Green Eyes & Fiendfyre

Harry Potter x Avatar: The Last Airbender

AU: Harry and Ginny never really got seriously involved after the war. They remain as good friends. Harry is an auror (of some sort). He is 27 at the time of his world-switch, and roughly 30 when the show itself starts. He is gruffer and blunter but still laid-back, as I think that's how someone who was raised in the dubious Dursley household and then fought a war would act. He is still very loyal, but also uses his 'inner-Slytherin' more often. Think 'wolf in sheep's clothes.'

RATED: T for swearing and violence

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender or the Harry Potter franchise; they belong to their respective owners, distributers and creators. Anything you recognize is probably theirs. Anything you don't is mine, so please don't plagiarize. This is the only disclaimer, and applies to the entire content of this fic. This fic will closely follow the episodes, and often take direct dialogue from the show. That dialogue is not mine. I'm sorry if you find the play by play of the episodes boring, but that's how it is sometimes. I do my best to make it fun.

AN: The first part of many, hopefully. Review to show your support, or at least fav and follow.

WORD COUNT: Aprox. 3000

SET PRE-SHOW

BEFORE RECORD:

A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS

{ -04 } WIZARD

It was, irritatingly enough, a dark wizard who yet again sent Harry's life into spiralling, chaotic motion. This time it was ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry found himself in this predicament alone.

The man had approached his house alone, slipping past the formidable wards with the aid of a dark artifact and keeping another concealed within his cloak. Harry, half asleep at his desk in the study after a long session of obsessive investigation on his latest interest, had only been able to see the figure standing in the door way, brandishing an unfamiliar object in his direction, before the world distorted around him.

He woke up on a cold and lonely beach, with only the clothes on his back, his emergency pack and his wand with him. Face down in the dirt, he felt the unfamiliar fluctuations of this place's energy and scowled.

"Well, fuck."

{ -03 } BLACKSMITH

It was convenient that Harry had taken to carrying around a stash of emergency provisions in a pouch around his neck after the war. Hermione had charmed the silver embroidered bag to be bottomless and unnoticeable; inside he kept a pair of tough dragon-hide robes and boots, several spare wands and a handful of raw unstamped gold pieces. Now he changed from the comfortable but expensive clothes he wore at home, frowning at the water-logged red and silver material and stuffing it into the bag. His trusty holly wand was still in his holster (thank Merlin), so it was only a matter of finding humanity.

It took him two hours and a language charm for him to step into the fringes of a tired-looking fishing town. Everything had an Asian influence, from the cut of their clothes to their buildings and writing. He heard the names of unfamiliar places and people as he walked, and it took him little time to conclude that he had been flung farther than he had ever thought possible.

The man breathing fire in the blacksmith's only confirmed it.

{ -02 } MAP

Harry blinked, watching the worker manipulate the flames with his hands and movements, with no sign of a focus of any kind. A flex of his senses proved that the man's aura held little to no magic, though orange sparks not present in the other, more ordinary auras around him drifted lazily in it.

It wasn't panic that seized him at being surrounded by such an unfamiliar sensation, as he had been through far too much to have that unless in extremely extenuating circumstances, but it was close. He turned on his heel and hurried down the streets, in search of any other proof of him being in an entirely separate world. He nearly stumbled when he passed a bizarre creature that resembled a cross between an owl and a cat, but it's baleful yellow gaze kept him moving. After several minutes he managed to find what had to be the small town's only travel supply store and hurried to the map section.

The unfamiliar charts and foreign lands were the final piece to the puzzle. Harry was irrevocably and totally lost.

{ -01 } TRAVELLER

Of course, he wasn't going to stay lost. He was Harry Potter; unimaginable situations were prone to happening on a weekly basis around him. But, despite all his knowledge and experience, the man-who-lived was stuck. The back water fishing town, far to the south of a region named the Fire Nation, was close-minded and sorely lacking in information. Villagers eyed him warily, keeping their children at their side and their weapons nearby. The most he could unearth from the place was the map, a handful of silver and copper coins in exchange for a few odds and ends he could part with and a basic understanding of the local customs. As soon as he left the town he was transfiguring his combat robes into a mixture of wizarding apparel and the Asiatic style they favoured, leaving him in a grey and maroon coat that tied about the middle and black pants.

On the map he located his best chance to find more information - the Imperial Capital City. It looked to be a large, sprawling city and one of the main hubs for travel. The nearest road to it was long and winding, and he had to guess it would take him over a week to get to his destination.

He rolled the map back up and placed it in the sac he'd bought and charmed extensively. With a saucer-like hat pulled low over his face, he began his journey into parts unknown, appearing to be any other traveller.

That was, of course, when the infamous Potter luck really kicked in.

