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Story: [Harry Potter and Magicka Crossover]
Summary: Harry was raised in the world of Magicka. He obviously turned out a little strange as a result.
Genre: Humor, Crack, Adventure
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
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Harry knew many things.
He knew that magic was for the insane, he knew that you couldn't party without cheese, he knew that Vlad wasn't a vampire, and he knew that despite how many would argue to the contrary that being set on fire still hurt like hell. He also knew that Death tended to act a bit strangely around him whenever he got himself killed and ended up next to the travel agent.
This was all reasons as to why Harry was considered a bit on the odd side, even amongst the crazy inhabitants of the magic school in which he lived.
Because if being set on fire hurts then you're suddenly willing to go to some lengths in order to avoid being set on fire. Such as hiding behind a meat-shield, or endlessly casting a shield spell of some sort, or wearing wet clothes, or exploding anyone that even considers aiming in your direction. It wasn't as if preemptive strikes was frowned upon, what with Revive being a pretty easy spell to learn.
No, Harry was seen as odd because normally wizards didn't mind being lit on fire, or get hurled into the abyss, or anything else that Harry believed was best to avoid. Sure, it was usually a bit annoying for them to accidentally lose their Teleportation Staff, but it wasn't as if they couldn't find a new one, and as long as they went out in an explosion that was entertaining, they honestly didn't seem to mind.
Harry, on the other hand, was paranoid about being sent away to meet Death, as the travel agent freaked him out a little, and the fact that dying usually hurt like hell didn't make him any more enthusiastic about it.
Then again, Harry was young, not even eleven years old, if Vlad – who was not a vampire – was to be believed. He was after all the teacher that had found the baby in the blankets that had grown up to be Harry Potter. And since Harry was so very young, most people just guessed that he needed a bit of time to grow up and learn to enjoy partying with cheese and insane spells that were more likely to kill themselves than their enemies.
Harry didn't agree with them, but that was mostly because he was apparently one of the few people who could actually feel pain at all, and trying to explain what that meant to most of the wizards was just asking for trouble.
Then again, just because he was considered paranoid, didn't keep the boy from joining his classmates in whatever hijinks they thought of. He just made extra sure that someone else was going to die before he did. There was, after all, no reason to suffer slightly when someone else wouldn't mind the experience at all.
Of course, that all changed when Harry one morning woke up and found a letter for him.
A letter speaking of a different school of magic, one that he'd never heard of before.
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"No Vlad, they didn't say anything about vampires." Harry reassured his teacher.
"Of course, but I worry about you young wizard, because I am not a vampire." Vlad explained himself.
Had Harry been raised in a normal household, it might've taken him a bit of time to get used to the pale count's 'verbal tick' of proclaiming himself to not be of vampiric origin. But Harry had grown up right next to the un-aging Vlad and had as such completely accepted that Vlad couldn't be a vampire, and that it only made sense that he told people such at any given opportunity.
However, this would be the last time for almost a year – possibly even longer, depending on numerous factors – that he'd be able to speak to the man who raised him. Or, well, spent time in his vicinity from an early age. Harry hadn't really been raised by anyone, having been something of a 'random orphan dropped on the doorstep of the school', which had basically meant that he'd been 'raised' as in 'dragged around and sometimes not being actively targeted by spells going awry' by students and teachers alike.
His position as the 'school orphan' had in later years also helped in making sure that nobody wanted to lit him on fire too often, lest he prove to them exactly what he'd learned by sneaking into the headmaster's personal library. Which in turn resulted in him only having been lit on fire a couple of times by the older students, and that most of those times had been accidents on their parts.
Harry might be considered hopelessly paranoid, but his paranoia stemmed from carefully accumulated experience, and an intense hatred towards feeling pain.
