cannot explain.”

Chapter 3: leap of faith

Chapter Text

Before leaving the solar, Heloise questioned the Starks if they had children and what to do if they asked about her presence.

Lord Stark seemed hesitant until Heloise added that most of the stories were publicly known back home, and she would censor the worst of it to the youngest children. It took Lady Stark a second longer to agree.

The Stark couple led her to the Great Hall, where a large group of children gathered, waiting for them. They were also surrounded by Winterfell’s staff, who bustled about preparing breakfast.

“Lady Heloise,” Lord Stark said, “My children…”

Most of the children resembled their mother, Lady Stark. Robb was the eldest and the heir to Winterfell. Sansa was one of two daughters, and Arya was the only girl to resemble Lord Stark. Brandon’s red hair was so dark it was almost brown. Rickon was the youngest, barely two years old. She also met Theon Greyjoy, who was a ward of House Stark.

“This is Jon Snow,” continued Lord Stark, arriving at the last-standing teen who’d tried to hide in the shadows, “My bastard.”

Her mouth almost fell open in shock. She had never heard someone use the word so brazenly.

Heloise caught the way Jon’s shoulders tensed and minutely curled into himself. Plastering a smile, Heloise greeted him the same way she did the other children. Lady Catelyn shot her a queer look, and Jon relaxed.

After the introductions, breakfast was served. Heloise was sandwiched between Sansa and Lady Catelyn on the dais. The girl seemed elated to be in Heloise’s company as maids brought basins of water with linen cloths, and Heloise copied Sansa’s motions of washing their hands and drying them with the linen.

The dais overlooked the Starks’ household. It was like Hogwarts’ Great Hall, where the teachers watched the students during mealtimes, Heloise mused, but Sansa’s question interrupted her observations, “Lady Heloise, do you embroider?”

“Not really.” Heloise dropped a strip of bacon onto her plate. She thought of some of the household spells Andromeda taught her. “Well, I imagine not in the way that you’ve learned to embroider, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa brightened and glanced at the dress Heloise was wearing. “My mother and Septa say I’m quite advanced for my age. I helped make the dress you’re wearing!”

“Oh, you’re very talented then! It’s a very well-made dress,” Heloise could’ve sworn she heard someone scoff softly, but she ignored it. “I’m afraid, Lady Sansa, that I’m not familiar with what a Septa is.”

That caught Lady Stark’s attention. “Septas belong to the Faith of the Seven. Septa Mordane educates Sansa and Arya on their womanly duties. Do you have anything similar back home, Lady Heloise?”

“They’re private tutors who do not teach religious pursuits. Usually, they’re an extended family member or a friend, and they’re unmarried women most of the time,” Heloise replied, thinking of Andromeda and their long conversations. Before Hogwarts, Andromeda had been educated by her Great-Aunt Cassiopeia, who remained a single woman until her death.

A shrewd glint entered Lady Stark’s eyes, but she did not say anything, letting Sansa continue the conversation.

“Well, my lady, would you share any songs from your homeland?”

Again, Heloise heard that little scoff and ignored it. She answered Sansa’s question, “Of course. I actually know many songs. I could write you the lyrics of some. Although, it’ll be from my memory and not perfect.”

There was another scoff, accompanied by the thwack of a knife hitting the tabletop.

Heloise turned toward the sound and found Arya had smashed her bacon into tiny pieces, possibly with the same knife she’d stabbed into the dais.

“And you, Lady Arya? What do you like to do?”

“I’m not a lady.” Arya’s fist wrapped around the knife. She glared at her sister and then looked at Heloise. “Sword fighting. That’s what I like.”

“Oh! I suppose you’d like the story of when I slew a basilisk while wielding a sword for the first time?” Heloise took a bite of her bacon, chewed, and swallowed. The dais had turned eerily silent just in time for everyone to hear the comment.

“How old were you?” Arya immediately demanded. Her gray eyes glittered with anticipation, and she perked up in her seat.

“Lady Sansa, how old are you?” Heloise questioned the other sister.

“Twelve, my lady.”

Heloise looked at Arya. “I was the same age as your sister.”

Arya’s eyes bounced between her sister and Heloise. It was as if she were trying to imagine Heloise being the same age as Sansa, figuring out how such a tiny girl could’ve done such a feat.

“I can tell you the story after you’ve eaten your breakfast.” Heloise addressed Lord and Lady Stark, who watched the interaction, “And, if it’s agreeable with your father and mother, the two of you can show me Winterfell, and we can exchange stories.”

Sansa and Arya turned back to their plates at the same time. The girls practically vibrated in their seats, and their parents seemed pleased to see them happy.

“Perhaps, while the boys train with Ser Rodrik, Sansa and Arya could show Lady Heloise Winterfell, Ned? Before they leave for their lessons with Septa Mordane.”

Lord Stark assented, and Heloise was officially busy for the morning.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sansa wanted to show her the glass gardens located behind the godswood, and Arya wanted to show Heloise where her brothers did their sword training in the courtyard.

Heloise watched them bicker, amused. It reminded her of watching the Weasleys.

“Sansa, Arya,” she said when Arya stopped to take a breath, for they had agreed to drop formalities earlier, “Which one is closer? The courtyard or the glass gardens?”

“The courtyard.”

“Well, perhaps we could go to the glass garden and return to the courtyard? We’d watch your brothers train until your lessons start.” Sansa calmed down at the suggestion, but it was Arya who proved to be stubborn. Heloise continued over the younger Stark’s spluttering, “Arya, as the oldest person here, I feel responsible for ensuring you arrive at your lessons on time. And I don’t want your parents to be cross with me when I haven’t even been here a full day!”

Arya quieted but followed Heloise and Sansa as they ventured toward the glass gardens. The younger girl remained with a sullen face while they walked.

They passed the entrance of what Heloise now understood to be the Godswood. The breeze shifted and whispered against her ears. Heloise caught the words “Nari” and “South” as she told the girls she was a wand-wielding witch. To prove it, Heloise used two nearby rocks to transfigure a pretty flower for Sansa and a gray bird for Arya to amuse herself with. It was easier than before, Heloise noted sadly, missing the feel of her holly wand.

“I’m afraid that it’s not permanent,” Heloise warned. “They’ll turn back to rocks eventually.”

“What a shame. Flowers like these do not grow in the North.” Sansa sniffed it and smiled sweetly. “But why will it change back?”

“Because I used magic to change a rock into a flower and a bird. The rocks remember they were rocks at one point and want their natural state back.” Heloise looked at Arya. “Is the bird to your liking, Arya?”

Arya nodded, letting the bird tweet and hop up her arm to rest on her shoulder. With an amused tilt of her lips, she asked, “Are you sure it’ll turn back?”

“Yes, but the stronger the magic, the longer it lasts.”

At the glass gardens, Sansa excitedly showed Heloise the winter roses, and Arya’s bird flew around the girls’ heads before rushing into the rose bushes.

Sansa also explained how the glass gardens helped feed the castle with its produce during the winter, and the natural hot springs underneath Winterfell helped fill the glass gardens with a moist warmth and prevented the ground from freezing. Heloise almost questioned Sansa about that but fell silent when she remembered she’d have better luck asking an adult.

A worker within the gardens bestowed each of them a blackberry before they left to watch the Stark boys train. They then joined Lord and Lady Stark on a bridge overseeing the courtyard.

Heloise watched the boys train with blunt steel swords under the supervision of Ser Rodrik, Winterfell’s castellan. And she remained when Sansa and Arya went to their lessons with Septa Mordane.

“Did Sansa and Arya behave themselves, Lady Heloise?” Lady Stark asked.

“Yes,” Heloise assured the older woman. “Your daughters are charming in their own ways… I must admit I see a bit of myself in Arya, Lady Catelyn. My friend—Hermione—would say I had a thing for running around without a plan during our school years. I always jumped headfirst into conflicts.”

Heloise watched Jon sweep Theon off his feet with a cleverly quick trick, briefly distracting her with the efficacy of the move; next to her, Lady Stark seemed conflicted hearing her words. Heloise smiled at her. “I see myself enjoying Lady Sansa’s company once I teach her some songs. Although I may prove to be a poor dancing partner…”

Heloise turned to Lord Stark and addressed him, “Who would I need to speak with regarding books about Westeros? I wish to educate myself about the place where I’ve landed.”

“You should speak with Maester Luwin…” Lord Stark trailed off. “Your Patronus from earlier caused some commotion here and in Wintertown, and he would like to speak with you.”

“Maester Luwin studied the higher mysteries at the Citadel…” Lady Stark explained as Heloise privately bemoaned that many people had seen Nari the Patronus when she’d left the solar.

At least there wasn’t a Ministry of Magic here, or else they would’ve already tried to make an example out of her…

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Before retiring to bed, Heloise spent many hours in the company of Maester Luwin, a well-spoken older man in a gray wool robe with voluminous sleeves. She’d answered his questions about the Patronus and magic the best she could—after all, Heloise was not as well-read as Hermione. Maester Luwin also answered all her questions about Westeros and its culture and society. He’d let her borrow a book of the history of Westeros.

She dreamt of a woman—tall and beautiful with silver-gold hair and purple eyes. She looked at her, and Heloise met her stare right on.

The woman stepped forward, cupping her face gently before whispering, “The blood of the dragon runs thick, Heloise.”

“Who are you? And what does that mean?”

“Have you forgotten your family tree lessons so soon?” the woman laughed, a tinkling, beautiful sound. “The Gods have a plan for you, my brave girl. Henry and I are so proud.”

The woman kissed Heloise on the forehead. “It’s time to wake up, darling.”

Heloise woke up with a start and sat up. Did she say Henry—as in Henry Potter?

Underneath her pillow, the Hallows hummed, and Heloise felt tingles spread all over her body. The only time she felt like this was when Nari was summoning her.

She rubbed a hand against her forehead and kicked off the furs. Heloise grabbed the Elder Wand and put on the Invisibility Cloak. She paused, thinking about the Resurrection Stone, before adding a pocket to her borrowed nightgown and pocketing the stone.

