Chapter II

"Sir?"

The old man paused, the sharpened ceremonial antler perched above the tanned leather. "Yes?"

"It's nothing. I'm sorry for disturbing you."

Taking care to keep his long beard away from the words he was inscribing onto the sheets, the old man hid his smile and refocused on his work. Several minutes passed in silence, the child providing fresh pieces of vellum as his master filled the ones in front of him.

When the last word was written, he spoke again. "Sir?"

"Go ahead, Harry - what is it?"

"If the Triad are all-powerful, why do they need hymn books? Why do they need priests at all?"

The old man pulled out a spool of thread, setting it to the side and while he dug around in the desk for a needle. Once he located one, he arranged his tools and then folded his hands to regard his young ward. "You're wondering why you had to come here, so far from your home."

"No!" The boy's eyes widened, and he emphatically shook his head in denial. "It's really- it's a great honour. My family's really proud."

"Harry," the old man said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You're in a new place, leaving behind all you've ever known. It is okay to be frightened."

"I'm not scared," the little boy insisted.

The old man was quiet for several moments. "Elder Cliodna told me about your family's history. A Potter hasn't joined the priesthood in generations; your entrance puts to rest questions about your family's piety."

"My mum and dad are- they are f-faithful believers, sir," he said, but it was apparent from the way the boy stumbled over the words that they felt unfamiliar.

Best to steer clear of that topic, the old man thought, wearing a kind smile. "You must love your family a great deal to dedicate your life to service at such a young age."

Harry's eyes welled up, and he wrapped his arms around himself. "It's a great honour-"

"You needn't hide your feelings, my dear boy. Embrace them! Do not feel regret for caring so deeply for your mother and father, for missing their presence. Never try to close yourself off from your love, for love is the gift Astarte bestows upon her believers. Of all the things you will learn from me, this is the most important."

The little boy nodded, meeting the High Priest's gaze with a hesitant smile of his own. It wasn't the first thing Albus Dumbledore taught him, but it would always stand out as the greatest.

"Well," Smith said, trying to smooth over the awkward silence following Harry's revelation. "It seems there's much we can learn from each other."

He felt uneasy, disturbed. There was no question they were being serious; no one would bother making jest over such an obscure historical subject. "Your Radiance? Where am I?"

"This world is in great peril," she began, "and it is a world that is not your own. You see, we discovered a powerful ritual, one that opens a rift between dimensions. You were pulled through that tear."

"Dimensions? What- I don't understand. And why me? I'm not even-" Harry couldn't finish his sentence, smothering the fresh wave of grief that rose within him.

"Go on," Astarte encouraged. "Not even what?"

"My ordination ceremony was supposed to take place two days ago, but there was an… a delay. I am not yet a full priest of your order."

"You certainly seem capable, based on what happened earlier today," Smith said. "If what you did to those Death Eaters is any indication, you're exactly who we need."

Harry waited, but there was no recrimination from Astarte. Perhaps, given the aforementioned crisis she spoke of, he was forgiven for producing a miracle despite his lack of status. "I am even less of a warrior than I am a priest. If you would send me back, though, I promise to gather the strongest and most faithful of our order and return to your service."

Eyes still downcast, he watched Astarte's feet shuffle back and forth as she shifted her weight from leg to leg. "Harry, I'm afraid that-"

"What she means," Smith interrupted smoothly, "Is that we've allowed you to make an assumption for far longer than we should've. We summoned you because we need your help; to ask for it without telling you the truth is hardly a good faith gesture."

The man seemed genuine and honest, even though he clearly had grim news to share. "Go on."

"This woman is not your goddess. Belief in Astarte died out centuries ago - it's likely you are the only person on the planet who worships her."

He was wrong! Harry had felt her power, basked in her aura of divinity! "I don't believe you."

"It's true-" Astarte began, but Smith spoke over her.

"Fleur - that's her name, Fleur Delacour - is gifted, special even among witches and wizards. But I can assure you, she is not Astarte, just a woman."

Harry chanced a glance at Ast- at her, intending only a quick look. "Fleur," he said, speaking slowly, feeling the way her name sounded on his lips, unable to tear his gaze away from her. "Fleur Delacour."

She smiled at him, and her expression of happiness struck him with the brilliance of the morning star. 'Just a woman'?

Hardly.

He was staring at her.

That in itself was hardly unusual; she had men gaping at her most of her adult life - and a few years prior to that, even. But Harry lacked any of the vacant lust so transparently on display among other men. No one had ever looked at her the way he was right now. There was something calculating, but not malicious in his eyes.

