Incessant knocking descended on the door, dragging Harry kicking and screaming from blissful unconsciousness.
He couldn't muster up the will for a silencing charm. His magic curled lazily around him, a fog over his awareness and body; tensed muscles turned to butter in the relaxing cocoon. He burrowed deeper into the sheets.
Blackness settled in deeper, awareness turned inward. What had he been dreaming about? It was good, let's get back to that…
"Potter," a finger dug into his back.
Harry would've hissed at Amladaris, but that sounded exhausting. "Go away." His voice naturally fell into an unflattering rumble at that hour. He pronounced the words with a notable level of doom. The effect was pleasing.
The other voice scoffed lightly. "Call me Irian. Especially when I'm in your bedroom at this time in the morning."
"Funny," Harry drawled. His limbs felt heavy, like they'd be more use in water than on land. He calculated the smallest number of moves required to turn to glare at the magister, and came up with an answer too large to bother with. "Not endearing you to me."
"Politics never rests!" he went for the blankets. Harry shivered at the sudden cold.
He hated morning people.
"Urk!" An aborted squawk reached him and Harry grinned into his pillow.
Fabric moved over itself with a hiss. There was a crash, several thumps (he hoped they heralded bruises), and the distinct noise of something heavy being dragged. Through it all, the sounds of an indignant, struggling magister were music to his ears.
"I'll burn it, Potter. Don't imagine I won't!"
He finally raised his head to level Amladaris with as much derision as he could muster. Doubtlessly, he wound up looking a bit dopy, but that was fine; he wasn't the one in the process of being stowed under the desk by a predatory, vengeful linen.
The threat didn't phase Harry; the servants would replace the sheets, and there may be some raised eyebrows at the destruction, but; "I'll say a beautiful woman did it, out of her mind with pleasure."
He yawned. Stretched. Amladaris cursed. There was a ripping sound, Harry looked over curiously.
A good quarter of the blanket was shredded beyond repair and the magister sat in the middle, arms still bound, eyes alight with satisfaction. Until the strips went for his face. They went up in a puff of smoke, but their vengeful ashes continued on course.
The cursing resumed.
Harry grimaced, looking down. Old, demon-stained robes. Ew. "Don't mind me, I'll be ready in a moment. Kindly avert your eyes."
Smack. The magister was sent tumbling in the other direction, dragged up against the wall.
Harry began the daily struggle against Tevinter fashion. Too many buckles and pieces, it was all far too complicated. It almost required a degree to get out of it.
Thwack.
He hated used cleaning charms on his skin. Alas, if he didn't have time to sleep in, he didn't have time to bathe. On principle.
Clang.
Harry wandered over to his chest. We wouldn't use the nice blue robes, no, he'd learnt his lesson. The cut of the dark brown set was a little less suitable for the magisterium, but far more practical and forgiving of movement.
Roar. That could have been a flash fire or a small bear.
Merlin, if they were hard to get out of, going through the process in reverse was even more difficult.
Suspicious silence. Then; "Not bad, Potter."
Amladaris lay, casually as you please, in the charred ruins of Harry's bed. Harry rolled his eyes – that was just petty.
Harry folded the material over his chest, reached over his back for the leather strap and – no, wrong one. "Here I thought you were married," he muttered distractedly. Why was his collar sitting like that? Of course, it was sideways. He backtracked several steps to straighten it. It was too early for this.
"Wife and daughter," the magister confirmed.
"Ah," Harry realised. Contract fulfilled, freedom regained. So Harry wasn't imagining the flirting. He paused, buckle forgotten, speculative.
Marriage worked differently outside the Southern Chantry; such a political union was a contract aimed at establishing the line of inheritance for the required offspring. Once that had been taken care of, there usually wasn't much else holding monogamy together. Romance was rare and remarkable (and thus why so many couples tried to fake it), but a good scandal just made life more interesting (for everyone else, hence the down-low).
It was at once constricting and oddly liberal.
Irian was taller than Harry, tanned, his body soft from a life of pleasure and comfy chairs. He fell on the fairly good looking side. Despite the recent linen skirmish, he didn't look the slightest bit ruffled, and now that Harry knew that taunting slouch was purposeful, he could see the magister appreciated Harry's fitter form. That was flattering.
