Chapter Text

King's Landing, 126 AC

The piercing screech of a dark curse sliced past Draco Malfoy’s ear, colliding heavily with the cursed artifact that he and Hermione were attempting to recover for the Ministry of Magic. Instead of being destroyed, the artifact erupted in a deep purple glow that instantly swallowed them both. Space warped violently, thrusting them straight through a rift in time.

CRACK!

A colossal explosion like roaring thunder reverberated through the air, and a plume of grey magical smoke billowed right in the center of the Great Hall of the Red Keep. Draco and Hermione fell headlong into the middle of the tense Driftmark succession hearing. The moment they materialized through raw magic, Hermione was propelled forward by sheer momentum and crashed directly into Lucerys Velaryon. The sudden, head-on collision caused the dark-haired, curly-headed young prince to lose his footing entirely, sending him crashing down onto the cold stone floor.

"Luke!" Princess Rhaenyra gasped in utter horror.

"Protect the Prince! Assassins!" Ser Criston Cole bellowed, instantly unsheathing his gleaming steel blade. Kingsguards swiftly surrounded them, leveling their sharp swords directly at Hermione's chest, forcing her to step back.

The survival instincts honed from the Battle of Hogwarts flared to life. Without a second thought, Hermione whipped out her wand from her sleeve. A blazing ring of sapphire-blue fire erupted from the wand's tip, coiling like a massive cobra and pushing the advancing guards away. The intense heat of the flames was so overpowering that the steel of their swords glowed red-hot, forcing the guards to drop their weapons onto the floor from the searing pain. As soon as the ring of fire descended, Hermione immediately knelt down, gently supporting Lucerys's elbow: "I'm sorry, are you alright? I didn't mean to."

Draco immediately stepped to his wife's side to assist her. His hands moved swiftly, checking Lucerys's joints, while secretly using a flow of magic to scan the boy for any lingering dark magic from the explosion. "No broken bones, no dark magic residue. Stand firm, Your Highness," Draco remarked coldly but carefully.

The entire Great Hall fell into a state of sheer terror.

"Magic..." Queen Alicent Hightower recoiled, her face pale with fright as she clutched her necklace tightly. "Witch!!! Seize her!"

Yet, what shocked the court even more than Hermione’s flame was the striking appearance of Draco. As the fire gradually subsided, the sapphire light cast its reflection upon his brilliant platinum-blonde hair, his sharp, aristocratic jawline, and his cold, haughty demeanor. Standing up from the Green faction's side, Aemond Targaryen frozen completely. His single violet eye locked onto Draco—a man who possessed his exact face, build, and silver hair, save for the fact that this stranger had both of his eyes intact. Aemond glanced at Lucerys, who was scrambling up from the floor, and then back at Hermione, who stood defiantly with her wand raised, her wild curly brown hair framing eyes full of fiery anger. A colossal, history-altering misunderstanding instantly cemented itself in the minds of everyone present.

The Great Hall descended into a suffocating, breathless silence. Every eye in the room was fixed on the two entities who had just dropped from the heavens. The court quickly picked apart the terrifying visual coincidence: Hermione possessed the wild, untamed dark curls and brown eyes that perfectly mirrored Lucerys, while Draco carried the flawless silver-blonde hair, sharp jawline, and razor-edged arrogance identical to Aemond Targaryen.

Prince Daemon Targaryen partially unsheathed Dark Sister, taking long, calculated strides to shield Lucerys. His sharp, violet eyes locked onto the two strangers, assessing them like a predator evaluating new prey. "Who are you?" Daemon’s voice rasped, cold and dangerous. "What foul sorcery is this?"

Hermione drew herself up to her full height, subtly concealing her wand up her sleeve, her diplomatic instincts kicking in. "Please forgive our sudden intrusion," she spoke clearly, her refined accent cutting through the humid air of the hall. "We are simply a married couple who lost our way due to a severe displacement accident. We mean no harm to anyone here, and we are fully prepared to compensate for any damage caused to this hall."

Her logical explanation, however, fell on entirely deaf ears. To a court pathologically obsessed with bloodlines, bastardy, and divine signs, the sheer contrast between Draco’s silver hair and Hermione’s dark curls—coupled with their immediate, defensive stance over Lucerys—could only mean one world-shattering thing.

They are husband and wife. They bear the exact visages of Aemond and Lucerys.

