Teaser of Harry Potter/Daenerys Targaryen - One Shot Part 2

The Full Version of All One Shots written so far are available for Sergeant Tier or Higher.

The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly on Astapor's red brick streets as Harry faced the last Targaryen.

"Why does someone with dragons need to buy an army of slaves?" Harry asked, his voice carrying an edge.

Daenerys's expression remained composed, but something flickered in her violet eyes. "You speak quite freely for a stranger in Astapor," she said, though there was more curiosity than rebuke in her tone.

"She has no obligation to explain herself to you," Ser Jorah cut in, stepping forward. His hand hadn't left his sword hilt since Harry's earlier pronouncement about the Masters. "We have business with Master Kraznys."

Harry's face twisted in disgust. "Kraznys mo Nakloz? The man who mutilates children to make them into weapons?" He spat on the red brick street. "He's barely human anymore, if he ever was."

Something dark passed across Daenerys's face, and for a moment, Harry saw a flash of the same anger he felt. "I know what he is," she said quietly, her voice carrying steel beneath its silk. "I know what they all are."

"Then why deal with them?" Harry pressed. "Why buy slaves instead of freeing them?"

"You presume much," Jhogo said in broken Common Tongue, his hand tightening on his curved blade.

Daenerys raised a hand, silencing her guard. "Sometimes," she said carefully, "the path to justice is not straight." She turned toward the great pyramid looming before them, its harsh angles casting long shadows across the plaza. "Come, we shouldn't keep Master Kraznys waiting."

Harry watched them go, noting how the crowds parted before the dragon queen and her retinue. He thought of his own world then, of Hermione's planning and Ron's strategic mind. What would they make of this place, with its casual cruelty?

Hermione would already have read every scroll she could find about this world's history. Ron would probably be plotting how to use wizard chess tactics against the Unsullied formations. The thought brought both comfort and a sharp pang of homesickness.

A commotion drew his attention to one of the smaller pyramids nearby. A minor Master stood on his balcony, his tokar glinting with silver fringe as he berated a slave cowering before him. Harry had seen similar scenes all week - the casual violence, the absolute power the Masters held over life and death.

The Elder Wand seemed to move of its own accord, sliding into his hand beneath his vest. A simple Confundus Charm, just enough to make the Master lose his balance. No one would question it - the man's tokar was elaborate enough to trip anyone.

The Master stumbled, his arms windmilling as he tried to catch himself. His tokar tangled around his legs, and then he was falling, a short cry cut off by the sickening crack of his neck against the red bricks below.

Slaves and citizens scattered from the body, though Harry noticed none seemed particularly distressed. Just another death in a city built on them. The Master's own slaves kept their eyes down, their faces carefully blank, though Harry caught the barest hint of satisfaction in some of their expressions.

"A tragic accident," came a familiar voice beside him. The innkeeper had appeared silently, as he often did. "Though perhaps the gods grow tired of Astapor's Masters, eh?"

"Perhaps they do," Harry agreed quietly, the Elder Wand now hidden again. "The gods, or whoever else might be watching."

"Strange times approach, young stranger," the innkeeper mused, watching as guards moved to collect the Master's body. "Dragons in the sky, accidents in the streets, and now a queen who looks at slaves and sees people." He stroked his forked beard thoughtfully.

Harry glanced toward the great pyramid where Daenerys had disappeared. "The Masters think they're untouchable in their pyramids, surrounded by their Unsullied and their wealth." He smiled slightly. "They're wrong."

"Careful," the innkeeper warned, though his eyes sparkled with something like approval. "Even the walls have ears in Astapor, and the Masters have many spies."

"Let them hear," Harry said softly. "Let them wonder. They'll learn soon enough."

The innkeeper studied him for a long moment. "Thou seeketh knowledge of our world, yet methinks thou might change it first." He gestured toward the pyramid. "The Masters keep their secrets in their libraries, their scrolls and ancient texts. But reaching such treasures..." He left the thought unfinished.

Harry watched as slaves washed the blood from the red bricks where the Master had fallen. The Elder Wand thrummed against his side, and he thought again of his friends. Hermione would tell him to be careful, to plan and research. Ron would probably suggest using the Invisibility Cloak to sneak into the pyramids.

But Harry didn't have the cloak here, only the most powerful wand ever created and a growing anger at the injustice surrounding him. The Masters' pyramids might hold the knowledge he needed to get home, but they also held the power that kept thousands in chains.

