Title: The Lyrium Ghost

By: Aina Song

Fandom(s): Harry Potter/ Dragon Age II

Genre: Yaoi

Rating: PG-15

Warning(s): Crossover; AU; OOC; Language; Excess Blood; Mentions of Character Death; Flashback(s) to Death Scene; DA2 Direct Quotes and Spoilers.

Pairing(s): Anders/Harry x Fenris

Reviews: Yes, please!

Author's Note: Standard Disclaimer. This story was not written for money. Italics = thought, messages, the Fade.

Teaser: When Harry's magic unlocks a lifetime of hidden memories, he decides to take matters into his own hands to settle a number of wrongs – both recent, and long-ago.

Chapter One - Name

He yawned widely, staring out his bedroom window as the shadows played across the moonlit street below. His relatives were long asleep; he could hear Dudley's snoring from the other side of the nearest wall. Yet Harry rested the side of his head against the window and softly drummed the fingers of one hand against the glass.. His body ached with the day's chores, his skull thrummed hazily; his eyes stung with the effort of keeping them open, and he was just so tired.

He glanced across the room, where he had tilted his desk lamp up to illuminate the clock hanging on the wall above. Only twenty minutes more until midnight, which would ring in his seventeenth birthday. His magic would soon reach full maturity. He would be of legal wizarding age, and would no longer be dependent on a family of Muggles that thrilled in calling him freak - among other, less mentionable insults.

He sighed, letting his mind wander while he waited. His summer this time had been spent voluntarily locked into his room whenever possible, avoiding his relatives and devoting his time and energy to extracurricular studies. He'd reread every one of his old textbooks, practicing the wand movements until they'd come as naturally as breathing. He'd studied runological theories, plucking at them, dissecting the logics in each one and jotting down a few of his own. He hadn't given his studies the obsession his friend Hermione seemed to enjoy, but he'd discovered the advantage to expanding his knowledge in secret.

He didn't yet understand why. But every instinct screamed that he would need such an advantage, and soon.

Ten minutes. He turned away from the clock, resting his brow against the window with another sigh. Earlier that week, he'd received an anonymous letter by an unknown owl. Of course, he'd used his new knowledge to test it for every curse and jinx he could think of - as much as he could without the aid of his wand, at any rate. But the letter had been clean, and upon reading it Harry had discovered it to be a bit of rather unforeseen advice as well as a warning:

Mister Potter.

You must know by now that your true destiny has long been stolen from you. Time it is that you take it back.

Your magic will reach full maturity upon the midnight strike of your seventeenth birthday. I'm sure you must already be planning to take your life into your own hands when Ministry Law acknowledges your legal age, but coming into your magical inheritance will also give you the backing of the entire Potter ancestral line. You will be a noble, one of few whose family name would still be respected amongst the goblin race.

More attention will be thrown in your direction. But, used wisely, it could be put to your advantage. Dumbledore believes himself secure in his reputation as a champion for the "greater good." If you so desire, you could use this chance to oust him for the sacrificial manipulator that he is.

Don't feel any responsibility to seek me out. Once your decision has been made clear, I will use whatever means at my disposal to offer you what discreet assistance I can.

Five minutes, now. Each ticking of the clock as it neared the last leg of the countdown seemed to grow in Harry's mind until he felt he could feel them in counterpulse to his own heartbeat. Deciding he had waited long enough and would rather be more comfortable for whatever was about to happen, he left the window and crossed his room to switch off the lamp. Turning back, he made it halfway across the room again before it suddenly came upon him.

His magic vanished. He felt the loss like a great gaping cavity in his chest, and he stumbled numbly to his knees before collapsing on the floor. The room around him seemed suddenly too cold and empty, a wilting near-dead space in a world without music or color. Biting down on his lip to stifle a building whimper, he hugged himself and curled up on his side, closing his eyes tight. His entire body wracked with despair. He had never felt so disconnected, so cut off from the very life of the earth,

But then his magic returned, slamming back into him in mounting rolling waves until it flooded his senses. Gasping, Harry felt himself thrown on his back as though struck in the chest by a mallet. The greatest concentration of it burned behind his heart like a flame, strong and flickering with new life. The magic then began spreading to his fingers and to his toes, tingling beneath the surface of his skin as though alight with electricity. The magic multiplied. It spread further, nudging and pressing and pushing against its own limits until they stretched to accommodate its growing power. His magical core swelled suddenly, and he gasped for air. The pressure squeezed around his lungs.

