Thanks for the response to Quebrith, and I'm sorry for not clarifying where Hermione went in the second chapter's notes, though the edits to the first chapter's preamble made it clear. Unfortunately, that story didn't quite go anywhere, and so, I needed to find another way.

My original thoughts for the Harry/Priscilla story was to have Lily as the reincarnation of one of the Witches of Izalith, but that didn't quite work out. However, I figured out another angle for that. Witness the results below. While it will have a convoluted beginning, I think it'll be worth it.

WINGS OF SIN

CHAPTER 1:

OH MY GODDESS!

The Hog's Head. Perhaps the more disreputable of the two pubs in Hogsmeade. On Halloween Night, there were a number of drinkers present, given that Halloween was a date the wizards and witches of Magical Britain held dear. Originally, it was because it used to be Samhain, and related days of celebration. More recently, it was the celebration of the downfall of Lord Voldemort, due to the vague actions of Harry Potter, then an infant barely more than a year old.

All sorts of shady people came to the Hog's Head. So when two people came in, dressed in dark cloaks, they were scrutinised, but they weren't considered that different from the norm. True, one of them was rather large, hunched over, with what looked like the white-furred tip of a tail briefly peeking out from beneath the cloak, but this pub had played host to Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper, odd-job man and general dogsbody of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. While you couldn't say they barely rated a yawn, the regular clientele had seen stranger.

The smaller cloaked figure approached the owner, Aberforth Dumbledore, who was cleaning a mug as he watched them approach warily. "So, what can I do for you?" the elderly man, more rough around the edges compared to his brother, asked.

"I'd like information, Aberforth Dumbledore," the smaller cloaked figure said quietly, their voice betraying them to be a woman. "I need to speak to someone I trust about what's going on in Britain, as I've been…out of touch for some years."

"What, you don't read The Daily Prophet?" Aberforth asked sceptically.

"The Prophet is mostly good for toilet paper," the woman said. "I've only just arrived in Hogsmeade, and you're the only one I can trust for reliable information, and interesting rumour."

Aberforth snorted at the not-inaccurate assessment of the Prophet mostly being good for toilet paper. It's how he sometimes used his copies. Still, he peered at the woman suspiciously. "What's in it for me?"

Carefully, she fished out from beneath her cloak a number of jewels. "Compensation. That, and if your brother has acted against me in any way, the joy of seeing his plans scuppered."

At this, Aberforth nodded thoughtfully. He knew better than to take this woman at her word, and her wording had him suspicious, but he wanted to find out what that was first. So he indicated them to follow him up the stairs, to one of the rooms, the larger figure struggling a little. They made it into one of the rooms. "No tricks," Aberforth said. "So, tell me…why do I have to give you information, even for compensation?"

"Well, the jewel's more than enough for the information, and ensuring who is asking is not revealed to anyone. If you're worried that I am with Voldemort or his vile ilk, then don't. But…you will understand once I reveal my face. I promise you, I am who I seem to be, and it is a story I will tell you if you hold off on firing any spells or alerting your brother. Understand?"

Aberforth, after a moment, nodded, albeit a little reluctantly. The woman shucked off the hood of her cloak, and he stared in shock. "You…but you're dead…"

"Well…to quote a certain Muggle film, I got better. I promise to explain everything. I'm not here to conquer the world or anything stupid like that. But I do want to know one thing…where is my child?"

The next morning, the curious couple left the Hog's Head, and Hogsmeade itself, heading for the grounds of Hogwarts. The smaller figure was muttering expletives under her breath. The larger one following her spoke, in a soft, gentle, and feminine voice, "My lady, I know thou art troubled, but…"

"Troubled? Oh no, Priscilla, we are beyond troubled. Try absolutely livid. Even after a decent night's sleep, which I was surprised I was able to get in that dive, I am still angry. Firstly, I learn that I have a child that I had forgotten for fourteen years. Secondly, while we travel between worlds to reach my child, someone, whom I suspect to be one of so-called Lord Gwyn's lackeys, sabotaged the ritual. We've made it here in one piece, but I suspect getting back to my temple will be troublesome. And then, I learn what is publicly known about my child, and how a certain dog and a certain wolf weren't there like I hoped. Thirdly, there's this damned Tri-Wizard Tournament a brain-dead idiot and a dried-up old hypocrite allowed to come back. And you saw the headlines on The Daily Prophet."