Harry liked sex. Casual sex, specifically. But a dalliance with the wrong person in this stirred hornets' nest would be dangerous for one's health, feelings and political agenda. It was precisely why he'd ignored his libido since the mess started. Manipulative and political was not his type.
Amladaris was his ally, probably, but everyone had an agenda. Whether that agenda was pleasure or something more bothersome, Harry didn't yet know.
So Harry neither accepted nor turned down the offer, but if he stretched a little more than necessary to get that last strap in place, well, Amladaris looked just a tad uncomfortable and anyone who cut into Harry's sleep deserved as much turnabout as he could feasibly arrange.
Irian blinked his way to something like a recovery when the skin vanished, and jumped up with a smile, "Come on, then. I found a reference to Veil composition that I'm sure you'll enjoy."
Stupid, perky morning people.
…
The smaller rifts brought the immediate consequences of the Breach closer to home. When the demon pumping fissures promised to be unstoppable, the Senate was reinvigorated. The consequent inflation of tension and homicidal urges, at the very least, helped Harry identify his allies and his enemies. Just those, mind you; there were no friends here.
On the surface of things, there was only a lot of shouting. Most magisters still contended whether closing the demon dumping crack in reality should be on the agenda at all. Old grudges resurfaced, along with every slight ever traded, and, more often, invented on the spot. The escalation had an inevitable flow on effect, until assassination attempts were merely how one formally acknowledged disagreements.
The calls to action got more elaborate and ridiculous with each passing day; foreign policy became a pissing contest; invasion plans were thrown out left, right and centre. Some aimed for prosperity, or to spite their fellow magisters, others seemed to feel it was their duty to fill the quota of stupid for the world.
Hence Harry's homicidal urges.
Politicians. Honestly. Children, the lot of them.
Thankfully, the bulk of the magisterium was self-interested enough to know that investing in another war on top of the effort against the Qunari was a bad idea from a financial and social standpoint, if not a moral one.
Invasion did not look imminent, most days, and Harry would've chalked that up as a success, only he hadn't exactly recruited multitudes behind the idea of supporting the Inquisition, either. And of his allies, only Amladaris had any real sway.
Irian, currently, stroked the angle of his jaw, a dark look on his face. "Erimond knows too much."
Harry agreed. "He certainly looks gleeful considering he soundly lost the bid for action against Nevarra."
He grimaced at the reminder. The previous day had been a nightmare on his nerves and patience. Nevarra was the front, but Par Vollen, Orlais- the idiots permeating the Senate weren't fussy. They argued this was an opportunity, not a problem.
It was troubling that they were thinking this way. Many were influential; Harry feared their arguments might gather acclaim in time.
So that'd been fun. And then, yeah, demons. Good times.
The moment was never perfect, but Pavus and Prycis were winding up yet another argument on the merits of supplying both the rebel mages and Templars in their efforts against each other, because some people endorsed discord and the suffering of innocents for breakfast. Something had to be done. Harry didn't think he could sit through another rendition of that in good faith.
"My lords," Harry interrupted, "The rifts are the danger we must focus on. To our best knowledge they are unpredictable, unpreventable – Minrathous could very well be next."
Magister Prycis sniffed at the interruption. "Might I remind you that you were tasked with closing them?"
Rude.
"I was tasked with finding a solution and I have reported my findings," Harry agreed calmly, "They will not close as rifts have in the past."
Harry raised his voice over Prycis' noisy disagreement, and the several other proud magisters who prickled at the insinuation. "You may not like what I say but I pray you heed it. You could find another man, who will give another verdict. Search for someone ignorant. Wilfully blind. But the best minds in Tevinter sit over this problem today, and I can promise you that they will not find a solution anytime soon."
It was too early to be certain, Harry only had impressions to work off, a mistake here would decimate his reputation. But he needed this point now.
"If we establish ourselves as their enemy, Tevinter will fall. They will not conquer us, no, the Inquisition will let us succumb to an unending tide of demons."
"That organisation has no weight," Gallus protested with a negligent wave.
