Disclaimer: I do not own Red River/Anatolia Story.

A/N: Love this story, and this is my take on it. Welcome to the very first Harry Potter and Red River crossover!

Warning: Yuuri doesn't really exist in this fic - Hariel Poter (fem!Harry replaces her). This will be a Hariel/Kail pairing, with possibility of another guy being added to form a m/f/m. Slow burn.

I got a little tired of the main character always appearing the same way, so decided to change things up a bit.

Other Disclaimer: The cover for Divine Intervention belongs to LAS-T. The link to the artwork is here: art/The-Goddess-437647141

To see more of her amazing art, the link to her profile is here:

Hariel awoke to the vastly uncomfortable sensation of something grainy stuck behind her eyelids.

Urgh. What is in my eye?

It wasn't enough to be full-fledged pain, but it was almost worse than actual pain in the sense that it was just present enough to be a bother. Like trying to sleep through the barking of a dog. Not quite loud enough for you to give up on sleeping completely, but just enough to keep you awake. All. Night. Long. An incessant annoyance. And Hariel wanted it out.

Avada Kedavra green eyes opened to meet a sea of sandy dunes, golden hills stretching out in front of her as far as the eye could see.

Ah. Faced with such overwhelming evidence, Hariel couldn't help but conclude; The grainy thing in my eye is sand.

Hariel wasn't sure what one was supposed to do when confronted with sand in the eyes, as she had never really been to the beach for fun (or while not on the run form Death Eaters or organizing funerals), so she didn't know any spells to solve that, but she thought she heard somewhere that water was part of the solution.

Water, water, water… There's only sand around, where can I find water?

But then she realized that, despite her face being almost painfully dry, and her eye apparently having sand in it, the bottom half of her body was incredibly wet.

And indeed, when Hariel looked down she found that she was lying down on what appeared to be the edge of a small lake. Her arms and her torso were on the sand, while everything below her waist was floating in the water.

Still dazed from having only recently woken up, and with slow, sleepy movements, Hariel sat up, still half submerged. She looked at the water she was sitting in some more and, deciding that it was sufficiently clean, cupped some to clean her face with.

Oh, thank Merlin, she thought, giving a small sigh of relief as the grainy feeling in her eye finally left.

And then everything finally caught up with her.

Where the bloody hell am I?

In sharp contrast to her previous sleepy and disoriented languid movements, Hariel moved with alertness, looking around her to find anything that could hint at where she was and who had brought her here.

The last thing she remembered was finally killing Voldemort, not with the killing curse, as many of her soldiers had expected, or with some magical mystical form of protection through love, as Dumbledore had expected, but with Gryffindor's sword. She wasn't quite sure what made her want to do it so personally, as opposed to the distant, cleaner sort of death one can give through a wand, but she remembered thinking that she wanted the madman dead by Muggle means, knowing that would infuriate him more than anything else.

(And perhaps- perhaps the bloodthirsty part of her brain Hariel was so good at pretending didn't exist wanted to feel his blood, slick and dark and taken from her in an abandoned cemetery when she was but fourteen, on her hands, wanted to hear the sickening sound his throat made as she thrust her blade, wanted to see Voldemort's reptilian head roll and hang it right beside the houself heads in Grimmauld Place.)

She had done the first three, but not the last. Unfortunately. No, she hadn't changed her mind about hanging his head with the houselves'; there was simply no time.

After Voldemort's grotesque corpse had crumpled, headless, bleeding, to the ground with an immensely satisfying thud, she and her troops had made quick work of the other Death Eaters. Once all their enemies had been dead or incapacitated, Hariel had celebrated with her army; the students and Aurors and supporters from all over Britain that had decided that enough was enough, the Ministry was useless, and the only people who were actually making any real progress in the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters was Hariel's group.

(The first time one of the Ministry Aurors had asked to join her and – astonishingly enough – fight for her, Hariel had been shocked. It was only Hermione's quick thinking in inviting the Auror into their tent that stopped her from making a complete fool of herself. She would've continued gaping at him – she could hardly be at fault, he was kneeling before her like a bloody knight from one of the prissy fairytales Lavender was so obsessed with- and all the others that asked to join her after him, to be honest, if it hadn't been for that.)

And then Hariel had broken off from the crowd with Hermione and Ron to talk in privacy near the Black Lake. She remembered admiring the large expanse of water, not-so-fondly reminiscing on her time there for the Triwizard Cup's Second Task, and then, suddenly, shouts from her best friends and just darkness.

Now she was waking up in a lake in what looked like a desert.

How was this her life?!

