"Sirius Black," Harry called loudly, tapping the mirror's reflective surface impatiently. "Sirius, don't make me hunt you down."
Harry's ears picked up a faint crash as his reflection began to blur and distort. The image changed to reflect a different face.
"-ah, bollocks. Harry!" Sirius ran a hand through his hair, inadvertently smudging what appeared to be black soot into it. The dark flakes fell like snow all around him, settling on his head and shoulders. Harry's suspicion and concern rose as the other man continued breathlessly, "Things just got a little crazy."
"I gathered as much," Harry interjected swiftly, "Whatever happened down there, we felt it in Tevinter. Are you guys alright?"
"Just shaken. But as for the world… it's fucked. Someone blew up the Conclave and tore a hole in reality. It's getting bigger."
"What?!" squawked Harry, "Anders–"
Harry was pinned by uncharacteristically serious grey eyes. His racing heart stuttered, and he took the time to really look at his godfather. Sirius' face was drawn; restless and cagey like the predator he was. He looked haunted in a way he hadn't been for years.
"The entire mountaintop was levelled in the blast. A Fade rift just sucked half the debris through. Harry, nothing could have survived that…"
The blood made itself known in his ears again.
"No, that's not right," Harry's mind clamped over that possibility. Whether through fear or certainty, he refused to believe it, "Nothing tripped my wards, he must be fine."
Sirius looked like he wanted to believe him, but had seen too much to put stock in luck, "I've got to go," he said at last, "People are making their way up from Haven and the demons getting over the shock."
At that point, Harry recalled that the world had flipped its shit, that there was a rip in the sky, demons, and; "You're there? Get out, you idiot, are you trying to get killed?"
Sirius barked hysterically. "Who would?" the mirror spun and Harry saw burning stone, the horrible green of the sky, some misshapen figures moving listlessly in the distance. Baked into the wall behind Sirius was a burnt husk that might've once been a body.
It looked like a post nuclear hell. "There's no one around to kill me," Sirius muttered miserably.
Harry blinked away the numbness. "Claudia," he reminded firmly.
Sirius' eyes widened. "Good point."
Harry let the mirror fall to the bed and he collapsed forward, shaking. He spared a moment to get his breathing under control, to hope that his godfather made it home without encountering the cause of this latest catastrophe, or anyone else who would draw seemingly obvious conclusions.
He gave it up as a bad job.
Action. That was what he needed.
Harry rose purposefully and… nothing. He could not think of a single thing that was both engaging to the point of distraction and important enough to provide a sense of progress in the wake of this catastrophe.
Certainly not his neglected paperwork.
He paced the well-worn route across the room, interrupting it on occasion to view the lingering green with concern.
To see and feel an explosion from Ferelden… that was a ridiculous distance for energy to cover, the power at the source must've been phenomenal. And yet it was crude. Terribly inefficient. It had the potential to achieve acres of destruction, but most of it had been channelled up into the atmosphere.
Such an explosion would've been laudable on Earth, even with their grasp of fusion weaponry, but on Thedas? The highest form of natural explosive was black powder. Harry discounted accidents and the Qunari immediately. The orchestrator was either inexperienced, or their intent was not wanton destruction.
So. Magic. Or magic and an agenda. The worst combination, in his experience. He dreaded it, but dread didn't account for how his heart quickened and his breaths shortened. It wasn't fear. Not quite.
He had never managed to escape chaos entirely, he realised. If he were honest, most of the time he didn't really want to. Harry still lived to get a step ahead, for the chance to be the one riding the chaos instead of being strung along by the undertow.
Perhaps this time…
The world had turned already, Harry was certain. The issue was large enough for the Magisterium to sit up and take interest. They would ask questions and expect answers. Summons would reach him as soon as they delegated the task to the appropriate minion.
It was inevitable.
