Chapter Text
Harry Potter, Dragonstone, 277 AC
One would think being reborn was a loud affair, full of wailing and screams, or perhaps sobs of joy for the renewed chance at life, but for one Harry Potter, it was not like that at all.
In fact, he was deathly silent, confused and struggling with the new sensory inputs, not to mention the fact that he'd died mere seconds ago, choking on his own blood while feral werewolves tore into his flesh and feasted on his entrails.
Not the best way to go…
There had not been a king's cross platform this time, no Dumbledore to guide him or train to take him to the afterlife. He'd been dead one moment and alive the next, sucking in small and desperate gulps of air.
He felt strange, but at least the previous pain was gone. He'd take discomfort over agony any day.
"W-why isn't he crying?" A soft voice rasped from nearby, words cracking in the woman's sore throat.
Harry wondered who she expected to cry, and why she seemed terrified that the other person remained quiet.
He wanted to open his eyes to get a better look at the situation, but his eyelids were heavy and felt like they were glued together.
"Please just le-let me hold him. Why isn't he crying?" The unknown woman desperately repeated, the fear and exhaustion all too prevalent in her voice.
"Your son is alive, my lady, but he was born much too soon. It is not uncommon for there to be complications," a deeper and much older voice gravely replied.
Harry was starting to get a niggling suspicion about what was going on and he wasn't sure he liked the implications.
He finally pried his eyes open to look at the people he'd heard talking, or rather, he tried to. Everything was muted, blurry and out of focus, much more than what he was used to when he’d forgotten to wear his glasses.
He could tell that there were two shapes, blobs more like, but any features were lost to him.
They were large, much too large. The one he'd deemed to be the male voice seemed to be holding him as he was swathed in some kind of fabric.
"However, he seems alert. Only time will tell how much of an effect this will have on his health. If the gods are merciful, he will grow up hale and hearty, Princess."
The world around him spun as his position was shifted.
"He's beautiful," the woman whispered reverently next to Harry's ear, soft yet clammy fingers gently caressing his face.
His heart was hammering in his chest by then.
A baby… Harry was a baby.
There really was no other way to interpret the situation he'd found himself in. It was either reincarnation, post mortem mind fuckery from Voldemort, strangely articulate giants mistaking him for one of their young, or insanity. Harry much preferred the first option.
"He looks just like his father," the woman, who he presumed to be his mother, said.
"He does seem to have the Targaryen colourings," the man agreed.
Targaryen must be his father's family, Harry guessed, just like the Potters had been. He found it amusing how even in a new life he was destined to inherit the looks of his father.
Although, who the hell could tell at such a young age? If he was only a newborn, he most likely looked like an ugly, pink prune. Possibly a bald one.
"Where is Rhaegar?" His mother asked, which was a very good question in Harry's opinion.
"A guard has been sent to retrieve him, your Highness, but…"
The voice that replied was that of another man, younger than the one that had held him. He sounded uncertain and hesitant, as if he did not wish to impart bad news to the already weary mother. It was understandable, and almost kind in a way.
"He's seeing the smallfolk again isn't he?" His mother stated with a resigned sigh.
"Yes…"
Harry could practically feel the hurt radiating from her as she held him close to her chest.
"What will you name him, Princess?" The old man asked, either not having heard the conversation between the two, or simply choosing to ignore it.
There was a long stretch of silence. Harry was curious as well. He hoped it wouldn't be something bad considering he'd be stuck with it for the rest of his life. Well, this one anyway…
"Jaehaerys… named after Jaehaerys the Conciliator," she quietly said, before placing a gentle kiss on Harry’s forehead.
"He's always been my favourite king from the stories. A kind and fair man who was skilled with a sword, yet chose to use his mind and words before resorting to violence. I hope my son will grow up to be a similar king as his namesake," her voice was nearly a whisper at the end, holding a touch of despair and longing that Harry could not place.
Jaehaerys… what a strange name, Harry thought. Rhaegar had sounded equally unfamiliar, but he supposed it might be because he was born into a different culture, even if they did speak English. It was weird.
It was a little embarrassing that it was first in that moment that he registered the word king, and then the realisation dawned upon him.
He was royalty…
If he could have cursed he would have gladly done so.
His mother was a princess and Harry was supposed to be king one day.
Fuck.
Why him? He didn't want it. Who the hell wanted to be king? It sounded like so much work…
He'd seen the Queen on telly plenty of times, holding speeches, travelling all over the globe for meetings with regents and dignitaries, being scrutinised by the press for her every word and action.
The last part he was familiar with from the wizarding world, but that still did not mean it was something he wanted to be exposed to again.
Damn it, why couldn't he have been born into a nice middle-class family? He'd always wanted a quiet, normal life.
After defeating Voldemort, he joined the aurors without even finishing his NEWTs. He worked for years, fighting day in and day out, giving more and more to a world that did nothing but take.
Eventually he couldn't stand it anymore and he resigned from his position, much to everyone's shock.
With no job tying him down, and Teddy away at Hogwarts, Harry suddenly found himself with more freedom than he'd ever had before.
He spent years just learning and exploring every area of interest that picked his fancy, dabbling with more hobbies than he could count.
Most had been unnecessary but fun nonetheless. Like when he learned how to make cheese and yoghurt. Or that time he spent months with a watchmaker that wished to keep the old traditions alive.
Once, he even learned how to make his own tea. That one was particularly rewarding, and Neville had actually joined him. They used his greenhouse for the plants and ended up gifting friends and family with their haul.
Harry was a sponge for new knowledge, absorbing everything that was put in front of him. He would never be a genius like Hermione, but he finally allowed himself to learn again, having regained some of the old spark that the Dursleys had managed to stomp out during his childhood.