Amladaris stepped in, "Irrelevant. The Inquisition acts through the one person who can close the rifts. We can contain three, four, maybe a hundred small rifts, but at some point we will run out of naughty apprentices to put to use. And then we will run out of plain soldiers. And then we will run out of enchanters. And first enchanters. And magisters. What then? With our army drawn back home, what lands do you imagine you will conquer? We will fail even to keep the Qunari at bay."
Harry resisted the urge to pat his ally on the back, "We cannot exacerbate the strife in the south because the Inquisition is fighting it, and we cannot afford to alienate the Inquisition until we have a solution ourselves."
Uproar. Bloody politicians. Dousing them in logic was like spitting on their mothers.
"Well, we got their attention," Amladaris said under the cover of the surrounding noise, with the air of a man making a mental note to increase his personal security.
Harry blocked out the squalling and feared their efforts would not be enough. "They want this too much. We are fighting their ambition and pride."
"That will wear down," the magister replied confidently.
Harry admired his optimism.
…
"What's more, the Inquisition brought down both sides of the rebel war and now enforces a tenuous peace in the Hinterlands. If that is the length they will go to, just to secure safe passage for their horses, I look forward to seeing what they will do next," Amladaris chuckled.
Harry long ago concluded that he didn't want to know how Irian came across such information. So he paused, looking over the gardens thoughtfully, "That is good." His eyes stopped on an attractive woman and Harry had to shake himself back into focus, cursing his hormones. Some days he missed the time when such teenage bodily weirdness had taken backseat to his insanity.
He cleared his throat, "Yes, it will be easier to argue that the Inquisition can solve our problems now that they actually are solving problems."
"It will do nothing to convince the Magisterium that the Inquisition will be willing to help, however."
Harry frowned. Sirius said the Inquisition had clear goals - good, helpful ones, even. He'd like to think they wouldn't put that aside just to stick it to the Imperium. That said, people were an unpredictable, petty lot, and Harry wouldn't put anything past them entirely. "The Inquisition should be above borders."
"In an ideal world they would be," Irian agreed. "But they are still a small organisation, and it hasn't helped that the Orlesian Chantry has revoked them. Regardless, they are progressing well enough. Cheer up, Potter, we may sway more minds yet."
He gave a warm smile that Harry didn't quite believe.
…
Harry's bed had been replaced. Even a week after the burning incident, it still amused him to imagine the gossip circling the servantile class. He was reminded of them now, and the delicate unrealized power they held.
Letters had been left between the sheets for him to find. He flipped through them, considering and dismissing candidates for the sender. There weren't many who had the clout to organise such a thing, and the awareness to see the covert organisation under their noses, let alone the goodwill of the slaves.
His curiosity perked up tentatively.
Threats and bribes were never conveyed in something as permanent as writing, and those were the sum total of his entertainment these days, so at first he couldn't imagine anything interesting could be contained in the yellowed pages.
But a dwarven seal caught his eye, and propelled his brows toward his hairline. Now that was unexpected.
Harry Potter,
As I'm sure you know, the world has a small problem on its collective hands. The Breach, the Divine's death, and several poor life decisions have had a pretty big effect on things around here. People are looking for the cause and a solution.
That brings things around to you. See, our one and only Sister Nightingale had a few things to say about you (most of them glowing praises, rest assured), and she managed to track down several interesting diaries. Anders vouched for you and Leliana vouches for no-one but she likes you and that's as good as a personal letter of recommendation from the Maker in these parts.
So, world travelling immortal wizard, Master of Death, he-of-unique-titles… consider this a request for your expertise, a plea for help, or whatever tickles your altrusic side. I'm sure we can negotiate and respond accordingly.
Basically we'd feel better with you on board. Anything you can tell us about this Breach would be much appreciated.
Regards,
Varric Tethras
On behalf of the Inquisition
There was a second message and he didn't have high hopes for it, but he noted the handwriting and found himself smiling before he was even aware his cheeks had moved.
That changed soon enough.
Harry,
They've decided you're a candidate for Worst Megalomaniac of the Ages. I've told them they're idiots but at times they can be very good at that. They know where you are, who you are and what we did during the Blight, and they're not keen on the idea.