"I'm afraid I'll need to leave you for now," Smith said, and Harry finally looked away from her. "I must rest and recover from the ritual that brought you here. I'll leave you to settle in. Fleur, can you spare a moment before I go?"

She dutifully followed him, feeling the privacy charm he cast as he led her to the door. "Keep him busy. See if you can find out more about his magic."

"Okay. I'm glad you told him the truth, I wasn't looking forward to-"

"What are you- do you mean about Astarte?" She nodded. "I thought we already agreed it is too great an advantage to not exploit."

"Then what was all that 'just a woman' business?"

Smith made a frustrated noise. "I'll tell you later. For now, no matter what, don't tell him about your past, your childhood, where you're from. If he asks, say you don't remember. And for Merlin's sake, keep your allure going."

"Why? And what makes you think the allure would even work on this Harry?"

"About your background, I'll need to do some research and tailor a story fitting the resurrection myths of his culture."

Fleur felt like a fool for assuming he'd ever be willing to embrace an iota of honesty. "And the allure?"

"I dangled a bit of bait with the 'gifted' and 'special' nonsense. His world must not have creatures of your sort; believe me when I say a man doesn't forget what a veela's effect feels like. Once I offer him - from his perspective - a valid explanation for your abilities, we'll have him on the hook."

"You're a complete and utter bastard," she hissed and he merely chuckled in reply, offering a wave as he walked out the door. 'Creatures of my sort!' He'd been grateful enough for her 'creature' abilities to smooth over the concerns of those hesitant about allowing someone so young to lead the resistance, hadn't he? To convince his former classmates not to dwell on Zacharias Smith's abrupt and sudden change of personality? To keep the supply lines from the Continent open?

Turning around to face Harry, Fleur tried unsuccessfully to hide her irritation and anger. "Come, I haven't had dinner yet, and you must be hungry. We will eat, and then I will show you to your quarters."

He followed her to the small mess hall on the ground floor of the headquarters, passing by a few remnants of the rapid response team finishing their own meals. They didn't speak while Fleur rummaged through the cabinets and the chiller, preparing a quick meal of egg and cheese sandwiches. Not the most luxurious fare, but there was strict rationing in place to ensure everyone in their sanctuary had food.

Eating bland, tasteless meals was bearable; living without coffee, on the other hand… Still, by the time they sat down to eat, her mood had improved.

"Who was that… I'm not sure 'man' is the right word. The one who was attacking your people."

He didn't know how right he was. "He calls himself Lord Voldemort. He is the- he is a dark lord that has terrorized our land."

"And he can fly?"

"Yes, and he is capable of much, much worse." Fleur began to eat, noting the trembling returned as the lingering adrenaline from battle and the aches from Bellatrix's Cruciatus slowly faded away. "Can you tell me about your spellbook? What sorts of magic does it contain?"

"I told you, it's not magic, it is-"

"Yes, I'm sorry. But the book holds the- the chants that you speak to employ such actions, does it not? Do all the priests in your land have their own?"

He set down his sandwich, shifting the book he still held so he could cradle it with both his hands. "Every priest uses a hymnal, but most prefer sheafs or scrolls. Less maintenance, you see."

Fleur noticed he made no move to continue eating. "But you thought otherwise? It's a very beautiful book." She wasn't lying. The purple colour the leather was dyed with was remarkable and unlike anything she'd seen.

"This is not mine. It was my teacher's, the High Priest of our order. He- he spent many years compiling it." His eyes were unfocused, pointed in her direction but lost in thought. Fleur carried on eating, content to sit in silence.

"What happened to you?" His teacher was an obviously tender subject, so Fleur was unsurprised he changed the topic. Unfortunately, he'd decided to choose a topic she was sensitive about. "Your hands, they-"

"It is nothing. Just a- a side effect of an old injury." She didn't bother to try and halt the tremors running through her intermittently. By now, she knew it would be a wasted effort.

The half-truth she'd offered didn't satisfy Harry. "It never stops? This palsy?"

Palsy. He made it sound so benign, like an irritation or some symptom of an unpleasant illness. She'd never heard anyone reference it in such a way. "Adrenaline mitigates the effects, but they get worse after it wears off."

"How did it happen?" Her head bowed, bangs falling forward as the memories rose within her.

