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

Chapter 03: The Small Yet Great

Part 1

Harry Potter lay on the roof level of St. Ursula's Refuge, looking up at the night sky. The floor of the roof was nothing but dirty stone, but a few Cleaning and a Cushioning Charm made it comfortable enough.

"Tomorrow's the day, right?" Harry spoke aloud softly to the air.

"It was around this time of year that Tom Riddle received his Hogwarts letter, yes." Elly's voice answered. The magician living in Harry's head had mixed feelings.

On one hand, it would be good for Harry to finally meet fellow wizards and witches his age.

But on the other, Harry would now have access to many new and dangerous spells, which increased the likelihood of him either destroying everything around him in a ten-foot radius, or worse, himself.

She sighed. For the past year, the boy had been catapulting between the second and the fourth of the five stages of grief, until he had eventually settled into some semistable attractor state between the two.

Destroy the Anglican Church, and get Sally back.

The first week after the kidnapping, he had barely been able to eat and sleep.

The second week after the kidnapping, he had worked himself into a frenzy, and collapsed from exhaustion both physical and magical, so much so that the adults at the Refuge had to take him to a hospital.

In the recesses of Harry's mind, Elly had reprimanded him severely. That is not how you do things! she had shouted. Revenge cannot be achieved in a day!

She would know.

But Harry wouldn't. He was barely ten years old, after all.

Remembering this fact made her relent, and in the end he had cried in her arms, the first time he had ever done so. Not even his abusive relatives had pushed him this far.

Terrible, terrible things had been shouted at the sky. Terrible, terrible oaths had been made, and the worst thing, in Elly's mind, was that she wasn't quite sure whether those oaths had been magically binding or not.

Finally, she had elected to worry about problems when they actually came, and so they had settled into a strange rhythm, learning by day, and learning more and training what could be trained by night.

Magical strength grew with age, and so that could not be forced. But knowledge could be received at any time, and it was so that the person said to be the greatest magician in the world, even if it was another world, imparted her knowledge to Harry.

She did not want this. If anything, she wanted the boy she now thought of as her ward to have a normal, happy childhood, insofar as that was still possible, given his familial circumstances.

But recent events showed that that possibility was slim, nearly nonexistent. It seemed that even if Harry did not seek trouble, trouble would find him instead.

And that was just the Church. There's still the issue of the other side–-the wizards, and Tom Riddle.

Well. She was never the type to resign herself to her fate. If Harry was to meet his destiny, she would make bloody well sure he was as prepared as he could be.

That meant teaching him everything she knew. Yes, everything. Spiritual Tripping. Curses. Golden-style western magic. The Kabbalah.

Even that singular magic she had never shared with anyone else in its entirety–the magic over meaning itself.

It was a monumental task, and they were still in the middle of it. She knew a great many things, after all.

But anything was preferable to Harry being a depressed, stagnant husk.

"Malkuth, the Kingdom. Yesod, the Foundation. Hod, glory and splendour. Netzach, victory and eternity. Tiferet, beauty and symmetry. Gevurah, harshness and judgement. Chesed, mercy and kindness. Binah, Understanding. Chokhmah, Wisdom. And Keter, the Crown." The boy recited from memory.

The Tree had been a part of Harry's education, just one of many sets of correspondences and meanings that he had to learn. It was also one of the first things that Elly had taught Harry after the incident, and, as Elly had observed, became one of the few mantras of a sort that Harry recited whenever he felt troubled.

"Are you worried?"

"No." Harry clenched his fist. "It's about time. I want to go. I want to learn more."

Power. That was what the boy wanted, and for what purpose exactly, Elly knew.

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Harry. That I can't do more for you. All I can do is tell you and teach you things. Believe me, if I had been like what I was before…"

"Don't say that, Elly." Harry sat up. "If you hadn't been around, I would still be stuck at the Dursleys."

"And you would have never come here. Never met Sally." And never suffered the pain of losing her. The magician did not finish her sentence, but Harry knew what she was implying.

"I will get her back, you know." Harry said, with all the determination of a ten-soon-to-be-eleven-year-old.

"I believe you will. Even if it takes an eternity."

"I won't let it take that long."

Footsteps sounded behind Harry, the sound of soles on rough ground. "Talking to your imaginary friend again?"

There had also been other repercussions. Some form of memory alteration had been performed, because all the adults had been under the impression that the girl named Sally Perks had simply been transferred elsewhere.

The children, on the other hand, simply did not care.

Well, most of them didn't.

"You know she's real, Pet."

"Stop calling me that." Peter Ellis Travers grumbled. He had been one of two that questioned Sally's disappearance, and, when his curiosity had been too much to bear, had attacked Harry.

It was the first time Harry had used magic to fight back, against someone close to his age who had no magic themselves. A Trip and a shove and a Full Body-Bind, and it was over in a flash.