The magic crackled up his spine in pulsing electric currents toward his skull. His back arched and his limbs stretched outward, his fingers clawing at the floorboards but finding no purchase. The pressure now built behind the base of his skull, and Harry clenched his teeth hard - terrified that if he loosened his jaw he would either wake the house with his screaming, or bite his tongue off trying to keep himself from doing so. Heat exploded within his skull like firecrackers, and he sucked in a hiss of breath, whimpering through clenched teeth. Behind tightly closed eyelids he saw flashed of red until finally... his world went black.

~o~

"I have been thinking about you. In fact, I've been able to think of little else..."

Groaning, he furrowed his brow and blinked his eyes open. His magic flashed warmly within his veins, as though greeting an old friend after an impossibly long separation. Somewhere overhead, his holly wand snapped loudly in two.

He rolled his head to the side and glimpsed the brightening dawn through his window. He lay there a moment, his mind blessedly blank. Tiny wisps of red and orange played across his face; the sun was rising. But then a terrible ache gripped his heart and squeezed tight, wringing a broken sob from deep within his suddenly burning throat. Lifting a hand over his eyes, he swallowed down another whimper as something far in the back of his mind unlocked itself and unleashed a flood of memories from another life. Images flashed behind his eyelids, painful red streaks tearing into him with glimpses of battle and blood and the distant echoing cries of mercy.

Then came another torrent of memories. They wracked his entire frame with guilt and lovelorn agony. His heart tightened painfully as he caught glimpses of snow-white hair, tanned skin that had been carved into with swirling tattoos of power, and woodland green eyes. The memories that surrounded these images were fringed with an aura of shadow. Somewhere in the background, he could recall conversations, heated debates that had never reached their conclusions or even a compromise. But there were also whispers in the dark of night. A reluctant exchange of secrets over the burn of alcohol and the sting of a stitching needle. grudging respect had been born of those nights, which had gradually given birth to a seed of affection - which in turn had grown and blossomed into a pure sort of love that had been wholly unexpected, but had been backed by passion and devotion.

"Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you..."

Harry slowly sat up as the last of the memories settled again into the back of his mind, and he brought a hand over his mouth as his eyes spilled over with tears that left their scalding trails down the sides of his face. His heart was now racing, sickened with grief.

He started as a fist rapped loudly at his door. "Up!" Petunia's voice shrieked from the other side. "Get up!" And her heeled shoes clacked on the thin carpet as she made her way toward the stairs.

He ignored her. Wrapping his arms around his stomach, he dropped his head over his knees and weighed the pros and cons of ripping his heart out and storing it away forever. So much heartache and anguish... and the worst of it was knowing that no matter how desperately he wished otherwise, he could not run from it. Because it all his, it was all from a life forgotten and recovered again, and deep within his core he knew the blame was his as well.

Several minutes later, his chest still ached with each breath. He pushed shakily to his feet, accidentally stepping on his glasses and breaking them. It might have occurred to him that he hadn't needed them since he had awakened, if his mind was not otherwise occupied. He felt very wrong, standing in the center of his drab, lackluster room. The feeling of disconnection he had felt the night before returned, seeming to want to swallow him whole. He didn't believe himself strong enough to bear it a second time.

"Potter!" Vernon Dursley kicked open his door and stomped into the room. "Get your-"

He was not given the opportunity to finish. Harry lifted his head to glance wordlessly at his uncle, and magic responded, flaring out in a strong singular pulse that threw the dangerously obese man on his back in the hallway. His broken wand lay innocently atop his bedside table.

Ignoring Vernon's infuriated sputtering as the man fought against the hold such magic had over him, Harry turned his gaze upon the room as a whole and lifted his hand, curling his fingers into his palm in one fluid motion. His possessions gathered into his trunk, which locked itself tight before sliding across the floor to wait at his feet.

"Your Ministry will know of this!" Vernon barked with malicious glee, "You'll be kicked out of that freak school for sure this time!"

"I am legal," Harry calmly countered, only absently noticing the new silken inflection in his voice. "And no longer your concern." He then grabbed his trunk and spun on his heel, Disapparating from their lives forever.

~o~

He appeared within the outskirts of the small Irish city of Dublin. He held tight to his trunk as he weaved amongst the passersby on the streets, avoiding notice with a well-placed Disillusion charm until he found and entered an old wizarding pub reminiscent of London's Leaky Cauldron. Adjusting his bangs over his telltale scar, marveling distractedly that his hair seemed longer than it had been the night before, Harry approached the bar.