"Indeed I did. Thine child is…a participant in this tournament. My lady, thine child is…"

"A demigod, yes, I know, but…even in the best-case scenario, the divinity passed on through me has been suppressed. And divinity does not mean immortality. Why else would they fear your power, Priscilla? The Lifehunt was something they feared, and that I managed to persuade Gwyn to allow you into my service was a miracle in of itself, because I know Ariamis was preparing that Painted World to act as your prison. There are creatures here that devour souls, and not in the same way souls are used back home. I'm not even back to my power that I once had. So my child…well, we'll see."

Eventually, and uncertainly, the one named Priscilla asked, "…Will thy child not judge me for mine appearance and heritage?"

"…I should hope not, or else I'll be severely disappointed in him…"

As he watched his last bit of toast get plucked off the surface of the Black Lake by the Giant Squid, Harry wondered how this year could get any worse. Leaving aside the weird dreams he was having, of what seemed to be Voldemort, or the attack on the Quidditch World Cup, there was the fact that he had just been entered as a fourth Champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Many in Gryffindor had celebrated that, but Ron hadn't believed him when Harry told him the truth, that he hadn't entered the Tri-Wizard Tournament himself, not willingly.

Hermione, thankfully, had believed him without question. But she was now insisting he contact Sirius…and possibly reconcile with Ron. Harry, honestly, didn't feel like it. Ron had turned his back on him, out of jealousy. Ron was the one who needed to apologise, not him.

But even as he stood, he noticed a pair of figures approaching him along the shoreline, both dressed in hooded cloaks. One was large, almost as big as Hagrid or Madam Maxime, while the other was normal by comparison. "Hermione," he said quietly.

"I see them. Harry…we might need to make a run for it."

Before they could do so, the smaller figure held up a hand. "Sorry, just a moment." The woman, given the voice, carefully lowered the hood on their cloak, revealing a face that looked vaguely familiar to Harry. She was beautiful, but in a way that made you wary. Raven-black hair framed her face, while emerald eyes, so much like Harry's own, peered at him with emotions he couldn't quite discern.

"Good morning. I presume you are Harry Potter?" the woman asked.

"Who's asking?" Harry asked in his turn.

"Rather rude, but given the circumstances, that may be understandable," the woman said. "I am Lady Velka Varislintu(1), of the ICW. This is my apprentice, Lady Priscilla. I was sent here, on rather short notice from Finland I might add, to investigate the circumstances around your entry into the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

Harry snapped, "I did not enter myself!"

Velka raised her hands. "No need to shout, Mr Potter. I am just trying to ascertain the truth."

Harry did try to calm himself. True, the woman didn't seem sinister, and actually seemed quite polite and reasonable. But something about her had him on-edge. And perhaps foolishly, he opened his mouth. "Convenient that you show up just after someone else entered me into this."

The taller figure bristled. Her voice, while gentle and melodious, was filled with undeniable anger. "Art thou insinuating that Lady Velka entered thee into this tournament herself?"

"…Did you just seriously talk like you were in a Shakespeare play?" Hermione asked flatly.

"Don't mind Priscilla," Velka said. "I…saved her from a bad situation. She's very loyal to me. But she was raised to speak a certain way. Look…I wasn't the one to put you into this. But I can tell you, I'll be able to get you out of it. I can train you."

"Train me? Why would you?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. "Why would an ICW official offer to train one of the champions? I would imagine that they would wish to remain neutral and impartial in such matters."

"Because…oh, sod it all. Look…I was lying earlier about being with the ICW. I thought it would help smooth things over. But, well, it looks like I messed up. Harry, and…sorry, who are you? I should have asked your name earlier, that was rude of me."

"I am Hermione Granger."

"Hermione? Parents Shakespeare buffs or something? Anyway, there's a reason I want to help you." With that, she waved a hand over her face, and it shimmered and changed…

…Into something impossible.