But it seemed that the slightly older boy respected strength, and so, after a while, and after a few more defeats by Harry's hand, they became something resembling friends.

"Why are you here?" Harry continued.

"Why can't I be?" Peter retorted. "Fran asked me to check on you. She said you've been off more than usual these few days."

"And?"

"And I can't have that, you idiot," the boy said roughly. "You need to be in good shape, or it'll reflect badly on me."

Harry tilted his gaze backwards, from the stars to Peter's face, who was standing over him. "That's a nice phrase. You learned that in Writing recently?"

"Shut up. Both you and Fran talk adult-like. Why can't I?"

"Because it's like a gorilla trying to fit into a pair of trousers."

A chuckle sounded, a girl's laugh, and Fran emerged from behind a radiator.

"I thought you said you weren't coming tonight." Peter turned to the girl.

"I got worried, too." She looked up at the stars. "Orion is in retrograde, and Venus is in the thirteenth house."

Harry snorted. "There's no thirteenth house, you idiot. And only planets go into retrograde."

"I know." Fran smiled. "I just made it up. I don't need the stars to tell me something's up with you." She stared up at the sky. "The Summer Triangle is bright. Altair, Vega, and Deneb. Did you know that in Eastern Asia, there's a story called the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl?"

"There she goes again," Peter grumbled.

"It's very romantic! It's a folktale about a boy and girl who love each other but can only meet once…a…year." Fran trailed off at Harry's stony expression. "Um."

"I will bring down the sky," Harry muttered to himself, before turning to speak properly to his interlopers. "You two are both annoying. Really annoying."

"Stop speaking in languages we don't understand." Fran chided. "We can't all be geniuses like you."

"I'm not a bloody genius." Harry swore. "Not a genius. You both just need to hurry up and learn it so we can talk in secret."

Part of Harry's education had also been Japanese (that is, the language itself) which had been suggested by Elly as a distraction from learning how to bend reality to his will. It was something she wouldn't mention unless she was asked, but a portion of the old magician also dearly wanted to return to what she thought of as her second home, though Academy City was nonexistent in this world.

"Again, you're expecting too much of us." Peter looked slightly weary.

"Fine. Have it your way." Harry shifted towards a wall, and leaned against it.

A few moments of silence passed while the three children sat under the stars. "They're probably going to be coming for me soon. I'll be gone for about a year, maybe more."

Peter and Fran exchanged a glance. "Harry…" Fran started.

"You both take care while I'm gone," Harry continued.

Peter shook his head. 'There you go again, sounding like an old man."

"Whatever."

~~[a]~~

When Harry was called to the office, he knew he had been right.

Waiting for him was a stern-looking woman in a long green coat, who introduced herself as Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After which, he was handed a letter, which he read intently.

It did not seem too different from what Elly had said Tom Riddle had received, though he spotted one glaring issue. "Where am I going to get the money to buy all this?" He looked up into the eyes of McGonagall.

"Your parents left a sizeable inheritance for you, which should be enough to pay for most of your needs for all seven years of schooling." The witch gave Harry a compassionate look. "In fact, if you accept, we can go get you prepared right now."

Harry nodded politely. "Yes, please."

A few words were exchanged with the adults in the office, and before long Harry was dressed in his most presentable clothing, standing next to McGonagall in St Ursula's carpark, which was currently deserted.

"Can I have you hold only firmly to my arm?" The witch asked.

Harry complied without a word. "What are we about to do, exactly?"

"Oh, yes. Perhaps I should explain," the Deputy Headmistress said. "Wizards and witches have the ability to go instantly from one place to another, through magic. It is called–"

Apparation, Harry finished in his mind, but remained silent.

So too did Elly, remembering the first few days of her new existence.

Harry could have very well died inside that cupboard. If he had not been able to unlock the door…

Well, that was then, and this is now.

"-but it is not normally learnt until one is of age, which is to say, seventeen years old. It is dangerous magic, after all, which can result in many accidents if performed poorly."

Minerva McGonagall did not normally explain the particulars of Apparation to a Muggleborn child she was bringing to Diagon Alley for the first time (Harry was not, strictly speaking, Muggleborn, but he had zero knowledge of the wizarding world.)

To her, there was just something in the boy's eyes that was a little bit strange. Something in his look, in his expression, even in the way he carried himself.

She couldn't put her finger on what it was quite yet, and resolved to solve this mystery by the end of their visit.

~~[a]~~

"Bless my soul," the barman of the Leaky Cauldron said. "Could this be–?"

"Not today, Tom. And don't pester the boy, he's new to all this."

"But is it really him?" An old woman quavered. "Harry Potter?" With a scraping sound, she rose from her chair.

