Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't care. Writing this for free.

AN: Wow! So many ubberly awesome potential dragon names! Got to give the dragon all of those! Sadly, there are a lot I needed to weed out because, while I love them, I cannot see Harry naming the dragon like that. There are also many I DID like, but I thought that keeping the poll with a small amount of names would be for the best. So Vote: the dragon poll is already up. I hope you take a good look at them and choose your favorites (I will certainly vote for mine).

Also, I want to remind everyone that THIS FIC IS RATED M, there will be nudity, there will be adult interactions (no lemons unless I create an account in a site that allows so), at some point there will be swearing, bloody battles and there will be gore (all of them sparsely, but still). If there is anyone with easily bruised sensitivities, this is the moment to walk back and never return.

Also, the speed of the fic won't really pick up until next chapter. I hope you don't get too impatient.

P.S.: My grandma died last Thursday, it delayed this release a bit, I would have posted it last weekend otherwise.

Chapter Betaed by: ddzhalev. Posted on: 28/09/2016

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Chapter 4: The Belated Welcome

Being unconscious for any reason other than sleeping is rarely a pleasant thing for a regular person. Doubly so for a wizard, and even more so for one passing out in a combination of magical backlash from mixing potions that should only be handled by a professional mediwitch (or a bookish enough friend), and exhaustion.

So, Harry slept, feeling like total shite and burning like a piece of bacon on a pan. The last one was a new feeling, one Harry would have been happy to live never knowing, but that was negligible at this point of time. Harry woke up covered in non-magical salves and bandages. He stank, he felt ichy, and he had his dick in a oddly-shaped ceramic pot. The careful removal of said piece of pottery from his beloved, dangling member, made Harry aware of its sloshing watery contents that smelled intensely of urine. It was clear what the pot thingy was for, but the events leading to this point weren't quite so clear, so now he needed to figure out what the hell happened to him after... whatever happened to him to land him in the bed of a room that looked like he imagined a fancy healing room in ancient Egypt should be like.

Harry sat and rubbed his temples. Oddly enough, his glasses remained perched over his nose when everything else had been turned to ribbons and placed on a table in the corner (which probably meant Hermione's beaded bag was under the badly mended black dress Harry had arrived in). There was a kid with dark brown skin sleeping on a chair next to the bed Harry was occupying, and the kid held a piece of white cloth and a basin of water in his limp fingers. The boy was probably supposed to keep an eye on Harry for the night or something. Still, that told him little to nothing of what had landed him where he was.

So, Harry remembered Britain and Voldemort and the Horcrux hunting; now he needed to force his brain to move forwards since that point... but the smell of his own bodily waste was as distracting as it was disgusting. "Accio wand," he called about the only spell he could do without a wand (something he mastered during the camping trip because it kept getting lost between Hermione's books and Ron's messiness). The wand, which oddly enough had been on the bed, landed in his fingers, eager to please, and Harry recognized the piece of wood as Dumbledore's.

"Right, so... that happened," the fact that Harry escaped Gringotts ridding a dragon that wanted to feed him rats was very surreal, but if there was a talent Harry had it was the ability to shrug pretty much anything and focus on the latest mess he had to deal with.

Now, Harry had to guess that he was where he was because someone took him there. Why? Harry knew not, but he was willing to bet that his "savior" at least wasn't one of Voldemort's flock: he would have been tied up then. So, that left him with... pretty much anyone as a suspect: It could be a Muggle or a Wizard, even a magical creature.

A look around the room made him decide that Muggles had more chance of being his hosts, if only because there were no moving portraits or blatantly magical knick-knacks, and everything seemed to be made for humans, so no magical creatures were likely to have anything to do with the place. Conclusion: Harry arrived in a Muggle settlement in, presumably, the past and was not burnt at the stake... which probably scratched a place influenced by the Catholic Church or other ones inclined towards burning witches to death (a small comfort that). And, given the decor of the room Harry woke up in, the dry air and hot, and hot, he would wager he was in Egypt.

The smell of urine hit Harry's nose anew and he decided that further speculation could wait: right now he needed to get rid of that smell. "Evanesco!" Harry chanted, the beam of light accurately banishing the pee in the pot... along with the pot, a balled up sheet and a wooden piece of furniture that vaguely resembled a love seat. Harry had only meant to vanish the urine, but the Elder Wand enhanced his little spell, making his magic reach more objects than it should have. Fabulous, now he would need to figure out the power needed for each spell he may cast all over again.