The lid of his chest was flung opened and essential belongings poured in from around the room; fine robes and armour, mirrors and potions flew through the air and were crammed into an amount of space that didn't make sense, exactly, whilst the chest itself shrunk in size. Harry was up and walking, and by the time he reached it, the chest was small enough for him to scoop up and place in a pocket.
The papers and mementos and books lay forgotten. The door locked behind him as he strode down the hall.
It was a promising start. Pity he didn't get very far.
"Harry!" a high voice called.
He turned to see a beautiful woman. Harry vaguely remembered making arrangements for a second date in between the dancing and the attempt on his life at the Wintersend festivities.
Considering those activities had been unrelated, for once, Harry wasn't averse to the idea.
Still.
"I'm sorry, Medea, I'll see you later," he sighed regretfully. Some things must come first.
"That's not – Who's Medea?"
Oops.
Not-Medea's simpering charm sizzled over into anger.
"I'm, ah- just going. Potentially world ending event, must be off," and he decisively did not hightail it out of there. She wouldn't dare throw a fireball in the Circle corridors. Surely. Still, he… hastened. As is only prudent when one is in the midst of a global disaster.
Merlin, he envied people with long legs.
Harry, remarkably, reached the end of the hall without the aid of a shield charm and burst into his patron's office without preamble.
Magister Tavius didn't even look up from his work as he calmly said, as if the Fade wasn't falling into the world right that instant, "I suppose you're off, then?"
"With your leave," Harry tipped his head politely because it was easier to operate under permission, but they both knew that the lack of it wouldn't stop him. Harry was indentured to the magister, yes, but if Tavius wanted to maintain that illusion of control and enjoy the public status, he was best just going along with it.
The magister dithered, running gnarled fingers over his long beard as if there was any doubt in his mind. "Granted."
Harry turned away, the hasty arguments he'd prepared falling away, but after a moment he paused.
"You know that girl I'm seeing?"
"Yes, Potter."
"What's her name?"
The ancient magister did look up then, just to display his disbelief in ways that his tone couldn't capture alone. "Julia."
"Thanks!" Harry smiled sheepishly and left, nodding to himself. Medea must've been the nice brunette he'd been with last month.
The tight press of apparition closed around him and Harry had a sinking feeling that there would be time for no idle dalliances, nice or otherwise, in the coming weeks.
Harry appeared in the lobby of the Imperial Senate building. The high, carved ceiling swam into view before he managed to centre himself and focus on the unimpressed attendant before him.
Harry had no patience for the man's feelings, rude though it may have been to exhibit the fragility of state security. Besides, he hadn't aimed right for the Senate Chamber. They should be pleased.
"Are they in session?" Harry asked.
"Yes, Enchanter Potter. The Magisterium has requested council at your earlier convenience." The attendant turned to the imposing doors and dropped the magical barrier theatrically. Harry didn't blame him. If his only purpose was to open a door, he'd do it with style.
The Senate was stunning. Like most buildings in the heart of Minrathous, it had been built in the golden age of the Imperium and carefully preserved. High ceilings led to arches that hinted at towering spires. The stone was polished to an astonishing degree, and murals covered the walls. Everything, from the scenes in the tapestries to the dwarven hinges in the doors, served as a constant reminder of the Imperium's former glory, the dream that most were still chasing.
And the chasers… ah, yes, he could hear them shouting now. The attendant bowed deeply and left, letting Harry continue alone. He took a breath, smoothed his hair. Probably should have combed that.
It wasn't the first time he'd presented before the Senate on matters such as these, but it was nerve-wracking in a way that got his blood pumping every time. In the end it didn't matter whether it was from unease or the thrill; revealing either would be a mistake.
Harry's eyes flickered over those assembled. He didn't see faces, only carefully controlled masks. Magisters didn't equip them quite like their Orlesian counterparts, but they wore them nonetheless.
As he'd expected, the local magisters had assembled promptly - Harry even spotted members of the Publicanium - but the rows were mostly bare. Doubtlessly, missives had already been sent and the remaining magisters would flock in from all ends of the country in the days to come.
