Harry potter and the Game of Thrones

Disclaimer – I in no way own harry potter or its characters etc… they belong to J.k Rowling. I also do not own Game of thrones or its characters etc… they belong to G.R. Martin I am using the characters within for my own purposes and make no money from doing so.

This is the only time a disclaimer shall be shown in this fan-fiction

Summary- A boy becomes engrossed in stories of kings and battles, magic and power. What would happen if he wished so much something snapped and he was where he wished in the middle of the wonder he read about… will it be so wondrous after all.


The wind cried out through the town, a howling that no door could hold back. The same could be said within number four private drive, set away from the road by a lush green garden and large driveway.

The boy sat huddled in his room, little more than a cloak closet beneath the stairs. It was here his relatives had kept him since he was left on their doorstep. Darkness kept to the edges as light shined through the metal grate, left open by his aunt in the morning when she came to wake him.

He could hear his cousins whine, even over the television that blared in the living room. "mummy make the noise stop I can't hear the tv."

He knew it was coming but still flinched at his aunts dulcet tone "boy you keep that racket down so my diddy dudums can hear his show" hammering on the door as if to make a point she walked off towards the kitchen, readying the meal for her husband's meeting this evening .

"It isn't me aunt Petunia, honest it isn't. It's the wind howling like the wolves that does it" he regretted saying it but he didn't think about the consequences when he answered his aunt. He knew he'd be beaten this night when his uncle heard of him talking back. If only he hadn't talked back he would have eaten tonight, it was the end of his punishment at great last and he'd ruined it.

"boy what have I told you about talking back to me! Youll have it when your uncle gets home I swear it." She continued with finishing the food preparations, so she could start on decorating the cake she had made special for tonight.

The boy held his aching stomach as it grumbled in protest of not eating for days. He thought over the book he started reading when hiding from his cousin in the library at school; Lord of the rings was his new solace when his cousin was Harry hunting with his gang. The boy allowed himself to drift into memories of the words letting them bring forth the images the words instilled. The sounds of hooves along a gravelled path, the ripple of water against the little people's raft, their rapid strokes pushing them further along the river. He could see the Hobbits in his mind's eye as if only reaching out he'd touch their hairy feet, their panicked breaths as Black horses brayed and the howling of the ring-wraiths' along the the shore from whence they came as their attempted capture became futile with the moving water.

He became so engrossed in his thoughts he didn't hear his uncle return home from work, the short conversation between his aunt and uncle nor the furious spluttering of his uncle. He did however hear his uncles bark "boy get out here now"

Stumbling out of the confines of his only sanctuary within number 4 private drive he came upon his uncles knee as it whipped up to break upon his nose. Blood flowed freely as he watched through blurry tear filled eyes, his uncle pulling his belt from his wants as he ranted. "you ungrateful little shite after all we've done for you, your aunt and I. you dare speak back to her when your freakishness was causing noises that made it impossible for Dudley to hear his programmes. You little whelp of a whore I told you, I did. I told you never to speak back to your betters and do as your told well let this be a lesson to you freak. You aren't getting anything to eat tonight or tomorrow and depending on how you do your chores, the night after either. His uncles continuous lashings soon put him into unconsciousness and with a vicious kick to his stomach he was flung into the cupboard once more.

Harry awoke lying in a pool of his blood, the cuts that left it seemingly closed over and disappeared over night. This didn't shock the boy though it had happened many times after his uncle became overzealous in his punishment. He knew this day would bring as the last few had, an empty stomach, more chores and physically holding himself back from making any comments that would displease his family.

His thoughts again left him to be consumed by Lord of the Rings. He had noticed this increasingly, whenever his thoughts brought him upon subjects he disliked to think about they would wonder to his new favourite pass time reading, imagining himself in the shoes of the Hobbits or wielding Gandalfs staff fighting orcs and goblins alike, casting magical spells, shooting impossible targets with bow, he wished he could be like the heroes he read about, like Aragorn. No one would push him around if he was like Aragorn, he wanted to be the ranger people hazard to call Stranger. If only dreams came true alas he was but a boy, a freak, a waste of space as his family would lead him to believe and those that dwell on dreams forget to live.

He could hear the 'thud' of his aunts steps as she crept downstairs ensuring her big, strong men upstairs wouldn't wake only to shout when she reach the bottom "BOY up, get up, NOW!" her footsteps hidden by the lush carpet drew her to the kitchen to start on brewing a cup of tea waiting in her accustomed chair so she could keep an eye on the boy and ensure he didn't burn the bacon.