Instincts honed by years of bullying and abuse followed by murder attempts at her school followed by full-out war finally catching up to her, Hariel looked around sharply, trying to find any hints on her location, or who had brought her here and for what purpose.

And that was when she saw the crowd of people staring wide-eyed at her on the other side of the lake.

They were all dressed strangely; all of them had sandals, the women were wearing old-fashioned dresses that seemed to be made out of rough straw with only rope serving as belts and keeping them from looking like unattractive rectangles. They were all pretty dirty and sweaty, too, and most of their hairstyles were really quite messy. They were all incredibly skinny, as well, carrying a sullen, half-starved air about them and deep, sunken eyes.

And were those spears in some of their hands?

Exactly where had Hariel landed?

.

.

.

At the same time, in Hattusa, capital of the Hittite Empire, two figures met in a hidden room in the imperial palace.

"Curses!" An irrefutably beautiful, yet cruel-looking blonde woman yelled, the words echoing in the abandoned dome so that they took on an eerie, ominous feel. "Curses! Curses! Curses! This has ruined everything!" Her blonde locks, done up in an elaborate hairdo, threatened to fall from their meticulously placed position, such was the force of her rage.

She would have looked like a fearsome thing, had there not been as much petulance in her voice as there was rage. The woman looked ready to stomp her feet in her anger, not unlike a child having a tantrum.

"My Queen, if I may ask, did the spell not work correctly?" A cloaked figure questioned, his deep voice and soothing tone providing a stark contrast to the Queen's agitated state. The tone spoke of both his predisposition for calm and reserve, as well as his practice in soothing this woman.

Despite this, however, the woman was not appeased. She shot him a venomous glare, and had he been anyone else he would have surely quivered in fear for the Queen was fickle and known amongst a select few for handing out cruel punishments even to her favorites.

"Of course the spell didn't work correctly!" She snarled, perfectly painted lips forming an ugly grimace. "If it had worked correctly I wouldn't be without a sacrifice and my son would be on his way to becoming king and I would not be yelling, would I?!" The woman spat at her companion, a scowl marring her beautiful features, before forcibly composing herself. "But it did not fail completely. I know I have brought her to the empire. It will be easier to summon her to me next time, without having to travel through space and time."

The chosen girl had been supposed to appear in her ritual room, or at the very least in one of the holy springs of the Hittite capital, but the Queen had sent her soldiers to every corner of the city, even invading a few select homes, and none of her spies had heard anything about a beautiful young woman with ruby red hair and intensely green eyes, wearing clothes not of this time suddenly appearing in a source of water.

Frowning, the Queen thought back to the sensation that had overcome her when summoning the sacrifice. There was a strange energy to the girl that she had never felt in anyone else. Like the chill one gets when walking through a battlefield, or perhaps the paranoia that makes one look over one's shoulder when they are walking alone at night. The Queen had sensed the energy intervene with her spell, protecting the girl and sending her to a place far away from her intended destination.

Far away from the place that was supposed to be her death.

This energy was worrying. It was an unknown. It was dangerous.

Quickly, the Queen dismissed her thoughts. When she had asked the gods for the most worthy sacrifice to perform her ritual they had quickly – almost eagerly – shown her this girl. The girl's sacrifice would ensure that her son would rule as king.

Regardless of unknown energies, regardless of strength, regardless of innocence.

The girl would die.

.

.

.

All in all, Hariel wasn't mad at whoever had brought her here.

Yeah, sure, it wasn't all sunshine and daisies, but it wasn't bad. Although perhaps that wasn't saying much coming from someone who had been persecuted most of her life.

At first, Hariel had thought her arrival into this strange land might be a ploy from one of the few remaining Death Eaters that managed to avoid death or capture at the Great Battle, but that didn't really make sense. This village and its villagers with their gaunt faces and primitive spears were hardly a threat to her life. And even if Death Eaters had planned some sort of ambush for her here – though that was highly unlikely as all of them were too arrogant to come up with a back-up plan should they not win the Great Battle at Hogwarts – this wasn't a particularly great setting. Hariel would be wary about harming the innocent villagers, sure, but she hardly thought that was a noteworthy advantage when they could have sent her to one of their manors, in a closed space with less chance of escaping, or some other sinister location.

She didn't completely cross out the possibility, but she was fairly sure it wasn't Death Eaters that had sent her here.

But whoever it was, she was pretty okay with them.

After waking up half submerged in a lake, Hariel had gotten up and made her way to the villagers with the most slow, non-threatening walk she could muster.

Which had apparently not been nearly non-threatening enough, as they had all backed away from her when she approached. One had even been trembling while muttering what seemed to be prayers under her breath. To the right of the group, she thought she saw one of the villagers prostrate before her; legs bent, head down, arms stretched out in front of her, but quickly dismissed the thought. The woman was probably just tying her shoelaces or something.