Harry stopped in the centre floor and bowed, his eyes on the most dangerous person in the room. Archon Radonis cut an intimidating figure in elaborate ceremonial guard and strong features. The Archon did not leave him waiting, as the nasty bastard was prone to do, which if anything was a testament to how serious they were taking the problem.
"Enchanter Potter," his was a voice that commanded respect. "I trust you have been made aware of the development."
"Indeed, your Imperial Majesty," the formal language of the Imperium, so similar to Latin, rolled easily off his tongue, "I can report that the effects felt earlier were a result of the explosion of the Temple of Sacred Ashes." Murmuring greeted his news. Harry discerned unease and reluctant awe. "The green glow that can be seen, my lords, is an expanding Fade rift above the Temple. I suspect the events are related, however the cause and impact remain uncertain."
The Archon dismissed him with a gesture and Harry found his seat among the advisors, slightly apart from the Magisterium and the Publicanium houses.
Magister Alexius scowled thoughtfully, though that was nothing unusual, "I believe that was the location of the Conclave?"
"It rather appears that negations failed," another magister, perhaps Erimond, remarked.
The debate raged on for hours. They didn't discuss anything of importance, mainly just affirming what they knew (not much), what failings of the southern system were liable (the especially barbaric ones), and who would be blamed (Tevinter, obviously). The answers were useless, but they weren't the aim.
In this unprecedented situation, they were wary of proceeding before they got a feel for everyone's position. Who was informed, who was more invested in this development, et cetera. Whether they would respond to danger and/or take advantage of the situation had to be established soon, of course, but there was little point revealing their cards until more representatives arrived. Until then, it was imperative to spend as much time around the Magisterium as possible. The most successful and intuitive would keep up, the rest were figuratively, maybe literally, dead.
Such were politics in Tevinter.
Harry held no love or aspiration for political esteem. Technically, he wasn't even supposed to have an opinion; as a foreigner he was a reflection of his patron's every wish and opinion, and he was expected to act as such. But his case was a unique one. Harry commanded great knowledge and power in his own right, and the Magisterium knew it. They respected power.
There was no escaping it, but that did not bother Harry as much as it once might've. An event of this magnitude had the potential to affect all of Thedas, and there were not many people he trusted to handle that sort of thing properly.
So Harry listened and he watched. He filtered every useless non-answer for the agenda behind it and when the Senate disbanded for the night and the real politics began over the evening meal, Harry was there.
The pie was delicious and it wasn't even poisoned.
…
"Troubling turn of events, isn't it?"
Harry lowered the glass from his lips, turning his body slightly to better face a man he was not personally familiar with. "I do not believe we have met. I am Harry Potter, of the Carastes Circle," he greeted with a small smile.
The man was young for a magister, all smooth plains of skin and not a hint of grey to be seen in his dark hair. He dipped his head with a charming grin, "Irian, Head of House Amladaris."
"The pleasure is mine, Magister Amladaris." Pleasantries satisfied, Harry could answer; "Of course, any event of this magnitude should not be taken lightly."
He waited for Amladaris to give away the purpose of this visit. Rumour had it, he wasn't a man to do anything lightly. But the magister was circumventing the topic now, Harry suspected, just to be irritating.
Harry spotted an opening which wouldn't result in social slaughter, and put a halt to the small talk. "I couldn't help but notice your strong opinions on the topic," he prompted. Amladaris hadn't exactly shouted about it, but his voice carried in the relative silence of the Magisterium. To express any opinion at this time was unusually bold, and the magister was too intelligent for it to be purely accidental.
Harry was curious.
Amladaris chuckled. "I suppose you would know. You've not exactly held back with your reports. Your caution is quite clear. If I were to hazard a guess, I believe I would find where your opinions fall."
Harry wrestled down his natural violent reaction. Politicians. Forever incapable of answering questions.