Heloise quietly slipped out of her room in the guest house, following the tugs on her magic, which led her to the godswood and the tree.

It was because of Maester Luwin that she finally had a name for this tree: a weirwood. But it was also called a heart tree because its carved face represented the Old Gods, a religion common in the North.

Heloise approached and stared down at the pool alongside the heart tree. For a moment, she thought of Alice in Wonderland. Had Alice not fallen through a rabbit hole into an entirely different world?

With that, she pocketed the Elder Wand and took a dive.

Chapter 4: realizations

Chapter Text

It didn’t work. Heloise charmed her clothes dry and reapplied the warming charm, annoyance drumming through her bloodstream.

The wind whispered in her ears, “Not yet.”

Heloise scowled and stomped away in response. All she wanted was Teddy, Andromeda, and Nari. Heloise wanted her pillows, her bed, and her food. She wished for the company of Kreacher and Winky company. f*ck, it hadn’t even been forty-eight hours yet.

Heloise paused and looked up. It was a clear night, and the moon and stars shined brightly overhead. For a brief moment, Heloise imagined Nari flying in the night sky, briefly blocking out the moonlight—

Wait… Heloise hadn’t imagined it at all.

She broke out into a run and quickly made her way toward the Hunter’s Gate that led out to the wolfswood—Sansa and Arya had explained that to her earlier—and ignored the few sleepy guards she encountered. They didn’t see her, but they did see the footsteps in the dusting of snow she left. Heloise would worry about that later; Nari was more important right now.

Heloise arrived at the edge of the wolfswood, panting. She hadn’t broken out in a run like that in over a year, and Heloise’s body hated her at that moment. But it didn’t take long for her to find where Nari touched down. Her dragon familiar had chosen a large clearing not far from where the wolfswood started.

“Nari,” Heloise hissed in Parseltongue, slipping out of the Invisibility Cloak. “How did you arrive?”

“Rider,” Nari replied, and the ground vibrated with the timbers of her growls. “I’ve flown for hours. They spoke to me. They said to fly up and up and then northward.”

Heloise had an inkling who her familiar was referring to. She sat on the ground, letting Nari curl around her like a giant cat, while the she-dragon complained of the cold and lack of good and hearty sheep nearby.

Nari told her how she had woken up soon after Heloise fell through the pool, realizing that her rider had disappeared. She followed the voices until she found Heloise again.

“Could you hunt, fend for yourself until I figure this out? Could you stay out of sight? I know it’s too much to ask for, Nari, but I think we’re far from home and near it…”

Heloise trailed off, thinking of the pool alongside the heart tree. Didn’t Alice have to complete a mission before returning home? The first—and last time—she’d read the book was when she was small, and the pit of hunger in her stomach was the size of Mount Everest. The only vivid detail she remembered was the rabbit hole Alice fell through.

“No matter, I will find our way home, Nari. That I swear.”

Heloise spent an hour with Nari and later returned to her room and paced back and forth. The woman from her dream mentioned her great-grandfather.

“My father, James Potter, married Lily Evans, my mother. He was the son of Charlus Potter and his wife, Dorea Black… Charlus’ father was Henry Potter. Henry was married to—” she whispered fervently, but that was where her memory of the Potter family tree fell off.

She could not remember who her great-grandfather married and had children with. Oh, how Andromeda would be disappointed if she knew! Andy had spent so many hours trying to make sure Heloise would remember.

But the name was right on the tip of her tongue. If only her brain could work for two more seconds…

Sighing, Heloise turned around as her thoughts shifted to the Resurrection Stone. It was not wise for that historic stone to be shuffled from pocket to pocket.

She remembered how it was once fashioned into a ring… Heloise wasn’t a ring person, so perhaps she could make it a necklace? She’d have to get some twine to transfigure into a small chain for that…

Heloise slipped the wand and stone under her pillow, leaving the cloak carefully hidden out of sight underneath the bed, before shutting her eyes again.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

There were no more dreams when she fell asleep again. In fact, it had been a very satisfying sleep—going by how Heloise’s arm and face were red and slightly creased from the odd position she’d taken during the early morning. Her body and joints had cracked, too, as she pulled herself out of the bed as Sara arrived with another dress.

This time, the dress was a gift directly from Sansa, that sweet girl. It was a lovely dove gray, and the sleeve hems were embroidered with delicate white flowers. The fabric was sturdy and warm—perfect for the weather of the North that Heloise was slowly but surely getting used to. But only because it seemed colder than autumn in Scotland despite being summer here in Westeros.

After breakfast (which had been a hectic scene of having to explain to Robb and Theon that most women back home weren’t like the women they knew), Heloise requested a moment to speak with Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn. She had spent all night thinking about what happened, her dream, and reuniting with Nari in the wolfswood. Many theories swirled around in her mind before she finally settled on one.

“I think I know what happened—what caused me to arrive at your home. Last night, I tried to return in the same way I did. It’s what we used to do if something wasn’t working—you turn it on and off and—” Heloise paused when she remembered that Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn would have zero idea what she was referencing.

“Forgive me. You mustn’t understand what I’m actually talking about.” She smiled sheepishly at the couple. “What I meant to say is I failed during my little experiment to return to my home. Back home, there was this quote from an inventor—he said something about not failing thousands of times. Instead, he found those thousands of ways that wouldn’t work.”

Heloise looked at Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn before tucking her chin in to show gratitude. “I am grateful for your care and trust in being around your children and household. And with your permission, I would like to continue experimenting until I find my way back. In return, I could—I’m not sure actually… but I have been told I am a good teacher.”

Lord Stark nodded, glancing at his wife, who was painfully neutral-faced. “We shall think of it, Lady Heloise, and let you know.”

“Thank you, my lord, my lady.” Heloise smiled and curtsied before leaving the solar. She could hear the couple discussing her proposal quietly as the door shut.

Alone and letting her old habits reign, Heloise explored Winterfell—straying from the more populated paths—and found herself at an old tower. The upper floors had burned a long time ago, collapsing within themselves, and it must’ve been one of the oldest parts of the castle.

She entered the tower, letting her fingers run over the stone. There was something here—old and magical. Heloise shivered and climbed to the highest available floor. Perhaps she would find some abandoned books, twine, or a chest or two…

Heloise spent some time exploring the rooms, finding a partially used roll of parchment, an abandoned dagger that needed sharpening, and scraps of metal she could transfigure into chained jewelry to hold the Resurrection Stone. She’d even spotted a trunk that needed a quick shine to look new again and possibly an extension charm too…

She exited the tower, holding the parchment and planning to ask for appropriate permission from the Starks to use the tower as some sort of headquarters for herself. Heloise could easily make a case—it was out of the way, and with magic, it wasn’t like they’d have to pour a lot of money into making it habitable again…

“Lady Heloise, are you alright?”

The voice brought her out of the musing. Heloise turned around to see Lord Stark’s son, Jon. She smiled tentatively, “Hi, Jon.”

For some reason, they stared at each other quietly. And then—

“You’re a bastard,” she blurted and then waited for Jon to flinch in offense or say something to defend himself. But he did no such thing.

His eyes went downward, staring at the tips of her borrowed boots, and Heloise realized, internally horrified, that he was used to the moniker. He was used to being silent, to being looked down upon.

She understood the feeling. It made her clench her jaw briefly, thinking about the Dursleys and how authoritative they’d been to her. But Heloise forced herself to relax her face—lest Jon believe she was discontent with him.

“Forgive me,” she said. Is it alright if I call you Jon?’ Having to say ‘The Bastard of Winterfell’ is a mouthful… I overheard a guard or two use it. And if I can be frank, I don’t really like it. Back home, the word ‘bastard’ is used in an almost completely different context.”

His eyes shot up to hers and hesitated. “...If it pleases you, Lady Heloise.”

“Well, then, you must refer to me without titles. ‘Heloise’ will work just fine.” He seemed confused still, but she ignored it.

Now that Heloise was spending more time in Jon’s presence, she noted that despite his apparent likeness to his father, there was something prettier. His eyes most certainly were gray and solemn. They briefly reminded her of Sirius, and it felt like salt being poured into a fresh wound. The clouds shifted overhead, letting some stray sunbeams shine down, and the gray looked more like the shade of dried lavender bundles.

How peculiar, she thought. The only time she’d seen such a shade was in a portrait. And that had been the family portrait of Charlus and Fleamont with their parents, Henry and—

Aerea. His wife was Aerea Targaryen. Aerea, who had been a renowned dragonkeeper. Aerea, who had reinvented the care for dragons and that Charlie swore up and down he’d married if he could time travel.

Heloise felt her ears go hot, and her fingers went cold from the sudden realization and fear that hit her. It was ridiculous, really, how her mind decided to remember just then.

Maester Luwin had given her a brief history of Westeros. He’d told her about the Targaryens, and she knew enough to understand the implications of having such a recent connection to that family—even worse, knowing that she was actively bonded with a dragon. Suddenly, a lot of things started making sense.

“Excuse me, Jon.” She started walking backward from him, stuttering out an excuse. “I find myself unwell. I shall return to my chambers. These sorts of things can very quickly spread, you know—?”

Before Jon could reply, Heloise fled, her mind spinning.

Charlus and Fleamont were violet-eyed because of Aerea, and her maiden name was reportedly “Targaryen.” But even then, Charlus and Fleamont’s eyes weren’t obviously violet like Aerea’s were. Perhaps their eye color became muted because of Henry Potter’s blue eyes? But why would Jon have that specific shade similar to some of my family? I don’t know who his mother is, and I’m not asking, but violet eyes are rare. There’s only one way—at some point, Targaryen blood crossed with the Starks. And it was recently.

Chapter 5: whispers of bloodlines

Chapter Text

Lady Catelyn doesn’t know.

Heloise continued embroidering a simple flower pattern along the hem of her new cloak.

