The Amber City of Danzig, the (New) Teutonic State, Empire of Romania, Year of Our Lord 7185

Danzig was a beautiful city, and more importantly for Harry, it was a commercial city. The lion's share of the world's amber seemed to go through this one place. There were traders and merchants of all sorts here to exploit that, and they seemed to be going just about everywhere that was worth going. With the translation spell on, the city was also a delightful wellspring of information.

What did he learn? Well, a lot of fairly useless stuff about the government of the city of Danzig (an elected city council separate from an order of warrior monks who controlled a stretch of the Baltic from Pomerania to the Gulf of Finland) and current prices of amber, grain, and other goods… but there were also some interesting rumors about the empire as a whole.

No discussion of him yet, thankfully, but there was a sort of vague expectation of a breakthrough regarding the Return. Didn't take much context to figure out what that meant.

Getting home was an obvious priority, but he didn't want to be followed by these crazy medieval quasi-Romans. So it would be best if he kept the method a secret, or he needed to sabotage it behind him.

(Harry could go back and tell them to prepare, possibly, but if the Latin Empire had an entire planet of people and eight years to every one of theirs, they'd win just by attrition.)

Another thing to keep an eye on was the politics. The world was feudal- he had met the Emperor after all, so it was probably subject to feudal problems. Plotting nobility or whatever, even if the history books boasted about their stability.

Getting money to afford anything seemed like a bit of an issue- although he hoped getting a job wouldn't be too hard- but thankfully, he was saved from a night spent sleeping on the ground by a sort of homeless shelter. It seemed the city had a fair number of them, catering to those who couldn't find work in the amber business.

One let him inside with shockingly few questions. He got a tidy bed and a bowl of warm soup immediately, and while Harry definitely appreciated it… if the idea of getting caught while asleep didn't put him so on edge that he struggled to take advantage of their hospitality. Despite the chaos of the last few days, it seemed he was handling insomnia.

Again, he found the Latin love for gaudy detail. A massive wall was taken up by a mosaic depiction of a man with a halo leaning off a horse to give a beggar cloak, while alcoves were filled with various paintings depicting charity. Between the alcoves, the pillars were decorated with carved trees, each topped by a carved bird over a carved nest. Lots of gilding, lots of semiprecious stones gleaming in the light…

Strangely, Harry had not seen a single painting that moved, although all he had seen so far were explicitly religious. Perhaps there were moving paintings in the privacy of people's homes, Harry didn't know, but he supposed it made a sort of sense that religious icons wouldn't be made to move? Or if they opened their mouth and said something heretical. Was there a similar charm for mosaics, though?

Someone was walking up to him, and Harry froze up. "Do you recognize him?" The voice was soft, the face kind. One of the women who helped run the shelter.

"No," Harry replied, looking up at the amber halo and the silvery stones of the helmet.

For a moment, he wondered if he had committed some tremendous faux pas, but Harry eventually got a reply. "Saint Martin of Tours. A Roman cavalryman who became a bishop in France. This is his most famous story. He struck his cloak in half with his sword to give part to a beggar."

Seemed a decent bloke, then. "And the birds?"

"The pelican strikes at its own breast to feed its young with blood." Harry… wasn't quite sure if that was correct, biologically speaking, but he could understand the symbolism.

"It's beautiful," Harry remarked. Not exactly his cup of tea, decor-wise, but the care was so obvious, the intent dripping from every brick and dab of mortar.

"Man is at his greatest when he gives." The woman said, having misunderstood Harry slightly. "This shelter is our own little way."

"Thank you," Harry said. "I'm just… so far from home."

"Home is… well, I like to think every church contains a bit of home. Every charity. The monks saving travelers in the Alps, the charitable societies of the Mediterranean, the prince in Saint Brendan's Land…"

"Saint Brendan's Land?" Harry asked.

"Ah, the land to the far west, beyond Hispania and Hibernia."

America. They had found America? "And the prince?" Harry asked.

"Ah, the Emperor has no sons. His Majesty's brother rules in Saint Brendan's Land, makes sure the poor settlers don't starve…."

Well, Harry wasn't an expert in medieval politics, but he thought he could smell some family issues to exploit. If the siblings disagreed, Harry might find someone who could give him refuge from the older brother, perhaps even a counterbalance to him…

Or he could be in line with his older sibling, and would just send Harry back to whence he came. Either option was possible, but Harry would be quite honest: he liked the sound of America a lot more than staying in Europe. Being this close to Rome- which he figured was the capital- seemed like a recipe for disaster.

It was something almost like a caravan if all the camels and most pack animals (barring the occasional winged horse) were replaced by magic carpets and heavy-duty brooms. In the hustle and bustle of last-minute deals and making sure that all the chests and barrels were properly spelled to follow along, Harry managed to slip in alongside the amber merchants. Considering that it seemed like a small town's worth of merchants were going along on this adventure, it was simple enough.

They had it down to a science, Harry would admit. They launched by lots, making sure there were no mid-air collisions, and the people who launched earlier flew in orderly circles until the entire group had gotten together. It was definitely something- with other groups going other places, it had to be most wizards and witches in flight Harry had seen anywhere.

With that, they set out for the east, following the shore of the Baltic. Their first stop would be, if the rumors were correct, the great city of Riga, the jewel of Livonia (or the Terra Mariana, technically speaking). It too was under the jurisdiction of the Teutons… and after that, they would plunge into Russia. Or whatever strange name Russia went by here.