"It is my duty to explain the situation. When it's dangerous, I present it as such."
"And I acknowledge the truth."
And that is how alliances are established in Tevinter.
…
An elf walked out of the Fade near Haven – a feat that knocked her out for three days. On the first day, she was declared guilty of the explosion and taken prisoner. On the third, she woke up and controlled the Breach enough to stop it swallowing all of Thedas in the near future. That evening, she was declared the Herald of Andraste whether she liked it or not, and adopted as a mascot of the second Inquisition; the organisation run by the Divine's closest confidants but disavowed by the Chantry.
Apparently.
Harry honestly didn't know whether Sirius was just messing with him, now.
As his brain digested, Harry remembered his vow to learn from last time. He responded with the appropriate suspicion and concern, "Where are you?"
"Further down the mountain, below Haven. That town is bursting with a small army of the devout, and some angry clerics. Weird. Anyway, I've been meaning to tell you I spoke with Anders. Neither he or Amell were at the Conclave." Harry sagged in relief, the horrible weight of the unknown cast off his shoulders.
"Why? That's all they've been talking about for months."
Sirius shrugged. "He didn't say. You don't think she had anything to do with the explosion…"
Harry paused. He couldn't deny the thought hadn't crossed his mind. It wouldn't be the first time, after all. He shook it off. "Don't speculate. They've got enough problems as it is." Anders in particular. Harry's heart panged in sympathy for the hearty dose of survivors guilt his friend was sure to be feeling.
"Where are they now?"
"Solona is in the wind. They'll be out for her blood, guilty or not. But Anders is still in Haven. Said something about too many injuries."
"Gutsy idiot," Harry smiled fondly. The image faded until his expression was staring back at him. With a grimace, Harry tossed the mirror aside and took up pacing.
The Breach had been stable for days; long enough that it looked to remain as such. Of course, with the immediate danger mitigated, the Magisterium absolved all responsibility and decided it was not their problem.
Yes, that was the official stance.
Unofficially, it was a different story.
Magisters clung to their past glory like it was a promise of the future. To many, this was their chance to hasten that reality. The Senate was a deadlock between the extreme and the apathetic; those who outright supported the chaos in the south and those that just didn't mind if it weakened the place.
The turmoil made for ripe pickings. Harry preferred it when the world was in danger of imploding.
A knock.
Merlin, he'd rather not. He sighed, "Enter."
A sprite of an elf slipped in, looking terribly nervous. Bad news, undoubtedly. Harry made an effort to smile kindly.
"Enchanter, an unstable tear has opened in the east quarter of Qarinus," he delivered with a practiced bow.
Five more minutes. Was five minutes of peace asking for too much? "I'll leave immediately."
The demons had been a distant problem, but one of the most densely populated cities was a far cry from a remote part of the countryside, unlike the first rift that had come to their attention.
He apparated with a healthy amount of trepidation, but Qarinus wasn't the chaotic mess he'd been expecting. The streets were crowded with people going purposefully about their business, not a single dead body or demon to be seen.
And then he heard the screaming.
In the mouth of an alley lay the burnt, frozen, disfigured remains of a few unlucky people. The alley was a terribly place for a fight. It was barely wide enough to swing a staff, let alone dodge a gangly demon.
Lined around the area, staffs ready, were several local mages. Troops also patrolled the rooftops, looking down on the scene.
A mage, identifiable as a military commander by his robes and bearing, inclined his head as Harry neared. His stance loosened in what Harry supposed might be relief.
Before he could get too comfortable, the rift swelled and hell broke loose. A dark form coalesced, but before it was even fully distinguishable the mages snapped to attention and rained fire down on it. The sound of burning mixed with its screams.
Harry had seen other rifts, many years ago now, but none had been quite like this. Normal rifts tended to make the area feel uncomfortable, or at worse the dead were more active than was natural. They hadn't been like this demon pumping machine.
