Forsaken Bloodlines {HP x GOT}

Chapter 5.3

Lyanna sat quietly in the dimly lit living room, the remnants of her conversation with Tonks still lingering in her thoughts. She looked up as Harry entered the room, his expression a mix of curiosity and something else she couldn't quite place.

"Hey," Harry said, breaking the silence. "You all right?"

Lyanna offered a small smile. "Yeah, just... thinking. You must be exhausted. You'll probably want to unpack and get settled."

Harry shrugged, though the weariness in his eyes was undeniable. "I guess. But I wouldn't mind some company."

Lyanna nodded, rising from her seat. "I can walk with you. We'll probably run into Ron and Hermione, anyway."

They made their way toward the stairs, the sound of soft footsteps echoed through the house. Harry glanced up, and his face broke into a grin as he saw two familiar figures standing on the landing above them.

"Hermione!" Harry called out, his voice laced with excitement and relief.

As Lyanna walked alongside Harry, heading up the stairs towards the bedrooms, she felt a strange unease stirring within her. Harry was chatting with her, his voice a comforting hum in the otherwise silent house. But beneath that hum, something darker lingered—a voice that she had tried to silence, to bury deep within her mind over the summer.

It was that part of her that whispered, cold and relentless, that she wasn't meant to protect some boy. It was the same part of her that had taken over when she mercilessly killed Barty Crouch Jr. to save Cedric's life. That voice was telling her she wasn't meant to be a soldier for the Order, fighting in a war that wasn't truly hers. It whispered that she didn't belong here, among these people.

Harry glanced at her, his green eyes filled with concern. "Lyanna? You okay?"

She forced a smile, nodding. "Yeah, just thinking."

But her thoughts were far from here. The voice in her head wasn't done with her. It reminded her of her true purpose, the mission that she and Melisandre had set out on years ago. They weren't here to fight Voldemort or protect Harry Potter. They were here because Lyanna was meant for something far greater—something not of this world.

She could almost hear Melisandre's voice, echoing in her mind, reminding her of the prophecy that brought her here. Lyanna Targaryen wasn't meant to be just another player in this game. She was meant to return to Westeros, to reclaim her birthright, and unite the Seven Kingdoms under the banner of House Targaryen. The Iron Throne was her destiny, not some battle against the Dark Lord in a world that wasn't truly hers.

She shook her head, trying to push the thought away. Westeros could wait. Right now, she needed to focus on the present—on protecting the people she cared about. But even as she told herself this, the unease continued to grow, gnawing at the edges of her consciousness. It was like a thin string holding her together, and she could feel it fraying, bit by bit, with every step she took.

"Lyanna?" Harry's voice broke through her thoughts again, grounding her momentarily. "You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," she said, a little too quickly. "Just a lot on my mind."

They reached the landing, where Ron and Hermione were waiting. As they exchanged greetings, Lyanna's thoughts continued to churn. She tried to focus on the conversation, to immerse herself in the familiar comfort of her friends' voices. But deep down, that voice—the one she feared would one day take over—continued to whisper. It told her that her path was straying far from what it should be, that she was going off course from her true mission.

Hermione's face lit up as she caught sight of him. "Harry!" She  threw herself into his arms, laughing as she hugged him tightly.

"Let him breathe, Hermione!" Ron's voice came from behind her, a mix of amusement and exasperation.