Harry was soon finished with breakfast his aunt calling Vernon and Dudley down to eat while she sent him off to get ready for school. Showering, brushing his teeth, and dressing he was soon ready for the long walk to school. Setting off way before Dudley, he would get dropped off at school, he walked his thoughts again wandering to his book and the possibilities the next chapter held for his eager eyes.

Arriving at school he found himself with a little time to himself before the bell rung to go to class. Flying through the halls he soon found himself amongst the books of the library. Passing shelves with unwanted books, he traced his steps towards the fiction area of the library goingto his hiding place allowing the false panel to fall before reaching in and claiming his prize.

The words flashed before his eyes, images brought forth with them. The fellowships flight across kazud dum, Gandalfs last stand against the Balrog. He imagined himself there, helping, fighting and stopping the great evil that befell Gandalf.

The bell rang shredding his thoughts and making him hurry to class. Sitting through the day was torture, his mind wandering back to his stories even when Dudley tried to get him in trouble he sat and daydreamed till the lunch bell rang out announcing an end to the lesson and a break for food and play.

Eating his meagre meal thankful he was able to eat at school if only so the Dursleys didn't look suspicions feeding one child and not the other. He was soon buffered outside by the mass of students searching for the fresh air and the sun outside. He found himself besiege by his cousin and his gang in no time and started his running stretch for his sanctuary within the library.

The days grew dim closer to December when the school concerned about his lack of attention in class had him take an eye test to find he needed glasses. The Dursleys were called and told to buy the child some glasses so he could go back to concentrating in class instead of day dreaming.

After paying for the glasses and taking the boy home Vernon soon had his belt in hand beating away at the boy for making him spend his hard earned money. The boy was once more left bleeding in his cupboard thoughts raging over his mistreatment his thoughts drifting to his stories of kingdoms and battles, of magic and medieval like settings wishing he was there within the words but then his thoughts drifted to his one and only friend, if he was there he would never see his friend Robb again he wouldn't talk to the boy who also found comfort within the books he so dearly loved.

A wind grew within the small confines of his cupboard, the sky outside dark in night churned purple and blue and green and started swirling. A thunderclap followed by a drum woke the boy up to find himself still bloody yet healed in an unfamiliar field, the sky above him and a clattering of metal around him, a continuous drum of swords against shields and the whiny of horses with riders on their backs stabbing down at armoured footmen.

Banners blew in the wind, proud men bearing them allowing the sigils they held to be seen throughout the field. A battle was clamouring around him and yet no one paid him any mind. Like any ten year old he panicked looking for some source of solace. Finding it with a nearby wood he sped forward weaving beneath swiping swords, jumping beneath mounted steeds getting closer to the woods with every step.

A man stepped into his path stopping him in his tracks, a wicked grin plastered on his face, thrusting forward with his sword only to find his target gone and a pain in his abdomen looking down to see the hilt of a dagger stabbed into his side the small hand of a boy wrapped around it his frightful eyes wide at what he had done.

Searching the ground for any more weapons he could lift, in an attempt to comfort himself with some way of defending himself. He found a bow and a quiver of arrows; attached by a leather strap to a dead man's back he struggled pulling it over his head cutting himself on a fallen blade nearby.

Blood fell from his hand running down his arm making his skin clammy in the red stickiness that is his life's blood. He picked up a weathered shield to give him some cover as he ran forward into the woods. He ran far into the forest keeping the fighting to his back moving as far as his legs would allow. He fell down a precipice into a muddy bog that arrowed him to see a covered badger hole under a trees roots. Struggling forwards he crawled into the hole clawing out mud to make it wider, allowing him to drag himself and the armaments he took into relative safety.

Staying hidden beneath the roots of the tree he shivered in denial, he had killed a man. A man who was trying to kill him and yet he killed him with instincts he didn't know he had he moved like the wind flowing around his blade and stabbing with power that would usually be beyond him. He didn't know what happened it was as if his rational brain shut down and a powerful hidden part awoke that allowed his moves to seem as if he had been a true warrior.

His fear turned to a fitful sleep the day grew old birthing the night from its embers as the sun waned into the furthermost sea allowing the moons brightness to be seen in its full glory. He awoke to the patter of rain against the bog and water running through the mud into his little hole. Wiping his hands into the clayey mess trying to clog the cracks that allowed the water in, he left it as a bad job and decided to retrace his footsteps in hope of finding something to eat, or someone to help him, or anything.