"Tell me more about these libraries," Harry said to the innkeeper as they walked back toward the inn. "And about how the Masters guard their secrets."

The old man's eyes crinkled with understanding. "Ah, now that is a tale worth telling. Though perhaps over wine? The streets have too many ears, but my back room has only walls."

As they walked, Harry noticed more slaves clearing away the dead Master's blood. None of them looked up, but their movements were quick and efficient, as if they'd done this many times before.

The innkeeper held the door open, gesturing Harry into the cool darkness within. "Come, young sorcerer. Let us speak of libraries and secrets, of guards and gates." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And perhaps of how such obstacles might be... overcome."

Daenerys

The red brick streets of Astapor shimmered in the afternoon heat as Daenerys walked with her small entourage. Missandei stayed close to her side, the translator's face carefully neutral despite the tension in the air.

"Your Grace," Ser Barristan said quietly, his white hair gleaming in the sun. "To trade a dragon for slaves... surely there must be another way."

Daenerys stopped, turning to face the legendary knight. His weathered face showed genuine concern, and she felt a warmth for his protective nature. "You chose me as your queen, Ser Barristan."

"And you are my queen," he affirmed immediately, standing straighter. "Until my last breath."

"Then do not question my decisions in public," she said firmly but kindly. "The streets of Astapor have many eyes and ears."

Both Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah nodded, properly chastened. Jhogo remained silent, his dark eyes constantly scanning their surroundings.

They continued toward the docks where her three ships waited, gifts from the merchants of Qarth. The street they turned down seemed oddly empty, the usual bustle of slaves and citizens conspicuously absent.

Ser Jorah noticed it first, his hand moving to his sword hilt. "Something's wrong."

Before he could elaborate, ten Unsullied appeared at the end of the street, their spears held ready.

"Behind us!" Barristan called out, and they turned to see ten more Unsullied blocking their retreat.

"Protect the Queen!" Ser Jorah shouted, drawing his blade. Barristan's sword whispered from its scabbard as Jhogo's arakh flashed in the sunlight.

Daenerys reached for Missandei, pulling the translator close as her guards formed a protective circle around them.

What happened next defied explanation.

The ten Unsullied behind them suddenly flew backward as if struck by an invisible giant's hand. Their disciplined formation shattered as they slammed into the wall with bone-crushing force. Spears clattered against the red bricks as bodies crumpled to the ground.

Before anyone could process this impossible sight, the Unsullied in front of them met the same fate. Their bodies were lifted into the air like puppets on invisible strings, then thrown down with terrible force. The sound of breaking bones and rattling armor echoed off the walls.

"By the old gods and the new," Ser Barristan breathed, his sword hand trembling slightly.

Daenerys stared at the fallen Unsullied, her mind racing to make sense of what she'd just witnessed. These were among the most disciplined soldiers in the world, yet they'd been tossed aside like children's toys.

"What sorcery is this?" Ser Jorah demanded, his blade still ready as he scanned the empty street.

A figure stepped out of the shadows of a nearby alley - the strange young man from earlier, Harry. He held what appeared to be a wooden stick in his hand, but carried himself with absolute confidence.

"You shouldn't walk down empty streets in Astapor," he said casually, as if he hadn't just demonstrated impossible power. "The Masters like to remind visitors who rules here."

"That was you?" Daenerys asked, though she already knew the answer. She thought of his earlier words about having power the Masters couldn't understand.

Harry nodded; his green eyes were quite strange. "The Masters sent them to intimidate you, I expect. To show that even with dragons, you're not beyond their reach."

"How did you..." Ser Jorah began, but couldn't seem to finish the question.

"The same way you command dragons, Your Grace," Harry said, addressing Daenerys directly. "With a power they don't understand and can't control."

The dragons landed on a nearby roof, all three focusing their attention on Harry. Instead of showing fear, he studied them with what seemed like professional interest.

"Beautiful creatures," he commented. "Different from the dragons I've known, but magnificent all the same."

Daenerys found herself reassessing everything about this stranger. "You've known other dragons?"

"In another place," Harry said vaguely. "One quite different from here." He glanced at the fallen Unsullied, some of whom were beginning to stir. "We should move. The Masters will send more when these don't report back."

"Why help us?" Ser Barristan asked, his tactical mind clearly trying to understand this new factor in their plans.

Harry's expression darkened. "Because I've seen enough of how the Masters treat people. And because someone once told me that we have to choose between what is right and what is easy." He looked directly at Daenerys. "You're not the only one who wants to see change in Astapor, Your Grace."

