The Promised One
Jonclimbs up the winding, spiral staircase stairs of the Gryffindor common room, skipping the narrow steps up to his chambers.
He stops fast— walking in on his two roommates, caught in a strange... situation.
Tormund and Gendry were together by the windowsill, flaunting in the mirror a matching set of some of the most ridiculous, overtly offensive fur hats and costumes Jon had ever seen. They both turn around, hiccuping in a fit of laughter, their faces lighting up immediately upon spotting him—
"Jon!" Gendry shouts, as Tormund drops his purple suspenders, kicking them off, cackling back at Gendry in his transparent, puffy air-blown up coat.
What the hell—
"Uhm... hi—" He quickly squints back at them suspiciously. "...What are you guys doing?" he lifts an amused brow. "Have you been experimenting with the psychedelic-muggle potions we learned about yesterday?"
They laugh again, Tormund's broad shoulders shaking haughtily. "No. And we still gotta do that, Gen," he chuckles to him. "But no. Guess what."
"Uh, I honestly don't know." He plays along, a smirk slipping his lips. "You are... going to a party... outside?"
Ghost whines, perking his head up lazily from on top of Jon's bed.
"Wrong. Gendry's got a date," he gawks shortly, "—with an older woman."
"Oh? Is that why you're going through all of Sam's clothes?" He flits his eyes over, judging the mountain-tossed pile on the floor.
"It was Tormund's idea," Gendry accuses. "We're just trying on outfits."
Jon arches back a sarcastic brow, "Okay clearly, but why Sam's clothes?"
"Because... uh- Sam's rich?" Gendry snorts, like he should have obviously known that. "So he's got a ton of all these weird, fancy wizard clothes," he says, shrugging off the silver, Occamy-feather sewn tunic.
"Yeah, apparently this bird’s super high maintenance," Tormund swoons, wiggling his eyebrows. "Her and Gendry talked all day yesterday..." he mocks, in sing song tone, "All about his loving, supportive father, and their wonderful, father-son relationship—"
Gendry frowns contritely. "Could you not make me feel any more worse than I already do?" He wilts, collapsing on Sam's bed, "I'm just hoping she doesn't bring it back up again."
Truthfully, Jon didn’t remember what the current relationship status was between Gendry and his father. All he knew was that his father didn't even know he existed until he was fifteen— which was like, barely two years ago...
"Bring it back up?" Tormund chuckles harshly. "I hate to tell you mate, but that is why she's interested. She thinks you know famous people."
Oh yeah.
His father was also a multi-millionaire celebrity.
Robert Baratheon (coincidentally no relation to Joffrey, Gendry reminded them pointedly).
A washed up, five time winning— Quidditch World Cup Champion. Half famous in the Magical Hall of Fame for being Ireland's longest reigning Beater, starting for twenty-seven years.
Half famous in the Magical Media for his talents in other sports— like Muggle poker, and charming women worldwide.
"Fuck you." Gendry breathes angrily. "She's not like that. And honestly... I only see her as a friend anyway, I like talking with her," he sighs. "And I'm only going cause she asked me, I think she wants to make Joffrey jealous."
"Oh, well that’s a damn prize all on its own," Tormund beams, shaking a finger at him. "And I knew there had to be something! She's one of those Slytherin fox lasses— they always got a hidden agenda," he dishes. "I say you milk that rich boy act all the way, brother."
"Yeah, that's why I need a fancy outfit, you know, a nice fur coat or something. To show off."
"Doesn't Joffrey know who you are though?" Jon laughs, asking.
"Yeah, but he doesn't know about my father. Well, didn’t, probably. No one knew until recently..."
“Recently?” Jon judges his expression, looking somewhat torn.
“Yeah? It’s all over the news. Haven’t you seen?” Gendry shrugs. “And boy, they did a great job making dad look like a real piece of shit. Once that one single mother came out with her story— they all came forward outta the woodwork. Mum gave them a real nice picture of me.”
“Is that okay with you? If people find out?”
He shrugs again— “Yeah. I don’t care— Mum didn’t give me really much of a choice anyway.“
"Here, try this one." Tormund hands him another grey and opal speckled designer coat, tossing the inside out unicorn-hide one behind him.
"Sam's gonna freak out, by the way." Jon raises his brows in warning. "Aren't those shirts really expensive?"
"Yeah, but he won't be back til after his tutoring right, and that's in what, two hours?" Gendry reminds him. "We'll put everything back by then."
"Weren't you listening to him at dinner? Tutoring was canceled tonight." Jon smirks. "He should have actually been back by now."
Gendry makes a pretend throwing up sound. “When did he say that—"
Tormund scampers around undressed, as Gendry darts around the room, frantically stripping, sliding the pile of clothes to the corner of the room. He scoops up the feather occamy sweater as careful as possible. "He's gonna kill me. I’m pretty sure this costs more than my home."
