The battlefield was deathly silent for a moment—just long enough for fear to settle in.
Jon Snow and Harry Potter stood back-to-back on the frozen tundra, surrounded by the dead. The White Walkers watched from their ridge, their blue eyes glowing like distant stars. The Night King had not moved, nor had he drawn his weapon.
He was waiting.
But for what?
Then the ground shook.
From the west, across the icy plains, the second army emerged. But it wasn't made of men or wights. These were creatures neither Jon nor Harry had ever seen before.
Tall, shadowy figures stalked through the storm, their bodies half-real, half-formed from the darkness itself. Their faces were empty voids, their limbs stretching and shifting as if they weren't bound by the same rules of nature.
Harry felt them before he saw them.
It was like a cold whisper in his bones, a sensation he had only ever known in the presence of Dementors.
Jon saw Harry's face pale. "What are they?"
Harry swallowed. "Something worse."
One of the shadow-creatures moved first. It drifted forward, soundless except for a strange, whispering echo that came from nowhere.
Then, it lunged.
Jon swung Longclaw, but the blade passed through the creature as if cutting through smoke. It didn't bleed. It didn't even flinch.
Harry raised his wand. "Expecto Patronum!"
A brilliant white stag erupted from his wand, its light blinding against the darkness. The stag charged at the shadow, slamming into it.
The creature screeched—a terrible, piercing sound—before it dissolved into nothing.
Jon exhaled. "What was that?"
Harry's hands trembled slightly. "Something like a Dementor, but… worse."
Jon looked at the army of shifting shadows. There were hundreds.
"How many Patronuses can you cast?" Jon asked.
Harry clenched his jaw. "Not enough."
Jon gripped Longclaw. "Then we fight."
The wights and the shadows surged forward.
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The Flames of the Dragon
Above them, Daenerys circled on Drogon, watching as Harry and Jon fought for their lives.
She didn't hesitate.
"Dracarys!"
Drogon opened his maw—and fire rained down from the sky.
The wights erupted into flames, their shrieks lost in the roaring inferno. But the shadow-creatures were unaffected. The fire washed over them, but they did not burn.
Daenerys narrowed her eyes. Even dragonfire wouldn't kill them.
She pulled Drogon higher into the storm, scanning the battlefield. She saw the Night King still standing motionless on his ridge, watching, waiting.
And then—
He lifted his hand.
A spear of pure ice formed in his grip.
Daenerys's heart pounded.
He was aiming for Drogon.
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The Hunt Begins
"MOVE!" Harry shouted, grabbing Jon by the arm.
They barely managed to dive aside as an undead giant brought down its massive, rotting fist. The impact shattered the ice, sending cracks across the ground.
Jon rolled to his feet, Longclaw flashing as he slashed at the giant's leg. The Valyrian steel cut deep, and the creature stumbled, roaring in pain.
Harry raised his wand. "Confringo!"
A powerful explosion blasted against the giant's head—but it did not fall.
Jon cursed. "Nothing stops these things!"
Harry gritted his teeth. "We have to keep moving."
The wights swarmed around them, their skeletal hands clawing and grasping.
Jon fought with everything he had, Longclaw cutting through the dead. Harry's wand sent blasts of fire and light into the darkness. But the shadows kept coming.
Then, a deafening roar echoed from the sky.
Harry looked up—just in time to see the Night King's spear leave his hand.
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The Sky Falls
The ice spear cut through the air, faster than an arrow.
Daenerys barely had time to pull Drogon aside. The spear missed his heart—but struck his wing.
Drogon screamed.
The massive dragon tilted dangerously, his injured wing struggling to keep him aloft.
Daenerys gritted her teeth, gripping the saddle. She pulled at the reins, trying to steady him, but the injury was too great.
Drogon began to fall.
Jon saw it first. His eyes widened as the massive dragon plummeted toward the battlefield.
"Daenerys!" he shouted.
Harry reacted instinctively.
He pointed his wand at the falling dragon. "Arresto Momentum!"
A shimmering field of magic slowed Drogon's descent, but it wasn't enough to stop him completely. The massive dragon crashed into the ice, his body carving a deep trench into the battlefield.
Daenerys was thrown from the saddle, rolling across the frozen ground.
Jon ran toward her.
But the Night King was already moving.
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The Duel in the Snow
The Night King descended from his ridge, his frozen blade in hand. His glowing blue eyes were fixed on Daenerys.
Jon sprinted, Longclaw gripped tightly. He placed himself between her and the Night King.
Harry ran beside him, wand raised. "We do this together."
The Night King smirked.
Then he attacked.
Jon met the first strike head-on. Valyrian steel clashed against the Night King's frozen blade, sending sparks of frost into the air.
Harry flicked his wand. "Expelliarmus!"
The spell slammed into the Night King's weapon—but instead of disarming him, the magic was absorbed into the blade.
Harry's stomach twisted. This was no ordinary weapon.
The Night King swung toward Harry, unnaturally fast. Harry barely managed to raise a shield charm in time. The force of the impact sent him skidding back.
Jon pressed forward, trading blows with the ancient ice demon. His Valyrian steel blade was holding, but the Night King was stronger.
Daenerys staggered to her feet, watching the battle unfold. Drogon let out a weak growl, struggling to rise.
They were running out of time.
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The Retreat
Then, from the distance—
The sound of horns.
Harry turned.
On the horizon, riders approached. Dozens—no, hundreds. The banners of Winterfell, the Vale, and the Free Folk snapped in the wind.
Jon's reinforcements had arrived.
The Night King saw it too. His icy blue eyes narrowed.
Then, without a word, he stepped backward.
A blizzard rose around him, hiding him from view.
And just like that—the enemy vanished into the storm.
The White Walkers and the shadow creatures retreated with him.
For now.
Jon stood in the snow, breathing heavily. Harry lowered his wand, sweat dripping from his forehead.
Daenerys exhaled, looking toward the distant army.
They had survived.
But the war was far from over.