Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. This version of Aleister Crowley, along with 1,083,092,867 others, was created by Kamachi Kazuma.

Again, a big spoiler warning to all anime-only readers: the anime only covers the first series of Index. This fic picks up from close to the end of the second series of Index (New Testament).

I warned you about spoilers, bro.

An additional note: I know nothing about child services or police stations in the United Kingdom. Sorry for any inaccuracies.

Chapter 01: Getting to Know You

Part 2

Harry, hit with a wave of dizziness, staggered backwards, before his legs folded out from beneath him.

"E…Elly…"

"Step away from the gate and sit down." Elly said firmly.

The throbbing feeling, which reminded her of the heartbeat of a distressed person, localized directly on the inside of her skull, subsided somewhat.

Right. Now, we slowly analyse this.

"Harry, I might need to use your body for a while…actually, forget it."

The blood magic might see her as a threat, as respond accordingly. In fact, that could be what was happening right now.

Completely unknown magic of a completely unfamiliar set of laws faced her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm just thinking at the moment. You can lie down if it makes you feel better."

Harry laid down on the lawn, which he had mowed only the day before. As he stared up at the stars, Elly asked a question, more as a shot in the dark than anything.

"I don't suppose you know anything about sacrifices? Or blood?"

"No. I didn't know about magic…until you came here."

That was reasonable and expected, from what she saw of the boy's mind. She turned her attention back to her pilfered memories.

Tom was, or had been, intelligent as a student, but he was not intellectually curious. He was interested in magic, sure, as an orphan who knew nothing about his heritage, but he was more fascinated with power. He was gifted in all that he studied, and knew many esoteric magics, but cared not for theory, and knew nothing beyond basic–or perhaps intermediate–principles.

Except when he was researching his "seven-part soul" nonsense. Elly shook her head.

Blood sacrifice…she leafed through the diaries again. It couldn't be that simple, right?

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead–"

The final memories of Tom Riddle, before his curse had failed to kill Harry.

Really, I must be slipping if I'm taking so long to come to make such simple inferences. Outwardly, she spoke. "Harry? Do you remember anything of your parents?"

"No." Harry said aloud. "Aunt Petunia said they died in a car crash and left me behind."

"Nothing? Nothing at all?"

"Well, sometimes when I think very hard, I remember a bit. It's just pain in my forehead, and some green light."

"Your parents didn't die in a car crash, Harry."

"What?"

"I…I'll tell you later. I promise. Just know that your mother…your mother and your father both loved you a lot. And they certainly didn't die in a car accident."

Enough for them to lay down their lives without fighting, without even raising a wand.

Until recently, I only used blood for offensive purposes. The curse I laid upon the Golden Dawn was drawn from blood. The death of my other selves, the Crowley's Hazards, was used to elevate my main self in the fight against Coronzon.

But this is different. I do not know the exact ritual or magic circle Lily Potter used, but the intent had probably been pure. Very pure, and very selfless.

The magic in this world seems to be able to change reality to a greater extent, but even if that were the case, the ritual had to have been quite strong to instantly disintegrate a man.

(Amidst several other effects, which Elly would not find out about until later.)

If we go by that assumption, we find that the current ritual has been altered somewhat. Most likely. Probably.

"Harry, run back to the kitchen and get me another piece of paper."

"'Kay."

~~[a]~~

A few rounds of analysis and a few drops of Harry's blood later, Elly concluded two things.

First, was that Harry could probably leave the house without any danger to himself or her.

Second, was that whoever had altered the ritual had done a pretty shoddy job of it.

'Repel all "Dark" elements?' That must have been what triggered the warning just now. While I definitely might be viewed as such, such a powerful ritual shouldn't have been implemented with this…this degree of imprecision! This isn't a hundred-yen charm for tourists, for heaven's sake!

"Elly, are we going to be fine?" Harry asked yet again, the second time this night.

"We should be. At the very least, we can leave this house."

There were a few other layers, which were harder to interpret: namely, that if Harry "no longer called his blood refuge" (as Elly interpreted), the power of the ritual would no longer protect his relatives. In fact, the ritual's power would no longer replenish. That, or it would be weakened, or it might be completely broken.

There's a lot of guesswork involved. Elly wished that she had her old resources back at the Windowless Building. Brute force would let me make more headway against this set of unknown laws. Still, this was better than I had hoped.

A few of the analysis rituals Elly had performed returned gibberish, or hard-to-interpret results. But they had, in some manner, worked.

And so had Spiritual Tripping. Earlier, I intervened assuming that I could do something. If that had failed…well, considering that they had still been beaten unconscious, not much would have changed, but even so, Elly resolved to be a bit more careful.

Even now, I am still 'Aleister Crowley', in some way. Failure will inevitably plague my every step. I cannot assume the best of things.

"Are you done? Can we go?"

"Yes, but I want to ask a question first."

"A question?"

"Once we leave, you don't intend to come back here, correct?"

"Yes." The boy's voice did not waver.

"As I thought. However, there's a few things you might want to know first…"

"Things?"

Not mincing her words, Elly explained simply about the blood sacrifice, and the protection on him.