Right on cue, Sam struggles his way stumbling into the room, hugging an armful of piled books. He can barely see where he's going.
"Hel-lo boys," he grunts in exhaustion.
Peeking out from around the stack, he beams, "Oh and guess what Jon, I think I've found another good one," he protests, "and one that doesn't involve—"
He suddenly drops his books onto his bed, pausing with a sigh of confusion. He turns around in apathy, staring at the two half-naked, doe eyed boys. "Why in Merlin's hell are my clothes everywhere?" he shouts. "And why are you two wearing my hats?"
Tormund and Gendry glance at each other guiltily, biting back shameful, winced grins.
Jon answers for them dryly. "Gendry's got a date."
"So... that means you needed to tear apart my closet?!" Sam huffs. He rolls his eyes before they could answer, sighing in tired frustration, "Ugh— Well... who is it this time?"
"Margaery Tyrell," Gendry grins.
"What?"
"She's a seventh year."
"I know who she is," he retorts. "But? Really, Gen?" he whispers sadly, "Sansa'sbest friend?"
Gendry narrows his eyes at him, "Oh, come on. Not you too?" he whines in bitter confusion. "I forgot they were friends— and Arya never said anything either, when I told her about it?!"
"I told you—" Tormund coughs heartily. "That's because Arya was jealous, you dumb fucking twit. It’s her sister’s best friend, that’s awkward.”
”Why? Why is that awkward though?”
“Honestly, do you need it spelled out for you? The girl wants your— broomstick..." he flits his eyes down mockingly.
"Tormund!" Sam's hand flies up to his mouth, chuckling scandalously as Gendry hides his face in agony. “Oh my god.”
"What? It's not like it's not true—"
"Stop it— okay. Just shut up." Gendry closes his eyes at him heatedly. “Okay? I’m sick of it.”
”Alright... I was only saying that because—“
”Shut. Up. Tormund? Okay? First of all— she is not jealous, we're just friends." He recites, trying to argue his standpoint convincingly, but his deepening blush counteracts his claim. "Please just drop it."
"Okay... I’m sorry." Tormund shrugs. “I’m sorry.” Then studying his friend's face, he sighs, shaking his head in exhausted disbelief. "But... you truly are a blind fool, my friend. Like... bat blind. Oh and, uh. Sorry Sam," he apologizes, "We were about to clean it all up, so... I can—“
Flailing a hand out, Sam sighs in irritation, "You can still clean it up now?" He peers over at Gendry bending over to pick up a wrinkled shirt, "What did you even take?”
”Ugh my beaded Occamy, Gendry?! Inside-out! Really, what is wrong with you?!" He snatches the feathered material from him, "On the floor, with the dog hair— Did you know this alone, costs more than everything I own."
“Uh no...” Gendry blinks wide-eyed, still a bit embarrassed from before. "Sorry. And uhm— no, I haven't decided on anything," he exhales indecisively, taking off the fluffy hat. "I don't think I can pull anything off. I'm just going to wear what I had on probably."
He leans over, now waving out a wrinkly, plain maroon sweater. Sam raises his brows up with feigned, sincere approval. "Oh it's... lovely. Very you."
"Shut up," he mutters, slipping off his worn T-shirt, throwing it at him.
—Suddenly, Tormund cackles in delighted surprise, shouting in the background behind them.
"OR—“ he sings, “You can wear Snow's pretty silk dress!" he bellows out, doubling over in newly discovered excitement, laughing over by Jon's opened drawer.
Shit.
"No. Put that back." He voices sternly.
The others in a rut, chuckle around to face Tormund, as he chokes back, clutching onto a shimmering dark cloak. Ignoring Jon, he taunts him joyously— twirling the silky fabric in the air. “Look at this!”
"I said put it back." He orders flatly.
"Wo-ah... Snow, relax... Tell me though, where did you happen to find such a beautiful thing?"
"Listen to me, Tormund. It’s— not what you think."
The relentless redhead wraps it around his shoulders dramatically, teasing him, "Ooh look at me, I'm Mr. Pretty Boy, the moody, heartbreaker, Mr. Jon Sn—"
"Tormund!!" Sam cries out in enthused disbelief, striding up to him wide eyed.
Gendry gasps in a sharp breath of air, as Sam frantically scans him up and down in horror, "Your body's gone!"
"What?" Tormund looks down confused, his jaw dropping open at the invisible, empty space below his neck. He yelps in fear, "Snow?! What kind of bloody dark magic is this?!"
"No— wait a minute," Sam's eyes widen in curious realization, "I know what that is! That's an invisibility cloak!" he arches a brow thoughtfully, "And a really large one too... I didn't think that they made them like that?”
”Where did you get one of those?” Gendry wonders.