To be clear, they aren't saying you did blow up the Conclave, just that you could have, and the list of people who could have only has one name on it.
Being scared has made them stupid, don't hold it against them please.
Their first aim is to close the Breach, not lay blame. The Herald has a gift for common sense and pointed out that whether or not you're guilty, you could have the key to solving this mess, and your past actions indicate you might be persuaded to actively help us close it. I can promise that they're sincere, they will accept help somewhat gracefully, and it isn't an ambush.
I am working with them. Entirely on my own will. Really. Don't come charging in, that will not be taken with a grain of salt. They're good people and their purpose is honest, but they won't admit that we're out of our depth, and someone has to.
Even if we can clean up the mess, there is still someone behind it; we have no idea who it could be and we can't divert resources to find out. The Inquisition must focus on damage control before it goes to shit entirely.
I hope you will forgive me for asking this of you; we need your help. Please, send word.
Your friend,
Anders
Well. Well indeed.
His first instinct was to groan, which he did, because of course they'd track down the journals he'd written during the Blight. They couldn't have found a nicer, more incriminating account of how out of his mind he'd been if they'd tried.
He'd stashed them away out of sentimentality. He should've reduced them to charcoal.
With that out of his system, he read the notes again.
It rubbed him the wrong way that people had taken a look at everything he'd done and still suspected his motives, and Anders had resurfaced for the first time in years and that was all he'd said.
No explanation, hardly an acknowledgment of what had happened between them. And damn it, Harry felt like an apology had to go one of two ways, he wasn't sure which, but it definitely needed to be put out there.
Their suspicion frustrated him and Anders sparked a familiar cramp of misery and bitterness in his insides that shouldn't have been even remotely associated with the bright young man he remembered.
But more than that, Harry was left uncertain. Working directly with the Inquisition felt like the next inevitable step, but he was unprepared for this development. Tevinter was still a state of disarray on the edge of an even greater disaster.
The Inquisition would require more hours of his time than there was in a day, and wouldn't understand there were requests he couldn't grant. Like leaving his home. Really, he expected that to be the first issue.
Harry hated working with organisations that disliked him. He despised not having a choice in the matter.
Merlin, how was this his life.
He composed a reply, sealing in a subscription to many headaches in the future. By the third draft he decided he'd filtered out as much sarcasm as he was capable of, and produced something that would only be mildly incriminating if intercepted.
How kind of you to ask. Requests always hit my weak spots.
Enclosed is a mirror. If you haven't cast it away in suspicion and broken it yet, Anders will know what to do with it.
Anders, I know damn well what you did with the last one. Ensure it doesn't happen again.
In good faith,
H.P.
He layered a compulsion on a bird and sent it on its way.
…
Harry was left in suspense for weeks. In the quiet moments he had a chance to wonder about the Inquisition, but there weren't many of those. Another rift sprung up in the slum district of Carastes. Nearly a hundred people were killed before guards reached the area and took control.
Within the hour there was a push to legalise blood magic. Ostentatiously, the idea was to command the demons before they crossed the Veil. Harry spent four days researching and feeling sick and explaining why that wouldn't work, though everyone knew the proposal wasn't about the rifts at all. The vote came too close for comfort.
When Harry wasn't in the senate building during the day, he was inspecting the rifts. When he should've been sleeping, he was in the library trying to piece together his observations.
The Publicarium was in uproar, the Magisterium was too removed from reality to follow. Just soporati, they said, it could've been worse, they feared, while hostile looks fell on Harry who'd not pulled a solution from his arse yet.
Contain the demons, appease the Inquisition, the Herald can staunch the rifts. He could offer no more than that.
If the Herald can do it, why can't you? The prevalent whispers flew over him, and that one burned. Guilt niggled at him. Doubts snagged his thoughts, because he wasn't infallible. Maybe there was a solution and he just hadn't found it.
He trod the path from the Circle to his quarters, the ever oppressive glow weighed heavily on the horizon. It was a mirage, the Breach too far away to present above the horizon. The first, the largest - would it be a more complicated system than the rifts he'd seen, or directly scaled up? He hated to imagine the energy involved.
