Long AN: As I'm sure you're aware, this is a Dragon Age II/ Harry Potter Crossover. This fic follows HP canon (although a mix between book and movie, with tiny details taken from other media), and set a few years after the last book, meaning Harry is a skilled wizard, but not godly/super. This fic starts near the beginning of act 1 in DA:II.I may also draw on DA info from other media. I own neither DA or HP and make no profit from this, nor hold any rights to this, and all characters belong to their respective creators. Should someone else wish to write a fanfic using ideas from this one, they are free to do so. Romances will be in the background, and not the focus of the fic, but there may be one-sided, or short lived relationships involving Harry. There will be F!Hawke/Merril and canon DA/HP relationships mentioned. For Act 1, things will be close to DA canon, then we should begin to veer off during Act 2 and be in unknown territory by Act 3.
Super slow build. Very slow. Many words.

Rated mature for graphic violence and adult themes, but will not contain any explicit sex scenes.

Harry ached all over. His skin felt raw, his muscles hurt, and he was hypersensitive to everything around him. There were shards of glass pricking him, while his clothes and the rough dirt beneath him scraped against his skin- and this was only his sense of touch. The sensory overload made it hard to focus, but he had to try and take stock of his surroundings and figure out just what the hell was going on.

People were shouting back and forth around him, sounding panicked and angry, barely audible through the ringing in his ears. Unable to make any sense of it, Harry focused on what he could see instead. It was dark and the nearest source of light seemed to come from the ground beneath him. Looking down, he could make out dimly glowing red lines dancing beneath him, flowing with energy and stinging where they touched him. Further investigation revealed the shards of glass to be the fine remains of a mirror, catching the red light unnervingly. He was tempted to reach out and pick up a piece, as if it would somehow help him figure out what was happening. Before he could, his attention was suddenly caught by what was being spoken, words becoming clear among the cacophony in his ears.

"What is this?! He isn't what we wanted- which one of you screwed up?! We were supposed to get a spirit from beyond the beyond, not… this!"

It was a woman shouting, but other voices answered; men, women, some accents familiar, some not. Harry had a feeling he'd somehow angered the people around him, but he could barely make out the words, let alone make sense of what he was seeing and what part he played in it. Dumbly, he checked to make sure he still had his glasses on, as if that was that was the cause of his disorientation. Pushing them back into place on his nose, unsurprisingly, didn't help any.

"Some demons take on human form- get him up, question him. It worked- I felt it work! He has to be a fade creature at least!"

The white noise began to fade from his mind, but Harry didn't have much time to enjoy his regained clarity, when hands grabbed his shoulders and arms and pulled him upright. Mirror fragments fell from him, glittering red. The room span for a moment and the sounds deteriorated back into intelligible blares, but eventually a face came into focus.

"We pulled you here from beyond the Fade- Tell us what you are and what you want, and in return for your aid, we shall give it to you." The voice sounded as if it was trying to be enticing, but was too thick with excitement. Harry found all he could focus on was the woman's face. It seemed human, but something was subtly different, somehow making the entire face seem even more 'other' than if it had been clearly not human. It lacked the stocky angles of a human, instead having smooth cheeks and a straight nose that merged seamlessly and in level with her brow, with no dip or ridge. But it was her eyes that captured Harry's. They were large and round, coloured with layers and patterns unlike any he'd seen in an iris before.

And they were filled with desperate madness.

Harry struggled against the hands holding him, but found they were the only thing keeping him up, and with each jerk the room threatened to spin again.

"Ilani, we have no idea what it is, let alone what it's capable of. It might be as mindless as a rage demon- if it's even a demon!" The man gripping Harry's left shoulder tightened his hold painfully and Harry strengthened his efforts to escape, as others began voicing their own uncertainties.

"W-we dragged it from the abyss. Where damned souls are cast aside to-"

"-You don't actually believe that chantry shite do you?"

"Le' go…" Harry couldn't tell if his words were slurred or growled, but he didn't think the people were listening anyway, caught up in their nonsensical argument. Harry finally took stock of the room, or rather the passage, he was in. It stank of damp, refuse, and blood. The former smells seemed to come from the fact they were in some kind of sewage system, the latter from the slit throats of about half a dozen people, collapsed in a circle around him. Blood pooled from their fallen forms, running into the glyph beneath him. Harry's eyes darted around more frantically, his breath hitching, taking in the rest of the area with more urgency. There appeared to be the same amount of people still standing as there were fallen, including the three currently in Harry's immediate area. Six people, men and woman, some not fully human.

