Jasmine's Warning! This story is DARK, macabre and disturbing in places. This story will reference sex, torture, death, burnings, and everything you could expect after watching Game of Thrones. I won't go into detail as its against FFnet's terms, but it is mentioned, vaguely shown and implied. If this disturbs you, TURN AWAY NOW! Do not say that you were not warned!

Darkened clouds filled the graying sky as wind swept through every tree branch and opened window in Volantis. The song of steel rang out from the courtyard of the temple of R'hllor as the beautiful red head watched from her balcony. Her sheer red dress hugged her beautiful body tightly displaying the curve of her breasts, waist and hips while barely hiding her tantalizing nipples and the folds of her womanhood.

From the balcony of her suite, her blue eyes watched the raven hair of her gift as he moved and flowed like water in a stream around his older and wider opponent. With a flash of steel, their dulled practice blades would rise and fall slamming into one another and sing the song of war. Her pale fingers gently stroked the red stone of the temple, admiring its construction even as it stood like a flame against the darkened sky, even as they itched to disappear inside her garments.

After she had been risen to the title of Priestess, the red headed woman and the child, Harphesto, had left Lys for Volantis to begin the boy's training with the Fiery Hand. He would not be joining the famed thousand though, their Lord had much more planned for the child, and it would be Melisandre's duty to see him raised to it. As the fattened drops of rain began to fall upon the city like tears, the Red Woman as she was quickly becoming called, moved back into her suite, shutting the balcony doors behind her.

She blinked several times to adjust to the gloom of fire light before smiling softly to herself. While she had practiced often, using Lily's memories to guide her hand in the ways of the world's magic, it was a slow and tedious process for her discovery. Magic was just not as ample and powerful in this world as it was in hers, unless you were Harry. Her raven haired child was a magical brute in the making, taking to their lessons on the manipulation of magic quicker than she did.

As her thoughts wandered, she moved to the four poster bed in the back of the room, casually divesting herself of her sheer dress as she slid onto the sheets. Her bare breasts brushing across the silken material causing her pink nipples to darken and tighten up. Her pale skin flickered in the light of the flames from the constantly roaring fireplace as she ran her fingers across her thigh, moaning as her nails scraped the sensitive flesh. One hand continued to rise, reaching for her perk breast as the other spread across her fiery pubic mound.

It had been so long since she had been with a man, not since she was but a girl under the rule of her master, before the One God saved her. As a priestess she was free to be with whom she wanted, but each time she went to lay with a man, she would stop short, as the vision of green eyes plagued her mind. She was desperate for relief though, she wanted it now, and her body refused to move from the bed to gather one of the temple prostitutes. Her eyes shut in pleasure as she began to move her fingers between her thighs, and felt a shudder of want as those green eyes seemed to watch from behind her closed eyelids.

Harphesto moved away from the soldier of the Fiery Hand as the sky began to crack open. His practice sword hung limp at his side as he grinned at the man who had taken the time to train him for the day. "I do believe this ends practice does it not," the thirteen year old asked. He was forced to raise his sword quickly though, his emerald eyes wide as the soldier came at him once more.

"The fight does not stop for rain," the soldier explained as he slammed his own practice blade down upon his students attempt to block. He smirked as the youngster's blade thudded into the soft dirt of the practice field and he swung again, stopping his blade as it kissed the boy's neck. "You are dead, Child of Light," the soldier said with a grin before he backed away and motioned for the raven haired boy to pick his sword up again. "The Red God smiles upon you, but you must continue to earn his grace. Even a god can lose patience with his favored."

"We all must die sometime," Harry countered as he bent low to lift his sword again. Without waiting for the signal to start, he lashed out with the dulled steel, causing his teacher to hop back from the sudden attack. The soldier laughed as he brought his own weapon forward, causing the steel to ring as the blades met between them. The fat drops of rain began to fall faster, turning the soft dirt into slick mud as the two began their dance of war again. "I wonder, just how long can a man your age continue to fight against unbridled youth."

"I'm only twenty and one name days," the soldier said in horror at the implication that he was old. "I'll have you know there are still many whores for me to sheath upon my cock, and I shall only be old when it no longer rises." The swords glanced off one another again as teacher and student parried each others attacks again. "What about you? Ten and three, and still your cock is still dry? I know boy's only ten name days of age who have already released inside a whore at least."