How someone had managed it, why they'd done it, what would happen if it spread... he simply had no idea. He had nothing to compare with, no past experience with worlds being exposed to one another.
It would be like ripping down the divide between Earth and the Station. The resulting physical/metaphysical world would be something he couldn't even conceive. Actually, he wouldn't be surprised if it was impossible to envision. No model of physics or magic could predict what would result because physics broke magic and magic broke physics; they were intrinsically different and there was, at least so far, no theory relating the two.
Some wizards were bat-shit crazy enough to try, sure, but no one had managed to figuratively open the gates of hell. Being in the Station was counterproductive to living. It wasn't impossible, after all Harry had been there, done that, but it'd necessitated a ridiculous set of extenuating circumstances.
He knew frustratingly little, just that it was happening: the barrier between the world and the Fade was failing.
That was it.
That was as specific as he could get.
And even that one sentence was still running on assumptions.
The Fade was somewhat different to the Station; it was more accessible for one. People supposedly had walked there (and didn't that just go swimmingly). That in no way suggested the situation would be any less bad.
In the Fade things happened because something wanted it to. Spirits could change and shape and create, and to a lesser extent so could any visitors. It was a realm of gods and wow, Harry wished he'd never thought that.
Mixing something like that with this. Yeah, he figured it was safe to assume it would be bad. Err on the side of caution and all that.
Life is not good at change. Physics was around before life; life worked within those rules and constraints when it came to be. Change on a laws-of-physics level would turn more than the ecology tits up.
That understanding gave Harry the impression that the end of the world as they knew it was no longer an abstract idea, but the forecast.
With that cheery thought, Harry threw his door open and fell onto his bed where his pillow would muffle his groan.
He needed to sleep. Ten hours minimum. He could spare maybe five. He was drifting off, whether or not he felt he should.
He couldn't solve this on his own. He was an obstinate idiot for trying. Had he not learnt anything? The kind of broken logic required to puzzle this out was clearly beyond the human mind.
Mind, singular.
A society has much more collective brainpower than any individual. He'd watched groups of people accomplish ridiculous feats when they applied themselves. This was the kind of investment worth dropping everything for. He just had to convince the world of that.
He doubted they would be more challenging than the Magisterium.
His name was recognised in the high courts of the most nations, he knew the King of Ferelden, he had friends in Orlais and the Free Marches, his best friend had an organisation of assassins at his beck and call. He could chat to every person who'd ever lived; renowned 26th century scientists who'd stood on the shoulders of their predecessors to reach further into the universe than anyone imagined; Dumbledore; Flamel; Hermione.
He grinned, relaxing a little at last, and slept easier than he had in weeks.
…
Something burned in his chest, pressed under his ribs and branded his skin. It felt like death warmed over. Well, he thought even as he reflexively swore and rolled slightly too far, that escalated quickly.
He was suspended in air for a moment, but gravity took care of that quickly enough.
And then he realised he heard Anders shouting his name and he felt a bit stupid.
Grumbling, a little bewildered that he'd managed to get a full night's sleep on a mirror (oh, and he was still wearing his boots, no wonder his feet felt terrible), he fished through the folds of his robes.
At the tap of his finger, the reflective surface changed. "Anders, it's good to see you." Given another hour of undisturbed rest, he might've managed more sincerity. "It's been a while."
Anders winced. "There was an incident with some dragons and a bone pit. You don't want to know."
The uncomfortable ball in his gut stirred, and Harry pushed it back ruthlessly. Those feelings were especially bad for his impulse control, and he was far from his best. It was probably fortunate, then, that another voice chimed in before Harry could affirm that, on the contrary, he very much would like some answers.
"You know Blondie, suddenly all those times Hawke and I caught you chatting yourself up make a lot more sense."
Bleary eyed, ruffled, dressing in day old cloths, and now entertaining company. Ugh. The voice was deep and contained a note of good humour, "Varric, I presume?"
"Hmm? Yes," he sounded distracted, "Instant communication. Not bad."