Harry was about to cast the air-refreshing spell (useful beyond words when getting rid of the smell of a fart by men whose names began with Ronald, and ended in Weasley... which wasn't a rare thing given how much the red-head swallowed during every Hogwarts meal), but, before he could finish the incantation, the sound of footsteps alerted Harry that someone was coming, so he sat up and covered his modesty with the thin pillow that was once under his head.

The man who came in had the same shade of skin as the boy in the room, but his hair was grayed and his face wrinkled. He spoke unintelligible words of welcome with a smile that held both wariness and awe. Harry was familiar with such looks, and, suddenly, the intentions of the hosts who had saved him were clear: they saw Harry as a potential weapon, someone whose usefulness was big enough to keep their hands from cutting his throat. This scenario was an old shoe to the Boy-Who-Lived, certainly more so than men rescuing him from the kindness of their hearts. All in all, they wanted something from him and Harry valued his neck, so he guessed this was good enough of an arrangement for the time being.

Now Harry needed to be careful to keep himself non-threatening while he formulated a plan of action. Harry smiled back and gave a tiny nod. The old man in the room seemed a little less tense and his smile noticeably less forced. The man risked a step forward and barked something, causing the boy sleeping in the chair to fall down gracelessly, with a basin of water falling down his lower body and drenching him from the knees to his bare feet. The man barked something else and the boy jumped from the floor, startled, but obedient, and ran towards a table at the far end of the room (the same one where Harry's black dress had been on), bringing back a piece of silky, almost shiny, yellow fabric and a smaller emerald colored one. The man took the fabrics (clothing of some sort, Harry absently noticed) from the boy with a bit of irritation, smoothing it with a wrinkled hand before handing it to Harry with reverence.

The ceremony of the last gesture was a bit bizarre, but Harry simply took it and unfolded the fabric. It was very fine, silky and soft, and had a garishly yellow rhombus on top of an already too yellow fabric... Harry could not imagine anyone other than Dumbledore not cringing at the idea of wearing such garments. And the thought of his old headmaster sent a pang of pain through Harry's heart upon imagining the long-bearded wizard wearing the hideous thing and a matching horrendous hat.

The man must have been nervous about Harry's odd reaction to the garment, because a foreign tongue started speaking in a panic and he began bowing deeply from his waist. Harry, putting his discomfort aside for the sake of the man, put a hand on the panicked one's shoulder, hoping it would convey that he was not mad at all. It was also clear from the behavior of the old man that this was not his host, but a poor bastard working for someone that sent him to deal with the teenager that came riding a big-ass dragon and might have some dangerous skills that allowed him to tame such a beast...

"Bloody Hell, the dragon!" Harry jumped from the bed, pillow and modesty foregone in his sudden remembrance, letting his exposed little Harry swish like a pendulum with the force of his jump. Harry didn't notice, being too busy trying to be positive and convince himself that the dragon hadn't eaten anyone or destroyed as many buildings as Godzilla on a rampage...

Harry needed to make sure right away that hadn't happened.

He almost fled the room right then, but then he remembered his state of undress. Getting dressed would come first, then he was looking for the dragon: it felt like a plan.

The yellow garbs were easy to put on and soon enough Harry was looking like a parody of a pineapple: his rustled, wild hair only helping to enhance that look. He had no idea what to do with the green sash, though. The old man seemed pleased Harry wore what was brought (even without the sash that Harry didn't wear because he was too hurried to figure out how to make the complicated knot this man had tied around his neck and torso) and gestured towards the door while babbling something that Harry assumed was "follow me". That was good, Harry wanted out and the man wanted to show him around. Harry followed almost right away, but paused to search the discarded pile of clothing he had come with, since his common sense was telling him that leaving the beaded bag in a room he might not come back to would be extremely foolish.