With a growl Harphesto attacked, his own body had begun to build up frustration, but it wasn't something he could so simply remedy. He had tried to visit one of the local whorehouses in Volantis, but it seemed whenever he neared the doors Melisandre would appear to whisk him away for some lesson or another. He swore the red headed woman who had raised him like a mother was trying to keep him blue balled, or possibly to keep him as a joke for men like the one across from him.

"Oh," the man said as he parried Harry's attack and swept in with one of his own. "Perhaps you prefer to bite your pillow, is that it," the man said as his ebony eyes sparkled with mirth. "Is that it? You prefer to be face down, waggling your ass in the air for a real man? Perhaps the Child of Light just wishes for an Ironborn to sheath his drowned cock into your tight," he didn't get to say much more as something, certainly not his opponent's blade, lashed out at him, sending him through the air and against the wall, holding him against the hard stone.

"Watch your tongue," the teen hissed as he held his left hand in the air, using it to focus his magical power against his opponent and keep him pinned. As he began to walk closer to his opponent, he held his sword aloft, its tip aimed at his teacher's throat. "I have no desire to lay with a man you fucking bastard," he growled and jammed the blunt weapon against the man's esophagus. "You're dead," he whispered before moving back, letting the man fall to the ground. "Practice is over, I'm going back inside."

As he turned his back on his opponent he released the force that held his teacher and walked through the rain and mud back toward the temple. As he neared the great obsidian doors, he halted to stare up at the flame like structure, not for the first time admiring the towers, bridges and tunnels as they weaved in out of one another like frozen flame, eternally marked by reds, oranges, and yellows that reached ever higher, and blended together like fire.

As his green eyes stared at the temple of the R'hllor, they slid out of focus as he looked beyond the architecture. A round faced boy slowly faded into his vision, a vulture pecking and clawing at his back as he fought to stand straight. The boy and his attacker began to move crawling and dodging out of the way as a buzzing bee emerged from the shadows, darting back and fro as it's stinger jabbed at his a serpents snout, its fangs bared as it coiled on itself and prepared to attack. Finally, a tome, standing rigid and proud upon a pedestal of books was shredded by a red haired weasel that clawed and chewed upon its pages, hoping to make a nest for itself within the bindings.

Gasping, the young man fell out of his vision, nearly stumbling backwards and down the stairs to the practice field as he eyed the great temple. His emerald eyes clenched shut as he shook his raven mane to clear his mind. He knew he belonged to another world, a world of magic and science. Melisandre had told him everything she knew of Lily Potter's life, from the school called Hogwarts to the remarkable power of electricity. She had even told him of the prophesy as it had been told to Lily, that he would stand against a lord of darkness and be granted a power that the Dark Lord knew not.

Lily had thought that the Dark Lord referred to the demon called Voldemort, the red eyed monster that haunted Harphesto's nightmares. Melisandre though saw it differently, she cared not for the dark wizard in some other world, but the Great Other, the enemy of R'hllor, the god of darkness, cold and death. The Priestesses thought along the same lines as the Red Woman, many even calling him Azor Ahai when he was in lessons. He had come to them in fire, a gift from R'hllor himself, and he would strike down the Great Other with the Lightbringer.

Shoving such thoughts away, he pushed open the door to the temple and ignored the pained screams and billowing black smoke within. He strolled past opened doors to rooms that housed those slaves who refused to convert; men, women and children put to the torch while bound to the heathen gods they refused to stop worshiping. In another life, Harry Potter's stomach would have twisted at such a display, but to Harphesto, it was just another day of life in the temple of R'hllor.

Near the back of the hall, clad in fabrics of various shades of red, the temple whores writhed against each other to the music of pain that filtered through the air. Fingers danced across flesh of various shades as their tongues battled against one another, their carefully kept hair pinned out of their faces as their bodices rubbed together. When they saw him approach though, many smiled languidly and broke away from their lovers as they pawed at their own bodies.

"Milord, will today be the day," one asked in eagerness as her fingers slid beneath the band of her skirt, and her tongue danced across her lips. Her silvery hair was long and beautiful, sweeping over her shoulders, as her eyes, one blue and one green, eyed him hungrily. Rumors held she was of not just Valyrian but Targaryen descent, possibly a descent of Shiera Seastar. He wasn't sure how old she was, she had a magic of her own that gave her an ageless beauty that left the other prostitutes in shame.