"It seemed appropriate. My mail isn't as private as I would like," Harry admitted, accepting the distraction from Anders as a matter of self-preservation. "I'm impressed you managed to get a letter to me in the first place."
"One of the many benefits of being a dwarf; Tevinter won't risk insulting us and endangering their trade agreements."
"I suppose it helps that a Tethras married a magister."
"It does at that. Say, did you really lead a pub crawl through three separate countries?" Smooth. Harry instantly felt compelled to exalt about that legendary debacle.
"Get on with it," another cut in from some distance away.
Harry blinked, "Is the entire Inquisition listening in on this?"
"Just the especially nosey ones. Engorgio," Anders cast, and Harry's view zoomed out as the twin mirror took in more light. Soon enough he could make out several people he recognised and far more he didn't. Leliana had hardly aged, the lone dwarf was just as hairy as he'd imagined though most of it was on his chest. They stood around a large wooden table. "Harry, this is Cassandra Pentaghast, Josephine Montilyet, Cullen Rutherford, Solas, and Herald Lavellan. Inquisition, meet Harry Potter."
He waved a little cheekily. Pentaghast glared.
Perhaps sensing an argument around the corner, Lavellan quickly moved to the front, "Will you help us?"
Straight to the point. She was now his favourite.
"Of course. I like living, it's a good look on me."
"That doesn't even make sense."
He ignored the gruff killjoy. "But don't get your hopes up. I've been working with the little rifts, I can't do anything with them. It's sure to take a while for me to figure this out. Unless your method is something I can apply?"
"I doubt it," the Herald grimaced humourlessly.
Bugger. Never an easy out.
Leliana looked suspicious. "Even with your power?"
He was a little offended. "Power isn't the issue, it's a matter of not having the right tool – being several steps away from that point, even. I don't know what the problem is, how to patch it, or what means to use. It sounds like you landed on a gizmo honed for just this task. I'm just another mage with a big heavy hammer; not fit for chiselling the world back into shape."
Well if he couldn't be useful, he'd just have to be helpful. "What are you going to do about the main breach?"
"We'll tackle it soon."
Although, making himself useful would be difficult if they continued to be so tight-lipped.
"I suppose you're not going to share the details." Pentaghast glared, Cullen snorted, and Harry was not surprised. "Fair enough. What do you want, then?"
Solas stepped forward. "I would like to talk to you about physics and magic, and any theories you have."
"Sure," he liked the sound of that, actually. The elf had an intelligent look about him, and Harry would kill for a second opinion right about now. "I can spare a few hours around midday or after the evening meal."
Solas sealed the deal with a nod, "I will ensure I have the mirror then."
Harry hummed happily. "I will visit if you need my direct help, though I must remain here for now. The Senate is in session," he explained. "Something is going on, there are several magisters that concern me."
"Could they have had something to do with the Breach?" Cassandra surged forward.
Harry shrugged, "Not sure. I doubt it, though, they're more like vultures."
"I thought that Tevinter, officially, was running a non-intervention policy," Leliana cocked her head curiously.
"Officially, yes. The Archon acknowledged the danger, but it's not him I'm worried about. There are two main positions at the moment: those that endorse the chaos, and those that don't mind it. I trust you can see how this might be a problem. The parliament is hung, Tevinter isn't going to do anything until something forces their hand one way or the other. You'd better hope it goes our way; they won't just make a nuisance of themselves if they commit to it."
…
Giving up on sleep, Harry greeted the morning with the Stone in hand, but his excitement died quickly. The jewel slotted neatly into his palm when it was called, and it felt smooth and cool and wrong.
He frowned, looking at it more closely.
It seemed completely normal, but he'd not mistaken the pang, whether it be magic, pessimism, or the experience of the last few days weighing on him.
He'd never gotten into the habit of ignoring his instincts, they'd been far too useful for that.
That didn't mean he could just set the Stone aside on a whim. He turned it with less of the practiced grace he was used to. "Hermione Granger," he called her warily.
She appeared before him, middle aged and smiling brightly, only looking translucent around the edges.
And then she collapsed like her strings had been cut.
"Hermione!"