She couldn’t use magic for this task, especially not in front of Septa Mordane. The last time she used magic—repairing some fabric that Arya had cut too small—the older woman had lost it. Heloise had spent the entire time avoiding eye contact and trying not to snicker while Sansa seemed a second away from crying, and Arya hadn’t restrained herself from giggling.

Now, she was stuck in silence for another day for joining the girls for their lessons with the Septa, thinking of the realizations she’d come to two days ago.

It had taken very carefully worded questions for Sara and Gwynna and some brief attempts with Legilimency aimed at Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard. And although Heloise felt terrible, the Legilimency had proved incredibly successful.

Lady Catelyn’s mind was easy to shift through without the older woman realizing. But Lord Eddard proved his mind was just as guarded as the emotions he portrayed publicly. It was a coincidence when he encountered Arya in the company of Jon and Bran, pestering Heloise for stories so she could finally peek into his mind.

Lyanna. Lord Stark’s youngest sibling. His only sister. Lyanna was Jon’s mother.

Lady Catelyn doesn’t know. Heloise stabbed the hem a little too hard with the needle. Lady Catelyn doesn’t know that Jon isn’t a bastard. His mother is Lyanna. And the way she made Lord Stark promise to keep him safe… No wonder—

Heloise glanced up when the door opened, and Lady Catelyn entered. Her hands briefly paused, and again, she thought about the information she had. It wasn’t her place to say anything; Lord Stark had reasons for not telling his wife, Heloise reasoned, but the way Lady Stark treated Jon over a lie? She wasn’t comfortable with it—everything within her said to fight back against the injustice. Preferably slapping some sense into Lady Catelyn—metaphorically or physically, whichever one seemed apt at the moment—because even if Lord Eddard had cheated on her and sired a child out of wedlock, the child—Jon—wasn’t at fault. But then again—Lady Catelyn doesn’t know.

Westeros was an entirely different place, too. Its customs and culture were stuck in the Middle Ages, even more so than in British wizarding society, where they at least had radios and their own version of modern muggle technology. And the more Heloise thought about it, there wasn’t an instance she could recall wherein bastardy was an issue in the British pureblood wizarding circles she’d briefly dipped her toes in. Perhaps the war contributed to that… I’ll have to ask Andy if I see her again…

“You embroider well, Lady Heloise,” the older woman said, observing Heloise’s embroidery and hovering over them.

“Thank you.” Heloise smiled, but her mind was still spinning—thinking—planning. “Septa Mordane is an excellent teacher. I’m glad she’s been so patient with me. It’s been many years since I’ve properly embroidered.”

Septa Mordane looked like she swallowed a frog upon hearing the compliment. Sansa seemed elated that Heloise was enjoying their time embroidering, and Arya seemed devastated.

“That is good to hear.” Lady Catelyn briefly glanced at her daughters. “Lady Heloise, would you join me for some tea?”

Heloise brightened and perked up in her seat. This was a familiar request, and she felt capable of handling it because of the many hours under Andy’s tutelage. She replied with an earnest tone, “I would love to, Lady Catelyn!”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Tea was a simple affair compared to what Heloise was used to.

Lady Catelyn explained that the tea blend was from the Riverlands—a gift from her father—and held some medicinal properties. She opted to pair the tea with almond cakes, some cheeses, and berries native to the North. In return, Heloise explained afternoon tea to Lady Catelyn, letting the situation become one of learning each other’s perspectives.

The conversation shifted when Lady Catelyn started questioning Heloise’s intentions with Jon. The older woman tried to be nonchalant, but Heloise had practice with this and quickly saw through it.

“Lady Catelyn,” Heloise began, her lips twitching into a displeased frown. “I have no ill intentions with Jon. He’s sixteen.”

Lady Catelyn wasn’t convinced, and Heloise took a peek into Lady Catelyn’s mind, finding that the older woman was worried about Heloise’s combined influence over Jon and her legitimate children. Lady Catelyn was afraid that Jon would somehow, in some way, convince Heloise to betray the Starks and have a coup d'état to establish himself as the Stark heir.

From Heloise’s point of view, it was irrational, but Lady Catelyn was devoted to her childhood teachings within the Faith of the Seven in the South. Bastards are sinners from birth. It is in their nature to be conniving and evil.

Heloise left Lady Catelyn’s mind when the older woman’s thoughts shifted to what she felt like an impending headache growing near her forehead. Heloise felt guilty for how carelessly she’d looked into Lady Catelyn’s thoughts, but she needed to know. And now, she felt like she needed to say something.

“Jon…”

Heloise thought carefully of the words she was going to use. She thought of Lyanna—looking so young, bleeding out, a fever burning from the inside out, and so in love with the child in her arms. “Promise me, Ned,” she had whispered in Lord Stark’s thoughts, “Promise me.” Even Heloise was still reeling from seeing that.

“He is from the North. He has Stark blood, and he holds your children in high esteem. He would rather die than betray the children’s confidence.”

Heloise felt like she was begging—imploring Lady Catelyn to think beyond her childhood teachings. And maybe she was, but it was for Jon.

Jon needed a person in his corner—a person who had his best intentions at heart and would be willing to advocate against the supposed adults who lied in a misguided attempt at protection—and Heloise could be that. She had been in his position for most of her life—living in the shadows as she had years ago under the custody of the Dursleys and Dumbledore.

Heloise could only hope that Lady Catelyn caught the emphasis she’d placed on certain words.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

After tea, Heloise slipped off to the wolfswood. She wore the invisibility cloak, and in her hand, she held a shirt “borrowed” from Jon.

It was in the name of science, she reasoned. Very sh*tty science with a dubious usage of the scientific method. In her defense, Hogwarts’ education hadn’t been focused on science and experimentation. And even if it was, Heloise was busy trying not to die each school year.

Passing the wards and charms placed to hide the dragon, Heloise found Nari charring a large buck. She stared, grossly fascinated, as Nari swallowed the entire animal.

“Was it good?”

“It is not my favorite,” replied the she-dragon. “I’d prefer sheep.”

“You’ve been spoiled rotten. You can very well survive without sheep. I’ve no gold to pay for it currently.”

Nari approached her and forced Heloise to sit down, bumping the young witch with her snout. Again, Nari curled around her and listened to Heloise speak.

“I need you to smell this.” She removed the stasis charm after placing the shirt on the ground. “Tell me if anything is peculiar.”

Nari sniffed the shirt and replied, “It smells like you. Magic—less than your scent—and dragon’s blood—it’s more potent than yours.”

Bingo! Heloise smiled and grabbed the shirt. Her mind was already whirring as she thanked Nari and left.

She returned to her chambers, thinking about how Nari had once mentioned that Heloise smelled like dragon’s blood. At the time, she believed it was about the incense. But even then, Heloise had never used that incense enough to constantly smell like it…

Heloise pulled out some parchment to write her thoughts down. She wrote on the parchment: Dragon’s blood = blood of the dragon? The quill continued to scratch away, following her stream of thought:

• Possibly a reference to Targaryen ancestry.

• Targaryens smell different? At least, according to Nari.
  → Perhaps a way to differentiate riders from regular people?

• Blood magic.
  → How did the OG Targs bond dragons to themselves? And why only them? Ask Luwin!

A knock startled Heloise, causing some ink to splotch on the parchment. Heloise stared at it momentarily with a scowl before exclaiming, “Come in!”

One of Lady Catelyn’s maids entered, avoiding Heloise’s gaze and wringing her hands nervously. “Lady Catelyn has requested that you join her in Lord Eddard’s solar.”

“Alright…” Heloise started putting away the parchment, quill, and inkwell. “I shall be there in a minute.”

The maid barely curtsied before fleeing her chamber. Heloise glanced up at where the maid once stood, amused, before finishing tidying and leaving to join Lady Catelyn at the Starks’ solar.

When Heloise entered the solar, she found Lady Catelyn glaring at Lord Eddard. The man’s face was ashen and torn between grief and panic.

Lord Eddard looked at Heloise, and his eyes narrowed. “How—?”

Those voices decided to interrupt: “Heloise Alsephina Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived, The Chosen One, the Master of Death. Descendant of Aegon the Conqueror and Ignotus Peverell.”

From nowhere, wind blew through the solar, ruffling their hair. The Resurrection Stone rested against her chest, hanging from a newly created necklace. It vibrated in response to the presence of the Old Gods. All of the Deathly Hallows reacted like that. Like they were sentient beings. It disturbed Heloise, but she opted to ignore it for now.

The Starks’ faces were confused at the last statement from the Old Gods. And Lord Eddard seemed even more panicked at the mention of Aegon the Conqueror.

“I didn’t mean to mislead either of you. But I do have a blood connection to the Targaryens through my great-grandparents. Their names were Henry Potter and Aerea Targaryen.”

Heloise watched as Lord Eddard stepped away in shock. Meanwhile, Lady Catelyn, proving herself to be a force of nature, took over the questioning. “That’s how you knew about Jon’s parentage? About Lyanna and… Rhaegar?”

“It was his eyes… They reminded me of my grandfather’s portrait. They’re a similar color.”

“But did Aerea Targaryen not disappear more than two hundred years ago? How could that be possible? That she’s your great-grandmother?”

“Magic. Time travel. Dimension travel. All of those are outside my area of expertise.” Heloise shrugged. “I like teaching. And I excel at defensive and offensive magic. I am no scholar, not like my friend, Hermione… But even then, those subjects are sensitive. Traveling through time is highly regulated when going through the proper channels. It’s discouraged, too…”

Heloise trailed off, letting the words ruminate. They stood silently until Lady Catelyn turned to Lord Eddard with a whip of red hair. “You should’ve told me about Jon!”

“You weren’t there, Cat! You didn’t see the bodies of Rhaenys and Aegon. What Robert said—what he would have done if he knew about Jon…”

Heloise stared openly at the couple, wondering if this was a reiteration of the conversation they must’ve had before her arrival. It probably was. And the more she listened to them, the more she was reminded of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, bringing an ache to her heart.

While the couple’s attention waned away from Heloise, she cast some privacy wards at the door so no one would overhear their conversation.

