A/N:Not beta'd. There will be some mistakes.

282 A.C

"Conducting the test now is useless."

"But what happened wasn't normal, he should have died," James Potter retorted, standing in the middle of a well-lit corridor, the fingers of his free hand grazing on the black stone walls that held various trophy shields, wands and most interestingly the portraits of his ancestors. They weren't regular portraits. If he was anyone else but himself, they would've seemed still and unmoving. They only came to life whenever he or his wife was around, the product of an ancient enchantment that drew a portrait of anyone in his family that had died and brought them to life in said portrait.

"What did happen, dear?" Iolanthe Peverell, the third oldest painting in the castle question with a smile - her gaze unshifting from the reddish-pink bundle of flesh wrapped in blankets in James other arms.

"The maester was astounded by it himself," James answered, "He - Harry - was in the wrong position. The maester tried his best to turn or rearrange his position, but it was for nought, with all his attempts failing. He had given up and came to me to alert me of the situation. When we returned to room Lily was held, she held a crying babe to her breast."

"What's her explanation?"

"That he simply appeared in her arms."

"That's impossible," Hardwin Potter protested next to his wife Lolanthe, "Perhaps she created a lie to please you."

"She's an honest woman; I trust her word. She knows the dangers of the test, and she wouldn't risk our son's life on the basis of pleasing me. No matter how much she loves me."

"Say this case is true," The portrait of Marvolo Gaunt said, "It's likely that this is just another show that the magic still runs through our blood. There have been instances like this, for instance, my son - Morfin - was lifting furniture while he was still in the womb. We thought he would be born to be the next Merlin, and it even got to the point where that magic had finally returned to the family. But when he was born, no sign of magic was seen again. Not even accidental.'

"Indeed it may be so," Henry Potter piped in, "But perhaps those were all the signs of magic truly returning to our family and the world. Merope, were you not able to read the minds of people at a certain point in your life?"

"I could," The woman answered, nodding.

"She was a Legilimens. Followed by the instance of your brother - Morfin - and then the permanent return of the Tongue of the Serpent through my son, Fleamont. It could truly be the return of magic to the world," Henry's words got nods of agreement from some of the other portraits, but some were more sceptical.

"How do we know this isn't just like my son's case?" Marvolo interjected.

"By not doing the test," Iolanthe answered, "Wait for the bouts of accidental magic. The test is barbaric and of a darker time. There's a reason we stopped subjecting our children to it," Everyone seemed to agree on her words.

"If you think it wise," James sighed, nodding.

"Now, to tie up loose ends. If magic has truly returned, and word of it reaches the ears of the other Kingdoms - Harry would be in danger... Even more so with the rumours concerning your ancestry floating about after you found that letter Abraham had hidden," Lolanthe continued, "That Maester has to be killed. Keep this information between you and Lily."

286 A.C

A four-year-boy stood in the middle of a grassy clearing, looking around for any foreign object he could find. He spotted the bark of what was surely a small tree perched on the centre of a rock directly ahead of him; it was almost as if it was placed solely for him to find it. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him towards it. Picking it up, he turned back towards his mother - who sat on a bench under the shade of another tree - he raised it to her attention with a smile.

She returned his smile, "Bring it here, let's see," He ran towards her again, and outstretched it into her grasp. She took it and examined it, turning it on its sides and feeling the wood, "It isn't ideal, but you could ask your father to carve it into anything you want," She said, getting a nod from him. She sighed, "His habits are getting to me. Hold onto it Harry, and we'll ask him when we get back to the castle," Lily handed it back to him, her gaze shifting back to the surrounding scenery.

Harry sat down on the soft grass next to the bench. His mother always berated him for it, but she didn't seem to mind at this moment - or rather she didn't notice him. He put the bark down in front of him and thought about what he wanted it to be carved into. His mother had told him stories of the animals that had supposedly once lived in their lands.

Mammoths, large elephant-like creatures that the Wood Dancers of the Children of the Forest used to fight the First Men. Direwolves, wolves larger than ponies that were also supposedly used by the Wood Dancers to fight the first men, and Basilisks, mighty serpents that could grow up to fifty feet long - the ones present during the time of the First Men. Not the dog-sized ones present today.

His houses sigil was a Basilisk. The Potters, according to his mother, had tamed the giant creatures. Able to communicate with them through a secret language only those with Potter blood were capable of speaking. But they lost the ability to speak it when their blood had gotten far too diluted, and thus lost control of the beasts. Though his grandfather father had obtained the ability, as did his father.

