Disclaimer – It has come to my attention recently that I unfortunately do not own any part of the Harry Potter or Avatar: The Last Airbender franchises or any of the Literary Universes or the characters that belong to those entities. One can dream I suppose. Although I did see a bison a couple years ago … he, unfortunately, did not fly … Yip Yip.

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On that note, a big thanks to my newest patrons – GentleGiant, Eric S., Taplon, Sean K., James G., Jose B., and David P! I do not know if I would be as motivated without the support.

This story is dedicated to Arnold Trian, for his support.

Chapter 1: Falling From the Sky

Falling into the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, results in Harry finding himself in another world being saved by a short-tempered prince. Aang, Katara, and Sokka are in for a surprise when they meet Zuko's newest crewmate. Joining Team Avatar is Harry Potter, a boy with a power the Fire Lord knows not. Harry/Azula and Harry/Ty Lee pairing, bending with occasional HP magic

This was actually a story I had written a while ago but with the release of the Avatar live action show (they did such a good job with Sokka) I thought it would be a good time to work on this a bit and share it. I hope you enjoy this story.

Gazing out at the expanse of the blue seas in front of them, Zuko's eyes carried a weight of desolation. With a frustrated grimace, he turned his gaze away from the seemingly endless blue horizon. Over the last several months he had grown very weary of the very idea of the ocean—especially as the unending stretch of blue and the persistent scent of salt seemed to have become fixtures in his dreams as well.

"Zuko, why don't you take a moment to sit and enjoy some tea? If there's anything wrong or interesting, our crew will inform us," urged an elderly man, his voice tinged with warmth as he savored the comforting smell rising from his cup.

The young man with dark hair and facial scar clenched his jaw tightly, his gaze fixed on the floor with an intensity that Iroh was sure reflected his inner turmoil. Reluctantly, he conceded to his Uncle's suggestion to sit beside him, in the little room Iroh had set aside as a tea room, though he refrained from touching the offered teacup.

Observing his nephew's sullen demeanor, the old man furrowed his brow, setting his own cup down with a gentle thud. "Zuko, what troubles you on a day like today, we could not ask for a better day to be travelling?"

Zuko's body tensed visibly as he turned slightly away, his clenched fists and tightened jaw betraying his feelings. Each breath seemed to stoke the flames of the wall-mounted candles, casting flickering shadows across the room. "It's been two years, Uncle," Zuko began, his voice heavy with frustration and longing. "Yet, there's been no sign of the Avatar— not even a whisper. Nothing."

Iroh looked at his nephew as Zuko's frustration escalated. With a weary sigh, he attempted to offer solace to his troubled nephew.

"What do you expect, Zuko? He hasn't been seen for a long time; it's only natural that it would take time," he reasoned gently, hoping his calm words would soothe the anger burning within the Prince.

However, Zuko's agitation only intensified, his anger palpable as he rose from his chair, the furniture toppling over in his wake. "Time!" he exclaimed; his voice laced with desperation. "I've been searching for two years, Uncle! I've scoured nearly every corner of the Earth Kingdom, and still, nothing! How much longer must I wait until I can reclaim my honor and return home?" His words dripped with a mixture of anger and wounded pride.

Iroh felt a pang of empathy for his nephew, his heart heavy with the weight of Zuko's pain. "Zuko ..." he began softly, but their conversation was abruptly interrupted.

"SIR!" A soldier burst into the room, gasping for breath. "Sir, something just plummeted into the water ... from the sky!"

The sudden interruption spurred Zuko into action, his determination clear as he swiftly made his way out the door, barking orders to his crew to retrieve whatever had fallen into the water.

Meanwhile, Iroh stepped onto the deck of the ship, his gaze following the direction where the commotion was unfolding. As he approached the railing, his eyes narrowed in curiosity and anticipation, wondering what mysterious object had fallen from the sky into the water in the middle of nowhere.

"Is that ...?" Iroh's gasp echoed silently across the deck as realization dawned upon him, his eyes widening with shock. Without hesitation, he turned to the nearest soldier, urgency etched into his features, and issued swift commands.

"Prepare a bed in the infirmary and summon the doctor immediately," he instructed, his voice firm with purpose. Though the soldier appeared puzzled by the sudden urgency, he obeyed without question, hastening to fulfill Iroh's orders.