“Yeah? They're really rare, as it is? Demiguise are nearly impossible to even see, let alone to catch one." Sam cocks his head with a bright grin, "So, guess it turns out I was wrong. This— This is the most expensive thing in the room. Probably worth more than all my Dad’s flying cars combined. Seriously where did you get this, Jon?"
Wavering in thought, he scratches his beard, and then runs a hand through his soft black hair. "Uh... It was a gift. From a Professor at Durmstrang," he mumbles, surprisingly finding himself almost smiling at the memory.
”That’s a nice fucking gift...” Tormund chuckles.
A brief image flashes through Jon’s mind— about all that cloak has done for him. How much trouble it’s gotten him in and out of.
"I used to use it a lot when I was there..."
"Use it?! Like to spy?" Gendry asks, his face stretching into a grin, "Wicked." Suddenly he bursts out wildly, "Oh ny god! Let's scare the shit out of someone with it!" He flips over to Sam, who's nodding back at him eagerly.
"Joffrey!" Sam squirms giggling, "That would be bloody brilliant."
Jon frowns at them. "No. People can't know about this, sorry," he explains rigidly to their blatant disappointment. "Give it back. I shouldn't have had it out in the open in a drawer like that anyway."
He reaches out for it, as Tormund stares back at him blankly, his eyes darting over to Sam and Gendry.
Under the heat of Jon's stubborn gaze, he cracks— then unwraps himself idly, groaning in quiet reluctance. “Fine.”
•
Gendry spins back around in demonstration, "Well, boys? How do I look? Alright?"
"Like a dumb... pretty, prince," Tormund compliments sincerely, flattening the wrinkles smooth from his arms.
Gendry rolls his eyes, "Thanks."
"Want us to walk you out?" Tormund taunts fondly.
"Funny. I think I can manage?" His thin smile starts to fade, lop-siding into a nervous grin. "Alright boys, I’m off, I'll see you later."
Sam head nods back a distracted goodbye, over from on top of his bed. Laying flat on his belly, he flips aimlessly through pages and pages of variously sized books, scattered all across his maroon quilts.
Jon picks up another one cluelessly, holding it out in front of him. He turns it upside-down, inspecting the back, binding, and cover.
Tormund clears his throat for his attention, "Uhm Jon," he starts to ask quietly, petting a patiently panting Ghost from across the room.
"Yeah?" he peers up at him waiting.
"Can I... take... Ghost, for... another walk?" He studies his expression, a hopeful sparkle flickering in his eyes.
Jon pretends to think about it. "Sure. But not too late," he grins, as Tormund does a quick fist pump.
"Yes!” He lights up. “Come on, boy!"
•
Sam yawns theatrically, as Jon continues skimming through the books with him.
"I don't even know what I'm looking for anymore," Jon complains.
Then suddenly Sam stops.
Perking up at him he whispers, "Jon. Here!" Pointing enthusiastically, he presses a stubby, promising finger onto the tattered yellow page.
Jon squints at it, examining the content, and then reads out loud, "The Promised One?" he looks up at Sam, as the enthused boy eagerly taps the page again, "Yes. Read it for yourself— underneath this paragraph, here."
Jon grunts in acceptance, and then slowly starts reading out loud,
In these tall tales,
Lies
A dark, hidden truth...
Prophecy, holds dear
Sweet, unworn
Revenge.
Fateful to take back
Earth's all of you.
He recites it back to himself silently. Confused, he glares back up at Sam, "And what does that mean?"
Shaking his head, Sam simply nods back wisely, "Just keep reading."
Jon brings his attention back skeptically... and then sighs out loud, reading the next passage.
A thousand years later,
The Night's King will avenge.
As an iced-soul of a Horcrux,
Joining a friend.
Together a force so powerful,
It hides...
Arising the dead, with cold,
Blue— he pauses, hesitating in frightful recognition, as Sam nudges him to finish the verse together—
—with cold,
Blue blinks of an eye.
His eyes widen in familiar fear, as he quickly recites the rest.
And following in it's path,
Leads
A winter that won't end,
Waiting for
The Promised One,
To save us once again.
Sam grins at Jon expectantly, waiting for him to react- or say something. "You said the monster had terrible glowing blue eyes, right?"
He just nods, processing it all, "...Yes—" then he whispers gravely, "Where can we find more information on this? Is there anything more on 'The Promised One'?"
Sam bites his lip, "No... unfortunately." Then he raises a quick brow, "We could go to the Restricted Section... but that's out of bounds, unless we're given permission."
He taps his chin, puzzling an idea, "It's on the fourth floor. It could take a few days, to find a way to sneak sleeping powder for the caretaker but... that's much better than waiting for a restricted pass from the librarian. Those are completely pointless cause she just hovers over you like a nosy mum."
He glares at Jon with familiar experience, "And Walder Frey's a nasty one to get past, but he's pretty dim. We could do it."