"Doris–" McGonagall said warningly.

But the tone in her voice seemed to be of no deterrent. "I just…wanted to shake his hand." The old woman's voice came out hoarse. "My grandson was an Auror. He died during…back then. Thank heavens for you, Harry Potter. Thank you."

Harry simply accepted the wrinkled hand, and shook it. "I'm sorry."

There was a great clamor, but before the rush began, Professor McGonagall put her foot down, in both the figurative and literal senses of the phrase. It made a noise like a loud crack, and froze everyone in place. "I'm sorry, but we are in a hurry." The words were said in a neutral tone, but they seemed to suffice.

Curious eyes followed the pair out to the back yard, where the wall of bricks that was the entrance to Diagon Alley stood.

Perhaps if we are to pass unassaulted, we should hide your most distinctive feature. Elly idly remarked from where she was watching.

Good idea. From his pockets Harry fished out a bit of lint.

"I don't think you are able to perform Transfiguration on that level just yet. Try asking McGonagall."

"But I should be able to make it happen–"

"Are you alright, Harry Potter?" McGonagall looked back, seeing Harry's face screwed up in concentration.

"I'm trying…to make…a hat," Harry gritted out. "But…it's not…working."

Attempting Transfiguration already? Wandless? And with such a material difference? "Harry," she said kindly, "magic of that sort is not normally learnt until you are older, and is usually performed with a wand." With a wave of her own wand, the Transfiguration teacher conjured a green tartan hat, matching her own clothing, and put it gently on Harry's head. "That should suffice for now."

"Thank you," Harry said automatically. But if one were to hear his true thoughts, like Elly did, it would be something like: I can't afford to wait that long.

Three up, two across from the dustbin (the same as it was in Tom Riddle's time, Elly noted), and with a tap on that particular brick, the door opened into Harry's second magical world.

Harry simply took it all in: the loud, colorful shopfronts, the items on sale which were obviously magical in nature, ranging from cauldrons to broomsticks to various others he had no name for, and the people, walking around in strange clothing as if it were perfectly natural.

Elly, viewing what Harry saw, simply leaned back. Technically, she had already seen Diagon Alley once, through Tom Riddle's memories, but the same thought came back to her.

Magic users will always be weirdos, won't they?

"We will first be heading to Gringotts' Bank to withdraw your money, after which we can go around and get your school supplies proper." McGonagall informed him.

As they walked, Harry asked the question that had been weighing on his mind. "What was that, back there in the bar?"

McGonagall's footsteps paused. "How much do you–never mind, I suppose you couldn't have known."

And she told him about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Dark Lord, Voldemort, and the terrors he wrought on wizarding Britain. Of the Death Eaters, his loyal followers and servants, who had been responsible for almost as much suffering as the Dark Lord himself.

Harry simply listened without speaking. Everything matched with what Elly had told him, and he nodded along.

But there were some corrupted portions in Tom's memory. Possibly due to the soul-splitting ritual he used. Elly thought to herself.

If she had wanted to, she could have shown Harry the memories directly. Of the Dark Lord Voldemort murdering and torturing in cold blood, of which there were numerous. For obvious reasons, she had not.

In his last days he was a monster more than a man, only driven by dark, feral impulses.

"Then the Dark Lord came to Godrick's Hollow." McGonagall's voice had become low. "There had been magics and measures taken to keep to hidden, but you were betrayed. The Dark Lord killed James, then Lily, and then at last came to your cot. He then cast the Killing Curse at you, and that was the end."

"The…Killing Curse?" Harry said slowly. Elly didn't say…

"A spell of pure hatred, striking directly at the soul, severing it from the body. It is instant death if it connects. But you survived, the only person ever to do so. The Killing Curse rebounded and struck at the Dark Lord, leaving only the burnt husk of his body and that scar on your forehead." McGonagall inhaled. "And that is why people want to shake your hand, and why you are regarded as some sort of hero."

Harry closed his eyes. The story shook him, but it did not distract from his goal.

Destroy the Church, and get Sally back–

Could he somehow use this?

I wouldn't count on it, Elly said wryly. Public opinion is notoriously fickle.

Harry's physical body nodded, which McGonagall took to mean acknowledgement.

~~[a]~~

Gold, silver and bronze were retrieved, and then the trip continued. Significantly, Elly had run some quick calculations, and arrived at the fact that he had about a million and a half British pounds.

Despite himself, Harry had a small smile on his face.

Remember that this has to last you until you start working. And even then, it's not wise to throw around money casually. Elly warned.

Of course.

But Harry had asked for a few extra Galleons, because he had thought of some things he had seen along his walk to the bank that might come in handy.

Such as the tiny pouch now hanging from his neck, which was apparently made from something called Mokeskin, and which Elly had snorted to herself and called a Bag of Holding.