He needed his wand. He needed to get away from them. These people were obviously some kind of cult, although none of it made sense; not how he was involved, not the strange appearances of the people, not the archaic clothes of the dead people or the unusual robes of what must be witches and wizards. Harry's fledgling Auror training kicked in and he managed enough coordination to slip his wand from it holster on his wrist into his hand.

Something triggered his captors, probably his own sudden movement, and the man who was unsure of Harry before apparently decided he wasn't going to take any risks. Magic flowed about him in a way Harry had never seen before, flames sparking to life around his hands, with no sign of a wand present. The fiery hand rose above the man's head, lighting up his haggard features. Their eyes met briefly, and Harry could see the anger and fear in the man's eyes, with no sign of mercy or hesitation present. Even with wand in hand, Harry wouldn't be fast enough to defend himself, not with how restrained and disorientated he was.

He knew the hand would have been brought down sharply, and the flames unleashed upon him, had a bolt not suddenly lodged itself in the man's neck.

"Looks like we're late to the party. And after Bianca got all prettied up as well."

Harry wasn't going to question who the man who'd spoken was, mainly because he had more pressing matters to deal with. The man who had been holding him had fallen over, choking up blood, fire dissipating from the hand that was now reaching towards his throat, along with the one holding Harry. A pony sized dog barrelled into the strange woman in front of him, and he wasn't going to question that either, instead taking the opportunity to roll out of the blood circle and away from the heart of the fight that had just erupted. Right now, all he knew was that one side appeared to be insane cultists wanting to kill him, and the other side wanted to kill the insane cultists. If it turned out the newcomers also wanted to kill him, he'd deal with that later, but right now he was for team 'not-insane-cultists'.

Getting to his feet and readying his wand, Harry went on the defensive. He'd determine more about the other group later, but right now it was difficult enough to even tell what the hell was happening around him, let alone who was part of it. It didn't help that, on top of his disorientated state, nothing was as it should be. The newcomers were fighting with swords, crossbows, magic and a bloody big dog, while the cultists were… entirely unnatural.

The woman who had spoken to Harry first had managed to throw off the dog. Her eyes glazed over yellow-white, and glowing lines the same colour as the glyphs upon the ground spread across her skin, bleeding through her clothes.

"No- You won't stop us! We've come too far, we've done what everyone thought was impossible!" The lines across her body seemed to split her skin, letting blood dance around her hands as if caught by whirling winds. Shadows leapt around her feet and began to stretch away from the ground and take form like twisted dementors. Harry cast on instinct.

"Expecto patronum!"

Prongs charged forward, but while the shadows screamed in anger, they didn't flee like dementors would. Instead the Patronus began fighting them, using antler and hoof and creating pulses of forceful light. Harry had seen Prongs do something similar before, when forcefully driving back large amounts of dementors, but he'd never seen the Patronus actually engage in a fight. Despite knowing that Prongs couldn't be killed, Harry felt his heart race when claws slashed through the ethereal stag's neck, causing it to rear and shake its head in surprise, form flickering. For a terrifying moment Harry feared for Prongs' existence. It was only a small relief that the blow didn't seem to damage Prongs, as it might a real deer, and the re-stabilised Patronus only tossed its head as if accepting an exciting challenge and fought on, silver pulses of light pushing the shadows back with every attack the stag preformed. Harry threw in his own spells, keeping the shadows from being able to get another blow on Prongs, while trying to spot an escape route. His spells felt strange, almost like they were pulling on him as he flung them away. Harry wasn't sure why, but it was yet another oddity that pushed him to wanting to escape as soon as possible.

But now, instead of letting his Patronus deal with the shadow creatures while he looked for an escape, Harry had to focus on keeping Prongs from potential harm. One advantage at least was that, other than the shadow, most seemed keen to keep their distance from Prongs. Having been able to take more of the situation in, Harry realised that out of the newcomers only an armoured woman and the large mastiff were fighting close range. He caught glimpses of more figures, who had to be wizards or witches, throwing spells in to cover the woman in the same way Harry was covering Prongs. Besides the cultists, who seemed to react to Prongs with a range of emotions from fear to awe, the armoured woman gave the stag a wide eyed and then narrowed look, glancing to him across the battle for a moment, before turning to cleave into a cultist who had been taken off guard by a spelled rock sticking her across the face. Now it was four cultists versus what Harry guessed to be at least four newcomers plus the dog. With Harry aiding the latter, he felt his chances of getting out of this increase.