As the soldier dashed off to carry out his instructions, Iroh's attention remained fixed on the spot where he had seen the thing in the water. As his gaze swept across the water, a sense of foreboding crept over him as more of the water's surface transformed from its blue color to a concerning shade of pink, then to a darker crimson … and Iroh was left to wonder if it was too late.

Meanwhile, aboard the small, launched boat, Zuko's brow furrowed in concern as they approached the location he had spotted something floating in the water. His keen eyes scrutinized the changing color of the water, a frown deepening on his face with each passing moment. Suddenly, his attention was drawn to the peculiar object bobbing in the now crimson-stained waves.

His heart clenched with dread, and he stopped breathing as he recognized the object—a boy. The realization hit him like a physical blow, his eyes widening in shock and disbelief.

Without hesitation, the soldiers sprang into action, hoisting the unconscious figure onto the boat with as much care as they could. As they began their swift journey back to the ship, the pools of water in the bottom of their boat grew darker, tainted by the unsettling presence of blood dripping off the figure who lay unconscious on the floor of the boat. Urgency propelled them forward as fast as they could go, their thoughts consumed by the fate of the mysterious stranger they had rescued from the water.

Zuko's gaze settled upon the young boy, realizing he must be about his age, noting his incredibly messy black hair that looked even darker because of the water and blood. His skin was pale, and he had a weird looking scar on his forehead, it almost looked like a lightning bolt. As Zuko stared at the boy he noticed the boy's breath was coming in rasps. He seemed to be fighting for each breath.

Turning his attention briefly to the looming silhouette of the ship before them, Zuko watched as the crew worked diligently to assist getting the injured boy aboard. Their movements deliberate and careful.

Zuko's curiosity deepened as he heard the boy emit a mixture of a grunt and a whimper, followed by a barely audible utterance—"Harry." The word hung in the air as the boy was carried below.

As the boy disappeared within the ship, Zuko's mind raced with uncertainty. Who was this enigmatic figure, and what significance did the word "Harry" hold? Was that his name? Or the name of the person who did that to him or simply some made up word, created due to the pain he was in.

- HP - Avatar - HP - Avatar - HP - Avatar - HP - Avatar - HP -

Zuko stood at the doorway of the infirmary amidst the flurry of activity as the doctor rushed to tend to the mysterious newcomer. His gaze lingered on the scene before him, a strange mix of fascination and unease knotting in his stomach as he watched blood pool on the floor, a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation. How could one person possess so much blood? The question lingered in his mind, unanswered and unsettling.

A sudden hand on his shoulder caused Zuko to startle, his eyes meeting the serious gaze of his Uncle. The older man's words pulled him from his thoughts. "Prince Zuko, let us give the doctor the space he needs to focus. Come," Iroh's voice was gentle but firm as he guided his nephew away from the infirmary, leaving behind the seriously injured boy lying on the bed.

As they retreated to the quiet confines of Iroh's chamber, the aroma of freshly brewed tea greeted them, offering a semblance of comfort in the midst of uncertainty. Seated together in silence, they awaited news of their unexpected guest, the tension palpable in the air.

"I've never seen anyone like him, Uncle," Zuko finally spoke, breaking the quiet as he glanced from his tea to Iroh, his voice tinged with a mixture of confusion and concern. "I can't even begin to guess which nation he might belong to."

The elderly man hummed thoughtfully, his expression mirroring the uncertainty that lingered in the air. "Well ... we can always ask him once he regains consciousness. Patience will serve us well in this matter."

Zuko's voice trembled with a hint of disbelief as he voiced his concerns. "He ... he can't possibly be the Avatar, … can he? He's my age ... but … to have fallen from the sky?"

Iroh released a weary sigh, his brows furrowing in contemplation. "No Zuko, I highly doubt he is the one we've been seeking. However, … I am certainly intrigued by the tale he has to tell."

The atmosphere grew heavy with anticipation as Zuko's lips tightened, his gaze drifting away from his Uncle, lost in his own thoughts.

Before long, the doctor entered the room, having come right from the infirmary, his attire stained with traces of blood. With a respectful bow, he addressed the two men. "The young man is stable and is expected to recover."

Iroh's smile of relief was genuine. "Excellent news! Now, please enlighten us. Do you have any idea what happened to the boy?"