"We should return to the ships," Ser Jorah insisted, still eyeing Harry warily.

"Agreed," Daenerys said, but she kept her gaze on Harry. "Would you join us? I believe we have much to discuss."

"Another time, perhaps," Harry replied. "For now, I have other matters to attend to." He gestured down a side street. "That way is clear to the docks. The Masters won't try again today - they'll be too busy trying to understand what happened here."

"To the ships," she commanded, and her guards fell in around her once more. But as they made their way through the streets, she couldn't help but smile. The Masters thought to frighten her with their slave soldiers, but instead they had revealed a potential ally with power to match her own.

Later

The evening air was suddenly pierced by the sound of beating wings. Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan turned just in time to see Viserion's golden color form dart away from the ship, his wings catching the last rays of sunlight.

"Viserion!" Daenerys burst from her cabin, her silver hair whipping in the wind. "Come back!" Her voice carried the authority that usually commanded instant obedience from her children, but this time, the dragon paid no heed. They watched as the cream and gold form disappeared behind a row of weathered buildings.

Rhaegal and Drogon remained perched on the ship, unusually calm despite their brother's departure. Their behavior only seemed to unsettle Daenerys more.

"Find him," she commanded, her voice tight with worry. "Now!"

"We'll split into groups," Ser Barristan began as their men gathered around them, already mentally dividing their forces. "Five teams should-"

A familiar screech cut through the air, but it wasn't a cry of distress. If anything, it sounded... pleased.

Daenerys moved forward, her face a mask of concern. The assembled group watched as a figure emerged from between two buildings, and collectively, their jaws dropped.

There, strolling casually toward them as if he were out for an evening walk, was the green-eyed sorcerer. And draped across his shoulders like an oversized, scaly cat was Viserion, his cream-colored tail coiled around the young man's opposite shoulder. The dragon was making happy chirping sounds as he munched on something in the sorcerer's hand.

Jorah couldn't help but notice how the boy's knees were slightly bent, clearly struggling with the weight. The dragons had grown significantly - they were no longer the tiny creatures that could perch on Daenerys's shoulders with ease.

"Pardon me," Harry called out, that same mischievous smile playing across his lips, "but would this happen to be your dragon?"

Ser Jorah's hand instinctively went to his sword, but Ser Barristan placed a restraining hand on his arm. They watched as Daenerys stepped forward, her expression a mixture of amazement and wariness.

"What are you feeding him?" she asked, her voice steady despite the extraordinary sight before her.

"Ah, just a bit of seafood," Harry replied, wincing slightly as Viserion shifted position. "He seemed rather interested in my catch of the day. Though I must say, he's a bit heavier than I anticipated."

As if to prove his point, Harry's knees buckled slightly, and Viserion took that as his cue to launch himself off the sorcerer's shoulders, gliding back to his mother. Harry rolled his shoulders with visible relief.

"Remarkable creatures," he said, brushing some cream-colored scales off his strange clothing. "Though perhaps a bit too friendly for their own good. He nearly knocked me over when he landed on me."

"Dragons aren't known for being friendly to strangers," Ser Barristan observed carefully.

"No?" Harry asked, looking genuinely surprised. "Well, this one seemed quite adamant about sharing my dinner. Nearly set my fish basket on fire in his enthusiasm."

Daenerys stepped closer, her dragons now all gathered around her. "You don't seem afraid of them."

"Should I be?" Harry asked, then quickly added, "Though I suppose that's a bit of a foolish question, given their size and the whole fire-breathing aspect." He paused, considering. "Still, they seem well-behaved. Well, aside from the dinner theft."

Jorah couldn't quite believe the casual way this stranger was discussing dragons, as if they were nothing more extraordinary than particularly large pets.

"Most men would run at the sight of a dragon," Jorah said pointedly.

"Most men can't make Unsullied fly through the air," Harry countered with a raised eyebrow. "Besides, I've had some experience with dragons before."

This statement caused all present to stare at him in shock.

"That's impossible," Ser Barristan said firmly. "The last dragons died over a century ago."

"Did they?" Harry asked mysteriously, then shrugged. "Well, clearly not, as there are three right here." He looked at the dragons with genuine interest. "Though they're quite different from the ones I've known. Much more... elegant."

Daenerys stepped forward again, her voice quiet but intense. "Who are you? Really?"