…

"Rejoice, for the Lord of Light has sent us his Chosen Champion, Azor Ahai, who shall lead us by the will of our Lord, and shall burn bright like a torch in the long night that approaches!" A brown haired female priestess dressed in a bright red dress chanted to the people gathered in the plaza of Meereen; and all who had heard her listened raptly, for the coming of such a hero had been prophesized by the red priestess many moons before the giant dragon had reached the town, rising in the sky like the morning sun. The sky, red like the robes the Red Priests so clearly favored, had looked as though it was on fire: it was a sign from god, and they had been around to see the second coming of a legend so great, his memory had survived for over eight thousand years.

The masses knelt and prayed with fervor, believing the words of the woman, worshiping the new hero as though the boy they had hardly seen for more than a second (if they had seen him at all) was the one to break their chains and bring them freedom. But such was human nature: fickle and foolish, common men never stopped to think of what is best for themselves in the long run. And, like the Old Gods were now foregone in most of Westeros, so the Mother of Dragons was ignored by many of the men and women she had saved.

Varys was the audience for the circus of the fickle and foolish and, as he watched the circus unfold, he listened with as much attention as the new devotees of a boy that had no reason to care for these people. "Foolish," Varys murmured in a velvety tone, calm and unmoving, like a rock at the bottom of a pond. Lesser men would choose to move with haste with no thought of the consequences, not waiting long enough to see if the gamble made by letting in the stranger would pay off. However, the eunuch trusted the judgement of Tyrion Lannister... and yet, he had sent one of his little birds to sing a song as soon as the dragon rider was taken in as a guest. Then, when the whispers of the believers of the Lord of Light grew into shouts, he had sent another of his little birds to fly with the latest song.

Varys had no doubt that, just like he had sent his little birds to fly and sing, so had all the spies of everyone who had ears in the town moved as soon as the unknown dragon rider put a foot in Meereen's plaza. And, if the eunuch's estimate was correct, the boats that would cross the sea to Westeros would carry word of the happenings in the lands freed by the Targaryen princess.

It was also more than enough time for the slavers of nearby towns to have started plotting and planning for their next move. Would they be cautious? Or would they be moved by greed to try and snatch the loyalty of the boy -young, and thus easily manipulable- that had come from lands unknown and whose loyalty and ambition were completely mystery.

The boy was a threat and a promise of power wrapped in a conundrum. Such a unique being would take the spotlight of many events to come in the future. And the strong light bestowed upon him was sure to cast a great shadow for those who dwelled in the darkness to set things in motion.

It was only a matter of time until the calm before the storm came to an end.

…

On the way to... wherever they were going, Harry saw many men wearing similar clothes to the one provided to him, but those were of rougher-looking material, in dull shades of yellow, brown or green, and all of them had sashes with elaborate knots, mostly tied around the neck, shoulders and torso. Harry felt he was breaking some unspoken rule by not wearing something everyone else with no exception had on their clothes (at least the males who weren't in soldier uniforms), but he was not the kind of person to worry much about fashion. At least, not after wearing the hand-me-downs of Dudley, the human whale, since he was a baby.

Still, Harry hated the horrid, baggy camisole these people gave him to wear; then again, when in Rome do as Romans do (or something like that).

The little tour of the stone structure they were in was lengthier than Harry had anticipated, if only because of the sheer size of the place. Also, Harry noted that every person they met had dark skin and wary eyes, and most of them had scars that seemed to wrap around their necks, like a collar. Before Harry could make up any theories for the wounds, they reached a big room made from smooth, almost polished rocks that was filled only with columns and a short staircase leading to a stone chair, no, not chair, a throne. And, upon said throne sat the dwarf he vaguely remembered meeting, flanked by the pretty woman from... yesterday? Last week? (How long was he unconscious anyway?) and a thin but muscled dark skinned man with a stoic expression. Harry was almost sure he had seen the guy before as well.

The dwarf got up, opening his arms and gesturing around as he spoke something pompous-sounding. Harry could only guess at the meaning of the words. He didn't want to be rude, manners having been hammered into him with a frying pan since his earliest memories, but Harry didn't have any idea what he was being told. These people must know he was unable to understand a thing, so they probably were weighting his body language, instead of paying attention to whatever he might say.

So, in the end, it inevitably came down to charades and, yep, they did the whole Tarzan-ish introduction of hitting their chests and pointing to themselves, then to the other person, who had no idea what they were saying. So, the dwarf was Tyrion Lannister, the pretty lady was Meesandhey (or something like that), and the dark-skinned soldier something that sounded like "Toro Cornudo". There was also a bald man with pale skin that joined them after Harry figured out the names of those three, said man got introduced to him as Varys.