Jon tosses the book onto the bed and then stands up in decision, "No. We can use my cloak." He steps over towards his bed, picking it up, "If we hurry, we can go now."
"Now?! Are you mad?" he fidgets anxiously, fumbling a book that drops to floor. "Tormund and Gendry will be coming back soon. It's almost midnight?"
"Then we better get going."
Sam's voice cracks in fear, a small throaty sound bubbling as he stutters, "No, wait— uh, Jon? No, I think we should wait until morning. I'm not mentally prepared for this." He eyes him, begging innocently.
"You'll be fine," he assures him. "No one will be able to see us, so there's no reason to worry. We can leave in the middle of the night when no one's awake, go get the books and come back. Easy."
Sam's lip quivers unconvinced. "Mhm— yeah. Easy."
•
Having been pretending to be asleep, Jon finally bats open an eye, upon hearing Tormund and Gendry's soft snores finally overlapping in rest— echoing to a patterned low lull in the quiet of the room.
He gets up, lightly shaking Sam awake, "Let's go."
Sam at first reluctant, follows him sleepily, as Jon tosses the cloak over their heads out by the staircase.
•
"I can't believe we're doing this. I mean it's three in the bloody morning, Jon..." Sam mutters grumpily, as they both shuffle together in the dark, unseen.
Jon scolds him silently, holding out a dusted lantern, then tucks it hidden underneath the silk with them.
After firstly examining the darkly unstirred common room, they nod, acknowledging to each other that they're in the clear. And as they step down meticulously, further down the stairs, Jon notices that someone put out the fire a while ago— the only light now, coming from the pale window glow of the moon.
Then all the sudden, someone gasps from the top of the staircase...
The Girl's staircase.
Jon and Sam freeze. And then slowly, Jon peeks up across the room to where the sound came from.
He squints through the fabric as Daenerys Targaryen stands there, drawing out her gripped wand, raising it up protectively in front of her. Her pale violet eyes, staring down violently at them. Directly at them.
And to his even further suspicion, she's also holding out a lit lantern...
"Hey— What are you doing? You're not supposed to be out of bed," she reprimands in a hushed whisper, "You'll lose us near a hundred house points—"
His eyes strain confusedly through the silk of the cloak.
Can she see them?
No, she heard a noise, and now she's bluffing.
"Hello?" she echoes.
She has to be bluffing.
Not falling for it, he nudges Sam forward and they continue shuffling over to the main door.
She scoffs again, "Stop? I can see you there, you know? You don't scare me." She takes a few quiet steps down the stairs.
Now, Jon and Sam stop in their tracks... for certain they've been caught.
He pulls the cloak down from his head and then scans carefully around the room for anyone else.
He whispers out to her cautiously in command, "Stop talking..." he voices, "or we'll all get into trouble. Just come down here."
She sets down her lantern, folding her arms for a moment, stubbornly deciding. She mutters to herself, "Oh, why are you doing this, Dany... Why?" carefully stepping down the spiral case, shaking her head, yet following her gut. Finally stepping down the last step.
"What on earth are you two doing—" she hushes a whisper, her strict expression now morphing to oddly amused, "—with a cloak on your heads?!"
The boys both stare back at her blankly.
Her eyes suddenly widen in fear, cautiously backing away from them. "Oh no, you haven't been—" she trails off. "...The unforgivable curse."
Jon arches a brow, as a smirk pricks at the corner of his lips. He removes the cloak from the rest of his body, "We're not under theImperious curse? We’re fine. This is—“ he pauses, sighing, "Well, it was supposed to be, it used to be, an invisibility cloak."
"The Demiguise hairs could be fading dull, Jon." Sam whispers, "That can happen, you know."
A pang of disappointment courses through him.
"Great. No, I did not know that, Sam."
"Atleast we didn't get in trouble," the nervous boy points out— though Jon freezes. Sam still has the cloak wrapped around his one arm. "Sam! Wait, look your arm?"
It was invisible still... the cloak was still functional!
"Wait but... how?" Sam shakes his head at him. "If it still works then," he breathes, "and... it didn't wear off..."
"Then how—" They both face back towards Dany, quietly shocked.
"How were you able to see us?"
A second before she could respond, a sudden snapping sound scares all three of them silent.
•
Flinching towards the heavy door, they hold their breaths as its lock slowly hitches open. Muffled professor voices trailing closely behind it.
"Quick, get under," Jon whispers to Sam. "Now, you too—“ he glances at her, holding the cloak open.
Nervously snapping her eyes back from them to the door, she nods, and then ducks her head underneath.
They huddle close together in curious anticipation, as Dumbledore, Professor Seaworth and another indistinguishably voiced wizard stride gravely into the room. Jon quickly adjusts the cloak hastily over all three of their heads, hiding them as cleanly invisible as possible.
He hoped.