"Just Harry," he replied, but his smile had faded slightly. "A fisherman who occasionally makes soldiers fly when they're being particularly unpleasant."

"And what do you want?" Jorah demanded.

"Right now? To return your dragon and perhaps suggest a better diet than random fish from stranger's baskets." Harry's grin returned. "Though I must say, he has excellent taste. That was going to be my dinner."

Viserion made a satisfied chirping sound, as if agreeing with the assessment of his stolen meal.

"Perhaps," Daenerys said finally, "we should discuss in a more private place."

"Over dinner, maybe?" Harry suggested. "Since someone ate mine." He gave Viserion a pointed look, but there was no real annoyance in it.

"You would dine with us?" Ser Barristan asked, surprised.

"Well, it seems only fair, since your dragon already dined with me," Harry replied. "Though I should warn you - I have absolutely no idea about proper dining etiquette with queens."

Harry's attention was caught by Drogon, who had moved closest to him.

"Magnificent," he murmured, meeting the black dragon's gaze without flinching. "They all are. Though I imagine they're quite a handful at this size."

"You have no idea," Daenerys said, a hint of maternal pride in her voice.

"Oh, I might," Harry replied cryptically. "I once knew a dragon who was absolutely obsessed with shiny objects. Caused no end of trouble in the local village."

The absurdity of this statement, delivered so matter-of-factly, actually drew a laugh from Ser Barristan.

"You speak of dragons as if they were common pets," the old knight observed.

"Nothing common about them," Harry corrected. "But they're not quite as mysterious as some would believe. Just... complicated. Like most magical creatures."

"And are you?" Daenerys asked suddenly. "Complicated?"

Harry's green eyes met her violet ones.

"Incredibly so," he admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "But then, aren't we all?"

Dinning Room

The dining room swayed gently with the ship's movement, candlelight dancing across the polished wood surfaces. Harry settled into his chair, and before anyone could speak, Viserion abandoned his usual place beside his siblings and sauntered over to Harry. The cream-colored dragon laid his massive head in Harry's lap, making a sound that was remarkably similar to a purr.

Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan exchanged meaningful looks, while Daenerys watched the scene with intense fascination. Drogon and Rhaegal remained near their mother, but showed none of their usual territorial behavior toward the stranger.

"You have Valyrian blood," Daenerys said. It wasn't a question.

Harry glanced down at Viserion, his hand unconsciously moving to scratch under the dragon's jaw. He knew the truth of course - that just moments ago, he'd whispered to the dragon in Parseltongue, discovering to his surprise that the ancient language of serpents worked just as well on these magical creatures. But that wasn't something he was ready to share.

"No," he said simply. "Animals just tend to like me."

Ser Jorah snorted softly. "These aren't mere animals, boy. They're dragons. The first seen in over a century."

Harry met the knight's skeptical gaze steadily. "I'm aware of what they are, Ser Jorah. But being magical doesn't make them any less creatures of flesh and blood."

His week in this strange world had been educational, to say the least. The libraries of Astapor, though focused mainly on military histories, had provided enough information about Valyria and its dragons to help him understand the significance of what he was witnessing. Yet there was still so much he needed to learn, so much he needed to understand before he could decide his next move. He had hoped to find a way home, but so far, from what he had read in the libraries wasn't really what he needed. The innkeeper had told him that he might find something with the Masters, but he wasn't certain, and neither was Harry. He knew not if the Master held any knowledge that could help him to return home, but it was worth a try. If the Masters didn't have what he needed to return home, he would sail to Volantis and hopefully find something there with the Red Priestesses.

"Even wild animals trust you?" Daenerys asked, her violet eyes studying him intently.

Harry thought of Buckbeak, of Fawkes, of the thestrals. "Yes, usually. Though your dragons are far more intelligent than most creatures I've encountered."

Viserion made a chirping sound that almost seemed like agreement, causing Harry to smile despite himself.

"And what brings you to Astapor?" Ser Barristan asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.

Harry considered his answer carefully. The truth - that he had been killed by a Dark Wizard and ended up in this world instead - wouldn't exactly help his credibility. Besides, he still wasn't sure about these people. Yes, Daenerys seemed to oppose slavery, which had immediately earned his respect, but he'd learned the hard way not to trust too quickly.

"I was looking for someone," he said finally. "But I found something else instead." He gestured to the city beyond the ship's walls. "A place that needs changing."

"And you think you can change it?" Daenerys asked.

"I think you're trying to," Harry replied. "That's why I helped. Anyone who makes the Masters that nervous is probably doing something right."