Still he had no chance to escape yet, and the shadows were proving difficult to banish. On top of that, he wasn't being ignored either. The other combatants seemed to be concentrating on their own fight, all except the woman with the strangely beautiful face, who was watching Prong's battle the shades with awe widened eyes.

"See! This new magic could be ours! You could help us! You're supposed to help us!" The woman had turned to face him, blood swirling from the gaping bite wounds on her arms and shoulder. Harry was distracted from helping Prongs when she raised a staff above her head, like those shown in depictions of Arthurian magicians. The dog that had been attacking her had been intercepted by yet another monstrosity the cultists had brought forth, some moving mass of molten fire and wrath. The armoured woman needed to step in to aid the hound, seeing as a mouth full of fire would do more harm to the dog than the monster, but that meant that no one was marking the blood wielding witch.

Harry was too busy staring into the woman's eyes to notice that the newcomers were winning. If he had been paying attention he might have seen how a blue light enveloped them when they were injured, knitting their wounds back together, giving them a strong advantage over the cultists, only three of which remained; including the woman. She was looking at him as if he held all the answers, almost like how he remembered some of his more fanatic followers would look at him. She seemed so slight and fragile, and something made him want to protect her, save her-

But this magic she used was beyond dark. The bodies, the monsters, the sense of sickness in the air; all this was her and her companions doing. Something about everything was wrong, and Harry had to keep a sense of himself, keep his head in this insanity. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he entered a duelling pose. Seeing no wand to disarm, Harry cast a flipendo directly at her, beginning a trade of spells.

Fire, stone, and spells he'd never seen before flung themselves upon his shields, occasional shards and blasts managing to slip through his defences and glance his person. Harry felt as if something was tugging at his blood, at his mind. He could feel blood been drawn out of nicks and cuts on his body, like thread being pulled from stiches, burning white hot. Where his blood, winding through the air in front of him, reached her spells they exploded with bursts of power. Yet, for every spell she cast, he flung another back, raising the offensive each time. Even still, she didn't seem to notice when a curse or hex hit her, or when another crossbow bolt sank into her. With each new wound, her fight only grew more frantic and powerful.

We're on your side. We called you for help. Why won't you help?

The battle was still happening around them, even though Harry and the dark witch only had eyes for each other. Prongs had faded away at some point, either from Harry being unable to sustain him or the Patronus was actually susceptible to falling in battle. He hoped with cold fear that it was the former. Only one other cultist remained, but monsters still tore at the other group- the dog had retreated to a defensive stance next to the armoured woman, both splattered with blood. For all that any of this made sense, the other group now seemed to have a blue glowing figure fighting with them. With the enemy numbers reduced, the fight wouldn't last long. While he couldn't spare any attention to count how many the other team still boasted, he was confident the remaining cultist and monsters would follow their fallen comrades soon.

Can't you see how they hunt us down, persecute us, slaughter us? Help us! Save us!

"Get out of my head!" Harry's mind was beginning to fog, his head aching like it was about to split. It was like this woman was using an imperious curse, wrapping her will around his. The feeling abruptly ended when a bolt struck true- piercing her skull from behind. Finally she crumpled, with the stolen blood caught in a tempest around her, feeding the monstrosities with one final burst of power. Her dead eyes stared at Harry, betrayed. Harry didn't spare any time before moving to help the others finish off the remaining monsters, the other cultist having already fallen at some point, even as the eyes haunted him and his blood felt unnaturally chilled.

As the last shadow faded back into the darkness, the battle ceased. The silence was almost as loud as the turmoil of sound was before, and Harry fought the urge to be sick. He had no idea what was happening, where he was, who these people were or what they wanted from him. When the armoured woman stepped towards him, bloodied and blade still drawn, Harry aimed his wand at her.

"Easy now- strange way to repay someone who just saved your life. We just want some answers." The woman seemed curious about his wand, but had obviously seen what Harry was capable of with it during the battle and wasn't going to take any chances. Neither were the rest of the group it seemed. The blur of blue light he'd seen previously in the battle turned out to be a man, if he was even human, who was dressed and armed similarly to the cultists. As was the dark haired young woman standing next to the armoured woman- Harry thought they might be related. And then there was a short, stocky man with something that might have been a crossbow, but now seemed to be a weapon of its own design. As the group was obviously using the opportunity to examine him, Harry did the same and tried to figure out as much as possible about who he was dealing with here.