He wanted a life like that, making watches or selling tea, not high politics, royal obligations and a crown.
But besides all of that, the words of his new mother concerned him. She had been painting a picture that seemed grimmer by the minute.
If she so desperately wished for Harry to be a kind and fair king, what did that say about the current one?
Or was it his father she was worried about? There were so many things Harry needed to find out about this new life he had been dropped into, but his body was young and the exhaustion crept in without preamble.
The old man's reply became a slurry of incoherent sounds as Harry unwillingly succumbed to the needs of his infant form, falling into a dreamless slumber.
When he next opened his eyes, it was to a world that was much more in focus than it should be for someone his age.
Although Harry had never ended up having children of his own, well, aside from Teddy at least, he'd read plenty of books about childcare after the war due to his godson.
That boy had been his in all but name. He'd raised him along with Andromeda, putting everything he had into making sure Teddy got the happy childhood he himself was robbed of.
All that research was why he knew that he technically should not be able to see clearly just yet. A child's eyes were not complete at birth, and it could take everything from six months to a year before their vision was fully developed.
Harry could only attribute his perfect new eyesight to the magic he could still feel coursing within him if he dug deep enough. It was probably what allowed him to keep his mental faculties as well, which was truly a blessing.
He allowed his eyes to flicker up, laying eyes on his new mother for the first time.
She was beautiful but also painfully young. She looked like a mere girl straight out of Hogwarts, even younger than Lily Potter had been. Her frail features did not help with that image either.
But despite her age and ill appearance, there was a core of steel in her near black eyes.
"You will survive, Jaehaerys, no matter what, you will survive," she promised with fierce determination and a loving smile.
Harry watched her with trancelike intensity, soaking up every detail about his new mother, from her ashen skin and thin frame, to the dark brown hair that remained plastered to her clammy face due to sweat.
Mother…
The reality of that still hadn't fully sunk in. He had a mother and a father now. Living, breathing parents.
He hadn't met his father yet so he couldn't say what kind of person he was, but he was still his.
Harry had never gotten to know James and Lily Potter as he should have. All he had were biassed stories and a quick meeting with their shades before he walked to his death at seventeen.
But this woman and Rhaegar, they were his, and they were alive . He would do everything in his power to keep them that way.
He had a second chance at a family and he would not squander it.
A door opened all of a sudden to their right, bringing with it a handsome, yet frazzled young man that stumbled through.
He stared at Harry and his mother with wide eyes, the deepest purple Harry had ever seen. It was a colour he'd come across only a handful of times in people with creature blood running through their veins.
"Is that?" He breathlessly began, only for Harry's mother to softly reply.
"It is your son and heir, my Lord. Jaehaerys Targaryen the third of his name."
Harry's shock was palpable. You had got to be kidding him. If that was his father, then that meant Harry was now blonde. And not just any kind of blonde, but the palest, whitest shade of platinum blonde that would make any Malfoy weep with jealousy.
Rhaegar, for it could be no other, was dressed in all black except for the red sigil on his chest. Harry thought it looked like a crossbreed of a hydra and a dragon, with its three heads and draconic appearance.
The bed dipped as Rhaegar sat down next to Harry and his mother, never once taking his eyes off the baby in her arms.
When she held him out towards him, the man took Harry reverently, his eyes sparkling with joy and awe.
"He is perfect," he murmured. "I had planned on naming him Aegon… but Jaehaerys is a fine name as well."
"You are The Prince That Was Promised," he declared in a whisper to the babe in his arms.
"You shall do great things one day, Jaehaerys. You will be the Head of the Dragon, leading your future siblings into battle to save the world from darkness."
Harry's heart dropped. That sounded eerily too close to a prophecy for comfort.
Well, it was good that Harry thought prophecies were absolute poppycock, otherwise he might be in a spot of trouble.
Prophecies were about as useful as an infection, in that they tended to make people obsessed with trying to avoid or fulfil whatever they had foretold, only to make said thing happen because of it.
Just take Voldemort for instance. If he had never learnt of Trelawney's prophecy he would not have gone after the Potters, and in turn would most likely have won the war. But since he feared her words and actively tried to annul them, he ended up venturing down a path that led to his own demise.
Poetic in a way.
So no, Harry wouldn't allow his life to be clouded by another prophecy. His father could take that damn thing and shove it as far up his arse as it would go.
"He's so small, Elia…" Rhaegar said, finally shifting his attention to his wife.
Elia… another peculiar name.
"I thought he was not due for another two moons."
"He wasn't," Elia began, swallowing hard.
"The Maester says he might have developmental issues in the future, we won't know for sure until more time has passed."
Elia bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes, drawing in a shaky breath before she continued. "I worry for him, Rhagar. He still has not cried, nor made any other sound. What if he… what if he doesn't make it?"
Rhaegar placed his hand on Elia's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze for comfort.
"He is strong. Why he has not cried I cannot say, but I choose to take it as a sign for good. Just look at his eyes Elia, can you not see how alert and present they are? Jaehaerys is going to be the best of us all, I simply know it."
He spoke with such calm conviction that even Harry got lulled into his words for a moment. Elia certainly relaxed, her shoulders lowering as she returned his blinding smile with a tumultuous one.
The two young parents embraced, their newborn heir nestled comfortably between their warm bodies.
Harry cared deeply for them both already, and could feel his heart swelling with familial affection for these two strangers that seemed to hold nothing but love for him in return.
They were perhaps about half his age, if not more than that, and yet they were his parents. Harry would treasure it for as much as it was worth.
Yes, he would miss Teddy something fierce once the reality of it all sank in properly, but his boy was an adult now, with a whole support system consisting of his many aunts, uncles, cousins and friends.
Teddy would be fine.
And Harry? Well, he would grab his second chance with both hands, living life to the fullest.