Forsaken Bloodlines {HP x GOT}

Chapter 6.5: Homesick

A/N: Sorry for not updating in so long. To be honest, I grew a bit lazy in writing, but I certainly did NOT lose interest in finishing the story. So, don't worry about another unfinished story.

It is a matter of "when" though. I hope you guys stick with me 'til the end.

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The chamber was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of golden lanterns and the crackle of the hearthfire. Outside, the moon hung low, casting pale silver light across the windows of the Red Keep. The day's tensions had ebbed at last, and for the first time in weeks, Lyanna and Tom sat together for a quiet dinner—just the two of them.

The table was modestly set. Roasted quail, seasoned root vegetables, and honeyed bread. A carafe of Dornish red rested between their goblets, half-emptied. Drogon's distant rumble echoed through the stone walls now and then, like a reminder of the dragon's eternal watchfulness.

Lyanna sat quietly, pushing food around her plate, her brow creased in thought. Tom noticed the shift in her posture—the heavy set of her shoulders, the way her gaze often drifted to the window.

He sipped from his cup, then set it down gently. "You've been quiet tonight."

She blinked, as if waking from a trance. "Just thinking."

"That's new," he said with a wry grin.

A small chuckle left her lips. "I think too much. That's the problem."

Tom leaned forward slightly. "What about?"

A long pause. Then: "Home."

Tom raised a brow, confused.

She shook her head. "The other one."

Tom straightened a little in his chair. He hadn't heard her speak about the Wizarding World in some time. "You mean Hogwarts? The Order? All of that?"

Lyanna nodded slowly. "I don't even know if I can still call it home."

He watched her for a moment before asking, "Do you still want to go back?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she stared into the fire, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows over her face. "I don't know," she admitted quietly. "Sometimes I wonder how long it's been there. Time moves differently between worlds... What if years have passed? What if no one even remembers me anymore?"

Tom's eyes softened. "I remember you."

She smiled faintly. "You don't count."

"I always count."

She looked down at her plate again, her voice dropping lower. "It's just... I've fought so hard for this place. For this throne. For peace. And now that I finally have it, all I feel is—"

"Empty?" Tom offered.

She looked up at him in surprise. "A little."

Tom set his utensils aside and rested his arms on the table. "You're carrying the world on your back, Lyanna. But you're still human. Even with the Heart in you. You were never meant to be only one thing."

"But maybe that's the problem," she whispered. "What if I'm becoming something else? Not human. Not a queen. Not a protector. Just... power. Raw, dangerous power. One misstep, and I could burn everything I love."

Tom leaned forward. "That's not who you are. You're not your mother. You're not Melisandre. And you're not Voldemort."

She looked at him sharply at the name, her eyes narrowing slightly.