These people knew about magic, although it was no magic Harry was familiar with. Their witches and wizards used staves or their hands, as if wandless magic was no effort to them. They looked like people from a fantasy movie, and had Harry not come from a magical community, he'd doubt his senses. Still, he knew of no wizarding communities that had muggles among them, which was the only explanation Harry's befuddled mind could come up with for non-magical people who used medieval equipment and knew about magic.

"Hawke, be careful. The way that blood mage was speaking, it sounds like he made a contract with a demon to gain new magic." Harry glanced sharply at the ginger-blond wizard. Hard eyes met his, the blue glow sparking in them again. Harry frowned; People kept mentioning demons. At least the blood mage part seemed pretty self-explanatory, even if Harry had never seen people use blood as a component quiet like that before.

"Or he may be a victim in all of this- you saw how they turned on him, they may have been using him as a vessel against his will." The witch this time spoke up, looking towards the armoured woman, and Harry had an uncomfortable feeling that whether or not he ended up in another fight was up to the decision this woman, Hawke, made. Harry wasn't sure if he could hold his own against their numbers or unknown skills, especially after he'd seen them in action. In the best case scenario, he could stun and take down a few of them before trying to escape.

Hawke seemed to be considering her companions words carefully. Harry could practically see her thinking it over, as guarded eyes appraised Harry. The others stood behind her, apparently ready to back her up either way. It was clear enough who led the ragtag group.

Harry wasn't about to let his fate be decided without any of his say in the matter.

"Right, look- You have questions, so do I. We can trade. You ask, I answer. I ask, you answer. No need for another fight." Harry lowered his wand, hoping that whoever this group were, they preferred diplomacy.

He let Hawke decide who to go first, and after a moment of thinking it over, the warrior asked her first question.

"What happened here?" The obvious question, and one Harry wanted to ask himself. He was still having difficulty even remembering how he ended up here.

"I don't know. I was hoping you could tell me. I woke up, disorientated, with these… people asking me questions and getting upset. Then your group came along and everything erupted into blood, chaos and bloody monsters."

"Could be he's telling the truth. And Sunshine was right, the one I shot over there was about to set him on fire." The short crossbow-man spoke up, and while Harry wasn't sure why the man trusted him to be truthful, Hawke seemed to trust his judgement.

"My turn," Harry cut in before anyone else spoke, "Where am I?"

"The sewers beneath Darktown." At Harry's confused look, Hawke seemed to be more sympathetic, "In Kirkwall?" At Harry's apparent lack of recognition and increasing panic, Hawke shook her head with a disbelieving smile, sympathy turning into suspicion.

Harry took a breath, trying to connect the pieces and find a rational explanation. It might be possible this spell, and it had to of been a spell, took him further away from Britain than he first thought. Did some of their accents sound vaguely American? He couldn't tell. He had no idea what the magical community in America was like. No matter what actually happened and where he was now, Hawke apparently thought Harry's confusion was an act of some sort, wearing the sharp amusement of someone having caught someone else lying.

"How is it you don't know where Kirkwall is, let alone how you ended up in it? Forgive me if that seems a bit unbelievable." She tilted the blade slightly, drawing attention to the fact she hadn't sheathed it, "Should I have specified that we had to remain truthful in this round of questions and answers?"

"Last I remember I was in London, England." Harry decided to clarify England, because he knew there were multiple cities called London, and it wouldn't be entirely impossible for magic to have thrown him to another county, like America, or where ever this 'Kirkwall' was. However, at Hawke's blank look, Harry felt himself pale and look around again, lost. The strange magic, people, creatures, names- almost nothing was familiar. Harry had encountered the unfamiliar before, when he was eleven years odd and brought by a half-giant with a pink umbrella into the world of wizardry, but this wasn't anything like that.

Harry stepped away and turned back to the circle, ignoring the strewn bodies (and there were so many bodies), trying to figure out what had happened. The woman said she'd brought him here…

"…From beyond the fade. What did she mean? What did she mean when she said I was brought here from beyond the fade?"

"Looks like trading's over." The short man commented wryly, but there was a sense of caution in his words. Harry didn't feel like playing along with the game any longer, and tightened his grip on his wand. The others didn't seem to like what they heard either.

"She said that to you? That she brought you from beyond the fade? That's impossible." The wizard had stepped forward, blue lines spreading across his skin in what Harry thought was similar to the strange woman's magic, "It would explain why they needed to use so much blood, if that is what they were trying- who are you? What are you?!" The man almost seemed to erupt, leading from one train of thought into angry questions, short temper exploding into blue light.