"You hate them," she observed. "The Masters."

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" Harry's voice had grown hard. "I've been here a week and seen enough to last a lifetime. Children in chains, people treated like property..." His hand clenched involuntarily, and Viserion lifted his head, sensing his tension.

"That's why you helped us?" Daenerys pressed. "Because you hate the Masters?"

"It's reason enough, isn't it?" Harry relaxed his hand, and Viserion settled back down. "Though I must admit, the dragons were a surprise. A welcome one, but still a surprise."

"Most people who hate the Masters don't have the power to do anything about it," Ser Jorah pointed out.

"Most people don't have a lot of things," Harry replied cryptically. His thoughts drifted to Volantis, where rumors spoke of Red Priestesses who could see through flames. Perhaps they could help him find his way home.

"What kind of magic do you practice?" Daenerys asked suddenly. "I've seen fire-magic, blood-magic... but nothing like what you did."

Harry absently stroked Viserion's scales. "My kind of magic is... different. More versatile, less costly." He didn't mention that it was also from an entirely different world. "And before you ask, no, I didn't learn it in Asshai or from the warlocks of Qarth."

"Then where?" Ser Barristan leaned forward.

"From teachers who are very far away," Harry said truthfully. "In a place you wouldn't know."

"You're not very forthcoming with answers," Ser Jorah observed drily.

"And you're not very subtle with questions," Harry countered with a smile. "But we all have our reasons for caution, don't we?"

Daenerys laughed suddenly, drawing surprised looks from her guards. "He has you there, Ser Jorah." She turned back to Harry. "You're right, of course. We all have our secrets. But I would know one thing - are you friend or foe?"

Harry met her gaze steadily. "That depends entirely on you, Your Grace. I oppose slavery and those who profit from it. I believe in protecting those who can't protect themselves. If that aligns with your goals, then perhaps we can be friends."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then I'll wish you well and be on my way to Volantis." Harry shrugged. "Though your dragon might object to that plan." As if to emphasize his point, Viserion had wrapped his tail around Harry's chair leg.

"They've never taken to anyone like this," Daenerys mused. "Not since they were very small."

"Perhaps they recognize a kindred spirit," Harry suggested. "Someone else who doesn't quite fit into the normal order of things."

The words seemed to strike a chord with Daenerys, and for a moment, her regal facade softened. "And what is the normal order of things, Harry?"

"I have absolutely no idea," he admitted with a grin. "And I've never been particularly interested in finding out. Normal seems rather overrated, don't you think?"

This drew another laugh from Daenerys, and even Ser Barristan's stern expression cracked slightly.

"You are either the most honest person I've met," Daenerys said, "or the most skillful liar."

"Why not both?" Harry suggested. "The best truths often sound like lies, and the best lies contain truth."

"Now you sound like a philosopher," Ser Jorah grumbled.

"Gods, I hope not," Harry replied. "I've never been much for philosophy. I prefer action."

"Like making soldiers fly?" Ser Barristan asked pointedly.

"That was more of a demonstration," Harry said. "I can do far more interesting things when necessary."

The implied threat wasn't lost on anyone, but somehow, it didn't feel hostile. More like a statement of fact.

"Perhaps," Daenerys said slowly, "you could demonstrate some of these interesting things. Tomorrow, when we meet with the Masters again."

Harry's green eyes glinted in the candlelight. "I can do that much, your grace, but after the Masters are dealt with, I need access to their secrets."

"Secrets?"

Harry was tempted to say he wanted to find his way home, but instead, he said. "Yes. I need to know if the information they have can help me with what I need."

"And if it can't help you?" Daenerys asked, keeping her eyes locked with his.

"Then I will sail to Volantis, hoping that the Red Priestess can help me."

Tomorrow Night - Astapor

The candlelight cast dancing shadows across the chamber as Harry and Daenerys sat at the heavy wooden table, their empty plates pushed aside to make room for the wine.

"What manner of sorcerer are you, truly?" Daenerys asked, swirling the Dornish red in her cup. Her silver hair caught the golden light, making it seem almost alive.

Harry's fingers absently traced the rim of his own cup. "I attended a school for magic," he said carefully. "A castle where they taught young witches and wizards how to control their powers."

"A school for magic?" Daenerys's eyes widened. "I've never heard of such a thing. Not even in the tales of Old Valyria."

"It was... quite unique," Harry said, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his voice.

"And there were others like you there? Other sorcerers?"