When it was Harry's turn to introduce himself, he hesitated to give his full name; after all, he was unsure of where or when in the past he was, and the Potters, he had learned from Lupin, had once been a very numerous family with great importance across the globe for several centuries before Harry was born. Which meant that there was a chance that someone might recognize his last name; in fact, with Harry's rotten luck, the one learning of his claimed relations to the Potters would be an enemy trying to kill Harry's ancestors.

There was also the worry of Harry changing some big event in the past, damaging the future he was from by accident. He had heard that was a topic in some Muggle films, like 'Back to the Future'. Not that he ever got to see those movies, but he knew the gist of them: someone traveled in time, damaged something and ruined the future, then they had to go back and fix things. Even the wizarding erudite crowd seemed to agree that time was a delicate thing that should not be messed with, lest causality damn everything they are and have ever been: time-tampering gone wrong could tear the very fabric of reality and destroy the universe... this particular fact was a horrifying realization, especially considering that a time-turner was so carelessly given to a 12 year old girl so she could attend more classes.

Wizarding society didn't make a lick of sense sometimes.

In a nutshell, Harry Potter decided to introduce himself as just Harry.

Hopefully they would not try to force his last name out of him.

But, in this world, for a man with a dragon to claim no last name after making such a long pause... it was clear for everyone listening that the boy was hiding his heritage.

...

Tyrion had given instructions to lead their (hopefully not hostile) guest to the throne room so this background setting would work to highlight that they were in charge of the land. The subtle power play didn't seem to impress the boy at all, but the green-eyed guest remained as cordial and non-threatening as Tyrion had guessed he would. Tyrion had also guessed (correctly) that the boy would be anxious to see the dragon, so he had led him to it.

It was... an interesting reunion of dragon and rider. Not because anything remarkable happened, but because Tyrion had never seen a dragon and its rider interact, not counting the few seconds it took Daenerys Storm-born to get on top of her black dragon and fly away.

The boy and the dragon spotted each other in the plaza, both looking equally relieved. The boy babbled as he carefully and slowly got close, the dragon sniffed the air, getting near the boy by smell and not sight. A blind dragon? Interesting; but such an impairment wasn't enough to put the dwarf at ease, since the beast would not need to see to aimlessly burn all around it.

As Tyrion watched the boy and his dragon interact, the boy gaining confidence at the moment, he could not help but suspect that the bond between the two was a new thing, be it from a recent meeting or because there was a fight between the two (not all that likely, since the dragon was not being ridden by a corpse) and they were building ties. It was a thought worthy of dwelling on with a cup of wine in his hand and his ass in a comfortable chair.

Right now though? It was time to give their mysterious guest an appropriate welcome.

...

Harry's meeting with the dragon was a lot more friendly that he had expected. In fact, that such a frightening beast could act somewhat docile, going so far as sniffing Harry like a dog would, made Harry feel like he had finally understood where Hagrid's passion for collecting magical creatures that could kill in the most horrifying of ways came from. Well... most of those creatures. Harry would never, ever, understand how Hagrid could love Aragog like a kid loves a teddy bear.

That Hagrid would have approved on Harry's new "pet" made him feel as relieved of his sanity as that time so long ago when Harry was the only one among his circle who could see the Thestrals pulling the Hogwarts carriage, and Luna Lovewood (who had been pointed out to him as the school's famous lunatic) had assured him he was as sane as she was. After getting to know the blonde, Harry would learn to love her way of seeing the world, but, at that one moment, he had seriously felt uneasy with her comment.

With thoughts of Luna on his mind, he idly wondered how she would have handled being the one to get into this mess. She probably would have greeted them all airily and spoken about Nargles, walking to them barefoot and with an absent smile, while a dragon uglier than a lovechild of Voldemort and Snape stood behind her. Harry couldn't help but smile at the mental image.

The dragon, feeling Harry's joy through a bond that both could feel was there like a phantom limb, let out a snort that messed up Harry's hair even more and left it smelling like smoke. Harry laughed, not knowing why, but the emotions he was picking up felt like getting a big hug after winning a Quidditch match. In fact, Harry was finding himself wanting to spend more time with his dragon...