So it was that Harry didn't feel all that bad about being 'booted out' so to speak, into the unknown world outside of magically resistant walls in order to attend a school that had actually asked him to be there. Because even if he wasn't unpopular by any stretch of the word, he was still an extra mouth to provide with cheese at every goddamn party, and so would be ruthlessly disposed of should the opportunity arise. It was only common sense, after all.
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Harry frowned at the busy street that he'd landed on after Vlad had used the Crash to Desktop spell to boot him out of their local universe.
It certainly looked magical enough, what with people waving wands around and all the robes people were wearing, but where were their staffs? Their layered magic? Their sudden-and-inexplicable urges to blow themselves and everyone else up with a Meteor Rain?
It certainly didn't look anything like what he'd come to expect from wizards back home. But, then again, one of the students had told him that 'Earth' was half-way out of Death's jurisdiction, and who knew what kind of crazy stuff might go on in such a place? There'd even been tales of Death having claimed that people stayed dead here. Madness.
Still, he was on a mission to find himself some money, and then buy everything on his Hogwarts-provided list, so Harry shrugged the insanity off and moved towards the bank. It was easy to see that it was a bank, nobody else would build themselves a fortress on a street.
Thus, completely oblivious to the peculiarities of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter encountered his first goblin.
"Gah!" And immediately reacted like any sane individual would when they found themselves in close proximity to such a creature: by adding Rock onto Rock rapidly and then blasting the ugly thing with it.
Apparently, this startled quite a lot of people.
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In hindsight, he should've considered that there might be some chance that the goblins weren't classified as 'dangerous but useful as target practice' in this world.
Thankfully for this mistake, it seemed that he was somehow famous and considered quite important, and since the goblin hadn't actually died – Harry hadn't accounted for the thing wearing armor, he'd have to remedy that in the future – the young wizard managed to slip away to his vault with a warning never to do it again.
Of course, when the wary and heavily armed goblin that brought him to his vault admitted that he truly did own all of that mass of gold, Harry began making plans for how to get it out of goblin hands. They might be considered harmless by the people of this world, but Harry had a well-practiced sense of distrust for anything that was capable of somehow injuring him, regardless of any peace-treaties that his ancestors may or may not have signed.
Still, he probably had a lot of time to think on this matter, and so he set out on his shopping trip.
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"A wand? Why would I want a wand?" Harry frowned at the list, feeling distinctly peeved at the thought that they might ask him to give up his Strong Cup of Coffee.
It should perhaps be noted that Harry had become a little bit addicted to caffeine when he'd realized that not only did it heal him a tiny amount, it also gave him the minute speed-boost that was often so fantastically useful for outrunning horrible magic that was accidentally being slung in his direction.
Still, the list told him that he was in need of one, so he supposed that he might as well pick one up, and then dump it somewhere in that trunk that he was also supposed to bring.
Thus, Harry reluctantly made his way over to Ollivander's and entered the worn-looking store.
"Ah, Mr Potter, I've been expecting you." A voice sounded from somewhere behind him.
Harry reacted like most people who'd grown up trapped in an asylum of individuals who were all capable of flinging fireballs at a moments notice. He threw the contents of his endlessly refilling Strong Cup of Coffee at the man's face.
It was sheer reflex, if he'd spent a bit more time to think about it, he would've immediately followed his spontaneous use of a technically-Water element that would've caused Wet by slinging a blast of Cold on him, thereby Freezing him for long enough that Harry could run away and throw a giant Boulder on him.
He might not have seen any true battles inside of the school, but that didn't mean that there weren't people who decided to kill each other over cheese, or burnt sausages, or any other number of things that Harry had learnt to deal with by killing every other moving thing in the vicinity.
Thankfully, despite Harry's dreadful mistake in battle-tactics, having the contents of the Strong Cup of Coffee splattered over his face was apparently enough to temporarily cripple the owner of the voice.
Ollivander would later make careful note that sneaking up behind his customers might not be something he should continue doing, simply for the sake of his continued health.