"A sign from the gods..." one of the lords whispered, his voice trembling with superstitious awe. "They come from the future! The girl is the daughter of Lucerys, and the man is the son of Aemond. They have wed to bind the Blacks and the Greens together!"

A wave of shock rippled through the Black faction. Lucerys stared wide-eyed at his supposed 'future daughter'—a girl so formidable she wielded blue fire, an absolute testament to the blood of the Dragon.

Rhaenyra looked at Hermione, her eyes suddenly brimming with a mixture of overwhelming pride, relief, and political vindication. Sensing the raw, terrifying magnitude of Hermione’s power, Rhaenyra’s mind raced; she realized that this mysterious girl and her formidable blue flames would make defending Lucerys’s birthright infinitely easier. No one would dare challenge a lineage backed by such devastating, otherworldly magic.

Daemon narrowed his eyes, a dark, amused smirk spreading across his face as he witnessed his "granddaughter’s" destructive, proud display of power—a ruthlessness that mirrored his own.

Standing right beside them, Jacaerys clenched his fists. A fierce wave of protective pride washed over him at the sheer brilliance and unyielding spirit of this girl, whom he believed to be his future niece. His posture relaxed slightly now that his younger brother Luke was safely out of harm's way, but a deeper, darker anxiety quickly clouded his thoughts. Jacaerys stared at Draco, his jaw tightening with intense apprehension; the reality of his beloved brother's future child being bound in marriage to the son of their bitter enemy, Aemond Targaryen, filled him with deep unease.

Meanwhile, Rhaena Targaryen trembled with raw emotion; she stared at Hermione, her heart swelling with the poignant, breathtaking belief that this extraordinary, fire-wielding girl would one day be the flesh-and-blood daughter she would bear with Lucerys.

However, seated above them all, Princess Rhaenys Velaryon merely knit her brows. Her gaze remained thoroughly unconvinced, icy and filled with profound skepticism as she stared at Hermione’s dark curls. She could not comprehend, nor politically accept, how Rhaena’s proud silver High Valyrian lineage could fail so entirely to overpower the stubborn, wild dark hair of House Strong in the next generation.

On the opposite side of the hall, Aemond Targaryen glared at Draco. While a dangerous spark of pride flared within him at the sight of "his son's" identical features, lethal strength, and mocking arrogance, his chest tightened with a venomous fury. The sheer thought that, in some distant future, his flawless, legitimate bloodline would stoop to marry into the reviled "Strong" bastard blood made his blood boil. He clenched his jaw, realizing that even in a time yet to come, his iron will would apparently be left to clean up the catastrophic messes and bear the burdens of the broken alliances Rhaenyra had inflicted upon the realm.

King Viserys, deeply moved and with tears welling in his frail eyes, struck his royal staff heavily against the stone floor. "The gods have sent a prophecy! Our house shall be mended and bound as one in the future! I invite you both to stay; the royal house of Targaryen welcomes you."

Hermione offered a polite, respectful nod but firmly declined. "We thank Your Grace for your immense kindness, but we must return to where we belong before the temporal rift closes permanently."

"Hold!" Otto Hightower stepped forward, his sharp, calculating mind immediately seeking to seize control of the situation. His opportunistic gaze swept over the couple. "Insulting the crown, disrupting a royal hearing, and you think you can simply walk away? Kingsguards, separate them and take them into custody!"

Two Kingsguards stepped forward, and one of them roughly reached out to grab Hermione's arm. The exact moment his hand made contact with her, Draco's grey eyes flared with a lethal, terrifying coldness. He didn't draw his wand, nor did he use a single ounce of magic against the Hand of the King, but the sheer, venomous authority in his voice was enough to make the entire room freeze.

"How dare you touch her?" Draco snarled, his voice cutting through the hall with the absolute, suffocating arrogance of a Malfoy aristocrat. "We have been inseparable since birth. If your men value their hands, old man, I suggest you order them to step back before I make your entire lineage regret this insolence." It was a rare bond that was awakened when Hermione punched Draco, and they have been inseparable ever since.

Daemon Targaryen let out a dark, mocking laugh, stepping forward to block the other Kingsguards from advancing. "Otto, your hands have grown quite long these days. The King has not commanded it, princess Rhaenyra has not spoken, yet a Hand of the King wants to govern the very actions of the future gods?"