A middle-aged woman with graying auburn hair pulled up into a loose knot atop her head and years of laughter wrinkling the corners of her eyes set a mug before another patron and came over. "You look just a little young for ale, dearie. Here for breakfast, or would you like a room?" She amended, glancing at the trunk by his side.

He smiled gratefully. "A room, please."

She nodded, opening a large roster and grabbing a plain brown quill as she flicked through its pages. "We have rooms with and without baths, choices of single or double beds, and we accept advanced pay for up to six weeks. Any longer, and you would need to be signed in again. Meals are extra."

"Anonymity?" Harry requested softly, resisting a glance around for fear of bringing further attention to himself. Offering a small smirk, he added, "I promise I'm not up to anything sinister."

She gave a low feminine chuckle, nodding again. Closing her roster and flipping it over, she opened it again. Turning it around, she passed Harry her quill, its feathers now a darkened shade of red. "Sign here, dearie, and every employee will be magically bound to refer to you with your chosen pseudonym until you yourself cross it out upon leaving."

He knelt down and dug into his trunk for his bag of coins, paying the advance limit before signing something random into the roster. The woman pulled the large book back, returned the brown-again quill to its inkwell, and handed him a tagged key. Harry accepted it with a quietly muttered thanks, taking up his trunk once more and ascending an out-of-the-way staircase in search of his room. Once he found it, he locked the door behind him, dropped the key atop an end table, and then spent several minutes warding the room. He then tucked himself away in a corner, rested his head against a wall, and closed his eyes.

He cast his mind deep beyond the world of dreams...

~o~

Burning red eyes were the first sight to greet him.

He quickly backpedaled, lifting a hand set aglow with his magic to defend himself. But then he blinked and stared in horror at the bloodied mess lying before his feet, a tiny disfigured creature curled up on its side in a fetal position and staring back at Harry with bloodshot eyes. The creature was the first to look away, dropping its head to the ground with a pitiable whimper.

Harry slowly lowered his hand. "You are no spirit..." Sinking to his knee, he carefully touched his fingers to the creature's shoulder, drawing them away again when his mind was assaulted by a flash of images, memories that were not of either of his lifetimes. The creature hissed and cringed as though burned. Harry spat an ugly profanity under his breath, cursing the man responsible for keeping such secrets from him. So much he could have learned, understood, prepared for...

Sighing, he touched the creature's chest, ignoring the flinch beneath his fingers. He lit his magic into his palm and passed it into the creature, cringing himself as the creature's high-pitched screams pierced his ears until they felt they would bleed. His magic shone, and from its bright green glow the creature's screams dwindled down into frightened whimpering. He let the magic die and drew his hand away.

Adorably big grey eyes blinked up at him under dark brown ringlets, filling instantly with tears. Sighing gently, Harry opened his arms. With a small cry, the child scrambled up and threw himself at the older mage, burying his face against Harry's chest. Harry hushed the boy, rocking and soothing the trembles from the child, even as he spared a moment to finally get a look at their surroundings.

Wisps of fog obscured his vision, but he could detect the faintest silhouettes of dead trees in the distance, as well as the shiest whispers of wandering memories. Yet the free and wild power of the realm itself was waning, its ancient secrets losing themselves to obscurity.

The Fade was not what it had used to be.

~o~

The sun had begun its descent into early evening, when Harry finally opened his eyes again. He hugged his chest tightly, trying to slow his breathing as his aching heart raced in continued despair. He had wandered for hours, searched faithfully... but the one thing he wished most desperately to reclaim, he most feared he might never find.

When he felt he could breathe again, he swiped the tears from his eyes and pushed to his feet. He then lifted his trunk atop the bed and rummaged for something decent to wear, letting himself into the adjoining bath for a shower.

He paused before the counter sink, finally getting a look of himself in the mirror. His hair had grown longer, feathery black strands that framed his face and spilled over his collar. His body was taller but still compact, with new strength in the sinews of his muscles. His complexion was fairer and alabaster smooth. His cheekbones were higher, his lips were fuller, and his eyes - his green, green eyes that had been so reminiscent of Lily Potter - were now a rich swirl of amber and caramel.

He knew he should have felt some greater sense of loss at that than he did, but it was a comfort to see his old eyes again.

Lifting a hand under his long bangs, he felt a smooth forehead for the first time in nearly two decades. He knew he had felt his telltale scar upon his arrival to Dublin. Before his visit to the Fade. Perhaps there was a connection.