Viktor's face, twisted in hatred, illuminated by the crimson light of his Cruciatus. Her body contorting itself painfully in a reflexive attempt to escape the agony…

"A sporting accident," Fleur lied, taking care to not poke herself in the eye as she brushed her hair away with a trembling hand. "I have to ask, do you really not recognise anyone you've met here? I am not from Britain, but the others-"

"I'm not of this world, is it so surprising you all are strangers to me?"

"It is," she replied, forcing down the memories while continuing to pick at her food. Bland or not, provisions were too tight to waste. "There was a Harry Potter in this dimension, in Great Britain. He went to school with many of the people in our sanctuary."

"Ah." Harry hugged his book tighter to his chest. "I see. I was born in Britannia, but from the age of six I lived in Carthage, beginning my training to join the priesthood."

"So young," she murmured. "What about your family? You said they are still alive. Did they move as well?"

"It is forbidden. The Holy City is limited to the servants of the Triad."

"They stayed in Britain, then? But James and Lily were- I mean, don't they also have your- your…" 'Blast, what did he call magic?' "...your, uh, abilities?"

Harry was quiet for a long moment, before he adjusted his glasses and met her eyes. "My father was the only child of a prominent family, and my mother came from nonbelievers. There was no expectation of them to devote their lives to the Triad." Though his words were nonchalant, matter-of-fact, his voice was coloured with defensiveness. "You mentioned earlier, I am to be given a room?"

"Of course, let me clean this up and I'll escort you," she said, moving to gather their dishes, feeling a sort of resignation at their talk. When was the last time she had a conversation that wasn't consumed by deflection and avoidance?

"Let me."

His hands brushed against her own as he took her plate, and his eyes flicked up to meet hers once more. They were less than arm's length apart, and Fleur increased the strength of her allure, watching carefully to see his reaction. His green eyes, visible beneath his eyeglasses, didn't change; no widening or dilation to be seen. "Thank you."

She was right; just like the others had been, this Harry was resistant to her allure.

Night had fallen while they ate, and the cobblestone street they walked down was nearly deserted. Harry looked up at the purple haze, unable to see a single star in the sky. "How many people live in your sanctuary?"

Fleur's hair, a hue of pure gold, seemed to glow in the darkness. "Less than five hundred, but many of them are children, elderly, or noncombatants. It's all we can support."

"Where are we, exactly? You said Great Britain, but which part?"

"This is Diagon Alley, inside the capital, London. Is that what it is called in your world?"

"Yes," he replied, looking around with renewed interest. "If that's true, though, where is everyone? Less than five hundred people left in London?"

She sounded surprised at his question. "Non, inside our sanctuary. The muggles are all still out there," she said, waving a shaky hand in a general loop around them.

"What is a muggle?"

Now Fleur halted, her steps stuttering to a stop as she turned to face him. "The people without magic. They are unaware of our existence, totally separate from our society."

"Why?" Harry thought about the way Smith had effortlessly created the jeweled chalice with his wand. "Surely your magic could do much to help those born without it."

"It has been more than five hundred years since muggles and magicals lived together, not just here, but anywhere in the world. You- your people, I mean, they use their powers in the open?"

"Of course! Our order serves the faithful; generating miracles provides direct evidence to the people of the will of the Triad."

She motioned for him to follow, and they resumed their walk. "But you said Carthage is a closed city."

"It is, yes. Hymns are written there, clerics study and train to enter the priesthood, and it's there the holiest of our order and the others commune with the Triad. But the majority of priests live amongst the believers."

Fleur mulled that information over while they walked, leading him into a building bearing obvious scars of battle. The ground floor was heavily damaged, glass windows shattered and scorch marks present throughout the interior. It looked like it was once a restaurant of some kind.

They ascended a staircase, where Fleur nodded to a young man leaning against the frame of another door. Inside was a tidy apartment with two closed doors and a third standing open.

"You may stay here. We'll have fresh robes for you tomorrow, and if you need anything, Peakes is outside." Harry nodded, walking inside the small room and moving towards the bed. "Harry, this is very important: it is essential that you not use your powers in ways that would expose us to the muggles. To witches and wizards all over the world, it would be considered a massive escalation. The last time muggles were aware of our existence, there were witch hunts, attacks by masses against our kind. It's dangerous, do you understand?"

His fingers instinctively tightened around the hymnbook he carried. Standing here, with the prospect of Fleur leaving him alone in this room, Harry was suddenly assailed with an overwhelming sense of panic at the unknown. Less than twelve hours ago, he was walking out of the temple after his teacher's funeral, vanishing in an instant and appearing in a different dimension. He was alone, friendless, and trapped in a foreign place. Helplessness, that's what it was. He didn't know anything about where he was, and didn't know how to get home. He was left with nothing but his faith to sustain him.