The doctor ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of uncertainty evident in his demeanor. "Well ... I'm not entirely certain how he ended up in the water. Some of the soldiers claimed they saw him fall from the sky, which is rather baffling. However, upon my examination, I noted numerous small scratches covering most of his body, along with a handful of old wounds, possibly sustained several years ago. The most concerning issue was a large cut that extended from his left hip nearly to the top of his back, narrowly avoiding his spine. All things considered; he was incredibly fortunate ... incredibly fortunate indeed." There was a pause as the doctor hesitated, seemingly reluctant to divulge more, but under the unwavering gaze of the Dragon of the West, he pressed on.

"In addition, it appeared that he had partially healed injuries and scarring on his hands. These injuries appeared more recent and appeared to be inflicted repeatedly. It almost seemed as though ... someone had carved words into his hands, but I'm not sure why."

Iroh's brows furrowed in concern, a shadow passing over his features, while even Zuko's expression betrayed a hint of disgust at the thought.

"And how long do you think he'll remain unconscious?" Iroh inquired; his voice tinged with concern.

The doctor paused for a moment, contemplating his response. "He is … likely to remain unconscious for the remainder of the day and possibly throughout the night. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he does not awaken until tomorrow, given the extent of his ordeal. Frankly, it's a wonder he survived at all."

"Thank you, doctor," Iroh acknowledged with a nod, dismissing the man once he had relayed his message. His attention then shifted to his nephew; concern etched into his features.

"It appears our new acquaintance has endured quite the ordeal," he remarked, his voice heavy with sympathy.

"Once he regains consciousness, we'll arrange to drop him off at the nearest port," Zuko nodded curtly.

Iroh shook she head, "Zuko, we mustn't overlook the possibility that he may require our assistance. Who knows what trials he has faced? There's much to be learned from aiding those in need."

Zuko rolled his eyes and scoffed, a hint of skepticism coloring his response. "Well, how can we be certain he didn't bring these injuries upon himself?"

"We'll never truly understand his situation until we speak with him, won't we?" Iroh countered gently; his gaze unwavering.

Without another word, Zuko rose from his seat, offering a slight bow to his Uncle before departing, telling his Uncle he was going to confer with the captain and confirm their current course.

As Zuko briskly walked the ship's corridors, his footsteps echoing in the dimly lit passageways, he veered toward the direction of the infirmary. Pausing outside the door, he cast a cautious glance in both directions, ensuring that no one was within earshot before slipping into the room with practiced stealth.

Closing the door behind him with a soft click, Zuko's gaze fell upon the sole occupant of the infirmary—a young man lying motionless upon the bed. Drawing closer, Zuko observed the boy's pallid complexion, relieved to see that the blood that had once stained his skin had been cleansed away. His eyes traced the disheveled mass of hair and the few superficial cuts marring the boy's features, his attention eventually settling on the hand resting atop the thin sheet covering his chest.

Intrigued yet hesitant, Zuko stared at the markings etched into the boy's skin, his brow furrowing in confusion. What could have prompted such a punishment, he wondered, his expression contorting with deep-seated concern. Why would we carve 'I must not tell lies' into his skin.

However, eventually, the weight of his responsibilities weighed heavily upon him, reminding Zuko of the pressing mission that awaited him. With a resigned shrug, he tore his gaze away from the enigmatic figure and silently retreated from the infirmary.

Delving into the boy's mystery would only serve as a distraction, Zuko reasoned, a notion he couldn't afford to entertain. Besides, it would be some time before the boy regained consciousness, granting him a break from his curiosity.

Meanwhile … on the infirmary bed, Harry winced as the throbbing pain in his chest intensified, waking him up as tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. Based on the pain in his body Harry reasoned that the effects of whatever pain relief potion he had been given had worn off, leaving him to grapple with the relentless agony pulsating through his body. With a stifled groan, he bit down on his lip, bracing himself for the onslaught of discomfort that awaited him.

Harry contemplated his options, considering whether he should request another dose of pain relief from Madam Pomfrey. Realizing that the rocking sensation, added to his discomfort, amplifying his desire for relief.

The rocking sensation…?

Suddenly, his eyes flew open, and he found himself staring up at a ceiling of cold, metallic surfaces. Confusion flooded his senses. What was he doing in such an unfamiliar place? This didn't look like the hospital wing or any place he could imagine would double as a hospital wing.