Harry stared in shock, before shaking his head in denial. "No…no no no…you can't be her. You can't be…Hermione, we've got to run."

Hermione was staring too, but her shock was soon shaken, and she turned with him to flee…

Only to feel a sickening jolt. Darkness began to consume his sight, and as he fell, he heard the impostor snarl, "Dammit, I messed that up, didn't I?"

Whatever Harry was expecting to see when he woke up, it wasn't what looked like a throne room, albeit one that had clearly seen better days, picked out in dark stone, and with parts of it rubble. Whatever he was expecting to hear, it wasn't a storm of expletives from the impostor, who was currently waving a hand, and causing parts of the decrepit room to repair themselves. "…And when I get my hands on that bearded bastard, I'm going to set him on fire! See whether he likes his vaunted fire so much! And then I will…"

"My lady," came the soft, gentle voice of Priscilla, who was now without a cloak. Her form was revealed to be that of a teenaged girl, albeit one who was clearly far from human. The height was a big clue. So too was the furry tail poking out from beneath equally furry robes, while scale-like growths framed her beautiful features. Green eyes with slitted pupils peered down at him appraisingly. "Thy guests have roused from their slumber."

Harry looked at Hermione, who was shaking her head groggily. He was cursing himself now, for not practising the Constant Vigilance Moody espoused. Now, he was in a bad situation, and Hermione had been dragged into it. He was trapped, with an impostor wearing the face of someone he'd never truly known.

On this, the impostor turned, and sighed. "Thanks, Priscilla. Sorry about that. I…panicked, really. I really should have considered that reaction, but I thought…never mind."

"Never mind?" Harry asked, as the impostor sat down on the throne. "You're sitting there, wearing that face, and you've kidnapped me and Hermione, taken us God knows where, and you're…you're…"

"Harry," she said quietly, cutting through his babble. "I promise you, I am who I look like. But that is far from the whole truth. I wasn't lying when I said my name was Velka. That is the name I am known by here, in this world."

"This world?" Hermione asked.

"That's right. You're in another world, the one where I was born, originally. Specifically, you're in my temple, the Temple of Velka. And thanks to whoever that bearded bastard sent to foul up my ritual, well, time didn't pass on Earth, but it passed here. I'm yet to find out exactly how much, my counsellors are yet to come here, but centuries at least. Hope Anor Londo's a crumbling wreck."

This last was muttered in sullen anger. But Harry was still staring at the impostor in understandable disbelief. After all, it was not every day that someone came back from the dead. "Temple of Velka?" he scoffed. "But that would mean…"

"That I am a goddess. Yes, I am a goddess. I am Velka, Queen of Ravens, Shadow Pardoner, Goddess of Sin, and Punisher of the Wicked. But…you know me by a different name, of course. For a short time on Earth, I was Lily Evans. And I promise you, Harry…I am here for you now."

Harry shook his head. "No…you can't be her. No! You're not her!" And with that, he fled from the room, hearing only the shouts of the impostor and Hermione following him…

He didn't know how far he ran through the corridors, only for him to be surrounded by a group of strange beings, with crow-like heads, warped bodies, wings and talons. "An intruder?"

"He defiles the temple of our lady! Blasphemer!"

As the word filled the air, chanted by the creatures, he knew he was in deep trouble. He was alone, in a temple headed up by an impostor wearing his mother's face, and now, he was surrounded by monsters, possibly out for his blood. As if the universe hadn't made him into a chew-toy enough already…

CHAPTER 1 ANNOTATIONS:

So, Lily is Velka, of all people? We'll explain the particulars in the next chapter.

Now, keep in mind, for reasons we will elaborate on later, while Lily and Priscilla came from a period prior to the downfall of Izalith, Oolacile, and the like, they are now in a period about a year or so prior to the first Dark Souls. Priscilla is about Harry's age, 15 (I've bumped up the ages one year for this fic, as I often do for these works), though she's almost as tall as she is in the game. Lily/Velka has known her for much of her life, but it was only since she manifested the Lifehunt that she was brought into the service of Velka, about one or two years prior.

1. As Velka seems to be derived from the Finnish word for 'debt', her last name, as an alias, is a Finnish word for a crow.