Blinking, he leaned closer to the glass and turned his head. Something squeezed at his heart at the sight before him, even as he couldn't help the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It appeared the dormant-most blood of his ancestors had had more in common with the elves of old than he'd known. He lightly brushed a fingertip over the shell of his ear, his skin tingling sensitively around its new subtle tip. Shaking his head, he turned away from the mirror and shed his clothes for a shower.

Long minutes later, cleaned and wearing his best slacks and button-shirt, he glanced once more at his reflection. He was quickly growing fond of the new length and silkiness of his hair, but knew he would only become annoyed at having it hang in his face all the time. Conjuring a strand of his magic around his fingers, he pulled and gathered his hair together before tying his magic around the familiar halftail. He felt the magic solidify into a leather tie as he brought his hands down, and he surveyed his handiwork. His ears were exposed, and would probably invite curiosity he didn't want, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Fortunately, he looked so very unlike himself as Harry Potter that he didn't bother with a Glamour as he threw a nondescript cloak over his shoulders. Clasping it securely, he threw up the hood over his head and Apparated away.

~o~

Gringotts bank was eerily quiet, which suited him just fine as he crossed the large lobby hall. The goblins all ignored him as he passed, the rhythmic scratching of quills and pounding of stamps accompanying his footsteps as he approached the desk set higher than all the others.

This goblin did not ignore him, leaning over the edge of the desk to peer down at him, the goblin's customarily annoyed scowl vanishing into a blank stare upon discovering who it was to have interrupted his work. "Mister Potter," the goblin hissed, enunciating each syllable. His eyes flicked down over his cloaked form and back again; "Of course that aura would awaken in you."

"I take it you weren't expecting me, then," he commented around a small chuckle, ignoring the bite in the goblin's tone. He was unsurprised to have been recognized despite his new features; goblins were a notoriously clever race, not so easily fooled by awakening blood.

"Oh, we were expecting you," the goblin scoffed, turning away only long enough to jab a long gnarled finger into a buzzer. "When a wizard from a family as old as yours comes of age, we would be remiss if we did not expect a visit."

"And Gringotts is nothing if not efficient."

"Precisely," the goblin sneered as one of his fellow bankers sidled up to the desk. "Show Mister Potter to one of our conference rooms, and alert Grapple and Abrasion of his arrival."

The other goblin froze as though in shock, quickly stammering something in that garbled tongue of theirs, to which his employer hissed and shrieked impatiently until he was obeyed. Looking as close to chastised as Harry had ever seen a goblin get, the younger banker sharply waved at him to follow. Bemused, Harry allowed himself to be led through the building. They descended several flights of stairs into the older wings of the ancient wizard bank, at last coming to a stop before a thick chamber door.

The goblin growled and grunted, refusing Harry's offered help as he shoved the large door open, and then stood aside. The dip of his head as he nodded for Harry to wait inside could almost have been considered respectful. The door slammed heavily behind him.

Harry waited patiently, suspecting he would not be left alone for long. Goblins were very proficient, and untrusting. No human would be allowed the opportunity, however slight, to wander about their cavernous vaults of gold and ancient treasures. True to form, two such goblins announced their simultaneous arrival with a single resounding crack, louder and more sudden than a house-elf's apparation. One looked vaguely familiar, and Harry realized he had glimpsed this one a few times in the past, even if he couldn't remember any direct contact. The other one was distinctively larger, with an ugly scar marring his left eye and sealing it shut; this larger goblin glared at Harry with his good eye, mouth twisted in a toothy snarl around a bit of strong-smelling driftwood.

"Mister Potter," the first goblin greeted stiffly, motioning for them all to sit at the table in the center of the room. "My name is Grapple; I am in charge of all accounts under your family name, and the solicitor in connection to your ancestral inheritances."

Harry nodded as he took a seat, turning his gaze. "I gather that leaves me with the obvious conclusion that you are the one called Abrasion?"

The larger goblin grunted, teeth grinding around his wood bit.

"Wait a moment," he added, turning back to Grapple. "Inheritances? Plural?"

"Indeed," the smaller goblin nodded, with a small smirk that let show the points of his teeth. He slapped a thick file down and opened it, extracting a large parchment and sliding it across the table. "This, Mister Potter, is your family tree, activated the moment your magic reached maturity and going back sixty generation to the first of your ancestors. As I'm sure you can discover for yourself, yours is a family which held no qualms about 'branching out,' as it were."