"Anders."

Hawke had held out a hand, resting it on the wizard's, Anders, shoulder, and that seemed enough to dim the glow shining through the man's eyes, skin and even clothes. Harry, not for the first, nor likely the last time, wondered what the hell he'd gotten involved in.

"Hawke, this man is probably possessed and an abomination waiting to erupt-"Anders jabbed his staff in Harry's direction, making the British wizard grit his teeth in frustration, "I've never seen magic like his before. But it wouldn't be the first time I saw a mage make a pact with a demon for arcane knowledge, or shove a demon into another's body."

"I didn't make a pact with any damned demon! What the hell are all you people, religious nut jobs? Did I get abducted by, what- Satanists?" Harry snapped out, and the hound by Hawke's side growled back. Harry's vision was growing weak again. Whatever had happened to bring him here had drained him and the fight with the cultist hadn't helped. So much for this group being his chance of escape.

"Heh, calling the group with a dwarf, two apostates and the woman hiding them 'religious nut jobs'- you really are out of it." The man who hadn't been named yet chuckled, and seemed to be the only one not looking actively on guard.

"Satanists?" The girl asked, looking to Hawke. Hawke just shook her head with a 'who knows?' look and turned to Anders.

"You could tell if he really was possessed, couldn't you?"

"Sure. Like this."

Anders flung his hand out, and Harry wasn't quick enough to conjure a shield to block the wave of light that slammed into him, turning everything to black.

The second time Harry woke up disorientated, it was only his head that ached and he was laying on something softer than blood dampened dirt. The air smelt strongly of herbal medicines, which almost covered up the pungent smell of tar, smog, and sea. Harry would have rubbed his nose had his wrists not been restrained. After a quick test, it felt like his ankles had received the same treatment. At least he still had his glasses and clothes on, which was a small mercy, although his pockets and holster felt suspiciously empty.

Wonderful. This day kept getting better and better- presuming it was the same day, which was a worrying thought. At this point in time he should have been returning home to Ginny, after putting old spirits to rest.

That was…
The thought with a start recalled what Harry had been doing before. He'd been back at the Department of Mysteries, standing in front of The Veil. It had been four years since his death, and two since the war ended. He felt embarrassed by the need to return, to seek closure for Sirius' death all those years ago. Hermione had assured him it would help him move on with his new life, and that is was natural for him to grieve again, now that they were no longer stuck in the survival mentality of war and the mind now had the luxury of torturing itself with old memories. He'd visited Cedric's grave annually since the war ended, but Sirius' grave had felt empty. Getting access to The Veil had taken a few strings to be pulled, but he felt it would be worth it.

But something had gone wrong. The voices behind the curtain went from whispers to chants, and Harry had felt himself being torn through, like a port key gone wrong. It was another piece to the puzzle of how he got here, and a worrying piece. If he'd fallen through The Veil, he should be dead and Harry knew what being dead felt like and this place certainly didn't seem like any version of the afterlife he knew. Shoving his growing unease aside, Harry went back to figuring out how to escape his current situation and would question reality later.

He was on a small makeshift cot, so he could probably easily escape his bindings by breaking the frail frame providing no one stopped him, which was unlikely as he could hear people nearby. It sounded like no one noticed he was awake yet, at least. That was likely to do with the fact his cot was partially hidden behind a pillar of stone, that had a large writing desk at its base, and the faint sounds of conversation were happening on the other side of it all. If he had to guess, he'd say that they could just see his feet around the desk, but not his face or the rest of him. Taking the chance to look around, Harry wasn't hugely impressed. It was a large single room, that looked like it had been roughly carved from a single stone or cliff, scattered with cots similar to the one he was on, and what might have been a crude surgery table, stained with all sorts of fluids. Harry grimaced at the state of it. No light filtered through the windows, but there was a breeze that gently stirred red cloth banners that spread across the ceiling, so Harry presumed they weren't underground like the tunnels before appeared to be.

This was likely this… place's version of a hospital, Harry thought. He had a sinking feeling it wasn't just that he'd been flung a vast distance away from the U.K- but he didn't want to think about that right now. Instead, he was going to take advantage of being able to overhear whoever was talking, and try to escape without being noticed. He'd cross the next metaphorical bridge to getting home when he found it.