His hands shot out on instinct but instead of passing through her with a ghostly chill, his fingers snagged her forearm for a moment and it burned. Harry knew he cried out because his throat felt hoarse, but he couldn't hear anything beyond the staggered beating in his chest, the echo in his head that chanted wrong, wrong, the dead were not that corporal.
Hermione curled inward. Harry hovered anxiously. He was muttering, now. Merlin, Maker, god what was going on, "I'm sorry, so sorry. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Just a bit woozy," she breathed slowly, unrolled in careful, incremental motions. She looked horribly pale. "The world feels more solid, somehow. It's a bit shocking."
From their end, used to phasing through matter, he supposed it would've felt like the world was gaining consistency again. The dead were not comfortable in the living world in the best of times, this must be way out of left field.
"Wait, did you touch me?"
Harry must've nodded, for Hermione's mouth slackened, "What in the world… What did you do?"
"This one's not my fault!" he scowled. Honestly, friends. "But I think a magical universe is falling into this physical one."
The witch didn't know what to say to that. Harry pointed out the window. "That's the Fade, another world, another set of physics somewhat like the Station. It's the source of magic and dreams, haven for dead souls and spirits and the view isn't supposed to be accessible from here."
He'd never seen her so skin so sallow, she seemed very small. So much for his good idea.
"I thought you might help, but–"
"I will," she interrupted, managing to stand tall for a moment before the effort drained her. "Talk to Barret Miles, he wrote the most fascinating chronicles. And find the ratio of magic to muggle. Also, the rate of expansion and side effects. Send me back, please. I can't think here. Give me a few days."
To recover.
He banished the Stone and she faded with a sigh.
Now the dead needed rest. It was a pretty definitive argument for Not Good. He set his patronus to work, readying his other allies quicksmart. He had a feeling they'd be needed.
…
Solas was an interesting being, Harry found. They'd spoke on and off in the days following that first call. Harry came to know his entirely unique outlook on the Veil, the Fade and just about anything. He was opinionated, confronting at times, but very convincing and hard to fault.
Or maybe that was just the elf's charisma at work. For a village born, anti-social nomad, he certainly knew how drive a conversation.
Harry sat at his desk, for once, and resisted the urge to fiddle. The chair was more showy than comfortable, but the wizard endured. Something about Solas made Harry feel like he was a child lecturing to his Professors.
"The rifts are not normal," he felt safe making that particular observation. "It's almost like the balance has shifted, like the Fade is pressing harder."
"Explain." He just had to have The Tone, didn't he?
Harry would not huddle down. Merlin, this was not McGonagall; Solas was asking for clarification, not why his essay appeared to have been written by a first year.
Harry was built of sterner stuff, damn it.
"In my native world, there was a theory. To apply it here… hmm, our universe and the Fade are separate worlds in their own right; the Fade isn't just a property of Thedas."
Harry had explained physics before, somewhat, and he'd managed to convey the idea that the Fade had a different set of physics that was completely inexplicable, run by will and inspired by memories, that they call magic. But how to explain that the two are parallel universes existing in the same space and time? It was entirely out of left field.
"The world doesn't stop at the sky; the planet isn't an isolated island within the greater Fade. The Fade is everywhere, kept out of reach by contrary laws of nature."
Silence. Harry would not play poker against a face like that. It was uncomfortable, so he distracted himself by making noise. "It could be wrong, right, or a completely different situation. It's hard to prove either way."
Solas hummed, lifting his gaze from his laced fingers to meet Harry's eyes across the mirror. "It's an interesting thought, regardless. But assuming the Veil exists because physical and magical compatibility is impossible, how can rifts come to be? It sounds self-maintaining. To that affect, how can magic be performed here if physics forbids it?"
That was the tricky one. Harry geared up for Hermione-mode and wished his friend could be here personally, explaining it to Solas just as she's helped Harry understand. Harry couldn't do it justice. "Magic users don't make impossible things happen despite physics, we substitute a different reality where anything we can imagine defines what is possible. The effort we exert in spells goes into accessing the Fade in this way, and then we are free to channel or borrow its energy."