In an instant, the memories of his harrowing experience came rushing back—the flight to the Ministry of Magic, the prophesy, a fight with the Death-Eaters, watching his friends get hurt, a desperate plunge towards the Veil to catch Sirius, … the burning sensation in his back. He gasped as realization washed over him, sending a shiver down his spine. Slowly, he attempted to sit up, only to be met with a wave of searing pain that momentarily blinded him, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

After a moment's respite, he gathered his strength and surveyed his surroundings. The room he was in was sparse but did a appear to be an infirmary of sorts, with only a handful of other empty beds. A red banner adorned the wall, emblazoned with a peculiar black symbol resembling a distorted flame.

Desperate to locate his wand, Harry's heart pounded with apprehension as he scanned the room, only to find it conspicuously absent. Panic threatened to consume him until he realized something even more alarming—he wasn't wearing his clothes.

Frozen in disbelief, he cast his gaze downward, taking in his unfamiliar clothing with growing unease. The realization that he was in a foreign place, stripped of his possessions and vulnerable, sent a surge of apprehension coursing through him, his mind racing with unanswered questions and escalating anxiety.

His heart pounded with a mixture of confusion and apprehension as Harry surveyed his altered clothing. His shirt was noticeably absent, replaced by a medical wrap that covered his torso from just below his chest to his hips, revealing ominous spots of red that hinted at underlying injuries. Gingerly, he peeled back the sheet covering his lap, revealing a pair of unfamiliar black pants that reached only to his ankles.

Forcing himself to remain calm amidst the chaos of his thoughts, Harry attempted to piece together his situation. He was utterly disoriented, unsure of his whereabouts or whether he was even safe.

With cautious movements, Harry slowly maneuvered himself to the edge of the bed, mindful not to aggravate his already throbbing back. As his bare feet made contact with the cold metal floor, a shiver ran down his spine, eliciting a pained hiss as the movement pulled at his wound.

Clutching onto the wall for support, Harry managed to rise to his feet, though his weakened state left him swaying unsteadily. Dizziness washed over him in disorienting waves, threatening to overwhelm him and send him crashing to the floor. Suppressing the urge to vomit, he focused on steadying himself, gritting his teeth against the agony that pulsed through his body.

With faltering steps, Harry made his way toward the sole door in the room, each movement met with a sickening lurch as the room's gentle rocking intensified his discomfort. Leaning heavily against the doorframe, he closed his eyes, willing himself to regain his composure before venturing further into the unknown.

Struggling to quell the persistent waves of dizziness, Harry cautiously cracked open the door, warily peering out into the corridor. He scanned the hallway in both directions, his heart pounding in his chest as he searched for any signs of movement. Satisfied that the coast was clear, he eased the door open further and slipped out, taking care to close it behind him with as little noise as possible.

Pausing briefly, he held his breath, half-expecting the faint click of the closing door to attract unwanted attention. When no curious onlookers appeared, Harry let out a silent sigh of relief before pressing onward.

Choosing a direction at random, he proceeded down the hallway, his hand trailing along the wall for support as he navigated the unfamiliar surroundings. He passed by several closed doors, the muffled sound of voices emanating from within piquing his curiosity. However, exercising caution, he resisted the urge to investigate further until he had a clearer understanding of his surroundings.

Eventually, he reached a metal ladder leading upward, its rungs gleaming faintly in the filtered natural light that streamed through a small window set into the door at the top. As he stared wearily at the ascent before him, the realization dawned that the door bore a striking resemblance to pictures he had seen of doors found on ships—a revelation that would explain the rocking sensation but only deepened the mystery surrounding his circumstances. What was he doing on a ship?

With a weary sigh, Harry braced himself, summoning the last vestiges of his strength to embark upon the daunting climb.

Glancing back at the daunting climb ahead, Harry grimaced at the prospect of having to climb the ladder and only to have to then wrestle with the heavy door that awaited him at the top. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, suggesting that he search for an alternate route, but the fear of being discovered in his vulnerable state in confined quarters outweighed any hesitations. Adopting a resolute expression, he squared his shoulders and steeled himself for the ascent.

Each rung of the ladder seemed to amplify the sharp pain radiating from his back, but Harry pressed on, his determination overriding the discomfort. Finally reaching the top, he seized the handle of the door with trembling hands and exerted all his strength to force it open. With a sudden, deafening clang, the door swung wide, crashing against the outside wall with a reverberating impact that echoed through the corridor.

Frozen in place, Harry held his breath, his wide eyes darting nervously as he waited for any sign of someone investigating the noise. When no immediate response came, he cautiously peered out from behind the doorframe, his heart pounding in his chest.