His dragon? Since when did Harry see the dragon as his? And yet, as he stood in front of it, Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to let go of it. Maybe after getting back home and saving the day, Harry would go live with Charlie in Romania. It would be nice to see Norberta again, to see how big she had gotten. Dragons were said to grow very fast their first years, after which the growing slowed down more and more as time passed, though it was agreed by draconologist that dragons never stopped growing. And Harry's dragon was as big as it was ugly.

After what felt like not enough time, the dwarf called Harry and gestured for him to follow back into the building. The dragon growled sensing Harry's discomfort, but a pat on its nose and a few calming words allowed Harry to go with the little man. Harry had to admire the bravery of a man so short getting so close to a dragon: that one would have been in Gryffindor, no doubts about that.

The walk Harry took along with Tyrion, Varys, Meesandhey and the dark-skinned soldier with the hard to pronounce name, was not a long one; especially not compared to the indoors tour Harry got by the old man that had gotten him out from the infirmary. The path that Harry was guided through was made of the same kind of stone that every other part of the structure had been so far, but it was clearly a different set of hallways since they had bigger windows and some tapestries on the walls. Given how Spartan everything Harry had seen before was, the decorations here made him aware that he was being led to the fancy areas of the pyramid... because, yes, he was inside a pyramid (which he saw when he came back from visiting his dragon), which made Harry sure he was spot on with his theory of being in Egypt. Not that being in Egypt meant much to him, since he knew nothing about the place, except that it was in a desert area, there was the Nile River somewhere, and they mummified their pharaohs and stuck them into pyramids like the one Harry was in. And, to be honest, if some of the cartoons he had glimpsed on the TV were historically correct, then maybe the scars on everyone's necks had something to do with slavery and pushing around big chunks of rock to make giant tombs...

"Harry." Harry stopped his musings when his name was called from nearby. The dwarf made a snobbish gesture towards a chair that looked comfortable, then sat down. To Harry's surprise, the dwarf got a bottle of wine and poured some in a simple metal cup. Only then Harry realized how parched his throat was. Harry took it, brought it to his lips and took a sip with no worries about poison (if they wanted him harmed, they would have done so when he was sleeping), then smacked his lips after emptying it's content. Wine was a new taste to Harry, decidedly stronger than the butterbeer that wizards in England consumed. Needless to say, "Harry The Freak" would never get the chance to get a sip at the Dursleys. Hell, he was sure that if he ever asked, rumors of Harry having alcohol problems "like his good for nothing alcoholic parents" would spread all around Privet Drive, maybe even all of Surrey.

Harry didn't like the taste of wine.

"Thanks," he smiled politely to his host, who refilled Harry's cup, then looked a tad disappointed at Harry's clear reluctance to drink any more. Harry was afraid to have offended the man, but then the dwarf gestured to some dark skinned people dressed in opaque yellow and green, and the men brought over a jar of water from which Harry greedily took two cups.

When Harry was done drowning himself in the glorious (if a little warm) water, the man said something Harry didn't understand, then grandiosely gestured towards the door they had come through before. It was very good thing that Harry was done drinking or he would have choked on it.

Women. Gorgeous, dark-skinned women wearing... well, "clothes" would be an euphemism. The silk on their bodies was practically see-through and was less than the amount of jewelry they had on. One of the women, with a completely bare chest and delicate purple skirt that left nothing to the imagination, led the group which was, much to Harry's dismay, walking towards him after the dwarf said Merlin-knows-what and signaled to him with a raised cup and a cocky smile. Harry tensed horribly when the first woman, the one with the bare chest, sat right on his lap.

For some reason, the first thing that came to Harry's mind when the woman all but threw herself at him, was that the women of the dwarf's harem were jumping him, looking all gorgeous, and he, Harry, was wearing yellow. This thought was soon replaced by the normal teenaged dirty mental images as well as the knowledge that, in some cultures, orgies used to be quite normal, and even a religious practice... not that Harry had ever heard of such a tradition outside of one of Hermione's side-rants about Romans, which was prompted by something Ron said. Harry didn't remember what his best mate said, but he had the vague notion it was something inappropriate and historically inaccurate.