Lady Catelyn suddenly addressed her, making Heloise break away from her nostalgic thoughts and slip her wand back into her dress sleeve. “Ignotus Peverell? Why would they mention Ignotus Peverell? Who does that name belong to?”

“There is a story from where I come from,” Heloise began slowly, mulling over her words carefully. She continued, “It’s called ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers.’ It’s supposed to be one of those stories that teach morals to children. It is believed that the Peverell brothers served as inspirations. Ignotus was one of the brothers, and his granddaughter eventually married Hardwin—the founding member of House Potter.”

She paused, feeling the happy hums of the Hallows tugging at her magic. The Hallows wanted her to speak truthfully about this?

Again, the Hallows pulled at her magic, and she heard chanting in her ears, “Yes, yes, yes…”

Heloise hummed deep in her throat, slightly worried about the repercussions of this. She sighed, “The two of you ought to sit down. The story will take some time to tell.”

Chapter 6: along a lonely road

Chapter Text

The chanting in her ears from earlier ceased, settling into a high-pitched ringing.

It reminded Heloise of when she’d been diagnosed with tinnitus after the war. The ringing had lasted three days, three nights, and it scared the living sh*t out of her during that time. It was her fault, though, for she had denied all medical treatment, focusing on Andromeda and Teddy.

Using the Elder Wand, Heloise used charms to portray the story. She’d once used them to entertain Teddy during storytime, and now, they would work for the Starks’ visualization.

“Three brothers traveled along a lonely road during twilight when they arrived at a deep river.”

Misty black figures floated in front of the Starks, weaving the images of the story under Heloise’s command. Here, Heloise was in her element—raising Teddy had made her a bit of a storyteller. He loved hearing about all her shenanigans and then some. Teddy’s favorite story was about Heloise meeting Nari for the first time.

“This was not a problem for the brothers, for they had magic and were trained in it. Using their magic, they conjured a bridge and crossed it. Halfway through the bridge, a hooded figure appeared.”

Heloise watched as Lady Catelyn stared unwaveringly at the conjured image of Death and caught how the older woman whispered softly, “The Stranger,” to herself.

“The figure was Death, and he had been cheated of his due. Enraged, Death pretended to congratulate the brothers and awarded them gifts of their choosing.”

Heloise continued to command the figures as she told the story. She spoke about Antioch and his request for a wand more powerful than any in existence, and Cadmus, seeking to further humiliate Death, asked for the power to call the dead from their graves. Her heart did a silly little skip when she reached him.

“The third and youngest brother, Ignotus, was the most humble and wise, and he did not trust Death. He asked for something to enable him to go forth without Death following him. Reluctantly, Death handed Ignotus his own invisibility cloak. The brothers went separate ways, taking their prizes with them.”

Then, the smokey figures dissipated, leaving behind Antioch.

“The eldest brother was the first to die. After the encounter, Antioch traveled to a village where a wizard he’d once disagreed with lived. Dueling, he used the wand to instantly kill the other wizard. Elated over his victory, Antioch boasted of his new wand, which Death had granted him at a nearby inn. Later that night, another wizard snuck up to Antioch as he slept, drunk from wine. The wizard stole the wand and sliced Antioch’s throat to be sure, and Death took Antioch for his own, then.”

“Cadmus returned to his home where he lived alone. He turned the Stone, and the figure of the girl he’d wanted to marry once appeared. But she was cold and sad, separated from Cadmus by a veil, and even though she returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered for it. Driven insane with longing, Cadmus committed suicide to finally be with his beloved. Death was then able to take the second brother…”

A glance at Lady Catelyn showed that the older woman was misty-eyed and had shifted closer to Lord Eddard. Heloise knew that part of the story would tug at Lady Catelyn’s heartstrings.

“For years after, Death searched for Ignotus, but he never succeeded. And finally, when Ignotus reached old age, he took off the Invisibility Cloak, giving it to his son, and he greeted Death as an old friend, and they departed the mortal realm as equals.”

Heloise canceled the charms and waited for the Starks’ reactions, letting her arms rest from waving the wand. Her arms ached softly, unused from days without practicing extensive magic.

“It is true, then? The story.” Lady Catelyn questioned.

“I believe so.” She summoned the Invisibility Cloak, and it shimmered ominously in the light. “This is the Invisibility Cloak… Ignotus’ son had a daughter, and she brought the cloak with her when she married Hardwin. It continued bouncing down the Potter lineage until I inherited it from my father after his death.”

Several years after his death, she remembered bittersweetly. Some days, Heloise spent hours mulling over Dumbledore and his motivations. Why did he wait until Christmas to give her what was rightfully hers? What did Dumbledore want from her cloak? Why had her father allowed their sacred family heirloom to leave his hands? But today wasn’t going to be one of those days.

“This is the Resurrection Stone.” She showed them the Stone, holding it up from where it hung around her neck. Dropping the necklace, Heloise raised her hand with the wand, “And this is the Elder Wand. It is believed by some that the possession of all these items will make you the Master of Death.”

Lord Eddard spoke. “Does it?”

“I am unsure… It’s not like I can ask the person before me.” Heloise hesitated and then lifted the Stone necklace again. “We could try to call someone forth? Perhaps… Lyanna?”

Heloise’s suggestion was like poking a bear. The Starks didn’t seem keen on the idea, so Heloise dropped the necklace and smiled sheepishly, ignoring how the ringing from earlier picked up in urgency. “It was only a suggestion, of course. We’d only do it if you’re ready.”

“If you were to call upon Lyanna, perhaps it should only be Ned.”

Heloise nodded at Lady Catelyn, understanding the older woman. Lady Catelyn hesitated before saying her goodbyes, lingering near Lord Eddard, and leaving the solar.

Heloise took off the necklace and handed it to Lord Eddard. “I think you should call upon your sister, but I will interrupt if I feel like you’re headed down Cadmus’ path.”

She watched as he stared down at the necklace in his hands, contemplating and tracing the raw edges of the Stone. Heloise added, “Whenever you’re ready, Lord Eddard, whether it shall be today or tomorrow does not matter.”

Lord Eddard whispered his sister’s name, turning the Stone thrice, and the ringing finally stopped.

Heloise waited in tense anticipation. For a second, when nothing happened, she believed that she had thought too highly of herself, but then a misty apparition appeared, making Heloise nearly topple over in shock, for its appearance was uncanny to Heloise’s.

This was Lyanna—sixteen-year-old Lyanna whose apparition was sweaty and bloody, her nightgown sticking to her skin. It tugged at Heloise’s heartstrings, making her wonder how bad the pregnancy and birth were for Lyanna and her body.

“Ned!” Lyanna shrieked.

Heloise flinched away from the eerie manner Lyanna’s voice echoed off the stone walls of the solar. The tiny hairs on Heloise’s neck raised, and goosebumps erupted on her skin.

And seeing a man like Lord Eddard Stark weep so openly was daunting.

He wept as Lyanna’s ghostly fists punched him, doing no harm but giving the man shivers as she yelled a combination of words that Heloise struggled to process.

Heloise caught the mention of a name she hadn’t heard before—the context made her think it was Jon’s birth name—but remained silent as Lyanna calmed down and Lord Eddard finally started replying.

Lyanna suddenly turned around and stared. Heloise did the same, refusing to cower to someone—technically—younger than her.

“You,” Lyanna breathed out. “I cannot thank you enough, Heloise.”

“Me? Oh, you don’t have to—”

Lyanna’s grabbed Heloise’s cheeks, forcing her to look into Lyanna’s very dead eyes. Heloise was surprised that Lyanna was capable of grasping her like this. Lyanna’s hands weren’t as cold as Heloise expected. They were chilled like she had been holding a cup of ice water before grabbing her.

But then again, wasn’t she the Master of Death now? Heloise supposed such a thing would be possible.

“Thank you, Heloise, for saving my son. Not many people would’ve done what you did.”

“No, probably not,” Heloise remembered her own experiences and smiled at the dead girl. “I’ll always fight in favor of the well-being of people—no matter their status.”

Heloise considered the snippets from earlier and asked, “What is his actual name? ‘Jon’ seems far too simple for someone from Targaryen blood.”

Lyanna’s eyes glittered, and she grinned, looking so happy and young, and Heloise felt like cursing the world for letting Lyanna die.

Lyanna leaned closer to Heloise and whispered the name in her ear.

“Daeron. I named him Daeron.”

Chapter 7: family, duty, honor

Chapter Text

Her feet carried her aimlessly through the walls of Winterfell. Catelyn almost felt sickly, going about her duties absentmindedly, and her thoughts wouldn’t calm down. She thought of the girl, Heloise Potter.

Some of the older maids—who’d seen the previous set of Stark siblings grow up—had mentioned Lady Heloise’s striking resemblance to the late Lyanna Stark except for her eyes.

Her eyes were striking, reminding Catelyn of the Riverlands when the harvest was plentiful and well-watered, of the finest emeralds mined from the Westerlands.

But she was odd. Lady Heloise fumbled through courtesies and wore her heart on her sleeve. She laughed loudly and spent time with the boy, Jon, without caring about her reputation.

That. That worried Catelyn. Jon didn’t know the truth about his heritage. He was the son of Lyanna and Rhaegar. And Jon was legitimate, for Rhaegar had annulled his marriage with Elia Martell and eloped with Lyanna.

But Jon wasn’t his name. It wasn’t the name chosen by Lyanna as she took her last breath. Jon was Daeron, Daeron was Jon, and he had a claim over the Iron Throne.

They’d prefer him over the lost children of the Mad King roaming in the east. The thought chilled Catelyn to the bones. She could see it already—the houses that remained secretly loyal to the Targaryens joining their banners to crown Daeron, third of his name.

What a story it would become—a prince of fire and blood hidden away in the cold, brutal North, stripped of his name and titles, made a bastard by his uncle.

The children would undoubtedly want to support him, but did Jon—Daeron—want that? Would he desire to be crowned once he knew the entire truth?