"…and that might mean that your mother's magic might fade. Which, as I understand it, means that evil wizards might be able hunt you down." While being straight about the ritual, Elly still hadn't wanted to open the can of worms that was the matter of Voldemort and his 'Death Eaters'.

"But it didn't stop Uncle Vernon from attacking me. From attacking us." Harry was resolute, and Elly could hear the rest of his unspoken words. It didn't stop Aunt Petunia from starving me, or Dudley from hunting me with his friends.

"I understand. If that is your decision, I will go along with it." There was no one else to seek consent from, no one else from which to receive advice.

This was it.

"You aren't mad, are you, Elly?"

"No. I just want you to understand the consequences of your actions, whatever they might be. The choice is up to you, after that."

"Then I want to leave."

"Then leave we shall."

~~[a]~~

Two and a half hours later, which included an embarrassing backtrack to Number Four, Privet Drive to get a map, Harry was sitting quietly in an unused interrogation room in a police station far away, a mug of warm water in his hands.

"You think we'll be fine?"

"Probably. Also, you need to start using your mental voice to talk to me. If you speak verbally, people might think you're weird."

"But I am weird. And a freak." Harry muttered, more quietly.

"Regardless of whether that is true or not, you also need to be taken seriously. For now, that involves trying to appear normal."

"'Kay." Harry was sulking slightly, but he complied. "It's easier to speak out loud, though."

Elly ignored the statement. "Try to listen to what they're saying."

So far, the pair of them had only see three distinct faces, though all of them had been sympathetic. Currently, there appeared to be some discussion outside, which was now quieting down. A round-faced man then knocked and entered.

"Hello, Harry. I'm Officer Fulbright." He spoke slowly and clearly. "I know you've been through a lot tonight, but we're going to need you to hang on for a bit longer, alright?"

"What's going to happen to me?" Harry asked hesitantly. He did not need to pretend to be anxious.

"Well, it's not the best, but we have a bed for you tonight at the station, and a doctor will be coming soon to treat your injuries. If you're hungry, we'll get some biscuits for you. Is that okay?"

Harry nodded.

As it turned out, the bed was in a holding cell, but Harry didn't mind. It was, after all, bigger than his cot in the cupboard, and for once he could sleep without needing to curl up.

~~[a]~~

The next few days were difficult. After that night, he had been shuffled to a hospital, where he had been treated for his injuries and given a full check-up.

"You're suffering from a minor case of malnutrition," the doctor had spoken in precise tones, then did a double-take as he realised he was talking to a child. "That means, er–"

"I know what it means," Harry had spoken up. "I need to eat more, right?"

"More healthy food, yes," the doctor recovered quickly. "Lean meats, fruits and vegetables."

Surprisingly, Elly did not admonish him. "Are you not going to say anything?" he whispered, when the doctor's back was turned. "You said I needed to appear normal, right?"

I did. Elly's calm voice sounded. However, there's no denying that you are indeed a precocious child. It would take too much to suppress that, and for what? A meagre bit of camouflage? Besides, children younger than him had enough independence to live alone in dorms back in Academy City, after all.

"Elly, what does 'precocious' mean?"

"To be more mature than others your age, Harry."

"Oh."

The next few weeks were also difficult. In the nonmagical world, Petunia Dursley née Evans was his legal guardian and closest blood-related relative, but the medical reports didn't lie. Attorneys had been called. Many loud arguments were had, most of which were usually followed by discussions in hushed, quiet tones.

Through it all, Elly kept her eyes wide open for any sign of magical manipulation. Any hidden hand, any suddenly unexplainable changes in behavior. The hidden hand that had put Harry with his relatives might return to ensure he stayed there.

Like ensuring Harry plays the role of some fairy tale protagonist, the archetypal prince left to be raised by swineherds. The metaphysical Elly clenched her hands at her desk. To ensure that Harry is able to move freely, to ensure that I am able to move freely, I need to destroy any narrative restraints that I see.

Those were the thoughts of the magician who once divided the world into the twin Sides called magic and science, and who concentrated the concept of the evil mad scientist into a certain single family.

Harry himself never slept in the same bed for more than a few days, and was being constantly bounced from facility to facility, home to home.

"Elly," Harry began once more. Tonight, his bed was comfortable, but he took no comfort from it. "Do you think we'll be all right?" He had escaped the abuse by his guardians, but the constant uncertainty was beginning to wear at him. Uncertainty, and the fear that he may end up somewhere worse.

"You're strong." Elly said to him. "You can deal with anything." The silver magician's words were sincere. When the chance for Harry to escape had come, he had taken it without hesitation, and walked away without turning back. He still had fear within him, but beyond that she could sense a solid core of determination, the same type of resolve she had seen in Kamijou Touma. "Believe me, Harry."

Harry radiated distinct doubt at her, but said nothing more.

"Don't mope around. Do you want a bedtime story?" She felt Harry perk up, and launched into a tale.

Elly's bedtime stories weren't conventional. There would be little talk of princesses lying on pillows, or wolves dressing up as old grandmothers. She instead spoke about Newton and the apple tree, Archimedes and his bath, about the astronauts of Apollo 11.

In other words, science.