And so, with the knowledge that his virtue was in danger, Harry was trying to find any exit... all the while trying to keep certain bits of him in his "pants" from turning into a unicorn horn. The couple of seconds it took Harry to choose a path to run, made it too late to actually bolt away. Eyes turning back to the front, Harry's cheekbones brushed a round fleshy mound. Then, before he could say Quidditch, Harry's face was trapped between the woman's twin Bludgers, his gaping mouth making him swallow a Galleon-sized, dark-brown nipple when he tried to look away at the same time the woman moved forwards to push herself against him. All the water Harry had drunk must have evaporated by the heat of his blush, because he once again felt his mouth dry completely.

Harry was lost. Truly lost. And he was half-waiting for a slap to hit his cheek while the woman on top of him screeched like a banshee... which was't happening at all.

The woman, on the other hand, seemed to have everything figured out, she was calm and not offended at all. She looked at at him with a sultry smile, moved her perky tits seductively, cupping them and playing with her assets with the look of a Hippogriff in mating season.

Well, fuck.

Harry, startled out of his wits and feeling more out of place than the giant squid in the astronomy tower, pushed her away by her shoulders and saw her gorgeous Bludgers jiggle a bit. The woman looked at Harry with a questioning look, as if she could not understand why he would push her away instead of doing... Harry had no idea what that woman expected him to do! (well he kind of did, but he was not opening that can of Flobberworms) And how did you politely ask in Egyptian for a woman to get off your lap?

Harry had no idea what led to this.

He had no idea.

He needed help.

Harry's eyes roamed around until he met the dwarf's, who looked as surprised as the woman that was still in Harry's lap. And so, the dwarf didn't say or do anything, the surprise on his scarred face tinting with amusement at Harry's predicament. Gryffindor bravery was worth nothing in this scenario: Harry was about to faint because of the sheer panic he was feeling.

Harry looked back to the woman, who soon got a look of amusement that surpassed the dwarf's. There was a gleam of something in her eyes now as she licked her luscious lips. Harry didn't like it one bit, not at all, especially not since his blood was boiling in his veins and flying south at the maximum speed of a Firebolt.

Experienced hands grabbed Harry to keep him in place, her touch both soft, yet harder to move away from than an iron cuff. She leaned down for a kiss...

Now a kiss was no longer uncharted territory to Harry: Ginny had given him a very passionate French kiss on his 17th birthday. But getting a kiss from a near-naked stranger? That was new. Maybe here in ancient Egypt it was normal to have naked women jumping your guests' bones, but Harry was English and a gentleman. So, as any English gentleman would do in this situation (or how Harry imagined such events would unfold), he pushed the woman from him firmly, then moved his hands to Hermione's beaded bag, and pulled out a robe to wrap around the woman's shoulder.

If the woman had looked like a sultry panther before, then this time she looked like a startled owl. Harry could not blame her for it, since his beaded bag had a notice-me-not charm which, to a muggle, would make it seem like Harry was pulling the cloak from thin air. Harry had been reluctant so far to use magic in front of these people, even after arriving on top of a dragon (which, he assumed, universally meant that he was magical), because he thought that it was better to stay on the side of caution. But in this situation? Was there any other approach Harry could take?

Yes. Yes there was... No, there was no other course of action! Harry, unlike the other boys in his year, was a romantic. He wanted his first time and all his kisses to mean something. He wanted to find a woman to settle down and form a family with. Ginny's flushed face as their lips parted, and her shyly spoken "Happy birthday Harry" popped into Harry's mind's eye and made him feel like he was betraying her, even when the two of them never got together.

The worst part of all? Harry was sure that these women were either slaves or prostitutes. And he had had enough talks about the damage of slavery to people's psyche from Hermione that he was positive that, by accepting the approaches of this woman, he would be hurting her, despite the fact that she was the one trying to seduce him. Of course, other talks from Hermione had been about respecting people's traditions and understanding cultural practices (and, weird as it might sound in modern cultures, he figured that since he was in the past... and if orgies in Egypt was like those in Rome... so yeah, Harry could very well be insulting these people's gods by not "digging in").