He was her nephew, and she knew nothing about him. Catelyn spent so much time avoiding the boy—the stain upon her husband’s honor, the reason for her nightmares long into the night.

Catelyn walked to the Sept. She would think more clearly there, and Catelyn wanted to light a candle to the Mother for Lyanna and one to the Crone for guidance.

“Lady Catelyn.”

Lady Heloise’s voice brought Catelyn out of her thoughts. Turning her head, Catelyn saw the younger woman walking toward her.

“Lady Heloise. It is done then?”

“It is. It went as well as you’d expect.” Briefly, Lady Heloise’s lips pressed into a stressed line, and her eyes flickered over Catelyn’s face. “Were you busy, Lady Catelyn?”

“I was headed toward the Sept.”

Lady Heloise’s eyes lightened up, and she smiled hesitantly. “Would it be possible for me to join you, my lady? I’ve meant to see the Sept, but I’d rather see it with someone of the Faith.”

Catelyn found the request strange, just like the girl, but she assented. Lady Heloise’s smile widened, brightening her face, and the girl looped their arms together.

Lady Heloise wore a dress that had once been Sansa’s, looking like a bard’s song of a northern beauty—pretty like a winter rose. Catelyn could see it now, had the girl appeared in the south, the songs written about her. It would rival the songs written about Jenny of Oldstones.

Catelyn felt her mouth sour at the thought.

Soon enough, whispers of the girl’s presence in Winterfell and her magic would make their to White Harbor, down the King’s Road, and into the south. The men and women already spoke of the “Patronus” the girl summoned to prove her magic, the way it had lingered in Wintertown, and the way any dress fit like it had been tailored for her—another feat of magic, Catelyn was sure, that she did in the privacy of her chambers. They said that she was a gift for the Starks by the Old Gods, and Catelyn was hesitant to agree. If anything, it seemed like she was a gift for Daeron.

A witch with Valyrian blood, a dragon rider capable of communicating with her bonded dragon, a girl who’d survived a war, a girl who’d won and avenged her parents’ death. A girl who was the Master of Death.

How convenient for Daeron.

But the girl was already cutting a slot into their lives. She did not only spend time with the boy but also with her children—weaving stories for Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon, arguing with Robb and Theon like she’d been part of their lives the entire time. That gave Catelyn some peace. If war broke out, Lady Heloise would undoubtedly protect the children.

“Ned built the Sept for me after our marriage when I arrived at Winterfell,” Catelyn explained as they entered the building.

“It’s beautiful. I take it that’s not very common here in Westeros.” Lady Heloise’s eyes carefully swept around the Sept. “You know, it’s not uncommon where I’m from that parents come from different religious backgrounds, and they’ll raise the children with mixed traditions. Have you and Lord Eddard done something similar?”

“Only Sansa accompanies me to the Sept to worship. The others accompany their father to the godswood.”

“I believe that it is natural for children to want to question and explore authority. It’s part of a child’s development.” Lady Heloise grinned at her sheepishly when she noted Catelyn’s confused face. “At least, that’s what I’ve read in the child-rearing books.”

“There are books on child-rearing?”

“Yes, there are. When I became partially responsible for my godson, I realized I knew nothing about babies and ended up reading every book I could get my hands on… It also helped that his grandmother aided me—she had him most of the time.”

Catelyn watched as the girl approached the statue of The Stranger. How strange it was to see this slip of a girl seemingly chosen by the Old Gods, walking in the Sept, illuminated by the candlelight.

“He represents Death, I presume?” She asked, which Catelyn confirmed. “I find it comforting that your world and my world have similar ideas of what Death would look like… He’s just missing a scythe here.”

“Thank you for bringing me with you, Lady Catelyn, but I believe I do not belong here.” Lady Heloise smiled softly. She turned toward the statue of The Stranger and lit a candle with a flick of her wrist before curtsying and dismissing herself.

Catelyn stared at the candle’s flickering flame, a soft, anxious exhale tumbling out of her lips.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Catelyn felt lighter after spending time in the Sept seeking guidance.

It was hard to believe her new reality, but Catelyn wasn’t as bothered as she was before seeing Daeron eating alongside her children below. In her mind, House Tully’s words echoed: family, duty, honor.

Catelyn watched as Robb and Daeron laughed loudly at something Arya had said. Across the table, seated with Sansa and Arya, Lady Heloise hid a giggle behind her hand, careful not to jostle a sleepy Rickon in her lap.

Long ago, she prayed to the Seven to heal Daeron from the pox—which she caused through prayers—that had overtaken him as a babe. Catelyn promised to beg her husband to grant him a legitimized name, but she didn’t follow through out of fear—selfishness.

Perhaps that was why the boy survived the pox. Now, she knew the whole truth about the boy. She regretted it all deeply and wanted to repair the schisms caused by her behavior, even if that meant putting a crown on Daeron’s head if he so wished.

Chapter 8: house of the rising sun

Chapter Text

The Broken Tower was hers.

With magic, Heloise tightened the foundations and loose stones. She strengthened the floors, reconstructed the collapsed roof and rotten beams, and began to weave wards.

Protection, security, health, prosperity—Heloise poured all her positive emotions toward the Starks into the wards. She would eventually have all the wards encompass Winterfell, but the Broken Tower and Great Keep would be a start. It was better than nothing.

Heloise decorated her chosen floor with salvaged rugs, furs, and miscellaneous furniture from the tower. She dropped her pilfered trunk and mentally planned out a floor plan. Heloise needed space for research and starting a rudimentary potion lab.

It would be enough to brew Dittany, which she could do well from memory. The wilder of the Stark children tended to run around with skinned knees and palms with no clear explanation of what caused the wounds. (Such a feat would take her some time—Heloise would need to figure out if Dittany even existed in this strange, strange world.)

Her thoughts turned to Jon suddenly, and Heloise sighed heavily. While speaking to the Starks about the Broken Tower, Heloise brought up telling Jon the truth, and she wasn’t sure if Lord Eddard was receptive to her argument in favor of telling the truth. Lady Catelyn had been a silent observer, but Heloise was sure the older woman would make her opinion known to her husband.

The reality of Jon’s parentage was a ticking time bomb. Jon would eventually find out, as would the wrong people digging around about Lyanna’s time in the South, and Lord Eddard’s story would fall apart.

It worried Heloise because they’d most likely push unreasonable expectations onto Jon, much like the British wizarding society had done to her. The idea set Heloise’s teeth on edge and caused anger to ebb and flow through her veins. She didn’t have enough interactions with Jon to predict his reaction to the news, but sometimes, when they sat together with the rest of the Stark children, Heloise felt like she was staring at a version of herself. She felt as if Jon were her kindred spirit and wondered if it was something to do with them being related, despite it being a distant relation separated by generations—by worlds—by whatever magic brought her to Westeros.

Sometimes, Heloise wanted to kidnap Jon, wrap him in the coziest blankets, and run somewhere no one could discover them. And she probably would if she were more impulsive, brasher, and younger. There was a difference between nineteen-year-old and seventeen-year-old Heloise; the latter would have already taken Jon far, far away.

Heloise’s wards alerted her that someone was approaching the tower, and she calmly reigned in her magic and waited, pretending to fuss with some long-forgotten items in one of the trunks she found within the tower.

“Lady Catelyn,” Heloise greeted when the older woman arrived.

“You are settling here well.” Lady Catelyn’s eyes keenly roamed across the room. “You haven’t been in the tower for long and it already looks so different.”

“Magic.”

Lady Catelyn smiled at her hesitantly. “Of course.”

“I was planning to speak with Maester Luwin today,” Heloise began and told Lady Catelyn of her plans to make dittany if the plant was available within Westeros. “With your permission and your husband’s, I could sell it. And I’ll return a margin of the profits to House Stark. Of course, only if you are all amendable.”

“And this… dittany? You say it is simple to make?”

Heloise nodded. “Oh, very.”

“Would it also be simple to teach?”

At this question, Heloise hesitated with a blink. She could see where Lady Catelyn was headed with her line of questioning and remained quiet for a moment. “Why do you ask?”

“The Targaryens were said to be closer to the Gods than men because of their dragons… And there are legends about the Starks…”

“I’ve overheard some from Arya and Bran. Old Nan tells them such stories.” Heloise didn’t wait for a confirmation. She continued after a momentary pause. “It isn’t a sure thing. Magic is… Just because the Starks may have a magical lineage, it doesn’t assure that the children would be able to—and I’m not even sure whether or not magic here is the same as it is back home.”

Heloise stared at Lady Catelyn for a moment. It was hard to describe the older woman’s expression—she was displeased by the information, but understanding. And Heloise, damn her bleeding heart, sighed and nodded. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to at least try once.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Rickon reminded Heloise of Teddy as they were of a similar age and personality. Nonetheless, Heloise cherished being in Rickon’s (and the other younger Stark children’s) company, a constant balm to her homesickness.

“Sing.”

Heloise raised an eyebrow at Rickon’s demanding tone. “What word do we use when we want something, Rickon?”

Off to the side, Heloise noted that Septa Mordane was paying attention to her and Rickon, her voice wavering from scolding Arya. The two Stark girls also turned their heads to look at her.

“Please, Lou,” Rickon stressed out the vowels, and Heloise nodded, ruffling his already messy red hair.

“I’ll think of something,” she told him. When Septa Mordane didn’t stop staring, Heloise turned to her, “Yes, Septa?”

“Is that common where you’re from? Teaching noble-born children to say ‘please?’” Septa Mordane said it distastefully, her thin, wrinkled lips pinched unflatteringly.

Heloise restrained herself from shrugging—Andy taught her to do better—and replied nonchalantly, “There’s a phrase where I’m from. Respect is a two-way street. And I’ve made it a point to live by it. It’s easier to get things done through respect than by fear.”

She thought of Tom then. He had ruled through fear and relished in it. Yet, Tom was betrayed in the end by Narcissa, who’d been his most ardent supporter once upon a time.