{ 00 } ZUKO

There was a little known retreat to the south-east of the Imperial Capital, built in the middle of rolling green hills and craggy mountains dotted with ever-flowering trees. The road from the Capital to the country side was cobblestone but rarely used, and marked on few maps. Harry, coincidentally, owned one of these maps, and seeing its relatively straight and quick path, he decided that it would be the best route. The landscape was mostly silent, interrupted only by the calls of the peculiar badgerfrogs and gecko robins and the jingle of the tall, bronze walking staff he had found in the last village. There was a handy hollow centre near the top, allowing for him to seal one of his spare (and illegally-procured) wands. It permitted him to do small acts of magic without having to blatantly wave his arm much or withdraw a wand from a holster. Little loops hanging from the ring at the top chimed cheerfully – apparently it had belonged to a journeying minstrel, and the merchant he'd bought it off of said the little rings were for good luck, and the larger one for catching the blades of swords or spears thrust at it. Seeing the sense in having such a staff in a world where swords and the like were quite common, he travelled the roads with it and hoped it made him look like he was a local – or, at the very least, from this world.

It was past noon when he walked past a turn-off leading into the tall woods. He sent a curious glance down the road and caught sight of tall wrought-iron gates tucked into the trees, framed by a strong stone wall that continued on out of sight. It had to be an estate of a rich family or something, because the insignia of the Fire Nation was embossed on the front of gates, made of what he was fairly certain was solid gold. He saw twin guards standing on the other side bearing halberds, eyeing him suspiciously from beneath their ridiculous helmets, so he tipped his saucer hat to them in greeting and continued on. He did not doubt that beyond the gates were more trees then manicured gardens and a vast white courtyard and large house, if the rich houses he'd seen in a handful of large towns held true to central Fire Nation.

He continued to walk on for another hour or so, musing about the large divide between social classes he'd seen throughout the southern-most part of the Nation. Like the decrepit fishing town he'd first entered almost three weeks ago, the poor lived in squalor and were in a forever exhausted state, while the wealthier of merchants and those from old families lived off the cream of the crop. It reminded him of the Wizarding world, in a slightly convoluted way.

The distant sound of clattering hooves interrupted the peaceful atmosphere, and Harry looked up to see a carriage coming into view at the top of the next hill. It was made of grey wood and had bronze accents that gleamed brightly in the sunlight, and was pulled by a pair of dragon moose. The odd creatures were moving along at a good trot, no doubt bringing a rich ambassador or a figure of equal importance from one city to another. Three armored militia men were sitting atop the carriage, one holding the reins and the others keeping a close eye on him as they approached, and Harry passively moved to the side of the road so they could pass. He could hear them murmuring to each other but all he did was adjust his sack and continue walking. They were fifteen feet behind him when a loud whistle pierced the air. The soldiers on the carriage started and Harry instinctively scanned the horizon, trying to find the source of the loud noise. Old war-honed instincts surfaced as over half a dozen figures raced over the hill and rocketed towards them. Harry recognized them to be ostrich horses, covered in dust and mounted with ratty looking saddles. The ones riding them didn't look much better – they were men in worn clothing, waving m blades over their heads and with wicked grins on their faces. They were no doubt raiders; fools that had once been in poverty and resorted to thievery to have the luxuries they wished or criminals that simply relished the violence. Harry had seen them on occasion farther south, but according to the townsfolk it was rare for them to be this close to the capital and central region.

They were either very stupid or very brave to chance the strong military presence in exchange for more nobles to attack.

Harry had to leap out of the way as they rushed past, the yells of the startled militia as they tried to urge the dragon moose faster ringing in his ears. Quick as he could, he righted himself and swung his staff at the last ostrich-horse as it rushed by. The creature avoided it with a frightened squawk but turned to face him, pawing the ground nervously. The two raiders on its back growled and tried to urge their mount forward, but Harry had dealt with things more dangerous than a skittish ostrich-horse (namely dragons and full-moon crazed werewolves) and he sidestepped its panicking charge. With a flick of his staff he caught one of the raider's sabres in the ring and sent it flying across the road. A shake of the staff's little charms dissuaded the ostrich-horse from snapping at him with its sharp beak, and he yanked the sloppily-done saddle hard enough that the girth that ran under the bird-equine's stomach snapped free. The raiders tumbled to the ground with startled shrieks, and it took Harry little time to smash them over the head with his staff, sending them a bit of magical jolt to make sure they actually fell unconscious.

More yelling and the thump of approaching steeds made him look up, and he saw more soldiers rush over the hill on their own ostrich-horses. He turned to see the carriage being besieged by the raiders; the soldiers protecting it were having a hard time, and one was already on the ground and trying to avoid getting trampled. The soldiers were no doubt fire benders – no noble would employ regular ones for their own protection – but they were smart enough to not throw flames while atop a wood carriage. The raiders, on the other hand, weren't that intelligent or just didn't care, as one of them threw a messy punch and produced a sputtering flame that licked at the rear of the carriage. The wood was most likely treated to be fire proof, as fire was too common of an element to not protect against here, but whichever fool that had designed the carriage had not taken the silk curtains into account. They burst into flames easily, and licked at the inside of the carriage, where pillows and cushioned benches were. There was a startled cry as more smoke started to curl from the carriage.