Harry was halfway through using a beam of Lightning Arcane to electrocute the man, when he suddenly recalled what had happened at the goblin bank. How he'd nearly gotten into big trouble because he'd reacted like common sense dictated.
Maybe... maybe he shouldn't electrocute and explode the man whose shop he'd just entered? It would certainly be hell to get all the blood and gore off the walls, Harry mused.
And so it came to be, that Harry didn't do anything more damaging than splattering an old man in the face with a steaming cup of coffee.
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Harry stared at the 'train-station' that he'd just arrived at, staring around in wonder at the odd sight.
There were people running around, there weren't any magic being used to explode anything, and there were huge caterpillar-like things made of metal that people kept walking in and out of.
Supposedly, the caterpillar-things were 'trains', which Harry thought – for the record – was a stupid name. The 'trains' didn't seem to be training anything at all, completely useless things. Much better to travel by airship... though he'd heard a few stories about airship-helmsmen randomly throwing themselves out into the free air saying things like 'I forgot to turn off the stove back home!'.
… Okay, so maybe airship-travel wasn't the safest of ways, with all of those explosives-carrying air-pirates, and helmsmen abandoning their passengers in order to surrender themselves to gravity, but at least there weren't any weird giant-metal-caterpillars running around back home. Crazy people.
Still, he restrained himself from throwing a Fire-Earth fireball at the train, since he didn't want to appear insensitive to other people's cultures. They weren't Dutch after all.
Instead, he tried to locate this 9 ¾ Platform, which wasn't a terribly bad name, actually. Because if the 'train' was regularly scheduled to leave only at 10 on the dot, then naming the platform a-quarter-to-ten would make it that much easier to get there on time. It made perfect sense.
Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any platforms in between 9 and 10, which meant that either he was in the wrong building – which was fully possible, since he'd never been all that great at following directions – or someone had used a Crash To Desktop spell to randomly remove it from existence, or maybe they'd been really sneaky and put it somewhere completely different. Like in the vicinity of a really large clock.
Harry had seen a pretty large clock in the vicinity. This 'train-station' was probably just a ruse. That had been a very fancy-looking clock, really really tall too. Nobody would miss seeing the clock, which made it the perfect hiding place for a Platform 9 ¾.
Thus decided, the young magician began to meander his way towards where he'd seen the giant clock-tower earlier.
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Harry stared suspiciously at the man with greasy hair. "Are you a vampire? Because Vlad – who is not a vampire – keeps telling me not to associate with those."
The greasy-haired man somehow managed to glare at him even more intensely than previously. "I'm not." He spat.
Harry nodded, accepting this without a fuss due to his continued exposure to Vlad – who wasn't a vampire. "So, why are you here?" He asked instead.
"I'm here, Potter, because apparently you thought that you were above taking the train!" The man snarled at him.
"No I didn't." Harry frowned. "Why do you think I'm here? I'm obviously looking for the Platform." Harry argued.
The man stared at him for a moment, seemingly trying to judge his sincerity, before asking. "What idiocy possessed you to think that Big Ben was a good place to search?"
Harry blinked. "It's only logical. The platform is called 9 ¾, which is obviously an allusion to time, and what bigger dedication to time is there than a giant clock?"
The man's eye twitched. "How did you imagine that the Big Ben would have access to the train?" He gritted out through clenched teeth.
"Well, I'm not entirely sure, but I'm more used to airship-travel than these 'train'-thingies. And it'd be pretty easy to catch an airship from a tower that tall." Harry shrugged.
The greasy-haired man stared at him for a long moment, his eye still twitching sporadically. "Come along." He growled, loathing flashing in his eyes, as he grabbed onto Harry's arm.
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Hogwarts had a very interesting ceiling, Harry concluded as he entered the Great Hall.
It was one of the very few occasions where he'd seen a magic that couldn't be implemented for sake of combat. It didn't even seem like it would explode and drown them all in mortar. Magic in this place was weird.