Meanwhile, Septa Mordane briefly narrowed her eyes at Heloise before returning to the girls’ lessons. Heloise ignored it, biting her lip to stop grinning like a fool.

She picked up Rickon from the floor and settled him on her lap. “What song would you like?”

“Rising sun, rising sun!”

Heloise grinned. She tapped Rickon’s nose, beginning to sing quietly.

There is a house in New Orleans

They call the Rising Sun

And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy

And God, I know I’m one…

Chapter 9: the weight of truth

Chapter Text

Lady Catelyn and his father acted differently around him nowadays.

Lady Catelyn’s demeanor had turned from frosty indifference to a lukewarm acceptance, and his father went by leaps and bounds to avoid being left alone with Jon. The change in their behaviors coincided with the arrival of Lady Heloise Potter—a woman who could pass as another sibling of his were it not for her eyes and odd turn of phrases.

When she first arrived, Lady Heloise made an effort to speak with him as if he were any of the other true-born Stark children. But after their interaction, during which she expressed confusion over the word “bastard,” Lady Heloise became skittish and spent her time with Sansa and Arya, carrying around Rickon in her arms, seemingly taking over some aspects of their education. This overhauled the Septa’s influence over them.

Sometimes, Bran joined the merry group under pressure from Arya, but he also enjoyed Lady Heloise’s stories. He once returned to dinner, gushing about Lady Heloise’s stories of a game called “Quidditch.” That night, Robb, Theon, and Jon stared at the young boy in confusion as he tried to relay the rules.

After weapons training with Ser Rodrick—as Jon put everything away as Robb and Bran were late for their lessons with Maester Luwin—he thought of all this. And it was where Lady Catelyn found him, alone, and effectively cornered him in the room.

“Jon,” Lady Catelyn said instead of any greeting; he was still getting used to that—the casual way she’d begun using his name.

“Lady Catelyn,” he greeted, lowering his gaze.

She approached him, and her hand briefly clasped his shoulder; Jon tensed despite her gentle touch. “Join your father and me in his solar. We need to speak with you.”

Was this it, then? Had Lady Catelyn convinced his father to rid the stain upon their marriage? Were they sending him to the Wall? He thought as Lady Catelyn left, not waiting for his response, and Jon quickly finished his self-imposed task, retreating for his father’s solar shortly.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The weight of his bastardy had been lifted from his shoulders. But there was a new weight now. It was heavier and more daunting than “Jon Snow” ever was.

Lyanna Stark was his mother, and his father was Rhaegar Targaryen. Lyanna had named him “Daeron” and made his uncle— Ned Stark, his uncle, not his father —promise to protect him with her dying breaths.

Jon wished to know what made Lyanna, his mother, think it was a good idea to name him “Daeron” out of all the Targaryen names available. Jon knew the history of Westeros well enough—Daeron the Good had brought Dorne to the realm by his marriage with Myriah Martell—and he wasn’t stupid. With the context of his birth, his true name could be considered antagonistic in Dorne.

What was she thinking? Was it just a delirious decision caused by the fever of death? Jon thought and found himself tracking down Lady Heloise, the woman who caused all this.

She had recently taken up residence at what used to be the Broken Tower, although it certainly didn’t look broken anymore by any means with her magical influence.

When he did find her—lounging on an obscenely large and cushioned chair that was strangely formed—Jon stared. His tongue ceased its crucial function, and Lady Heloise returned his stare.

“For someone so quiet, you are quite expressive.” Lady Heloise said suddenly and dropped the book—an encyclopedia on the plants available within Westeros. “Particularly when you’re angry.”

“You knew. And you went to my fa—to Lord Stark before me.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

She sighed, shaking her head at his tone. “Would you have believed me? Alas, you’re young—one who shouldn’t have to hear such conversations if the adults in the room can help it—”

“I am six and ten! I am a man grown!”

Lady Heloise stared at him for a moment. She suddenly waved her hand, which held a peculiar stick, and Jon gaped in wonder and shock when the same chair as hers appeared near him.

This was his first time seeing a magical feat. He only heard the second-hand accounts from Arya. He had believed his sister; however, witnessing the act in person was… Jon had no words to describe it. Lady Heloise made it seem easy, like it was second nature to her, like breathing and blinking.

“Sit,” she commanded with a gentle tone, not unlike how she spoke with Arya when she was being difficult. “I understand how this must be very confusing and stressful.”

“How can you understand—?”

“I was lied to,” Lady Heloise interrupted. “By my aunt for eleven years. She lied about my parents. She lied about their deaths.”

She let the words hang in the air, and Jon fell silent. Lady Heloise continued with a halting tone. “My aunt—her name was Petunia—she raised me after my parents were killed. And she lied to me—called them drunks and good for nothing, claimed they were killed in a… carriage accident if you will.”

A dry chuckle escaped her lips. “Imagine my surprise when on my eleventh birthday, someone came to me and claimed I had magic, that my parents were Lord James and Lady Lily of House Potter, whose magical and noble lineage could be traced back hundreds of years in the past.”

Lady Heloise fell silent. Her eyes seemed far away, and her hand had tightened around the stick— the wand —her knuckles turning white with the tension.

“How were they killed?”

Lady Heloise’s eyes (green, way too green, and glittering in the afternoon sunlight) bored into his. “Jon, much like here, there was a war, and war never changes…”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“When only the guards are awake, and the family is asleep,” she’d told Jon after telling him of her life, “We’ll meet at the Hunter’s Gate. There’s something you ought to see.”

Jon listened to her and arrived at the Hunter’s Gate, having narrowly missed the patrolling guards. He stood, solitary, in the summer snow, wondering where Lady Heloise was and praying to the Old Gods no one would see them and think the worst.

“Boo!”

Jon jumped away from Lady Heloise, who had suddenly appeared behind him.

She giggled (Jon tried to ignore how his stomach and chest fluttered and his face warmed at the sound) and waved a mysterious-looking cloak in his eyesight.

“It’s the invisibility cloak—the one I inherited from my father. No one will see us as long as we’re under it.” Jon must’ve let his thoughts be known by his expression because Lady Heloise clicked her tongue. “Just trust me, please. I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t comfortable.”

“No one will see us?”

“No one,” she confirmed with a sure nod.

Jon slid under the protection of her family’s cloak, and they began to walk toward the wolfswood.

Again, Jon tried to ignore how close they were. But Lady Heloise retained some sort of pleasant warmth around her, and the smell of the oils and soaps she’d used in the morning lingered in his nose. A treacherous part of his mind wondered if she would notice if he shuffled closer to her.

“I think you’ll like her,” Lady Heloise said once they were in the relative privacy of the wolfswood and slid out of the cloak. “Nari, I mean. She’s my bonded familiar.”

Lady Heloise continued, explaining what a bonded familiar meant to her kind as they walked further into the wolfswood. She paused after they arrived at an unremarkable clearing and turned to him. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Lady Heloise darted forward and disappeared into thin air. Jon exhaled in surprise, although he was sure it was another of her magical feats, and he concluded there must be some magical line that hid her bonded familiar from view.

Lady Heloise returned shortly, popping back into existence with a grin. She stretched a hand out toward Jon. “Ready?”

Jon hesitated momentarily before grasping her hand and following her behind the magical threshold.

Chapter 10: night flight

Chapter Text

Heloise was born to fly.

She knew now that it was something inherited from her family. Her father was the chaser for Gryffindor’s Quidditch Team, and her dragon-riding great-grandmother claimed the Black Dread as her mount.

It made sense she ended up being the youngest seeker in Hogwarts’ long history and the only person in wizarding history to have a dragon (let alone a Hungarian Horntail!) as her bonded familiar.

Heloise ardently wished those were the only things she was known for. But, alas, the thought was for naught as the wind ruffled her hair, and she whooped in joy as Nari tore through the night sky.

Between remodeling the Broken Tower and entertaining the Stark children (and planning their magical education), Heloise fashioned a two-person harness with lots of magic and old, abandoned pieces of metal and leather she found. The design was similar to the harness she’d commissioned back home, but this new harness had a much more rustic quality and spaciousness.

And when she made it, she thought of Jon. They were family—as close as she could get here, considering their last common ancestor was two hundred years in the past for him. House Targaryen was mostly dead. She was also unsure whether Viserys and Daenerys would even be receptive to her, and she was sure the world wouldn’t be kind to children of their status in this world. And it wasn’t like she had the resources of House Potter and Black at her disposal to even think of hiring someone to track them down.

Jon had taken the seat behind her on the harness, forgoing his fear when he witnessed Heloise could quell any violent reactions via Parseltongue. He held onto the built-in handles for dear life until an astonished laugh and whoop finally left him when Nari took a sudden dive.

Heloise knew that Nari was putting on a performance for Jon, but she did not admonish her for it as Heloise was enjoying it just as much—or more—as Jon. Nari circled Winterfell and Wintertown, flying higher, further, and faster before aiming south.

“Don’t you love it?” Heloise yelled over the roar of the wind in their ears. “No one else but us in the air! I reckon no one has seen the North from the skies in hundreds of years.”

“Not since the Dance,” Jon confirmed.

The Dance? It was another question for Heloise to file away for later as Nari landed near a river. She recognized the phrase from her conversations with Maester Luwin, although he never expanded on it.

“We’re kin,” Heloise explained as she helped Jon down from the harness. My great-grandmother was a Targaryen, although I’m unsure how that happened.”

Unladylike, Heloise dropped down to the grass, ignoring the summer snow. Jon awkwardly followed, and Heloise promptly placed heating charms over them and transfigured an old button from her pocket into a jar, placing the Bluebell Flames inside.

Heloise turned her head and met Jon’s intense gaze. She wondered if they were reaching similar conclusions and didn’t bother using Legilimency on him.

At least Heloise was able to recognize what she felt.

It was the same feeling she had when discovering that Sirius was her godfather and kin (and innocent of the accused crime)—the same feeling when Teddy, who was also kin, was placed in her arms and declared her godson. It was the possessiveness orphaned children starved of familial affection like themselves were capable of.