And Harry listened. Perhaps because there was nothing else to do, or because he was a naturally curious child, before it had nearly been beaten out of him, or because focusing on other things would let him not think about where he might end up.

Or maybe because this was the first time in his life that someone was giving him their undivided attention.

During the daytime Harry was dumped in someplace where other children also sometimes appeared, and given books to read, toys to play with.

Elly snorted in his head, and corrected the little lies that the books taught children. The little lies that prepared them for the vastly more complicated truth later.

"No, Harry, mushrooms are not plants. They belong to a completely different kingdom."

For all of his faults, and despite any ulterior motives he had, Aleister Crowley had provided all students in Academy City a top-notch education, and created a system where individuals were encouraged to make the best of themselves.

(Whether they could was a separate matter.)

That meant not treating children like idiots, and entailed teaching quantum mechanics to middle schoolers. Still, every man and every woman is a star.

Elly also began teaching Harry magic, spells stolen from Tom Riddle's memories. Only the most minor of Charms, levitation and mending, locking and unlocking, and definitely only those she herself had performed safely.

Well, safely in theory. She was, after all, only in Harry's head.

Harry listened, and Harry learnt.

~~[a]~~

A full month and a half later, Harry found himself at the gates of Saint Ursula's Chapel and Refuge for Children, being escorted by a haggard-looking social worker.

Elly looked on from within with mixed feelings. So fate tosses me back in the face of the Anglicans. I knew I resorted to using Christ's teachings at the end back there, but my innate aversion is still present, huh?

What's wrong, Elly? Harry sensed her discomfort, though Elly had not directly conveyed her thoughts.

Nothing to worry about. Elly comforted her ward.

At the foyer Harry was handed over to a middle-aged lady, who received him with all the enthusiasm of checking the postbox for one's copy of the daily newspaper. He was led down several corridors, up several flights of stairs, and he tried his best to get a sense for the place, to build a mental image.

As he passed, he saw the other children, some milling about, some sitting quietly in their rooms. The lady sternly shushed those that were playing too loudly, and they slinked away in submission. Many stared at him, sizing up the newcomer, and Harry glanced back without aggression.

One stroke of good fortune was that he had his own room. It was small, with only the barest of furnishings: a metal bedstead, on which flecks of rust could be seen, an old wooden wardrobe, and a tiny wooden desk and its chair. The wallpaper was peeling, and the window, latched to prevent it from opening more than a few inches, was dusty.

He was sat down and told to wait for the matron, who would brief him properly.

That was the first day of Harry's new life.

~~[a]~~

Neither Harry nor Elly had read Oliver Twist, on account of being too young and too old respectfully.

Thankfully for them both, orphanage life was nothing like that. Harry had enough to eat and enough to drink. The staff were strict and firm, but were reasonable and never abusive. He did his fair share of chores, but St Urusla's did that to instill a sense of responsibility (and to save costs on cleaning staff), but he was never treated as a servant, nor overworked.

The biggest problem however, came from…

Harry's body made a thump as he was slammed into a wall.

"What…do you want?" Harry felt his voice come up, weak and breathless.

"What do you want? What do you want?" The girl laughed, and afterwards, the rest of them, a few other kids, laughed along. "Listen here. You're new, so I'll warn you. Once."

She leaned in close, whispered in his ear. "I know all your secrets. Never cross me. Ever."

She straightened, motioned with her hand. The boys and girls following her made to leave, but before that–

"Going after the new boy, Salty?" A voice called out, and she turned. In an instant she crossed this distance, and a loud slap could be heard. From his slumped position on the ground, he could see the catcalling boy was clutching his cheek, and scrambling to get away.

"It's Sally, you wilted prick. And unless you want me to tell Mother Riesbyfe about your secret stash, you'd better remember."

"I'll tell her myself that you slapped me!"

"With what proof, moron?" Sure enough, the slap had left no visible marks. "Now go away."

The boy ran away. Sally turned back to Harry.

"Remember, it's Sally. Not Salty, not Perks, and especially not Perky. I'll rip your eyes out if you forget." With those parting words, she left.

"Elly…"

"A bully of some sort, I'd assume. Your homework is to figure out how to deal with her."

"But–"

"Your homework, Harry."

Fine. Elly wouldn't set Harry homework that he couldn't do, anyway.

Still, everything had happened so quickly. He dusted himself off, picked up the books that he had dropped, and noticed that his hands were shaking.

The books fell from his hands, and he reached down to grab them again, forcing his frozen fingers to tighten.

The kids that were still there ignored him. They were not bullies, so they wouldn't attack him, but they were also scared of Sally, so they did not help him either.

But this was mild compared to what Dudley and his crew used to do to him.

And that was the beginning of Harry's new life.

Wikipedia lists St Ursula, the namesake of our dear airheaded nun Orsola Aquinas, as being a patron saint of orphans. Naturally, I named Harry's orphanage after her.

Cue the "When Harry Met Sally" jokes. Those that read the previous version of Chapter 1 a long, long time ago should already know who Sally is, or will be.

I always worry about how I'm writing Elly/Aleister. Leave a scathing comment if you think she's wildly OOC.

Review please!