Chapter 1: A Second Chance
Jon Snow opened his eyes to darkness and warmth. The sensations were... wrong. The last thing he remembered was a classroom at Hogwarts, a potions accident, and then... nothing. Now there was only the muffled sound of a woman's screams and the sensation of being squeezed.
Birth. He was being born.
The realization hit him with the same force as the cold air that suddenly enveloped his tiny body. A new voice – deep, Northern – spoke words he couldn't quite make out. Through blurry newborn eyes, he caught glimpses of a face he'd only seen in dreams and memories that hadn't happened yet: Eddard Stark, younger than Jon had ever known him.
'Father,' he tried to say, but only managed a weak cry.
"The boy is strong," a woman's voice said. "A fighter."
Jon's infant mind struggled to reconcile two sets of memories – one of a life not yet lived, of snow and betrayal and a Wall of ice, and another of moving staircases, floating candles, and magic that bent to his will. Harry Potter's memories, somehow merged with his own consciousness in this new life.
As exhaustion overtook his newborn body, one thought crystallized with perfect clarity: he had been given a second chance. And this time, he had magic.
The first few years passed in a blur of frustration. Having an infant's body with the memories of two lifetimes was maddening. He couldn't speak, couldn't walk, couldn't hold a wand – not that he had one. But he could feel the magic thrumming beneath his skin, stronger somehow than what he remembered from his life as Harry Potter. As if the old powers of the First Men had merged with wizarding magic to create something new.
By his third nameday, Jon had gained enough control over his motor functions to begin secret practice. In the quiet of his small chamber, he would sit cross-legged on his bed, trying to recreate the wandless magic he remembered performing as a child in Surrey. It was harder without a wand to focus his power, but not impossible.
"Lumos," he whispered one night, cupping his hands together. Nothing happened. He tried again, this time reaching not just for Harry's memories of magic, but deeper, to something old and cold that seemed to pulse in his very blood. "Lumos."
A soft blue light flickered between his palms, casting strange shadows on the stone walls. Jon quickly extinguished it when he heard footsteps in the hallway, but he couldn't stop grinning. It worked. Magic worked here, in this world that had forgotten it.
He had years before the events he remembered would unfold. Years to grow stronger, to learn to control this hybrid magic, to change things. This time, the Starks would survive. This time, he would be ready.
But first, he needed to figure out how to create a proper wand in a world that had never heard of Ollivander.
At four, Jon discovered that Lady Catelyn's cold glares hurt just as much the second time around. He sat at the far end of the great hall, pushing his food around his plate, while Robb and baby Sansa received their mother's warm attention.
'She doesn't know,' he reminded himself. 'She can't know that in another life, I died protecting her children. That I never wanted her husband's seat or name.'
Still, the rejection stung. But this time, he had an outlet for his feelings. That night, in the godswood, Jon practiced. He had discovered that the old heart tree seemed to amplify his magic, making even wandless spells easier to control. He levitated fallen leaves, transfigured twigs into needles and back, and practiced the basic charms he remembered from his first year at Hogwarts.
The face in the weirwood watched him with knowing eyes. Sometimes, Jon could swear he felt another presence when he practiced here, ancient and powerful, watching his progress with interest.
"I'll protect them all this time," he promised the tree, his child's voice fierce with determination. "The Others, the Lannisters, the Freys – none of them will hurt my family again."
The red leaves rustled in a nonexistent wind, and for a moment, Jon thought he saw a smile flicker across the carved face.
He had much to learn, and time was both his ally and enemy. Somewhere beyond the Wall, the Night King was gathering his army. In King's Landing, plots were already in motion that would tear the realm apart. And here he was, a child again, blessed with knowledge of what was to come and magic that shouldn't exist in this world.
But first, he needed to grow up. Again.