A/N: This is the sequel to Hope's Calling (previously titled 'The Potter of Thedas').

For new guys, I suggest you read the prequel. This can be read alone but some parts might be a little jarring, since I broke cannon. Events and decisions back then spiral off track and a bit out of control, so if you don't want to read 70 000 words, PM me and I'll send you a summary.

But go back and read the last two or three chapters anyway: the epilogue is basically a prologue to this story, and last battle is the most fun.

If you understand the consequences of a sticking charm to a dragon's arse, you are ready to proceed.

The usual warnings: coarse language, violence (naturally).

An archway spanned from one side for the room to the other and opened an entire wall of the quarters to the wider world. A slight breeze barely stirred the heavy curtains. Light stretched far into the room, steadily gaining more ground against the shadows with every moment. The timber lit with an orange glow.

There was a certain polite lavishness in the plain design, a subtle elegance that could not be overlooked. The wood and stone walls were polished to the highest degree. A carved vanity, a cluttered desk, and large chest were placed to one side. A plant flourished on the balcony.

The centre featured a bed that was far larger than any one person needed. Silk sheets rumpled under the weight of a young man. He dozed there looking far less guilty than he perhaps should have; papers lay across his chest, promising a nasty workload and now a tighter time frame.

The layout wasn't the most traditionally Tevinter, but neither was its resident. It was no secret that Harry Potter, of no lineage and no land, had wandered in one day nearly seven years ago and swept the Magisterium's expectations out from under their upturned noses.

Soon enough, the light stretched far enough across the floor to settle on the bed. Harry woke blinking and squinting. Papers scattered as he levered himself upright but, quite unexpectedly, their momentum was arrested and they floated onto a neat pile on the desk.

Harry ignored the papers. Probably too pointedly. Beside them was a gift, presumably from – was it Marcia? Medea? Definitely M-something. Harry perked up a bit upon seeing the oranges. The fruit was hard to come by.

He snagged the bowl with barely a thought and it trailed after him, finally coming to rest on the balcony ledge. He settled his weight on the stone and yawned. A portion of the Carastes Circle was visible and, towards the horizon, the buildings conceded to green fields and even more distant mountains.

Tevinter was strange, he thought fondly, dropping the orange skins on the apprentices studying in the Circle gardens below. He laughed when a girl managed to incinerate a bit in mid-air and wound up with a face full of ash. Harry had never been in a place quite like it. There had always been a layer of secrecy surrounding magic; sometimes it had to be kept from those who didn't know, other times it was a defect to be ashamed of no matter what social circles you frequented. It was a given – the sky was blue, and magic was taboo.

But here was an entire culture built on open practice, a mixture of magic and science. Daring and curiosity was unstifled – surely a formula for great things, if there ever was one. That alone made the country an amazing place.

One day, Harry thought, it might even be a nice one.

It was hard to see from the perspective of a human lifetime, but culture shifted, and the wizard liked where this one was headed. The possibilities were mesmerising, there was so much potential. For good or bad, he supposed.

Speaking of bad… the paperwork beckoned, promising to fill the rest of his day with tedious and unfulfilling labour. After polishing off the orange he relented, heading over to his desk at last.

The world flashed white for a moment, a light for the south outshining the westerly sun. Harry shouted, startled, and blinked furiously to clear the spots from his vision.

The golden glow on the timber turned a poisonous green.

"What the…" Frowning over his shoulder, Harry ducked back out onto the balcony and for the first time in recent years, he was both surprised and alarmed. Low on the horizon, a green pulse shot outwards, filtering light down through the clouds. It was only tantamount to a great distance that it had not reached them yet.

Ahead of the pulse, a near-invisible distortion approached; the shockwave from what must've been one hell of an explosion. The bubble of compressed air raced outwards, escorting a gust that landed like a blow, but with no more noise than a hiss from the breeze.

Harry's ears popped as his magic sprung to shelter him.

Glass cracked. A child screamed.

Harry sighed. "And it was shaping up to be such a nice afternoon, too."