Then the old woman, who glared almost as intensely as the greasy-haired man, began reading names. And all the children whose name walked out and placed a really old hat on their heads. The hat would then shout out a name for one of the four Houses, and the children would scamper off towards one of the four tables representing them.
"Potter, Harry." The woman read out, and whispers spread out amongst the students as everyone craned their necks to see.
Harry didn't really know what to say about that, until he remembered that according to the goblins he was famous in this world. Thus, he simply ignored the stares and put on the hat.
"Well, well, we-... Wha-? Mr Potter-? What in Godric's name! How are you still alive?!" A voice sounded within Harry's head.
Harry tried to remember if he'd ever encountered such an implementation of magic previously.
He couldn't think of anything, but he might've gotten distracted by sipping on his ever-trusty Strong Cup of Coffee.
"You met Death?! A travel agent?!" The hat – because that was the only thing that made sense – demanded.
Obviously Harry had met Death, everyone ran into him a few times, that was just the way things were. Hell, he'd heard that Death was a regular visitor at the local chess-club, always enjoying a good game. Though Harry personally had only met Death a dozen times or so, in no small part due to how very insistent he was on not getting lit on fire.
"What madness-?!" The hat sounded horrified.
Harry frowned as he tried to understand why the hat was sounding so shocked. He hadn't lived an abnormal life by any stretch of the word. Though he had that weird thing where he actually felt 'pain' as it'd been described to him by a confused – but not vampiric – Vlad, unlike pretty much everyone else he knew. The hat might be surprised by somehow feeling the pain that he'd felt, or something. That was sure to be a new experience for anyone who wasn't him.
Though, it'd be annoying if the hat kept yelling into his head like that, it had a kind of really grating voice. Not nearly as bad as Death's – who spoke in all caps – but easily beyond the usual person's. Hopefully, it would get to Sorting him soon.
Harry got the oddest sensation of the hat wrenching its thoughts away from contemplating whatever it was that had upset it. "... Well, ahem. You've got the intell- no you don't! You're madder than a hatter! But you've got dedicat- but you'd kill someone to take their place in line!" Harry didn't know why the hat thought that was odd, everyone did that. It was why lines were generally so short. "You don't have any bravery at all! You're selfish and violent and insane!" The hat complained. "Just-...! SLYTHERIN!" The hat thundered.
Gasps spilled across the Hall, and a few of the students apparently fainted for some reason. Even the professors appeared heavily disturbed.
Harry calmly returned the hat to the strict-looking woman, who looked just about ready to fall over in shock, and sauntered off towards the Slytherin table, humming cheerfully as he sipped on his Strong Cup of Coffee.
His housemates stared at him with a mixture of horror, disgust, and awe. Harry considered layering a few Fire on each other in order to 'clear the air' so to speak, but the food wasn't even on the table yet, and it would be rude to attack someone before you could say that you were doing it in order to steal their cheese. Harry didn't really enjoy sausages, after all. Supposedly this was due to a trauma that had appeared after being chased through the school's corridors by the undead a few too many times, just because he happened to be holding onto a Sausage on a Stick.
That incident had probably been when he'd fully dedicated himself to his Strong Cup of Coffee. It made it a lot easier to run away from the undead that were trying to eat his brains. Of course, since then he'd learned to just layer Life and blow them to smithereens. It was just easier that way.
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Frost layered on Arcane, and suddenly the elder boy who'd been about to draw his wand in Harry's general direction got blasted off his feet. He didn't explode though, so Harry wasn't entirely sure if he was dead or not. Therefore, he quickly readied Rock and waited for more movement.
If there was one thing he'd learned over the years, it was that a good wizard was a dead wizard. This was simply because of practicality issues. If they remained alive, they usually fought back, which meant a risk for Harry to die or experience pain, whilst if they were dead, Harry would just rez them later and everyone would laugh it off.