Well. Harry wasn't going to stand for this to happen right in front of him. The soldiers weren't doing much, and reinforcements were only just bearing down on them. He rushed forwards, using a bit of the ambient magic to give him a bit more a spring to his step, and slammed shoulder first into one of the ostrich-horses. The thing shrieked and toppled, spilling its riders to the ground, and got up a moment later to run off. He ignored it and met one of the raider's frantic spear thrusts with his staff, directing the blade away from his face. The man tried to bring it back around, but Harry got in close and slammed the butt of the staff into his gut. A pivot brought him about to face another charging ostrich-horse, having turned to face the new threat, but he lined up the head of his staff with the chest of the creature and swung. It was only hard enough to sting, not break a bone, but the mount was poorly trained and reared up at the unexpected pain. Its riders were also left on the floor, one quickly trampled beneath his own comrades' steed and the other knocked unconscious with a quick kick to the head.

It was the biggest fight Harry had been in since he had arrived in this new world. There had been one or two scuffles here or there, as travelling alone attracted unwanted attention and drunken fools often started fights with him in local bars for being an 'outsider', mostly based on his green eyes. Those small brawls had never been enough to get his blood pumping and bring back the humming awareness of battle, but it had kept his skills sharp. Martial arts learned from eastern masters and Indian gurus didn't degrade and staff and blade handling from the Egyptian desert folk stayed fresh in his mind; he was thankful for all of that now. Having this many opponents on mounts made for a more interesting fight than he'd had the past month or so.

There were only three more ostrich-horses left, each with two raiders astride them. Out of the original eight, three had been taken down by him and two by the carriage's protectors. He left the soldiers and the incoming reinforcements to deal with them and turned to the smoking carriage, which none of the soldiers had thought to open. The door flung open as he hurried over and a small figure rolled out, face covered by a piece of ripped cloth and arms raised to cushion the fall. Coughs shook their frame, so Harry took a protective stance over them and kept his eyes on the battle. It was a good thing he did, because a raider broke off from the fight and made for the wheezing child on the ground behind him. He no doubt intended to take him as hostage, so that he could escape, but Harry wasn't going to take any more shit and swept aside his sword thrust. A lightning fast step into the man's guard prevented the man from moving away, and he smashed his ribcage in with the butt of his staff, then brought the shaft behind the man's head and pulled down, meeting halfway with his knee. The man fell to the ground comatose, nose broken and several ribs cracked.

The other raiders were on the ground, hands wrenched behind their backs and in the process of being tied. Deeming the threat to be handled, Harry turned to the boy behind him, whose coughs were finally clearing. He seemed to be eleven or twelve and was dressed in the finery of nobles. His long hair was pulled back into the topknot favoured by most of society, held in place by a gold ornamental ring, but was plain otherwise. Squatting down, Harry waited for the boy to look up, knowing that intruding on the boy's personal space would not endear him.

"Here," he said, unhooking a canteen from his belt and holding it out to him, "some water will help soothe your lungs and throat."

The boy coughed one last time and raised his head. Harry was met with intense amber eyes, wet with instinctive tears from the smoke but strong, and remained still under scrutiny. After a second the boy swiped the canteen from his hand and gulped down several mouthfuls, pausing to let the occasional cough out.

"Your Highness!" The guards' cries alerted Harry to their approach, and he shifted to the side as they rushed to the boy, hovering worriedly. They scanned him for injuries and fussed over the slight singeing of his clothes, and Harry looked away to give them a moment. Four soldiers were hurriedly unhooking the panicking dragon moose from the burning carriage, and another two were rounding up the ostrich horses and leading them off the road.

The crunch of dirt underfoot made him look back to the boy, and saw him getting to his feet. He rubbed soot from his face and finished the last of the water in the canteen, then held it out to him. Harry rose as well and brushed some none-existent dirt from his pants before taking it back.

"Thank you for your service," the boy said, voice hoarse but posture proud and strong nonetheless.

Harry blinked, surprised by his cultured accent and mature speech and body language. The soldiers behind the boy took his silence as insolence and hissed at him, "Bow when the Prince addresses you so!"

Ah. Right. 'Prince' and 'Your Highness' both implied some form of royalty, did they not? He glanced at the fancy carriage, now burning merrily, the well-groomed dragon moose, the contingent of guards and the boy's fine robes.

Damn; his saving people thing had gotten him into another mess hadn't it.

AN: Another chapter should be up in a week or so, maybe less - I want to finish writing out the entire first season before I post anymore. I'm currently on episode 12 or so, and have 60 pages on Word. This is just a teaser.

Review, fav and follow.