Heloise shuffled closer until their shoulders met and grasped his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. She ignored the shades of pink and red that he turned, and she said with all the conviction in her heart, “Whatever you decide about the truth you now hold, I will support your decision. We are family—no matter how distant.”

“You are not sure of what you say,” Jon choked out.

“I am! It is your life, your decision. Whether you decide to be Jon or Daeron or even the reincarnation of Johnny f*ckin’ Appleseed, for all I care. I will be there as long as I can.”

Jon didn’t understand the reference, but he understood Heloise’s point, for he only frowned and didn’t question her. “And if I prove to be fickle?”

“Even if you’re fickle.”

Jon stared at her more. “You are very strange, Lady Heloise.”

“For you, it’s ‘Heloise’ or ‘Lou.’ I won’t accept the title when we’re alone. And I’m aware. Many people have said it.” Heloise turned to Nari, watching as she drank water from the river. “Isn’t she magnificent? The things she’s capable of…”

Beside her, Jon remained silent for a moment. “She is… Her tail—the spikes—she can use those to defend herself? Go on the offensive?”

Heloise nodded in confirmation, and Jon’s eyes soaked in Nari’s imposing figure in wonder.

“Dragons have not been seen in your world for hundreds of years, and they’re believed to be extinct, according to Maester Luwin. You mentioned the Dance, however, and I find myself curious.”

“I am no historian…” Heloise peeked at him over her shoulder as Jon pondered something, and she waited. Finally, Jon tacked on her nickname to his rebuttal— “Lou.”

Heloise smiled brightly at his use of her nickname. She liked that Jon felt comfortable using it. “I know, but tell me your best rendition.”

Jon told her of the Dance of the Dragons, a civil war that had taken place over a century ago during the rule of House Targaryen. It was a war of succession between Aegon II and his half-sister Rhaenyra over their father’s, Viserys I, throne. Both rival monarchs died, and Rhaenyra’s son, Aegon III, was crowned. Their war had also brought forth the eventual extinction of dragons and magic.

Heloise listened to Jon with rapt attention. She allowed the story to sink into her memory and was half-tempted to question those involved with the Stone herself. However, Heloise probably wouldn’t because she was weary of what it meant—to be the Master of Death. Once complex magic to her was as easy breathing, Heloise didn’t have to use an incantation or the wand.

It was daunting. How easily Heloise felt the power brewing beneath her skin—a constant buzz desperate to escape. She only wished to do good with it now.

“How do you feel now, then? You’ve ridden a dragon—a feat many of your ancestors surely envy,” said Heloise in a jesting tone, but she was well aware of the weight of her words. She observed Jon and the furrow in his brows. She dared to venture. “You know, he’s the only father you’ve ever known.”

“I am no Stark.”

“Your mother was Lyanna Stark—you’re a Stark, with the same amount of blood as Lord Stark’s children. Would you say they’re not Starks because of their Tully blood?”

Heloise watched Jon’s eyes fill with begrudging acceptance as he replied. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Then, you are a Stark.” Heloise waited momentarily and continued, “Your anger is justified, but do not let it rule your life. Anger will rot you from the inside out.”

Jon listened to her but did not say anything else, nor did Heloise push the subject further. They spent the next hour idle, and Heloise answered Jon’s questions about Nari’s care before they buckled up again and returned to Winterfell on top of Nari.

The she-dragon flew smoothly this time, seemingly having decided to cease the dramatics. Heloise enjoyed the calmer ride just as much as she and Jon enjoyed their first ride together.

Nari returned to the clearing in the wolfswood, and Heloise and Jon trekked back to Winterfell underneath the invisibility cloak. She led him back to his room, where he slid away from her and the cloak.

“This is where we separate now, Jon,” she said with a light tone. However, they remained standing at arm’s reach outside Jon’s room. Heloise added softly and thoughtfully, “You don’t owe anyone anything. Not as Jon and surely not as Daeron. Good night, and rest well.”

Heloise caught how Jon thickly swallowed as she turned on her heel and left him.

Chapter 11: magic and commerce

Chapter Text

Planning lessons and experimenting with Maester Luwin was reminiscent of the restless house Heloise and Hermione spent debating and studying. It was a vague remembrance but enough to tug at her heartstrings. Heloise found herself fond of the older man and his billowing grey robes.

Which said billowing gray robes were currently a(n) (un)flattering shade of hot Barbie pink. At least, Maester Luwin was a good sport about it, heartily laughing when he noticed it. The younger Starks’ excited eyes followed the movement of her hand flicking the Elder Wand, and the robes were once again gray. Lord and Lady Stark were also in attendance and amused at the children’s reactions.

“And that,” she crooned sarcastically, “is one of the basic charms we’re taught in school. But today, we shall focus on potion making!”

As it turned out, the glasshouses of Winterfell had plenty of dittany—the cooks had used it to make the household’s tea that supplemented them during the morning meal and supper. Mindful of this, Heloise only took enough for her demonstration and then the Starks’ hands-on lesson. However, Lady Catelyn had already ordered the gardeners to plant more to account for Heloise’s sales plan.

Heloise’s voice dipped into the tone she’d used during DA meetings. This was her element; Hermione had always said so. Maybe if she had more time back home, she could’ve become a professor at Hogwarts.

“Essence of Dittant is quite simple, and it’s the easiest potion to teach and make, as it only needs two ingredients: dried dittany leaves and salt water. We’ll crush it all together with fifteen drops of salt water.”

She showed the best way to mix the ingredients with the mortar and pestle and allowed the Starks to do the same. After they were finished, Heloise observed the texture of the Essence of the Dittany of each Stark.

“I’ll need to test the efficacy, of course,” she muttered mostly to herself.

Heloise tugged the sleeve up her forearm. Without warning, she flicked her wand, and a shallow cut appeared. Heloise ignored the gasps around her and applied the Starks’ dittany to different sections, including hers.

They were all the same textbook consistency as she felt it between her thumb and middle finger before applying it. Almost instantly, greenish smoke puffed upward from all the sections. New skin had grown over the wound, and the nature of it had made it so there wasn’t even a scar.

“Well,” Heloise blew an amazed whistle and smiled widely, showing her healed and unmarked arm. “Congratulations, all your children can make a dittany identical to mine!”

Jon approached her, eyebrows furrowed as he observed her arm, and his voice was tinged with worry. “It didn’t leave a scar.”

“It was a minor cut. It wasn’t deep enough to scar,” Heloise explained. Their eyes briefly met before she continued the lecture. “Dittany is best on open shallow wounds—and as you can see, it heals immediately and regenerates the skin. Anything deeper, you would have to account for blood loss and vein repair. Back home, some people would use various balms and oils to alleviate or heal the appearance of scars.”

Off to the side, Sansa nodded, looking like a budding young scholar, and Heloise grinned at her.

“So, Arya and Bran, there will be no more running around with skinned knees and palms,” Heloise said with a wave of her wand. The dittany was packed away—floating into the droppers on the other table—and she was bombarded with questions about what else they could brew before Lady Catelyn ushered the younger children to their other lessons.

Lord Eddard left shortly thereafter with a curt farewell, and Jon lingered as Heloise cleaned up the area with Maester Luwin.

“Was it necessary to cut yourself?” Jon questioned.

“A practical demonstration.” Heloise smiled at him reassuredly. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t know I could heal it.”

Jon stared for a moment. His mouth opened briefly, but he must have thought better of it and closed it. “Aye, I believe you… I shall see you later then.”

Heloise could not find it within herself to believe him, but she didn’t comment on it. She opted for nodding idly, “See you later, Jon.”

Jon left, and Heloise continued to clean up, ignoring the slightly pointed look Maester Luwin gave her.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Heloise developed criteria to narrow down the next potion they would attempt. The potion had to have a positive outcome, be easily used by the non-magical population, and be marketed to them. It also had to be something she could incorporate into the lessons for the Starks. Lady Catelyn approved her criteria, and Heloise and Luwin worked in a frenzy, cross-referencing her notes and Luwin’s experience as a maester.

They decided that the pepper-up potion would be the next attempt. Heloise determined that Dittany and the pepper-up potion would bring her the gold she didn’t have—and the Starks’ investment in her would return a hearty profit.

With Lord and Lady Stark's approval, they ordered the necessary supplies, comparing merchants and their bulk rates when the time was right. Sansa offered to help with the calculations, as Heloise wasn’t familiar with Westerosi currency. Arya eagerly began bossing her brothers around as they started a mass manufacturing process of dittany. Most of it was done through Heloise’s magic—preparing the ingredients, packing the product, and making shatterproof and preserved glass droppers so the product would not spoil while traveling long roads and ship routes.

Two days after the initial demonstration and hands-on lesson, Heloise tracked down the only person she knew who could grant her the most crucial customer base and marketing tactic anyone would want. Money and sex.

She watched Theon walk alone toward the East Gate, planning her pitch. While they had spent time in each other’s proximity, Heloise didn’t know him substantially. She only knew what was publicly well-known of him—of his family—the circ*mstances around his “wardship” with the Starks. And, well, his habit of visiting the working girls, and Heloise wanted his connections.

“Lord Greyjoy,” she announced her presence, watching him jump as he hadn’t realized her approach—primarily due to her handiwork with charms. She spoke in an airy, conversational tone and discreetly cast a disillusionment charm on them—lest anyone see them together and gossip. “Headed into Wintertown?”

He looked panicked for a second. Eyes wide, Theon replied, “I am not—”

She smiled indulgently—like one would smile at their little brother with their hand stuck in the biscuit jar. “You and I are not stupid, Lord Greyjoy. You’re headed off to Wintertown to enjoy the company of the working girls.”

“Working girls—?” His question died in his throat when all Heloise did was raise an eyebrow.

“You know very well what I mean.”

“That is not an appropriate topic for a lady.”

“You and I have argued enough during our meals about the role of women in society. Talking about working girls will not offend me.” Heloise motioned to the bag slung over her shoulder. “I’m sure Robb has mentioned what we’re up to.”

