Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. A Certain Magical Index and its sequel series A Certain Magical Index: New Testament is written by Kamachi Kazuma and illustrated by Haimura Kiyotaka, bless their souls.
As an Aleister Crowley-centered fic that picks up from the end of NT22, there will be spoilers for up to there (NT22 = New Testament, Volume 22). Ye hath been warned.
Prologue: Call Me "Elly" – 1_of_1,083,092,868_Possibilities.
I really don't think this is heaven. Or hell. Or any sort of afterlife, in fact.
Having died peacefully with a smile on her(?) face, the person who was said to look both masculine and feminine, both childlike and aged, and both saintly and sinful pondered her next step, as she looked around at her surroundings.
Which, strangely enough, seemed to be covered with fog.
London: the city of fog, magic, and the Golden. Probably nowhere near wherever this place is. It might not even be the same phase, even. And yet this does not feel like when I attacked the Magic Gods in "the phase that was looking over all other phases".
So, where am I?
With no landmarks in sight, the person once known as the wickedest man in the world began to walk. Granted, there wasn't much else that he(?) could do at the moment.
At the very least, all of the loose ends requiring my immediate concern have been tied up. The UK should be picking up my body soon, Academy City has been left in the hands of the children, and Mina should do well raising Lilith.
But where am I? Could this be some unexpected result of the return of magical sparks and spray?
Finally, in the distance, the magician with the magic name of Beast666 spotted something: an apparition of black fog.
Which, to his(?) luck, seemed to have spotted him immediately, and was now hurtling over, radiating clear malicious intent.
After every single failure in my life, I should have known better than to expect good luck of any sort.
The former General Superintendent of Academy City formed a handgun with his(?) hand. Small sparks scattered from it, in the shape of numbers: 32, 30, 10.
Let's see if Spiritual Tripping works in this new world, shall we?
Apparently, it did. The black form howled a distinct expression of pain, and shouted back at him.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A jet of green light shot from it, and the Silver Star instinctively dodged to the left.
Avada Kedavra: Aramaic, roughly corresponding to "let this be destroyed". So the Magic of this world is based on speech, too. In any case, it is the height of foolishness to let yourself get hit by an unknown spell.
"Crucio!"
Crucio: Latin, "to torment". Best to not get hit by this either, I think.
Another dodge from the silver-haired magician, another curse from the dark apparition.
I think I rather tire of this. But it might be a good starting point to scientifically examine this new world's magic.
The dark apparition swirled and cast another Avada Kedavra. This time, though–
I didn't prepare a circle ahead of time for this, but to use the principles, combined with Spiritual Tripping–yes, to have to improvise on the spot is certainly interesting!
The human known as Aleister Crowley had derived a technique based on the most famous magical incantation in the world, known to both mages and Muggles alike.
The curvature of a curse. The magic to catch, twist, and redirect someone else's curse.
In this case, it was used to return a signal to the sender.
The silver magician gestured with their hands, and small sparks that resembled numbers once again were emitted.
The projected image was that of a simple shield. But it was not the shield itself that was important, but rather the design on the sharpened side.
An upside-down triangle, with the same letters arranged in a regular fashion. A curse-reversal magic configuration.
Adapted for the current situation, the name he(?) gave it was such:
I supply magic for thy own destruction.
The green light of the Avada Kedavra rebounded off the shield to return to its caster, the dark spectre.
With another howl of pain, it immediately began to dissipate, forming black smoke–
–that raced towards the silver magician, and attempted to drown her(?) in it.
Memories from an unknown person immediately began to play.
Orphanage. Magic. Hogwarts. Slytherin.
Horcruxes. Dark Lord. Prophecy. Defeat.
Harry Potter.
When the memories of Tom Riddle had subsided, Aleister Crowley was left a human much more knowledgeable about her(?) circumstances.
More notably, the fog was beginning to clear, revealing a landscape composed of a mishmash of scenery: a cramped, dark cupboard; a child's bedroom, the garden of a small house.
I never thought that my skills as an educator would come in handy in this sort of manner.
More accurately, you could call the place Aleister Crowley was in a mindscape.
And within the mental representation of the cupboard under the stairs, a young boy, about age 9, with green eyes and messy black hair, sat up from in his metaphysical bed.
He looked at the stranger, who had the form of a young woman with silver hair, dressed in a blue blazer uniform and topped with a witch's black pointy hat.
"Who're you? Is this a dream? Are you real? I'm Harry Potter, by the way."
The silver magician gave a grin.
"Yes this is a dream, yes I'm real, and I know you are. As for who am I…"
The person once known as Aleister Crowley tipped the brim of her witch's hat.
"I have many names, but you can call me 'Elly'. Nice to meet you "
What's a "crackfic"?
Review please!