The chaos spiraled out of control as Queen Alicent Hightower shrieked in horror, her face turning entirely pale at Draco's choice of words. "Inseparable since birth?! You... you are twin siblings? How can such an abomination exist when both Aemond and Lucerys are men?!" Whispers rippled across the Great Hall as the court reeled from the baffling prospect of Aemond and Lucerys having children together.

Midst the rising uproar, Princess Rhaenys calmly stepped forward. She fixed her cold, calculating gaze on Draco and Hermione, her voice slicing through the noise: "In the ancient chronicles of Old Valyria, it is recorded that men of pure Velaryon bloodline, blessed by the magic of seahorses, possess the unique capability to carry and bear children."Rhaenys’s declaration struck the court like a thunderbolt. Everyone stood frozen, suddenly realizing that Hermione and Draco's protective, deeply instinctual care for Lucerys earlier made perfect sense—because he was their "mother" in the future!

Alicent Hightower clutched her head and wailed, entirely broken before the Faith of the Seven: "Sacrilege! This is the most foul sacrilege against the Faith! That bastard of filthy blood... a dark-haired mongrel, unworthy of bearing children, let alone defiling the pure Targaryen dragon blood with his wretched seed! To allow that wild-haired witch to be born is the darkest insult to the crown!"

Her vitriolic words directly insulted Hermione's pride and lineage. A vein throbbed violently on Draco’s temple. His hand gripped his wand, a lethal urge flaring for a fraction of a second. However, the logic of a former Auror quickly held him back. They were in an unfamiliar world, an unmapped timeline, and Ministry law strictly forbade the reckless slaughter of non-magical Muggles. 

To silence the woman elegantly, Draco gave a swift flick of his wand. The tiny moisture droplets in the air instantly condensed, moving with gentle, flawless precision. Under the masterly control of the former Slytherin prefect, the water formed a soft yet unyielding band, wrapping tightly around Alicent's mouth without harming a single strand of her hair, leaving the Queen unable to utter another sound. That display instantly pushed Aemond and the Green faction into a convincing spiral of assumptions. In their eyes, this calculated restraint was undeniable proof of their shared blood. Aemond, no matter how ruthless, would never harm his mother. His 'future son,' despite being in a towering rage, had chosen the gentlest warning possible to spare the life of Alicent, proving that he is in her direct lineage.

Following Draco's swift subdual of Queen Alicent, the temporary silence in the Great Hall instantly ruptured into total pandemonium. The royal court erupted into a roaring chaos as factions clashed violently over the unprecedented escalation.

"Treason! Absolute treason!" Ser Criston Cole bellowed, his face flushed with fury as he brandished his sword at the couple. "He has choked and insulted the Queen! This abomination must be slaughtered where he stands!"

"Silence, you Hightower lapdog!" Daemon Targaryen countered sneeringly, stepping fully in front of the Kingsguards with his hand resting menacingly on Dark Sister. "The future prince merely put a leash on a hysterical woman who dared insult the dragon's blood. Your Queen insulted his mother—she invited this wrath upon herself!"

The Green lords shouted in outrage, fiercely demanding the immediate arrest of the intruders, while the Black faction vociferously defended the couple, hailing Draco's actions as a divine warning to the Greens. The roaring arguments echoed off the high rafters, threatening to turn the solemn hearing into an outright bloodbath right beneath the Iron Throne.

Seeing the volatile political powder keg about to detonate, Hermione realized they could not afford to stay a second longer. The situation was too dangerous for them to stay.

"Drake!" Hermione shouted, her authoritative voice cutting sharply through the roar of the dispute.

Draco instantly snapped his head toward her. Catching her eye, he saw the urgent, unspoken command in her gaze—it was time for them to get out of here. Draco gave a curt, imperceptible nod of agreement.

Turning on his heel, Draco took a swift, running start and hurled himself off the high stone balcony of the Great Hall, plunging down into the vast, open abyss over the cliffs of the Red Keep.

"He flings himself to his death?!" A horrified scream echoed through the hall.

But death did not claim him. Mid-air, a brilliant flash of raw magic enveloped Draco's falling form. Instead of crashing against the rocks, his body warped, expanded, and manifested into his rare, magnificent Animagus form—a colossal silver dragon. Its scales shimmered like liquid moonlight under the pale sky, and its massive wingspan snapped open, slicing through the heavy shroud of mist hanging over the capital.