Theon nodded carefully.

“Take me to the popular girl—Ros, is it? You men talk a lot about her. I have a sales pitch that I believe she and the other girls ought to listen to.”

“A sales pitch—” He repeated under his breath.

Heloise ignored the mumble. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

Theon blinked down at her before suddenly taking off and heading toward Wintertown. Heloise followed him out the gate and swore she heard him mumble that Lord Eddard would kill him if he found out.

Heloise thought with a snicker that Lady Catelyn would win over her husband in that instance.

Wintertown’s streets were muddy and lined with small, neat houses built of logs and undressed stones. Since it was still summer, the town was empty compared to the winter, when its population could have as many as fifteen thousand people. They walked past the market square, which had wooden stalls for produce and goods, as well as the local inn and alehouse, and arrived at an inconspicuous building.

Heloise felt underwhelmed as she observed the building. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting—it wasn’t like she was frequenting these establishments back home. Perhaps she had wanted to witness something grand. But it seemed like much of everything in the North, including the “whor*house,” was understated.

“Here you are,” Theon said with a dramatic flair. “Enter if you dare.”

She looked at him with a straight face and rolled her eyes. “Oh, I dare.”

Heloise canceled the disillusionment charm and entered the building. The activity inside abruptly ceased as every working girl turned around to see who’d entered. Hovering at the doorway, Heloise smiled at them. “Good morn! I am looking for Ros—I wish to speak with her.”

Silence lapsed across the room until Theon finally made his presence known, and some of the girls’ eyes lit up in recognition. He said, “She’s the witch. She comes with good intentions.”

Heloise’s lips twitched, torn between smiling or scowling. Just how uncouth could he be? Honestly, if I could jinx him without anyone noticing right now—!

“I’m Ros,” a voice spoke up, and Heloise’s eyes snapped toward it.

Ros’ renowned beauty rang true. Young and pretty, she was redheaded, and her skin was pale and unmarked; Heloise observed and approached the table the redhead occupied.

“You’re that witch all the guards speak of,” Ros said instead of a greeting, flicking a stray red curl away from her face.

“Just like Theon said,” Heloise exhaled in amusem*nt. “Not the most exciting pillow talk, I imagine. Men ought to do better.”

Ros grinned at that, her eyes pleasantly surprised, and Heloise plopped in the chair beside her as Ros asked, “What can I do for you, Lady Potter?”

Ros’ voice had taken on a flirtatious tone; Heloise chuckled and replied, “I’m not here for your services, Ros. Theon, perhaps, after I leave.”

Heloise ignored how Theon sputtered nearby. Sensing a lull in the conversation, Heloise reached into her bag and pulled out her offering. “This is what I bring to you today. It’s Essence of Dittany and will heal minor, open shallow wounds.”

Ros’ open amusem*nt wanned, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I’m not buying what you’re selling—nobleborn witch or not.”

“I'm not selling it.” Heloise pushed the dropper across the table. “It’s a gift—for you and everyone here. And if you all are agreeable to it, send word through Theon for more.”

Before Ros could say anything else, Heloise bid her goodbye and rushed out of the building, leaving Theon to enjoy the working girls’ company.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Lady Catelyn had the makings of a tycoon—a budding capitalist. If it weren’t for the context of Westerosi society and the role of women, of course.

Carnegie, Morgan, Rockefeller, Vanderbilt— Andy made her memorize the names of those associated with House Potter once upon a time. Anne, Heloise’s great-great-grandmother, came from the American wizarding Fleamont family. The Fleamonts had always been wealthy, but their investments in the muggle railroads caused their bank accounts to skyrocket. House Potter struggled from poor financial decisions then, and Anne’s marriage to the heir, Harlan, saved them. Anne and Harlan had rubbed elbows with the wealthiest families of the Gilded Age; their newly accumulated wealth allowed Aerea, Henry, and their sons to focus on their passion-driven careers.

Heloise wasn’t fond of the capitalism of her home or Westeros’ feudalist society. She had spent her formative years with Hermione Granger and had seen the stark differences between the Weasleys and the British wizarding nobility—which she was part of, but what difference did it make when she spent so many years under the ilk of the Dursleys? Despite it all, it didn’t stop Heloise from watching in wonder as Lady Catelyn effortlessly negotiated with the traveling merchant who’d come northward from White Harbor—the North’s only city and primary trade port as House Manderly’s seat. Lady Catelyn possessed a silver tongue—witty, charming, and intelligent—and Heloise could see her influence upon Sansa, who loved her mother dearly and mimicked her ladylike behavior.

The merchant’s name was Willem Sand, and Lady Catelyn muttered about him being a “Stony Dornish” and a bastard son of House Fowler. Lady Catelyn’s tone wasn’t favorable, but it didn’t stop Heloise from thinking the merchant was attractive, as she wasn’t mentally bound by Westeros’ standards. Willem was seemingly taller than her by a marginal amount and older, his hair beginning to gray along his temples despite his youthful face; Heloise believed he wasn’t any older than his mid-thirties. (Not that Heloise would ever entertain any romantic scenario with Willem Sand, but it wouldn’t harm her or anyone else to appreciate him from afar.)

Heloise listened as Lady Catelyn invited Willem to stay for the night’s feast, and she watched as his warm brown eyes flickered at her and asked, “And will the lovely Lady Heloise be there as well?”

Lady Catelyn glanced at her, granting Heloise permission to answer.

Heloise stumbled momentarily but decided that confirming her presence at the feast wouldn’t hurt. “I will be.”

Willem smiled, showcasing a pair of charming dimples, and bowed to them. “Then I shall attend.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sara and Gwynna helped prepare Heloise for the feast. They laced her tightly into the dress with practiced finesse and plaited her hair into a formal style, and Heloise allowed herself to be practically manhandled throughout.

The dress wasn’t the finest in her wardrobe now, but she was saving the best for Robb’s nameday, which she had made with Sansa’s input. Sara and Gwynna had already seen it and gushed over the design after Heloise had explained her decision-making.

Tonight’s dress was a combination of hand-me-downs from Lady Catelyn and Sansa, making it seem like an entirely new dress. It was a pretty shade of green that matched the lush forest of the wolfswood and golden embroidery that Sansa designed.

“Beautiful, my lady,” Gwynna declared, brushing Heloise’s hair with a boar bristled brush.

“Aye,” Sara nodded in agreement. “Your dress designs are unique, and it fits you well. How do you come about it all?”

Heloise flushed and looked down. “Just mixing various styles from back home—and here too, of course.”

Heloise doubted they would understand if she started rambling about the fashion styles of the Regency, Victorian, and Edwardian eras. She even sometimes stumbled around the historical dates despite being a British woman. Really, most of her style inspirations were pulled straight out of all the portraits and photographs of her now-deceased family members. (Henrietta Potter was a style icon—the cuts, the silhouettes, the jewelry, the hair—!)

Sara and Gwynna finished getting her ready, and Heloise left for the feast.

Lady Catelyn planned to entertain various visiting merchants, so the feast was much grander than usual. There was to be music and dancing, and Lady Catelyn had splurged on some dishes—even asking for Heloise’s opinion. Heloise had put forth a beet salad with goat cheese recipe she remembered from one of the Dursley dieting stints that didn’t last long, but Heloise had fallen in love with it. It paired well with roasted chicken, and she was excited to see how close the kitchen staff could get with Westerosi ingredients.

Heloise quickly settled herself alongside Sansa and Arya as the unofficial-official ward of House Stark for the feast. She usually sat with them anyway, but tonight was different—strangers’ eyes peered up at her with curiosity. She briefly caught a glance of Willem Sand’s warm brown eyes, and she continued to scan the crowd—

Oh, there he is!

Jon was just walking in, sliding off to the side. She watched him momentarily, wondering if he would come to his usual spot, but her attention was quickly snatched away by Sansa, who wanted to speak about one of the merchant’s wife’s foreign cut of dress.

They spoke—really, Sansa did the talking, and Heloise hummed and agreed at the right moments—as the courses began their way out. Steadily, the courses were eaten, and the younger Stark children seemed to dominate Heloise’s attention until the music and dancing truly started.

The ever-so gentlemanly older brother, Robb, took Sansa down for a dance, and Arya was busy speaking with Bran. Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard seemed engrossed in a conversation with each other. Heloise didn’t want to interrupt, leaving her silent as she watched the dancefloor flood with prettily dressed pairs of people.

While Heloise quickly caught on to Westerosi etiquette due to her closeness with the Starks, she hadn’t formally been taught any dances here, nor was she proficient in formal dancing back home. McGonagall tried teaching her for the Yule Ball, and Andy had incorporated some lessons when teaching her (British) etiquette, but Heloise was seemingly incapable of learning.

Heloise watched wistfully as the crowd danced—the steps were antiquated, but what wasn’t from her point of view? Maybe she could learn these steps rather than the foxtrot that Andy had given up on teaching her…

“You do not dance, Lady Heloise?”

Heloise blinked owlishly at realizing Willem Sand had approached her, and she laughed nervously. “No, not really.”

“A beautiful young lady such as yourself ought to. Perhaps with myself?”

“You flatter me, Mr. Sand—” she caught herself slipping into British etiquette but continued on. “But I am afraid that I possess two left feet. Many have tried teaching me, but I am resoundingly stubborn in that department, and I do not wish to embarrass the Starks or yourself with my ignorance.”

“As you wish, Lady Heloise.” Willem laughed and bowed, dismissing himself.

Heloise inadvertently glanced toward Lady Catelyn, and they made eye contact. Lady Catelyn spoke with an amused, mischievous glint in her eyes. “Mr. Sand seems interested in you, Lady Heloise. It’s a shame you do not find yourself comfortable dancing—we’ll have to rectify that…”

Heloise flushed and resoundingly looked away from Lady Catelyn—although she did catch that Lady Catelyn had picked up on calling Willem Sand by “Mr. Sand.” She joked, “Perhaps the third time’s a charm, Lady Catelyn.”