"Okay. I understand," he eventually replied. She gave him a tight nod, turning away to leave but paused when he called her name. "Fleur? It was really nice to meet you."

She didn't reply, and the door closed with a soft click.

"You understand your duties?"

"Of course," Peakes responded. "Zach told me not to let him leave under any circumstances."

'Good.' The thought of giving that order herself, though, made her uncomfortable. "Who is your relief?"

"Stewart."

Fleur kept her features neutral. Peakes and Ackerley were far from their most effective men. If Harry actually decided to leave, it was unlikely either - or both - of them would be able to mount any serious opposition. "If he needs anything, wake up one of the others and have them fetch it for him. He's not a prisoner, he is an ally. Am I clear?"

"Of course," he said, looking offended at her insinuation. "I'll try and keep myself from hexing him if he asks for a glass of water." 'Teenagers!'

It was a warm night. The summer humidity kept the temperature comfortable on her walk home, but Fleur felt a chill, regardless.

Harry wasn't what she expected. He was far too trusting, almost… innocent. Fleur would have thought she'd moved beyond any capacity for guilt by now, but this felt ruthless even to her.

With that in mind, her feet carried her to Flourish and Blott's rather than her own flat. Despite the exhaustion dogging her steps, she knew sleep wouldn't come easily tonight.

"I should be surprised you found me, but I knew you'd come."

Innumerable texts lay open, arranged in a haphazard semicircle around him. Smith obviously hadn't wasted any time while they ate dinner. "What did you discover?"

"I've found a few threads, but I still need to follow them before I'm able to knit a story together. How is our guest settling in?"

"He seems to be handling it better than we anticipated."

Smith laughed. "Thank the gods for religious fanaticism, eh? What about his magic?"

Fleur relayed what little Harry had mentioned about his hymnbook, then decided to give voice to her discomfort. It's not as though she had anyone else to talk to. "I think rushing the ritual was a mistake. We should have waited until Halloween. He does not know anything about our war. Right now is the first time he's set foot on the British Isles in fifteen years! There are no dark lords in his world. He is not the Chosen One."

"I disagree. He is Harry Potter, ergo the ritual succeeded. And what would you have us do? Pat him on the back, wish him well, and send him on his way? He has nowhere to go!" Smith glanced down at the open book on his lap and a cruel smile curved his lips. "Besides, what greater purpose could he ask for? We're giving him the chance to directly serve his goddess. I'm sure he'd be the envy of all his friends back home."

In her mind, Fleur wished she could be surprised, appalled at his callousness, but it was impossible for her to do so. Hadn't she made the same arguments in the past, to convince others? "And if he fails, too? How many more times are going to do this?"

His smile vanished, and Smith set his book aside and stood, narrowing his eyes. "As many times as it takes. Have you forgotten why you're following me? I am the only thing standing between what's left of your family and the monsters that prowl this country!" Fleur could only glare hatefully at him. "What's the matter with you? Did having a man actually worship you inflate your ego, or something? Hoping Potter might revive a cult dedicated to your worship?"

She didn't immediately reply. Smith was the best-worst option and they both knew it. In the face of her silence, he sat back down and picked up his book to continue his research. Eventually, she said, "He is immune to my abilities, as I expected."

"So were the others. Like I said, I planned for that. Did you learn anything else?"

'The others'

"No."

"Then let me back to work. Get some rest, today was a good day. Hope has returned to Magical Britain." Fleur left, numbly putting one foot in front of the other, plodding back to her flat above what used to be Twilfitt and Tattings.

A good day, he said.

Hope.

It didn't feel like that. No, Fleur couldn't bring herself to feel hopeful about the arrival of this Harry Potter.

Not when the last two they'd summoned died fighting her war.

A/N: This story is so crazy AU. I don't know why I torture myself like this - fics like this are hard to write! This chapter was short, I know, but there's a lot of elements to add to the stage before the 'first act' gets underway.

Special shoutout to ThingsCanBeTwoThings for giving me a great analysis of what a Carthaginian victory might have meant for religion in the ancient world. And another to CelendilAU for their outstanding review ("ROMA DELENDA EST!" - I'm tempted to add that to the summary of this fic :D !).

Let me know what you think!

Stay safe, healthy, and happy! ~Frickles