Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. The Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R R Martin. I am just borrowing their worlds, characters and some of their dialogue, mixing them together and having a bit of fun.
Author's Note – This is madness, utter madness. I don't really know why I'm even attempting to Crossover these book series. I'm not even going to pretend like this is ever going to be decent writing. It's just a bit of fun. At first, I wondered why barely anyone had done any crossovers with GoT and HP but as I started to have a go at this, I realised that it's because A Song of Ice and Fire is just so bloomin' complicated!
Anyway, this is just me putting feelers out to see if anyone's interested.
"Look!" Hermione whispered. "Who's that? Someone's coming back out of the castle!"
Harry stared through the darkness. The man was hurrying across the grounds, towards one of the entrances. Something shiny glinted in his belt.
"Macnair!" said Harry. "The executioner! He's gone to get the Dementors! This is it, Hermione –"
Hermione put her hands on Buckbeak's back and Harry gave her a leg up. Then he placed his foot on one of the lower branches of the bush and climbed up in front of her. He pulled Buckbeak's rope back over his neck and tied it to the other side of his collar like reins.
"Ready?" he whispered to Hermione. "You'd better hold on to me – " He nudged Buckbeak's sides with his heels.
Buckbeak soared straight into the dark air. Harry gripped his flanks with his knees, feeling the great wings rising powerfully beneath them. Hermione was holding Harry very tightly around the waist; he could hear her muttering, 'Oh, no – I don't like this – oh, I really don't like this -"
Harry urged Buckbeak forwards. They were gliding quietly towards the upper floors of the castle. Harry pulled hard on the left-hand side of the rope to make Buckbeak turn but as he did he heard Hermione sneeze. Her grip on him loosened, then was gone completely. Hermione's scream echoed in his ears and without thinking, Harry launched himself after her. He managed to grab a fistful of her robe as his foot caught in Buckbeak's reins. The Hippogriff shrieked at the discomfort of having Harry and Hermione's full weight pulling him down around his neck.
Harry clutched the hem of Hermione's robe tightly. In the gloom he could just make out that his grip on her clothes had turned her the right way up again, the sleeves of her robe cutting under her armpits. The silky material was started to slip from his fingers, not helped by the erratic movements Buckbeak was making to try and keep them all aloft. He couldn't see the ground but he knew it was there, a few hundred feet below.
"Hermione, give me your hand," he called, trying to sound like everything was under control.
"I…I can't." She choked out in reply. "If I lift my arms up the robe will slip off me before you can get my hand."
Harry cursed, knowing that was true. He tried to take a firmer grip on her robes but his palms were already slick with sweat and his muscles were burning ferociously. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on.
Buckbeak shrieked again and they bashed in to the side of castle. The Hippogriff's flying was becoming increasingly unstable. Hermione seemed to have realised the same thing.
"Let me go, Harry," She sobbed, "If we stay like this much longer, we'll both die."
"No!" he yelled. How could she even think that was a possibility? "We're going to be all right. You've just got to get your arms out of the robe so you can hold on to it by wrapping it around your hand." He couldn't save her with what little strength he had. They needed magic. It was the only way. "With your hand free hand, get out your wand and save us!"
Thankfully, she didn't argue or hesitate, but reacted quickly to his instructions. The material of her robe twisted and pulled underneath his fingertips as she carefully freed her arms. "That's it, Hermione. You've nearly done it," he managed to say between his clenched teeth. Her movements made them both sway wildly but a sudden yank on the fabric let him know that she was now holding on with her own hand. He let loose a ragged breath. All Hermione had to do now was levitate them or make herself weightless – something she could probably do in her sleep. They were going to be okay.
And then Buckbeak plunged.
The sudden movement released his foot from the hippogriff's reins and he and Hermione were free falling. Harry managed to find her hand too late as the world whipped past them. They screamed in unison, the Hogwarts grounds rushing up to meet them. Something gold glinted in front of his eyes and his Quidditch instincts made him grab it tightly. It was only the pain slicing into his palm that made him remember the tiny time travel device Hermione had on her chain. But already, what little he could see was dissolving into complete darkness.
They were still falling but it didn't feel like they were falling down. They were falling backwards, turning over and over. Harry felt like he was being pulled apart then squeezed together again. It didn't feel like the last time he had travelled through time. This was wrong. As inexperienced as he was in time travel, he still knew this was very wrong.
He could see nothing, not even Hermione, but he knew she was with him because he could hear her screams and her fingernails were digging into his other hand.
It felt like they'd been falling for hours but, perhaps it had been only minutes? Seconds, maybe? Hermione's scream still stretched on. Surely she needed to stop and breathe at some point, Harry thought.
He tried to move some part of his body but it was as though he no longer had any control over it. Hermione's scream was starting to fade. No, don't leave me. He attempted to grip her hand harder but whether his fingers obeyed or not, he couldn't tell. Her scream was gone, even the pain in his hands was dissipating. Everything was fading into the darkness. Harry fought against it, he didn't know what would happen if he were to lose himself in it, but it was like trying to keep water from seeping through your fingers. His thoughts gradually trickled away until he succumbed completely to the darkness.
Lord Eddard Stark sat on his favoured mossy stone next to the heart tree. The breeze sighed through the branches of the weirwood, the red leaves fluttering like butterflies and Ned was reassured, as always, that the gods were with him. Whether they would answer his prayers or not, that was up to them, but he knew they had heard and that was what mattered.
He got to his feet, just about to turn away from the weirwood and its pool, when the sound of snapping branches overhead made him look up. As he watched, two figures plummeted out of the sky, landing in the rippling pool with such force that his legs were soaked with water.
Ned frowned. He certainly hadn't asked the gods for that to happen.
A/N Thank you for reading. Can we ignore the lameness of the 'broken time-turner' plot device, please? Cheers.
Lil Drop of Magic