Thus, he wanted to make sure that anyone he attacked was most assuredly dead, before he continued on.
Another student drew his wand, apparently deciding to join in the carnage – bloody wizards and their desire for violence – so Harry launched the multiple layered Rock at his face.
His head exploded from the impact.
Someone started screaming, and Harry reacted by layering Fire on top of each other and then blasted the gout of flames at the source of the noise.
The one that had originally started the mess was slowly crawling to his feet, so Harry mixed Water and Cold together to make Ice and then added Rock, before launching the torrent of needle-like shards of Ice in a wave towards the slow-moving boy's form.
Blood splattered over the walls.
There was still screaming, which was getting a little bit on Harry's nerves, so he layered Arcane, Lightning and Frost on top of each other, and blasted the annoyingly loud person. They exploded, covering the entire common room with blood and gore.
More people came out of their dorms, wands at the ready, so Harry did what anyone who was faced against a group of enemies would do. He added Arcane to Rock to Fire and then a few more Arcane just to be on the safe side, and began channeling it into the floor, causing everything in the vicinity to get singed and knocking everyone off their feet by the AoE attack.
Then Rock was added to Water, and turned everyone Wet. After that, it was easy to channel Lightning upon Lightning at their disoriented forms.
By the end of it, the entirety of Slytherin House had been slaughtered ruthlessly.
This actually included Snape, as the man had rushed to his House's aid when the screaming first began, and had received a beam of Arcane and Lightning to his face before he could even blink.
Thus, Harry curiously pondered whether he should clean up the mess and Revive everyone right now, or wait until the morning, when there was no chance that they would get in the way of his sleep.
Weighing the two options for a moment, Harry finally decided that he'd rather sleep properly than Revive someone who might snore. So, with a careless shrug, Harry sauntered over to the bed where his trunk had been placed, and cheerfully readied himself for bed.
It was a good day.
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The Great Hall was filling up with whispered questions and budding rumors, for the Slytherin table was still unoccupied, even as the breakfast was growing late.
Even the professors were affected by the oddity, without Snape being present to explain this most peculiar behavior of the Snakes.
Then the doors launched open, as every student of Slytherin scrambled into the Great Hall, screaming in terror with eyes wide as they stampeded towards the doors to the grounds.
Barely having time to pick their jaws off the floor, Dumbledore tried to calm the clearly panicking students, only to be completely ignored.
"It was Potter, wasn't it?" A student from another table asked in a satisfied voice – clearly not believing that panicking Slytherins was anything bad.
A Slytherin in his vicinity turned towards him and cried with haunted eyes. "Potter is a madman! He left us there to die! We was in Death's mercy for hours! Do you know how time passes in Hell?!"
The stampede seemed to almost intensify in its mad dash for the grounds, and – as people were now understanding – away from Harry Potter.
Dumbledore frowned, that didn't at all sound like the kind of image that the Hero of the Light ought to inspire. He raised his wand to get a bit more serious in creating order, when the doors into the Great Hall opened again, and Harry Potter stepped out.
Covered from head to toe in gore, Harry was sipping calmly on his Strong Cup of Coffee, carrying a newspaper under his arm, and seemed not at all bothered by how the entirety of Slytherin House shied away from him, some of them crying out in terror.
"I know, I know. I'm sorry I waited until breakfast was almost over before I Revived you guys, but I overslept." The boy apologized, looking slightly embarrassed.
Silence greeted his statement, with the exception of whimpers coming from the rest of his Slytherin Housemates. The Savior of the Wizarding World didn't look like a 'savior', he looked like someone who'd been out in the blood-rain, and not noticed or particularly cared about it.
The fact that he'd just told them that he'd revived people... that wasn't possible. Even in the tale of the Deathly Hallows, the Stone summoned naught but a wrath from the underworld, present only to lure the living back into Death's grasp. And Harry Potter was claiming to have revived his entire House, and from the fear they had of him, and the way he looked, it seemed painfully obvious that he'd needed to resurrect them because he'd killed them all after the Sorting Feast.