Hariel paid no mind to the fact that none of them had shoelaces. Or real shoes for that matter.

She was right in saying they were terrified, however.

What a group of thirty-some people holding spears could fear from a wet, unarmed (She was guessing they were muggles and didn't know what a wand could do, although she really wished she had brought her sword) young girl she didn't know.

Then again, they could be wizards who recognized her, but she hardly thought that likely. They didn't look like they had heard of shampoo or Barack Obama or even Merlin, much less the war leader of Wizarding Britain.

As she later found out from their indecipherable shouting, they also didn't speak English. Or French. Which was basically all she knew how to speak.

Trust Hariel to somehow find herself in a small, isolated tribe sequestered away from the rest of the world that was still stuck in the Bronze Age and didn't look like they had ever even heard of English.

(Hariel cursed herself for not learning the translation spell. This would be so much easier if they told her where she was.)

Realizing that the wide-eyed and oddly terrified tribesmen would be of no help to her, Hariel had stopped trying to communicate with them.

Behind the tribesmen, she could see a small village. There, the ground was no longer sand, but grass. The huts were made of wood and what appeared to be straw (an incendiary incident waiting to happen, if they asked her, but she supposed it was a bit early in their acquaintance to start criticizing their way of life. She didn't even know their names yet) and a few stones here and there. Tired-looking cows, chickens, bulls, and horses were fenced in and grazing on yellowed grass.

Having already tried – and failed – to apparate back home for some reason, Hariel was tempted to go into the village to see if there were any resources she could use, but seeing the villagers' forms near trembling with fear at the very sight of her, she thought that would have been rather cruel.

These people already looked like they didn't have much, she didn't need to give them heart attacks by intruding on the place where they held their obviously precious few belongings.

Instead, Hariel spotted a forest a bit behind the village and made her way there.

She was so used to being talked about behind her back that when the villagers started muttering to each other as soon as she walked off, it barely even registered.

Once in the forest, also a rather tired-looking thing, with more yellow than green and no fruit or animals that she could sense, she found a small clearing that she felt would do nicely. Looking around to make sure no one had followed her, Hariel took out her phoenix feather wand from its holster and started spelling the trees to make a roof over her head. She conjured some rocks to create walls for her new house, and made a mental note to procure real rocks at some later date. Conjured ones were never as durable, and she'd much rather her house be sturdy. With a quick wave of her wand, she turned the rocks a creamy white color, which provided a rather lovely contrast to the yellowish green and dark brown of the rest of the forest.

Inside the walls of her new home, she installed a bathroom with a shower and a tub (steaming in hot water was one of the few luxuries she held onto dearly, and not even the threat of death could make her part with it), a modest kitchen, and a king-sized bed for the bedroom.

Surprisingly tired at the relatively low level displays of magic (for her, at least), Hariel decided to rest a bit. She could deal with everything else later.

After taking a quick shower to rinse off the rest of the sand and dirty lake water, Hariel crashed on the bed and slept for two days straight.

Since then, weeks had passed since Hariel had arrived in this odd, antiquated village and she was actually kind of enjoying it.

Sure, they didn't have indoor plumbing. But she could solve that with magic!

And sure, they didn't have coffee. Or firewhiskey. Or treacle tart. Or anything that didn't taste horribly bland.

And yeah, okay, she couldn't really talk to anyone here because they didn't speak her language and she missed her friends desperately, but…

But she had such peace here. No one knew her. No one looked at her and saw the Girl-Who-Lived, or the Woman-Who-Conquered. No one hounded her for autographs, no one gave faulty interviews and wrote articles filled with wild speculation, no one decided to adore her or hate her based on the kind of day they were having, and no one thought they had a right to her. Here, she was just a young woman.

It was all she had ever wanted to be.

The peace and quiet of the forest and the neighboring village had also helped her deal with the aftermath of the war. Helped her deal with the fact that she had witnessed her friends being tortured, that she had sent her troops to fight against Death Eaters with the knowledge that some of them wouldn't make it back, that she had looked into people's – human beings' – eyes and shot an Avada Kedavra without thinking twice. She had expected the nightmares that had plagued her throughout not only the war but her whole Hogwarts career to continue, and yet… She had never slept so deeply, so restfully, as when she arrived in this village.

Besides, she had killed Voldemort. Her job was done. Prophecy fulfilled. Masses saved. Her world didn't need her anymore.

She deserved a vacation.

A/N: Reviews are love! Leave one if you like the fic enough to want me to continue it!