"Hawke, it just doesn't make sense. There's nothing beyond the fade, unless you buy into the chantry talk about the void. He's probably some spirit or demon, that they managed to drag through and stick in some poor sod's body." That was the light-up wizard, Anders, if Harry had placed the voice correctly.

The reminder of the previous events only made the reality of the situation weigh even more heavily on Harry. Right. He needed to find out what this 'fade' was, and why everyone thought he was a demon, and how it was all relevant to the event that brought him here- and of course where 'here' was. After that, it was figuring out what the so called 'blood mages' had done, and reverse it.

Flashes of the bodies with slit throats came to mind, and Harry remembered there was a reason why the cultists had been dubbed blood mages. Perhaps 'reverse' wasn't the best word to use. He could only hope the solution didn't require the same methods as the cause. He continued the push and pull of his restraints, trying to feel for the best way to break them without causing noise.

"Could he be someone from the fade? You get that don't you? People who have lost themselves to dreams, and never wake up. With the amount of blood they used, couldn't they have dragged someone's lost soul back through, into someone else's body? Or even remake the soul's body?" That was Hawke, the female warrior with the big sword and bigger dog.

Harry was finding he understood less and less the more he listened. The fade was beginning to sound like the afterlife. Maybe… he had been standing in front of the Veil. No one had been able to figure out what was behind it yet, only that no one came back. However, there were theories that it was a gateway to the other-side; the afterlife. But Harry had already decided this wasn't the afterlife, and he wasn't dead, so there was more to it than that.

"The amount of energy that would take… Andraste damn blood mages." Anders again, Harry thought as his wrist began to chafe. The restraints were beginning to feel looser at least.

"It would explain his… confusion, wouldn't it? A soul lost to the fade wouldn't be the most... coherent in mind." That was the witch. Harry couldn't remember if anyone had said her name.

Harry refocused on getting free, seeing as the conversation he was listening to was going nowhere, or at least nowhere he understood. The frame of the cot really was flimsy, but he wasn't sure about how to break it without causing noise. He couldn't sense his wand anywhere, and a frightening thought gripped his mind, worrying that he'd dropped it in the sewers and they left it there. How was he supposed to find it again? Hopefully they had brought it with them, although that still meant he needed to find it before sneaking out of here.

The soft pad of feet drew his attention away from his restraints and the dog that was bigger and bulkier than Fang began to sniff at his head and bark excitedly, having made his way behind Harry without him noticing.

"No, no, shhh, bad dog, don't-" Harry trailed off with a sigh as the conversation went quiet and another figure came round the pillar. Harry was surprised to see it was the unnamed man who walked into view, and not Hawke. Especially as he hadn't heard the man contribute to the previous conversation. At least this time he lacked the crossbow that was nearly as big as him, although he was carrying what looked like a small stool. That had to be a good sign, right?

"Evening. Don't mind the dog- he's just an over grown rabbit that hunts blood mages for sport. Name's Varric, by the way." The stocky man smiled disarmingly, and nodded to the cot Harry was restrained to, "We weren't expecting you to be a wilting flower after we saw you take on that blood mage."

Harry watched the man as he settled himself down onto the stool, by the head of the cot, shooing the dog out of the way. The canine only repositioned itself on the other side of the cot, pressing itself up between the stone pillar and Harry, still sniffing away at him. Harry didn't like this situation at all, but he supposed all he could do now is argue his case.

"Harry. And I wasn't expecting to have to fight a blood mage. Where am I now? Still Kirkwall?"

"Yep. Still cheery old Kirkwall. Where was it you said you were from again? Your accent sounds Ferelden."

"I'm from England, Britain. Or the United Kingdom. Take your pick." Harry hadn't heard of Ferelden, but from Hawke's earlier reaction he guessed the woman wasn't familiar with England either. He was beginning to feel like he stumbled through the looking glass, or a magic wardrobe, like in those stories Hermione loved, "So, what's going to happen now?"

"Well our marvellous friend and leader is talking about that now. We'd been given a lead on those blood mages, and offered a reward if we could track them down- The Chantry doesn't take kindly to organised apostates kidnapping folk. But, we weren't expecting to deal with disorientated fade travellers, so you're an unexpected variable."

Yet more terms Harry couldn't place. The Chantry sounded religious, and apparently felt it was its duty to chase down blood mages- and the idea of magic being involved with religion made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Harry might have put it down to rival religious factions, but he wasn't sure that was the case. He still wasn't sure what 'apostates' meant. He vaguely remembered the man saying it before, but couldn't remember who it was referring to. He had no idea what the politics were between these factions.