The young teen stepped closer to the woman, his hand rising to rest on her heavy breasts, and he almost shut his eyes in elation as he felt her nipple press against his palm. "My dear, Reana, if we are not interrupted, I would try again," he whispered breathlessly as his fingers felt at her breast, squeezing softly and marveling at the soft firmness of her body. He rose up, his heels leaving the ground, as he forced his lips to reach hers, enjoying the taste of her mouth as he softly pushed her back against the wall.

A nearby door opened with a squeal of hinges as one of the Red Priests emerged, ignoring the cries of pain that followed him with the smell of burning flesh. With only a moment of hesitation, Harphesto took the beauty by the hand and led her into the room. With a slam of the heavy door, he turned to take in the woman writhing in pain, her hands and feet bound around the large wooden statue of the Maiden as she cried out in pain, her flesh blackening and her hair shriveling and crinkling in the heat of the flames that had crawled up her gown. He only watched her for a moment before turned back to the whore and dropped to his knees, tossing her long skirt over his head as he began to learn to please a woman with his tongue.

The heart of winter gripped the stone castle hidden in the Scottish Mountains. Snow blanketed the grounds and the branches of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. Ice had formed a thick barrier on top of the Black Lake, trapping its denizens beneath a frozen cap of murky water. Wind whistles through the cracks in the stone walls and rattled the window shutters as it swept around the tall circular towers that reached for the clouds, and throngs of students moved hastily toward the nearby town of Hogsmeade and the train that would take them home for the winter holidays.

Hidden behind the statue of a gargoyle though, a wizened old man sat hunched over his desk, his long white beard dangling in his lap as his blue eyes scanned the latest findings of his magic, unable to comprehend what it was saying. Years ago, he had taken blood samples of two children, Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter, the two children to whom the prophesy he had been given might have meant. One was still around even if he was hampered by the over protectiveness of that was his grandmother, and the other had seemingly vanished.

There was still two years before both boys were scheduled to attend the parents that had taught their children. In those two years, Albus had a lot of work to do, the main focus of which was to find the child who had defeated the Dark Lord. With no one there to see or judge him, Albus Dumbledore fought to rise from his chair, leaving the pages of notes behind as he thought about that Halloween night so many years ago. Hagrid and Sirius Black had returned from Godric's Hollow with the bodies of James and Lily Potter, but no sign of the prophecy child. Sirius' name had been cleared as he admitted to the switch in secret keepers under he influence of Veritaserum, the most powerful truth potion in the world.

Now, Sirius and his friend Remus scoured the globe for any sign of the former's godson, trying to find the child and bring him home, because he certainly wasn't in England. Albus' locator spells always said the same, Harry Potter was alive, but he didn't exist at the same time. It was infuriatingly maddening, but it was a riddle that needed to be solved before Harry was meant to come to Hogwarts. Choosing to ignore the cry of his bones, the Headmaster began to pace the length of his office, his mind, as sharp as ever, running through the thousands of possibilities, carefully whittling away the impossible to focus on everything from the probable to the absurd.

Really, in the back of his mind there was only one hope. The hope that Harry would find his way home before the Dark Lord reemerged.

A knock at his door brought him up short however. Turning his gaze to the aged wooden portal he sighed wearily. "Come in."

The door opened to reveal a young wizard in his mid twenties, wearing obsidian robes and a twinkle in his dark eyes. "I'm so glad I caught you, Albus," Professor Quirrell said with a smile. "I have the papers here that you requested for me to fill out," the teacher who led the Muggle Studies class said as he placed the papers on the older wizards desk. "I wanted to thank you again, you know. For giving me the time off to see the world and then a chance to apply for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post the following year. I can't wait for the opportunity to teach young wizards and witches to defend themselves."

"But of course, Quirinus, of course," Dumbledore said with a smile of his own. He had always been fond of the young student and his desire to help those younger than himself. "This year abroad meeting with different peoples who have been labeled 'dark' should be just the ticket to finishing your Mastery in the subject," he said admirably. "Vampires, werewolves and even Veela, you could learn a lot from them, Quirinus. Don't waste all your time with your jaw on the ground," he said with a chuckle.

Jasmine's Notes! I wasn't sure where to cut this chapter short at, but this seemed good. I'm hoping to find a Beta-reader if anyone is interested. Once again, reviews are welcome, and I'll be starting right away to get chapter 2 finished, hopefully by tomorrow, but I'm not sure. Should I slow down? I'd like to thank everyone for the positive reviews! Please, keep them coming! Oh, and before I get flooded with people asking, yes, time moves differently between the two worlds.