"Hundreds. Though we called ourselves wizards and witches, not sorcerers." He smiled at a private memory. "My best friend was the brightest witch of our age. She'd probably have a thousand questions about your dragons."

Daenerys leaned forward, genuinely intrigued. "You mentioned before, about magical creatures. What others have you encountered besides dragons?"

"Well, there was Buckbeak. Magnificent creature, proud. Had the head and wings of an eagle, but the body of a horse. Beautiful golden eyes..."

She stared at him skeptically, but then she remembered her own dragons. Who was she to doubt the existence of such creatures when she had hatched three dragons from stone?

"Where might one find such a creature?" she asked, reaching for the wine pitcher.

Harry's green eyes caught hers. "Not here," he said softly. "They're not... from around here."

Daenerys wanted to press further, but something in his expression made her hold back. Instead, she changed the subject. "Tell me about your friends. The ones from your school."

For the next hour, they talked of lighter things. Harry spoke of a red-haired friend who loved food and chess, of twins who were legendary pranksters, of a girl who believed in creatures no one else could see. Yet even in these stories, he was careful, never giving too many details, never revealing too much.

The wine had brought a pleasant warmth to Daenerys's chest, and she found her gaze repeatedly drawn to Harry's lips as he spoke. They were expressive lips, quirking up at amusing memories, pressing together when he caught himself about to say too much. She wondered what they would taste like.

"You're staring," Harry said softly, interrupting her thoughts.

"Am I?" she replied, not bothering to deny it. The candlelight highlights the lightning scar that she still didn't understand.

"Your dragons," Harry said, "they're so different from the ones I... read about. More intelligent. More aware."

"They're my children," Daenerys said simply. "The only children I'll ever have."

Something flickered across Harry's face - understanding, perhaps, or sympathy. "Family isn't always about blood," he said quietly.

"No," she agreed, thinking of Drogo, of Viserys, of all she had lost and gained. "It isn't."

Their eyes met across the table, and the air seemed to grow thicker. Daenerys found herself leaning forward slightly, drawn by those green eyes that held so many secrets.

"Your Grace..." Harry started, his voice husky.

"Daenerys," she corrected. "When we're alone like this, call me Daenerys."

"Daenerys," he repeated, and the way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine.

She was close enough now to see the flecks of darker green in his eyes, to count his eyelashes if she wanted. His breath smelled of wine and something uniquely him - like lightning before a storm.

Drogon chose to snort from the other room at that moment. They both jumped back, startled, then laughed at their own reaction.

"I think," Harry said, still chuckling, "your son disapproves."

"He's protective," Daenerys replied. "Perhaps too protective."

"Can't blame him," Harry said softly. "You're worth protecting."

Daenerys felt her cheeks flush, and not just from the wine.

"Are you protecting me too, Harry Potter?" she asked.

"I'm trying to protect everyone," he admitted. "Old habit, I'm afraid."

"And who protects you?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard. He stared into his wine cup as if it held answers. "I've learned to take care of myself."

"That's not the same thing," she said gently.

He looked up at her then, and the vulnerability in his eyes made her heart ache. "No," he agreed. "It's not."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being the occasional pop from the fireplace. Daenerys found herself studying his hands - strong hands that could channel such powerful magic, yet were gentle enough to earn Viserion's trust.

"You're staring again," Harry said, but this time his voice was teasing.

"Perhaps I like what I see," she replied boldly, the wine making her braver than usual.

A faint blush colored his cheeks, and Daenerys decided she rather liked that she could make this powerful wizard blush.

"Careful, Daenerys," he murmured. "A man might get ideas."

"Perhaps I want you to get ideas."

Dany's heart raced as she finally gave in to the urge that had been building all evening. She leaned forward, pressing her soft lips against Harry's in a gentle, tentative kiss. His response was immediate - strong arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer as he returned the kiss with equal tenderness.

But that gentleness didn't last long. As Harry's tongue traced her lower lip, seeking entrance, Dany felt something snap inside her. She parted her lips with a soft moan, deepening the kiss as her hands slid up his chest to tangle in his messy dark hair. The taste of wine lingered on his tongue as it danced with hers, making her moan with desire.

"Gods," she gasped against his mouth as his hands roamed her back, tracing her spine through the thin silk of her dress. The heat of his touch seemed to burn through the fabric, making her skin tingle wherever his fingers traveled.

The Full Version of All One Shots written so far are available for Sergeant Tier or Higher.