"Can't you see how they hunt us down, persecute us, slaughter us?" The woman's words echoed in his head. Whatever was going on here, it wasn't clear cut.

"You seem a lot calmer now." Varric spoke again when Harry didn't, and Harry blinked out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, well, panicking is a lot less fun when tied to a bed. Can't get a good flail going. And maybe the nap did me some good." Harry offered a half-hearted smile and restricted shrug, before licking his lips and asking, " Who were they- the blood mages? What were they doing?"

"See you have some sense of humour, Specs. Well, we found some notes on our dearly departed resident blood mages. I can't make heads or tails out of the crazy, but our own fade-intimate mage thinks they were attempting to summon a being from a plane beyond the fade. Now, I wouldn't know much about the fade to begin with, but I'm fairly sure there's not meant to be another plane beyond it."

Harry fell silent again, looking up at the dirty stone ceiling with its strange draping red cloth, and tried to ignore the dog that was sniffing his face enthusiastically. 'A plane beyond the fade'. If the theory he was forming was right, and this was another world, then that could mean these mages had dragged him from his world, through this fade or afterlife, and into this one. And he wasindeedbeginning to think this was another world, or something like that, and not merely a magical relocation to some isolated mixed wizard-and-muggle civilisation. Harry was keenly aware everything that was being said was also heard by the others and that Varric was likely sent in to talk to him alone to avoid stressing him out. Harry was uncertain if he should be openly truthful about his situation or try and pretend he was part of this world somehow, but if Varric was laying 'good auror' then he'd be the best bet to see which option would play out better.

"You keep mentioning the 'fade'. What do you mean?" When Harry turned to face Varric again, he was met with an appraising look.

"The dream world? The world of spirits and demons separated from ours by the veil?" Varric's tone suggested the answer should be obvious and Harry realised then and there he'd be unable to pretend to be from this world,

"Veil?" As Varric looked like he was about to ask why Harry didn't know about that either, judging by the expression on his face, Harry continued quickly "I was pulled through what we call The Veil on our side. I have no idea what this fade is, but we don't really know what's on the other side of the veil either. But what I do know, is that this isn't my world. It can't be."

Varric looked like he was about to ask something when Anders suddenly appeared around the pillar and stood at the foot of the cot, frowning at Harry.

"You really expect us to believe you're from another world? Another plane of existence?" Anders frown was matched by Harry's own. Well, looks like the truth won't be easy either.

Varric seemed to take Anders' intrusion in his stride, "Blondie, meet Specs. Specs this is Blondie. Alternatively you can call each other Harry and Anders- I'm sure you can figure out who's who. Seeing as Specs has passed the demon test, we might opt to have this conversation in a bit more comfort."

At this Hawke and the witch, or female mage, or whatever they call magic users here, came in, and Harry might have felt far too vulnerable had Hawke not undone the bindings. Now free to move, Harry sat up and rubbed his wrist, watching as the dog backed around to Hawke, disappointed that he could no longer investigate Harry's face. None of the others had brought stools with them, and Harry still felt uncomfortable pinned in by the three additional people standing around him.

"You keep talking about demons as well. Why do you- or did you- think I was a demon? I'd always thought they were... religious superstition." Harry addressed his question to Varric, but it was Hawke who answered.

"Did those rage demons and shades you saw back in the sewers seem like superstition to you?" Hawke's voice was edged with a teasing note, but her expression bordered on reproving. Harry just felt shocked. Demons referred to those monsters he'd fought in the sewers? The ones made out of twisted shadow and fire? And they could be inside people?

"Some demons are able to hide inside someone, emerging only when threatened. That's why Anders tried to spook you with that blast. It wasn't meant to harm you, just trick any demon into trying to defend itself…" The girl gave him an apologetic smile, but Harry was still pale from the idea of one of those things being inside him.

"Am I the only one around here with any manners? Harry, Sunshine here is called Bethany. Hawke's first name is Marian, but we all call her Hawke." Varric chided the others, but Anders was still frowning at Harry.

"How could you not know about demons? I saw you use magic, strange magic as well. How could you possibly have survived this long without knowing about the danger? Where did you even learn those spells?"

Harry felt like this was yet another 'cultural' difference he hadn't quite grasped yet. Apparently in this place, demons and magic go hand in hand. It reminded him of the old muggle tales about people selling their souls for witchcraft, and making contracts with demons. The fact that everything in this world seemed almost similar, almost familiar, was almost making the situation worse.