The distortion in space crackled and hissed, whispers from the Fade leaking through. It lit every corner with that unearthly glow, but somehow the edges of the area seemed to stretch into shadows.
Harry frowned. That was very Not Good. "Is the danger contained, at least?"
"Far from it," the commander admitted, "The rift spits demons out into the adjacent buildings."
So that's why there were demons skipping across the rooftops. Huh. Concerning. "How long has it been open?"
"An hour, at least."
That did not alleviate his fears. The mages guarding the alley were running low on energy and the rift showed no signs of slowing down. Would it ever? Harry wouldn't hold his breath.
Hours of thinking, questioning and poking established only the fact that they were clueless. There was nothing in the history of the area, the ambient magic, or the phase of the bloody moon that differentiated the alley from any other.
With only a data sample of one, Harry had to conclude that the event was random, that the rifts could appear anywhere, anytime.
He would've preferred a trigger. Triggers allowed pre-emptive measures. Instead it appeared that the entire world was a time bomb without convenient disarmament.
The demons just did not stop. Killing them brought respite and seemed to weaken the tear, but they had no way to hold it – or affect it at all, even. It just gathered strength until more demons could press through.
"Sonuvabitch!" the last terror demon got a little too close for comfort.
Harry's magic lashed out in response, smashing the demon into the dirt until it looked more mineral than creature. His fellow mages seemed to be considering whether putting distance between them would be taken as an insult.
One mumbled something about demon guts, lifted his robes and shuffled away. The others capitalised on this excuse.
Sooks.
He prowled the area for what felt like the hundredth time. The foreign magic lashed out like it had a life of its own, green and sick and strong. Brick melted under its barrage.
Physics was breaking and the area certainly didn't feel stable, but for the life of him, Harry didn't know what to do about it.
It was a maddening riddle. There was nothing to banish, transform, or blast. Firing spells at it invoked no response.
Traditional methods were useless. There had been cause to strengthen the Veil in Tevinter before. Over the years such magic had been sharpened into an art, as necessary in a nation with a flippant view on blood magic.
Strengthening the Veil around the rifts would not close them because the Veil was not weak; it was compromised and, as Harry was coming to realise, that was very different. He didn't know how precisely, but he suspected that would go a long way to solving their problems. If only he knew where to begin.
All energy came from a source, there must be something holding the tear open – he could work with that; energy could be drained, could be moved on. Attempt after theory after prayer failed to pin down the source: for all practical purposes, there was none. At least not on this side.
There was a nagging voice in the back of his mind banging all sorts of alarms, pointing to the inkling that the rift didn't act like it should. It showed no sign of running off a finite supply. If anything, Harry suspected that open was the default state, the path of least resistance and… no, that didn't bare thinking about. There must be a way, he refused to believe the balance between physics and magic had been tipped beyond recovery.
Merlin, the consequences for the integrity of the Veil alone…! He was too young to witness the end of the world.
At the very thought, Harry enlisted the help of his least favourite mages in society. Blood magic was a useless as any other; the demons those mages consulted were stressed and could provide no answers.
At a loss, Harry set aside the rift and tried to compartmentalise the problem, so to speak. That didn't work either.
He scowled when a spike of green hit his wards and shredded them with ease. In the backlash, the barrier collapsed and doused them all – mages and demons alike – in pudding.
Harry sighed, wiping sweat from his forehead. It mixed with the melted icing dripping down his collar, he noted with a grimace. It was far too hot for this kind of exertion.
It stung to admit defeat. "I can do no more for now, set up a rota," he ordered.
Things just got serious. His mind sang for a long, cool bath. His body yearned for bed. Horrible temptations. He apparated straight into the library.
Merlin, he hoped there was prior research, anything in this field that he could build upon. Really, he'd take a definition at this point and consider it progress.
He only put a stop to things when he began seeing doubles of the inadequate information.
Harry fell into bed fully clothed.