The end goal was either the part of Russia closest to Alaska. Could he possibly hop aboard a ship somewhere? Yeah. There were many ships in the harbor of Danzig, sneaking aboard wouldn't be too much of a trick… but even with a broom, the idea of being stuck on a boat made him antsy. While he would probably have to operate in cities- for research, at least- that didn't mean he had to spend too much time in them. Hopefully, the cities in America would be a little smaller and less built up.

But before he could worry about that, there was the matter of not arousing any suspicion on the way there, while also trying to gather information. And that meant…

Harry sidled up to a person who didn't seem otherwise occupied. "Hello."

"Good evening." The man nodded, adjusting a pair of bags carefully hung over his broom. No heavy chest floating behind… but Harry knew that supposedly small bags could be deceiving.

"Where are you headed?"

"The Rus'," he answered, as if Harry was a bit simple.

Harry grinned anyway. "Like Moscow?"

"You don't know the Rus, but you know Moscow?" The man asked, genuinely surprised. "You don't look like a Tartary trader."

Yeah, what the hell was a Tartary? Not important. Harry decided not to ask after Saint Petersburg- he couldn't trust his own vague knowledge of history to not be for the future. Well, a past that would never be? Whatever.

Harry grinned and kept on talking. "I'm not. I'm from England."

"Hansa? I can't imagine what would bring an Englishman this far…"

Well, Harry was pretty sure he wasn't with the Hansa, whatever that was, but he wasn't sure if that would be a strange thing to admit. What if it was necessary for English traders to join it?

"Just a traveler," Harry said. "I want to see the world."

The man shook his head. "And this is what you want to see? Not Rome, not Constantinople?"

"I think they might be a bit hot for me, is all."

The man shook his head. "I think them both worth visiting, at least once… to visit is to see a faint glimpse of eternity."

"Eternity can wait, can't it?"

"I suppose it can." The man laughed.

The City of Balts, Riga, the (New) Teutonic State, Empire of Romania

The Daugava flowed to the sea, cutting through yet another great city, its surface reflecting great cathedrals and mighty hills crowned with looming forts. If Harry wanted to, he could follow the river through most of Russia, past Kiev, and all the way to the Black Sea. That, of course, was a bad idea.

From what he could tell, if he really wanted to get far east while hugging the rivers, he should have gone further north and passed by Novgorod. Saint Petersburg was not a thing yet- even if some enterprising merchants had set up trade stations on the mouth of the Neva- but a good rule of thumb was following the rivers. Apparently, much of Russia had seen Viking traders… it was odd, walking through a medieval city where knowledge of the medieval history he knew was so rare. Vikings hadn't been a problem for millennia, after all, and Scandinavia was thoroughly civilized.

So why wasn't Riga just another quick stop? Why not just find someplace to stay the night and then head east as quickly as possible? Well, it was the history again, especially the massive forts that loomed over the city.

Thinking about it, there wasn't much reason for these people to have castles. Sure, they seemed to have buildings that were already built by… whatever time the timelines split, but once they were here, they weren't fighting anyone. Well, most of the time.

Terrible piles of stone and earth loomed above the city and its outskirts, deliberately defensive in a way most buildings weren't. They almost seemed to hum with magic, and by night their battlements glowed with the silver light of ghosts.

They were the Baltforts, the last bastion of pagan Livonia and Estonia. There was no reason that native Baltic people resisting Christianization couldn't pull the same trick time travel as the Latins, after all, and when they realized they were thrown into a timeline populated solely by loony crusaders…

Well, they did the obvious. They hunkered down. Anyone willing to rewrite history to prevent their loss would accept no terms and would never convert.

Above those forts, coats of arms and pennants flew, the symbols of men who won themselves land and titles by breaching those walls centuries ago. This was where the Latin war machine truly began to take shape, a magic-wielding warrior class tearing down those mighty walls.

And it was about as far removed from these modern people as ancient Mesopotamia was from Harry. It was ancient history, practically, even if there were worn memorials and monuments to those who died to win the Baltic for Christendom. Honestly, Harry had thought the 'Teutonic State' label was basically just historical window dressing, a sort of tipping their hats to the past. But no, it really was a militant organ of the Latin Empire. Those castles still played host to armed soldiers who trained and fought and planned for the glorious reconquest.

Again, Harry found it hard to get any sleep in Riga. A comfortable bed didn't seem that much better than the great outdoors when he knew that the city played host to… hell, thousands of soldiers? And almost all of them, from the lowliest militiamen to the armored knights, could use magic while attempting to deliver him into the clutches of the Latin Emperor.

He moved out into the wilderness pretty quickly and wondered if it might have been better to try to grab a ship before news got out. But no, magic could allow for communication faster than the speed of the boat, and if they got him while he was asleep….

Admittedly, Harry had never been the biggest fan of knights and that sort of thing. He didn't have many interests like that as a kid- the Dursley household was not a place where Harry could fall in love with space or King Arthur or whatever- and it really wasn't looking all that appealing as an adult.

Omake:

It seemed that the people of this world knew whatever trick Durmstrang had used when they arrived at Hogwarts, an entire world ago. Grand cargo ships would rise and plunged from the sea like great whales, great tangles of sail and rope guiding them through the oceans. They shamed any wooden boat Harry had ever seen, and might have competed with a few of the smaller metal ones.

Still a bit of a surprise, to watch entire fleets sink into the waves intentionally, though…