Harry felt his eyes widen as he looked it over, finding his own surname several times over, as well as his original name dangling on one of the most out-reaching branches depicting the tree's origins. He recognized the lesser known names - Brahms, Luke, Emmett, and DuVrai - as well as a few rather famous ones - Nicolai, Sitka, Blake... "Pendragon?" He read off, disbelieving. "Esmiril? Isn't that...?"

Grapple nodded, patiently handing him more sheafs of parchment. "These are legal proofs that trace your inheritance to Merlin, through both blood and Magic. And these," - he added a few more - "declare you the sole heir to three of Hogwarts' founders. Which, incidentally, names you the rightful owner of the school grounds and the castle itself."

Harry quirked a brow at the news, though given his recent personal history he supposed he couldn't claim to have been all that surprised. He studied the proofs carefully, bemused to find Salazar Slytherin listed with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. "I'll try to ignore the irony in that," he muttered, setting the proofs down again.

Grapple's eyes glinted in understanding amusement. "Old and powerful magic was poured into Hogwarts as it was created; it is a sentient castle, long asleep since the passing of its last true heir. It has awoken again with your magic, and will welcome you home." He conjured a quill and handed it to Harry. "Sign those at the bottom for proof of acknowledgment, if you will."

Harry rolled the quill between his fingers, "My current name, or...?"

The two goblins exchanged a brief glance, and the one called Abrasion finally spoke up in a low gravelly voice. "There is power in a name."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, letting his gaze sweep over each surname attached to his family tree and weighing the possibilities of each in his mind before moving to the next. Potter was a powerful enough name on its own, even without his unconventional contribution. Some of his ancestors would only drown him in media and accusations of fraud were he to claim them too abruptly, while others were virtually unknown. If he was going to break free of Dumbledore and Voldemort, he needed a name mysterious enough to entice intrigue and notoriety, but strong enough to help him stand against rumors of scandal without giving him the appearance of needing something to hide behind...

He felt his lips tug in a sudden smirk, and he touched quill to parchment, missing the expression skating across the hardened surface of Abrasion's face before it was gone again. The documents all triplicated as they were signed; Grapple gathered them up, working quickly and efficiently as he stamped each with several official seals. The family tree shimmered in gold, as the name Harry Potter was scrubbed cleanly away to be replaced forever by his new official name. A dozen keys materialized, as well as quite a few Muggle-friendly credit cards.

"As you may have become aware," Grapple spoke again, stacking a copy of each document beside the vault keys and tucking the rest back into his file folder, "your admittedly impressive family tree declares you a singularly valued client. A near-third of our oldest vaults are filled with several generations' worth of heirlooms, including gold and priceless artifacts, inherited now by you and you alone. You have become a very wealthy wizard, by all means, and of blood from nobility the like of which had not seen an equal in over four hundred years."

Shocked to the point of humility, he cleared his throat. "I'll do my best to behave accordingly."

Chuckling, the goblin gathered the leftover copies, the vault keys, and the bank-issued credit cards into another file folder and sealed it shut. He set that down in front of the young lord; "For your personal records. We recommend that you keep them locked away in a manner akin to obsession when not in use. Good evening." And with that, Grapple left the meeting room.

Abrasion had stayed behind.

The newly resurrected mage matched gazes with the larger scarred goblin for a long minute, waiting for the other to speak. However, when the goblin simply glanced pointedly at the door over the other's shoulder, he understood. With a flick of his index finger, the door was impenetrable and charmed soundproof, and the room itself was warded against apparation.

Approval glinting briefly across the surface of his good eye, Abrasion suddenly let the tension ease from his shoulders and relaxed his jaw around the bit in his mouth. "In another life," he spoke slowly and clearly, his voice a roughened tenor resembling nothing like the gruff growl it had held before, "legends weren't scribed into texts to be hidden away in libraries and mausoleums. They were born through word-of-mouth, told before cheerily burning hearths in dank, pungent taverns where they grew ever more ridiculous and unbelievable with each retelling."

The air seemed to have abruptly escaped his lungs for several seconds. When he was finally able to swallow enough breath to speak again, it was in a small stammering whisper of incredulity. "Varric...?"

An achingly familiar chuckle shook the other's shoulders, before he lifted his hand to touch a previously-unnoticeable talisman dangling from his neck. His form shimmered as the Glamour fell away, and in the goblin's place sat a dwarf he had never thought to see again. Auburn hair whitened near his temples, skin weathered over... but those eyes were still the same, alight with humor and a love for embellishing details for the sake of a good story. "Been a while since I last heard that name."