The rifts though, if he knew for certain how they came about he would be doing something about them, right now, not chatting with a bald wanderer. "We never had rifts in my world, so I've no idea. But they could work on the same principle, only they're channelling matter. It's not so different, really, matter is energy."
"Overly simplified, but consistent with what I've learned," Solas ruled.
Harry straightened in the chair, eyebrows high. Huh.
"Would you tell me more of your world?" the elf queried out of the blue.
Harry indulged him with barely a blink. "Magic is far rarer; something like one in a hundred thousand is born with magic, but it runs in families so there tends to be isolated societies that secrete themselves away from the world. We didn't tire from casting. Here, magic is much easier to tap into; too easy, really, most mages exhaust themselves opening floodgates unnecessarily. I mean, a staff's natural attack just throws that effort in the face of the enemy. Very inefficient."
"Fascinating," and that didn't sound sarcastic, "It seems like your Fade world is more distant. Perhaps that is a consequence of a stronger Veil?"
Harry shrugged. "We never slipped through in our dreams. To my knowledge there were no spirits. As far as we knew, it was just a place for the souls of the dead. The relationship was stable, so everything worked."
"It is a delicate balance," Solas agreed. "We're lucky the Veil hasn't collapsed entirely."
"That wouldn't be fun."
"Wouldn't it?" the elf challenged, and something like humour, or maybe interest, danced in his eyes. Whatever it was, it was intense. "I do believe you are correct about how the Veil influences the magic available, but it could be said that it limits magic, since it keeps the full potential at bay. What do you think would happen if it simply ceased to exist?"
Harry raised an eyebrow sceptically. He seriously doubted anyone would be around to enjoy the magic boost. "It also keeps us alive."
"I've seen hints of a time long ago, where the Fade was as natural here as the wind. Maybe the Veil was thinner – closer if you prefer – or perhaps it was non-existent. Who can say? The Veil as it is now creates a barrier that makes true understanding most unlikely."
"That's not a gamble I'm ready to stake my friends' lives on. I'll wait until we fail, to discover if we could survive it."
Was Solas suggesting the Veil isn't natural? Harry couldn't decide. If it wasn't, then by definition it was contrived. But by what?
The way he spoke reminded the wizard of a Tevinter enchanter from the Steel Age who'd argued that the Veil existed because both spirits and people perceived it to, and they only perceived it to because changing perspectives from the ever-changing and malleable Fade to the unchanging and solid world was excessively difficult.
Honestly, quantum physics was weirder and still fit the laws of the universe, so Harry wouldn't discard the idea on principle, even if his logic sensors wailed at him.
"Forgive me, I side-tracked us," Solas interrupted his crisis. "I meant to ask what you thought might've opened the breach."
The wording caught his attention. What. Interesting. "Not who?"
"I doubt the person matters, except for that the artefact they hold. They may well be dead."
"Sounds like you've already decided," Harry pointed out. It was usual for Solas to make his mind up so quickly and immovably about something. He tended to be open to worthy suggestions. Harry admitted that an enchanted object would be the most likely option, but it was not the only viable one. "Why not runes, a group ritual, blood magic?"
"Blood magic would have left traces in the Fade. It must be an artefact, only a powerful object could store that much potential."
Harry noticed he did not offer reasons against runes or ritual magic. Did they not even warrant a comment? Any powerful ritual could cause catastrophe; Harry had seen the consequences of failed rituals, often more devastating than failed wards, and that was saying something.
No, there was something else.
Despite Harry's misgivings, he trusted Solas' judgement. If the elf thought it was an artifact, Harry could at least indulge him until he figured out what was going on. "We would do well to recover or destroy it."
"We could learn so much from such an object," Solas said with a vehemence that had Harry leaning back reflexively. "It will be key to discovering how this happened, and prevent it happening again. We must retrieve it."
"I can agree with that," Harry decided, cornered.
With that, "Thank you for speaking with me," he replied abruptly, and then Solas disappeared.
Harry laid down the mirror, feeling oddly shaken.
…
A/N: Read this if the topic interests you. 'From A Dissertation on the Fade as a Physical Manifestation, by Mareno, Senior Enchanter of the Minrathous Circle of Magi, 6:55 Steel'