Harry blinked, breaking himself from his train of thoughts before a gleeful smile adorned his lips at sight in front him. The bark had carved itself into the Potter Sigil and floated midair in front of him, woodshavings surrounding it. He outstretched both his hands towards.

"Harry!" A voice - his mothers - startled him, and it all fell onto the grass. She was suddenly on her knees infront of him, touching his face gently as if he had just hurt himself, "I told you not to do that in when you aren't in your room," She picked up the newly carven wood, took his hand and placed it into his grasp,"You have to be careful. We don't want to give your father anymore reason to fear for your safety."

Harry nodded, understanding the truth in her words. His father was already paranoid as it was, and other people didn't know of his powers. Eight guards were always watching over him whenever he played outside, twelve whenever his mother was around too. He didn't fully understand yet, but his knowledge of it was growing. He was the only one who could do what he could. And he had to keep his abilities a secret because other people would kill him because he possessed them. Why? He wasn't sure yet. But he had a theory. They were scared of him. Scared of what he could become one day.

A threat to their power.

289 A.C

He never did like fighting. He just didn't see where the excitement came from. Watching men put their bodies on the line, risking their lives - all in the name of glory and to attract the eyes of women amazed him greatly. What in the seven hells had to be going on in the heads of the participants of the tourney that inclined them to be part of this?

He understood the need for it, though. It was the celebration of the Crown's victory over the Ironborn. His father had pledged fifty ships from Basilisk bay in Cape Kraken to the Royal Fleet, with the ships only joining the war during the Battle of Fair Isle. The pivotal naval battle was won with their assistance, so it was only natural they were invited to Lannisport for the celebrational tourney.

Harry was good at fighting, or more so archery. His started personally training him when he turned seven. No swords, just archery. He'd mastered it three months later. He was nowhere near his fathers level; regardless, he was still beyond the average archer. Even so, he still wouldn't enter a tournament just so show off his prowess in the skill to others.

He would, however, shoot an arrow at the next Lord that came to him and offered his daughter to him. They didn't outright offer their daughters hand in marriage, he knew they'd have to talk to his father about that, but they'd present her to him, gauge his reaction of her at first sight - then leave as soon as they got what they wanted. He made sure they didn't.

Speaking of his parents, he hasn't seen them today. The night was approaching quickly, and he was partaking in the feast, but he hasn't seen a single glimpse of them. Nevermind that he was forced to represent his house by watching the tourney and attending the banquet alone, but he had a strange sense of paranoia being surrounded by so many people he didn't know. He wasn't sure if it was him, but he some of their eyes linger on him.

"My Lord, the ship is about to depart," Ser Dwan, a member of his mother's special guard, whispered from next to him.

"Ship?" Harry raised an eyebrow, turning to him, "What boat?"

"It isn't safe to talk about it here, my Lord. I beg your forgiveness, but excuse yourself from the feast immediately," It sounded like a command. That's when he knew it was serious; Ser Dwan always treated him with respect - not the sort of obligated respect, but genuine respect. He would hear what he had to say.

Harry stood up from his sit, and gave a slight bow, "Pardon me, my Lords," He walked out of the hall without getting a response, they were all too busy to gorging themselves in food to notice. Ser Dwan followed him closely, "What is it?" He questioned, glancing, "And any news on mother and father?"

"Not yet, my lord," The Knight said, further confusing Harry. He wasn't particularly sure where it would be safe to talk. Or who wasn't supposed to hear the conversation, but he led him into his sleeping chambers, but the Knight had other plans - and pushed Harry past the door, "We must leave the castle."

Harry heaved a sigh, but continued walking. When they had exited the castle, they headed down the road that Harry knew lead towards the port, "Are my parents on the ship you're speaking of? What's happening?"

"My lord and lady are dead."

Harry stopped walking, his head snapping towards the Knight, "What?"

"We must keep walking," Ser Dwan pushed him onwards.

Harry resisted, there was no way his parents would be dead. The thought alone made his eyes well with tears, "You're lying."

"Unfortunately, I am not," The Knight picked him up as if he was a piece of paper, "It isn't safe for you in Westeros anymore."

"No, you're lying! Let me go!" He struggles to break free, even trying to unsheath the Knights sword, but it was all for nought. He was carried all the way to the port, and he struggled the entire journey there. By the time they were onboard the ship, Harry was crying silently. He had no idea what was going on.

Harry turned to the Knight, his fist closed and eyes narrowing, "Answers. Now."

Ser Dwan was confident he felt the temperature drop dramatically, but he answered nonetheless, "They were murdered."