The sight that greeted him was indeed the deck of a ship, bathed in the warm glow of sunlight, with the unmistakable scent of the sea filling the air. As he scanned his surroundings, he froze … his gaze falling upon a large, burly man clad in a peculiar red and black uniform, slumbering soundly in a nearby chair, his chin nestled against his chest as he emitted a soft snore.

Harry let out a weary sigh and shook his head, as relief washed over Harry as he realized that the man remained oblivious to his presence. It seemed doubtful that someone could sleep through the clamor caused by the door's abrupt opening, but he had not even shifted.

Taking care to move with stealth, Harry completed his ascent onto the deck, gently easing the door shut behind him to minimize any further disturbances. As he surveyed his surroundings, he noted the presence of barrels and other sailing equipment scattered about, things that Harry assumed were usually stuff one would find on an older style ship.

With cautious steps, he tiptoed away from the sleeping guard, his curiosity driving him to peer over the side of the vessel. The sight of the vast expanse of ocean stretching out before him filled him with a sense of both awe and trepidation, the occasional spray of water brushing against his face as he leaned over the railing.

Surveying the length of the ship, Harry figured that he had emerged near the rear portion of the vessel. Glancing back at the slumbering guard one last time, he made his way along the deck toward the front, eager to gain a better vantage point and perhaps glean some insight into his current whereabouts.

Despite his lack of seafaring experience, restricted to only the little rowboats he had ridden as a first year, Harry was determined to unravel the mystery of his situation, his eyes scanning the horizon in search of any familiar landmarks that might offer clues to his location, although he doubted, he would actually recognize any areas of the coast.

Moving with the stealth of a shadow, Harry carefully skirted the edges of the deck, keeping to the concealed nooks and crannies as much as possible. Probably due to his efforts to maintain a low profile, the exertion of his journey took its toll on him, leaving him breathless and considerably worse off than when he had first awoken. Doubts crept into his mind, wondering if perhaps he should have remained in the relative safety and comfort of the infirmary.

Surveying the scene before him, as he made it to the front of the ship, Harry's heart sank at the sight of nothing but endless expanses of water stretching out in every direction. Not a single hint of land was visible on the horizon, though the distant shapes that resembled icebergs served as a chilling reminder of the harsh realities of the open sea.

Turning his attention back toward the middle of the ship, Harry's eyes widened in bewilderment as he spotted what appeared to be a makeshift fighting ring, its presence on a seafaring vessel only adding to the confusion of his surroundings … especially when he noticed burn marks all over the ring.

Lost in thought, Harry failed to notice the sound of the door behind him creaking open, nor did he detect the approaching footsteps until it was too late.

"Well … hello there. We certainly didn't expect to see you up this quickly."

Startled by the sudden intrusion, he spun around, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. In his haste, he inadvertently aggravated his injury, a searing wave of pain shooting through his body and nearly bringing him to his knees.

A gentle hand came to rest on the small of Harry's back, accompanied by the appearance of the man who had startled him moments before. The concern etched into the older man's features did not go unnoticed by Harry as he cautiously met his gaze.

"Are you alright?" the old man with a kind face inquired his voice laced with genuine worry.

Harry hesitated for a moment before shaking his head slowly, acknowledging the discomfort that pulsed through his body but grateful for the unexpected assistance.

"Come on, boy," the man continued, his tone reassuring yet firm. "Let's get back to the doctor. I fear you may have pushed yourself a little too hard and aggravated your injury during your exploration of the ship."

As Harry allowed himself to be guided back toward the infirmary, a sense of trust began to settle over him. There was something … comforting about the old man's presence and he found he couldn't help but trust him.

Kind Regards,

FavoriteAuthor

Up Next: Meeting the Avatar

Story Note 1 – Harry Potter will still have the ability for magic although due to lack of training this will be almost solely resigned to the use of accidental magic … well … until … Harry were to find a giant store of all the worlds knowledge … there he might learn about magic …

Story Note 2 – Harry will have to contend himself with being a bender until then … any guesses on which element Harry will find himself working with?

I hope you all liked the start to the new story, and I look forward to hearing your feedback. This is a story I have been looking forward to writing for a very long time.

Thanks to those of you out to those of you who enjoy my stories, I promise to keep updating the stories as long as you enjoy them, and a special thanks to those of you who have taken the time to leave feedback or reach out to me directly. All feedback is welcome (hopefully constructive!) Looking forward to hearing what you think!

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