"Look, you said you had the notes? Do they say anything about how to reverse the spell? Send me back?"

Anders scoffed, "I have no idea how they even managed to get enough power to pull whatever you are through- not that I believe you are from some other world, or that you're even from the fade. Maybe some hedge-mage dragged from the back waters of Ferelden who traded with demons and spirits for knowledge. But dragging demons out and putting people in are entirely different things. If it took the magisters of the old Tevinter Imperium a fortune in slaves and lyrium to cross into the fade, you have no hope of crossing 'beyond' it."

Harry didn't fully understand what was being said, but he got the gist of it. Anders didn't believe he was from another world, because it shouldn't have been possible to do it in the first place. And if 'taking someone out' of this fade takes less than 'putting someone in', then it seemed Harry was stuck.

"You don't understand. I have to get back. I have a pregnant wife at home; I'm not abandoning her because some crazed wi- mages dragged me into their world's affairs."

From the corner of Harry's eye, he caught Hawke glancing between Harry and Anders, watching them both carefully. Anders face seemed to soften, even though the set of his jaw implied he still didn't want to admit to believing Harry's story. Harry was broken out of his glaring contest with the other wizard, when the dog whined and began licking his face, having to half-stand on Harry's lap to do so. Maybe the dog was responding to Harry's distress and trying to calm him, but all it resulted in was Harry letting out an undignified splutter, breaking the tension between him and Anders.

"Look, Harry. If what you're saying is true, then I'm truly sorry." Hawke said as she pulled the dog back, scratching its ears generously. Harry stared at his lap for a moment, before turning a determined look on Hawke.

"I have gold. And I have my own skills. And so far you're the only people I know here and you seem capable enough. If you help me find a way home, I will pay you for your help- and until then I'll repay the favour by working with you. You're bounty hunters? Mercenaries? You've seen me fight. And that's after I was dragged across worlds and forced against enemies I've never encountered before."

Harry met Hawke's eyes, gaze steeled. He wasn't about to give up and let this world claim him. If he had to figured out how to survive in this strange, backward world, until then, then so be it. Hawke glanced over to Varric who nodded his head, before turning back to Harry.

"Guess having a trick mage up our sleeve might have some benefits. You're going to have to find a place yourself though." Hawke gave Harry another once over, and Harry wished he was skilled enough at legilimency to see what thoughts were being put together behind those eyes. Whatever they were, Marian Hawke met his eyes and gave an assenting nod.

Harry returned it with a sharp grin and held out his hand. Hawke stared at it for a moment, before grasping his forearm and shaking it. Harry just gripped the woman's arm back and rolled with it.

"Deal. Now where's my bloody wand?"

(And another stupidly long AN. The other notes shouldn't be long as this, I promise.)
If anyone is interested in Beta-reading this for me, I'd love your help and suggestions! Hawke is based mostly on the 'charming' and 'diplomatic' personalities. My suggestion is you shouldn't think of this Hawke as your Hawke or even my Hawke. She's just 'a Hawke'. However, I have tried to leave descriptions of her vague enough that you can imagine your ideal female Hawke. I tried to do the same with Beth, but expect her descriptions to favour 'primary setting' Beth.

I don't want to give too much info outside of the story, because that feels like cheating, but here's some data just to get an idea of things:

Harry is 20. I played with what age I wanted Harry to be for ages. If I made him older, he'd be a more experienced, level headed auror, with a family. That would let me be a little more creative with his skills, and attitudes. However, the younger Harry is the one we all love and are familiar with, and there would be less risk of me going OOC. So I went in between, and fibbed with the dates slightly.

Ages at 9:31:

Hawke: 25 (Which is their canon age at the start of act 1)

Bethany: 20 (""")

Varric: 31 (""")

Anders: 29(World of Thedas Vol.2 says he was taken to the circle at 12, and when he joins the warden in awakening it had been 'almost two decades' putting him around 27-31 in Awakening)

Fenris: 25ish (He wouldn't know himself. Winner of Darius' competition at 16-20?, slave a few years 19-23?, on run for three years; 21-27?)

Merril: 21 (At least 19, as she would have had her Vallasin at 18ish during 9:29-30. She acts pretty young, but that might just be Merril.)

Isabela: 30(sold at 19, escaped at 20, captained 10ish years?)

Aveline: 26 (Just a guess. I imagine her being around the same age as Hawke.)

Sebastian: 24 (Again, just a guess. Wiki implies he'd be at least 28 in act 3)