The pro side of having things go smoothly for Harry was tossed out of the window for reasons beyond his being a romantic prude. Much as he understood the need to respect people's traditions, abide by their laws and...*cough*. Anyway, if Harry having it easy (and fun) would be hurting someone, then Harry would not be amenable to engage in such actions.

Once the woman in front of him wasn't as exposed as a broodmare for sale, Harry glared at the dwarf, arms crossed in front of his chest.

That Harry was tomato red didn't subtract from the force of his glare... much.

...

After a very awkward couple of minutes, Harry was led into his room. He was glad to be left in solitude so he could calm himself. Merlin's balls! That was... that was... well, fuck if Harry knew.

He was sure sleep would not come easy.

Thankfully, his defiance of these people's traditions didn't seem to offend the dwarf that was keeping him under his roof.

A knock on Harry's door made him look up, but he did not need to open it: the woman he had covered with a cloak opened the door, her smile a bit more demure than before, it carrying a spark of attraction that seemed almost genuine. The keyword being "almost". It was odd to see the woman come here so late at night displaying attraction, because he was sure that the woman had looked grateful that he had refused her advances, and the smile she had given him before, for protecting her modesty, had been heartfelt.

She returned Harry's cloak, which had been covering her body. This time instead of translucent purple silk and jewellery, she wore nothing under Harry's robe but her birthday suit and a cascade of black curls that matched the ones on top of her... you know what.

It didn't end there. All the women from before started finally registered within his line of sight. The females streamed into the bedroom, each as naked and seductive as the one before. And they were blocking the room's only exit.

...

Tyrion poured wine in a cup and took a generous sip, a big smile on his face.

"Was it wise to send whores to please our guest? He looked quite aghast at the idea." Missandei asked the little man with a frown.

"You know nothing of men," Tyrion declared wisely. "All men have the same desires, this boy is no exception. He was not refusing out of disinterest but inexperience. I had a squire once, his name was Pod. Good lad, quite shy at first, but when the time came to be a man? The best whores of King's Landing were so impressed that they allowed him to fuck them for free."

"You are sure of this choice then?" Grey Worm asked with a stern face. Clearly, this man was doubting Tyrion's unparalleled wisdom about fucking, which was only defeated by his talents at drinking and pissing. Tyrion reigned in the impulse of making a joke about how two heads think better than one, and how the Unsullied lacked the most important one of them in this stance... it would be in poor taste to mock someone forever denied the joys of a warm pussy... Unless it was Varys. Tyrion was perfectly fine mocking the dicklessness of the Master of Whispers.

"I'm positive that, come morning, that boy will be thankful to me for providing him with Meereen's treats."

...

Harry wanted to vomit: Apparating always sat bad with him. Thankfully, he managed to pry his bits out of that woman's hand before she made a grab and tried to polish his broom.

His breathing returning to normal, he let himself rest against the rough paw of his dragon. The panic from moments before rapidly starting to abate with the soothing presence of the giant magical beast. Harry looked up at the cloudless night sky and sighed: to think, he ran away from a horde of gorgeous naked birds to spend the night with a dragon.

Sirius would have been so disappointed.

To Be Continued.

.

AN: After last chapter, I got a request to not get exclamations like "Merlin" get into the fic because it would ruin it. I agreed those were stupid, but they are cannon... and I really REALLY wanted to use them to ruin the innuendos because, honestly, I found that hilarious.

Reminder: The poll on the name of the dragon is up.

Question: What do you think the pairing should be: Missandei x Harry or Daenerys x Harry?. I can see myself doing either, but wanted to know what you guys think.

I originally had planned Danny X Harry, but after season 6, I got annoyed with Danny... but then, I realized that since this is taking place before GoT S6, I can change whatever annoys me of her, then pair Harry with the Daenerys I used to love. And yet... why do I feel that Missandei is a lot more compatible with Harry than Danny? They would make such a cute couple, and I 100% ship them... but Danny and Harry could have a very interesting romance building (the same would happen with missandei, since there would be the love triangle with Grey Worm). Why, oh why, is it so hard to decide in life?!

So, Missandei x Harry or Daenerys x Harry? I really would love to know what you think and WHY you think I should chose one or the other. I still will decide in the end, but I want a second opinion (and a third, and a forth; so on a so forth).

Please leave me a review! It IS my first time writing "smut", so feedback there is appreciated.