"Ohh! Cheese!" Harry completely ignored the look of dawning horror that was appearing on the faces of most of Hogwarts' students, promptly sitting down at the Slytherin table to eat cheese.
The only reason Slytherin House hadn't managed to disappear into the grounds yet was because the doors were locked, and not even Snape was able to force them open. The frustration and horror combined was reaching the point where the greasy-haired man was actually beginning to cry a little, he was in good company though, as most of his Slytherins were sobbing in terrified despair around him.
It was a most unusual start of the Hogwarts school year.
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A/n: I've always thought that it was odd that Magicka-fanficiton is so rare, I mean, they can inspire such unbridled madness in characters from other fandoms who encounter them, so why wouldn't it have been done a couple of hundred times already?
Anyway, I could never really figure out how I was supposed to write this, so I just ended up with a few brief snippets on the rest of Harry's First Year. Partially because I honestly didn't expect the Wizarding World to survive into his Second Year. Hopefully, they'll be enjoyable regardless.
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"Troll! Troll in the dungeon!" Quirrell cried as he burst through the doors.
Harry immediately threw himself underneath the table in an instinctive move to get out of the line of fire of hundreds upon hundreds of excited wizards, that were surely going to fight each other over who got to go down there and kill it.
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Harry stared into the giant mirror curiously, wondering what this clearly-magic but definitely non-violent object would show him.
His unchanged face stared back at him, but a gleefully victorious grin stretched across his lips.
It was strange, Harry thought, because he'd never really felt victorious outside of the times that he'd managed to avoid getting himself killed by the wizards who surrounded him.
Magic was stacked behind him in the mirror, and Harry spun with panic in his eyes, already layering Arcane on Lightning.
The room was empty.
Feeling suddenly paranoid, Harry glanced back into the mirror, watching Elements stacking on top of each other, and then being launched at his back. The mirror-image's grin grew wider. The magic sputtered out harmlessly without him moving an inch.
Harry stared into the mirror, suddenly possessed by the absolute need to know how he'd done that. How he'd succeeded in finding the one thing that Harry had forever wished for. Magical Immunity.
The mirror-image raised an eyebrow, mouthing something silently back at him, eyes still alight with smug victory.
Eyes trained on his mirror-image's lips, Harry tried desperately to connect the movement with words that would explain it all.
"The Deathly Hallows?" He finally breathed.
His mirror-image nodded, grin returning in full force.
Harry grinned back at it, an expression of delighted madness. He was going to find them, and then he was going to be free.
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"I'm the great Lord Voldemort!" The man with two faces hissed at him, raising his wand.
Harry splattered the man across the walls with Arcane layered on Lightning and Frost. Then he frowned. He didn't really feel like getting involved with whatever the man was doing, but that spirit bursting out of his shredded flesh kind of made him feel a little bit guilty.
So he Revived him.
And then there were two men standing in front of him. Weird, that had never happened before.
Frowning curiously at the men, one was clearly Quirrell, but the other was pale and in possession of glowing red eyes. The man with red eyes raised his wand at Harry with a triumphant cry.
Harry splattered him across the walls again, deciding that it'd worked pretty well the previous time.
Quirrell made a soft noise of horror, then he fell over. Apparently having fainted.
Sighing as the spirit again burst out of the shredded flesh with a cry of agony, Harry shrugged and Revived the man again. It was extremely rude to not rez people, even if they were kind of being dicks.
The man with red eyes stared down at his hands with fascination, before his eyes snapped back up to him, horrified anger on his face. He raised his wand.
Harry made a noise of frustration as the man was once again splattered across the walls. He didn't know what this guy's problem was, but if his previous reactions were anything to go by, this was all going to take quite some time to get sorted out. He Revived him again.
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