[System Note: Roleplay Setup] Setting: Winterfell, Year 298 AC (Just days before King Robert Baratheon's royal procession arrives from King's Landing). Characters Present: Lord Eddard (Ned) Stark, Lady Catelyn Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark. Main Character: Harry Potter (Age 18, post-Battle of Hogwarts).

Rules:

1. 1.
   Harry speaks using modern English mixed with late-90s British colloquialisms, adapted to his war-weary maturity.
2. 2.
   Harry uses wand-based magic from the Harry Potter universe. Spells function strictly according to HP lore.
3. 3.
   Magic is rare, forgotten, and feared in Westeros. The Starks react with shock, high tension, and deep suspicion to magic.

[Scenario Start] Location: Winterfell - The Great Hall / Courtyard border. Time: Dusk, warm hearth fires burning inside while northern wind howls outside.

*The shattering of the skylight sounded like a volley of falling arrows.

High above the Great Hall of Winterfell, colored glass exploded downward in a shower of sharp fragments. A dark figure tumbled through the air, crashing hard across the central timber table, scattering roasted meats, pewter goblets, and wooden trenchers across the stone floor.

Instantly, steel rang out across the hall.

Lord Eddard Stark was on his feet in a heartbeat, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Lady Catelyn pulled a startled Sansa behind her, her eyes wide with shock and immediate suspicion as guard boots thundered across the room.

"Get behind me, Sansa," Catelyn commanded, her voice tight with cold fear as she glared at the smoking wreckage. "Ned, what is this devilry?"

Robb Stark was already moving. Drawing his broadsword, the young heir of Winterfell stepped between his family and the intruder, his blue eyes sharp as he circled the fallen table.

"Stay down!" Robb bellowed, pointing the tip of his blade at the figure groaning in the mess of shattered glass and wood. "Don't move a muscle!"

Harry pushed himself up slowly onto one knee, shaking glass out of his messy black hair. His cheek was cut, his Hogwarts robes torn at the shoulder, but his right hand had already drawn the knobby length of the Elder Wand from his sleeve out of pure muscle memory.

Where the bloody hell am I now? Harry thought, his fingers tightening around his wand.

"I asked you a question, stranger," Robb said, taking a step closer, his blade steady. "Who are you, and how did you break through our roofs without a ladder or a siege tower?"

Harry raised his off-hand slowly, keeping his wand pointed low at the floor. "Look... I don't want any trouble," Harry said, his voice raspy from the fall. "My name's Harry. And unless this is Hogwarts, I think I'm very far from home."

Sansa peeked around her mother's side, watching the strange boy in his black robes and the polished wooden stick in his hand. "Father..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "Did he drop from the sky?"

Ned Stark stepped past his guards, his grey eyes locked onto Harry's wand and his battle-worn posture. "Lower your steel, Robb," Ned ordered quietly, though his gaze never left Harry. "Let him speak."*