Title: The Dragon's Heir: Rebirth of the Wizard King

Chapter 7: A Targaryen's First Impressions

Date: October 5, 107 AC

Location: Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen

Age: 5 years and 2 months

Baelon Targaryen had always known that one day he would meet his infamous uncle, Daemon Targaryen. Daemon was a name that echoed throughout the halls of Westeros, a figure of both admiration and dread, and Baelon had heard whispers about him since he was old enough to understand such things. The Prince of the City, the Rogue Prince—Daemon's reputation preceded him, and even as a child, Baelon was not immune to the stories of his uncle's temper, ambition, and lust for power.

It was on this particular day that Baelon finally met him. They had traveled to Dragonstone, the ancient seat of House Targaryen, where Daemon had made his home after he had been exiled from King's Landing. The island's rocky shores were as intimidating as the man himself, and Baelon, although young, already felt the weight of his bloodline pressing down on him.

As they entered the grand hall of Dragonstone, Baelon's violet eyes scanned the room, his sharp gaze taking in every detail. He could feel the tension in the air, as if the very walls were listening for Daemon's arrival. And then, there he was—a tall, striking figure, with silver hair and a dark expression that seemed to promise trouble.

Daemon Targaryen strode toward them with an air of unbothered arrogance. His sharp features and steely gaze matched the rumors Baelon had heard, but there was something else that made Baelon's stomach twist—something instinctive.

"Ah, the young prince," Daemon said, his voice deep and mocking. "Baelon, I presume. I've heard much about you."

Baelon looked up at his uncle, his small frame standing tall despite the unease creeping into his chest. Daemon had a presence that demanded attention, but Baelon wasn't impressed. In fact, he felt an unsettling pull to his mind, something ancient and instinctual, a power that wasn't quite his own—yet it felt so familiar.

Baelon's eyes narrowed subtly, and for the briefest of moments, he let his magic slip free. His previous life, his life as Harry Potter, had left him with certain abilities that still clung to his soul. His wizarding powers may have been weaker in this world, but they were far from gone.

Baelon, with his mind honed by years of magical practice, reached deep inside himself and pushed into Daemon's mind, subtly prodding around the edges of his thoughts. What he saw there made his stomach churn. Daemon's mind was a tangle of ambition, cruelty, and darkness. The Rogue Prince's lust for power wasn't just driven by a desire to be king—it was driven by a deep need to control, to dominate, to rule not just over men, but over every part of his life. His relationship with his family was tainted with jealousy and resentment. There were moments in Daemon's life where he had used and discarded those who were close to him, including his own wife, his siblings, and his children.

Baelon recoiled mentally, disgusted by what he saw. He knew well enough to expect that the Targaryens, with their complicated web of loyalties, betrayals, and madness, would harbor dark secrets. But Daemon's mind, filled with such greed and disregard for anyone but himself, left a bitter taste in Baelon's mouth.

Daemon, oblivious to the intrusion, smiled darkly at his nephew. "What's this? No words of greeting? I was expecting more from the son of Viserys. Surely you know how to speak to your elders."

Baelon stood there for a moment, his small hands clenched at his sides. He could feel his heart race, but his face remained impassive, every inch the Targaryen in appearance. The fiery anger of his past life, Harry Potter's fierce determination and sense of justice, stirred within him, but Baelon knew that he could not openly confront Daemon—not yet, anyway.

Finally, Baelon spoke, his voice cold and measured, the calm mask hiding the storm of emotions swirling inside him. "I do not know you, Uncle. And from what I have seen... I do not wish to."

Daemon's smile faltered for a moment, though he quickly recovered. He leaned in closer to Baelon, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. "You will, boy. We all must learn the harsh truths of this world. One way or another."

Baelon's eyes, ever calculating, met Daemon's gaze with a defiance that was unmistakable. He had seen enough of the man's mind to know what kind of person Daemon was—a ruthless, ambitious, self-serving creature. And though Baelon was only five, he had the wisdom of Harry Potter's past life, which had taught him more about human nature, manipulation, and survival than most adults ever knew.

As Baelon stood in the shadow of his uncle's presence, he made a silent vow to himself: no matter what the future held, he would not let Daemon's darkness consume him or his family. He was not Harry Potter anymore, but the essence of his former self was still alive in him, and it burned with a need to protect those he loved.

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