I own neither Harry Potter or Frozen - just borrowing and mixing together.
Elsa, Queen of Arendelle, sighed. Despite the Great Thaw (or perhaps, in part, because of it), she had become even more popular a monarch than she thought was possible.
Kai was one of the few people who had been part of her life since she was 8 years old; when that terrible accident had happened.
"I have – news. You might recall being formally introduced to Bjarne, who was in charge of the castle security?"
The two weeks since her coronation day had seen countless people introduced to the new Queen, but Elsa had diligently attempted to note faces and names.
"Yes, of course. What is the matter – I know the broken wall was an issue, but I'm certain the ice will hold it up until a builder can be fixed."
Elsa's escape from her own dungeon had left a gaping hole in the castle, but she had conjured a temporary wall to hold it in place whilst replacing it was in progress.
"No, Your Majesty – though, your generous help is greatly appreciated. Bjarne, however, is ill. He has served since the time your father was a child, and is old. The healers worry that he will not last many more weeks, and refuse to allow him to continue his duties."
Elsa stopped still for a moment, horrified that she might have –
"They said he has been ill for a month now, but it has finally become to much to ignore. "
Elsa relaxed fractionally, relieve that it might not have been completely her fault.
"Your Majesty, no one blames you. No one."
"Kai, you have clearly known me too long if you can see through me so easily. Are you absolutely sure...?"
"Positive, ma'am. Bjarne's failing health has nothing to do with you. His duties need attending to, though."
"Is there any amongst the guards that know enough to do so?"
"No, Your Majesty – but, Bjarne does have a son, who helped him for the last couple weeks. He is currently visiting a nearby town, but I'm assured he should be back today or tomorrow."
"Very well. Please, tell me what you know about him – his name, first."
"He goes by Harry, ma'am."
Life was an odd thing, Harry reflected to himself.
Harry was give or take, 30 years old. He looked younger, but that was because he had a bit of a secret. Harry was a wizard. Not just any wizard, either. He was Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, The Man-Who-Won.
And here he was, trudging through the back alley in some village, in who knows what year, or even world. Harry Potter was a dimensional traveller. Admittedly, it wasn't by personal choice, but that was his lot in life – well, it was now.
How did this happen?