It had a limited capacity, and the brim could only open so wide, but having a few items close to you could be useful in a pinch. Having the pouch be of a constant light weight was also a nice bonus.

Professor McGonagall had said she was going to leave him alone for a bit, while he got fitted for clothes, and Harry had said he didn't mind.

Madam Malkin was an old woman who didn't give a second glance at Harry, even as he removed his hat, and her assistant, who seemed to have been about to say something, had been silenced by a sharp look.

Well, it wasn't as if the people fawning over him had bothered him that much, but it was a welcome change nonetheless.

Beside him, a pale young boy with a pointed face and blond hair was also being fitted for robes. "Hello," he said politely. "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes." Harry said the single word, and nothing more.

He seems familiar, Elly said. Try to see if you can get to know more about him.

Harry wanted to question what she meant, but the boy had continued speaking, and Harry had to keep up. "Father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands." He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why First-Years can't have their own. I think I'll bully Father into getting me one and then smuggle it in somehow."

"Hmm." Harry gave it some thought. "If they don't check the luggage, you can just shrink it then unshrink it later. If someone asks, maybe claim it belongs to an older student."

Draco gave Harry a look that was somewhat approving. "That might work. I don't know how to unshrink things yet, but I could probably get an older student to help. Do you have your own broom? Play Quidditch at all?"

"No, and no."

"Shame. Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, though. Speaking of which, do you know where you'll be Sorted to yet?"

The longer the boy spoke, the longer Harry was reminded of what Elly had told him about rich children–the kind that was born, as the saying goes, with a silver spoon in their mouths.

It made Harry want to mess with him. "The thirteenth. Like Venus."

"Excuse me?"

"Just an inside joke." A small smirk rose to Harry's face. "No, I really don't know."

"Well, I suppose nobody really knows until they get there, but I'll be in Slytherin. All of my family have been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff–I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Wanting to end up somewhere just because of your family–seems quite loyal to me, if you know what I mean."

At Harry's words, the boy looked somewhat aghast.

"Another joke."

The boy, clearly uncomfortable at the prospect of not getting into his desired House, changed the topic. "Say, where are your parents?"

"Dead." Harry shrugged. "Killed…by Voldemort?"

"You said the Dark Lord's name!" The boy seemed shocked.

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is a mouthful, and I'd rather not call any murderer of my parents a lord." Not that Harry was particularly attached to people that he couldn't remember.

And somehow, I got left with the Dursleys. That was something else to consider.

"But, they were our kind, weren't they?"

"Our kind?"

"Witches and wizards," the boy clarified.

Harry looked at him curiously. "Why does that matter?"

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in. They've not been brought up to know our ways, and some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they got their letters, imagine that."

"I don't really see why that should matter." Harry shrugged and repeated his previous statement. He sensed that the boy had strong beliefs about this particular matter, and decided to poke at them with a stick. "I didn't even know about Hogwarts until about…two years back? But I've never had trouble doing magic."

"I still think it should be kept in the old wizarding families, all the same." The boy's previously positive expression was beginning to fade. "By the way, what's your name? By the way, I'm Draco Malfoy."

Ah, Malfoy. That was it. Elly spoke up. I'll tell you later, Harry. She forestalled Harry's concerns.

"I'd rather not say. People act weirdly if they know, for some reason." A small smirk returned to Harry's face.

"Really, now?" Draco challenged.

"Does the name 'Harry Potter' mean anything to you?"

"Harry Potter? But he's the–" Draco broke off. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "You're Harry Potter?"

Harry sighed. "And that's the weirdness I was referring to."

At this opportune moment, Madam Malkin came over and announced that Draco's fitting was done.

"See you at Hogwarts, Draco." Harry waved the boy goodbye, before he could give any response.

~~[a]~~

The rest of the items on letter were obtained, plus a rather expensive magical trunk. McGonagall had been reluctant, but Elly had pointed out that it would be better to get one good piece of luggage and have it last, and that if Harry was going to get something good in the future he might as well get it now and make good use of it.

Said trunk was Charmed to be lightweight, to be able to shrink to a quarter of its size, had four compartments depending on which lock was used, and a special fifth compartment that was the space of a small room and could be slept in, if need be.

Harry himself thought it was excessive, but Elly had said that some features could come in handy sometime.

Plus, it would let me investigate how spatial magic of this sort works. The older girl dressed in a blue school uniform with a black witch's hat had added.

More importantly (and Harry had specifically asked the salesman about this), he could perform magic on it, and add his own security. Elly's magic was different from wizardry, and as such all bets were off when it came to things not interfering with one another, but it couldn't hurt to be safe.

Finally, Harry's luggage could sprout four small feet, one at each rectangular corner, and follow after its owner if need be. Apparently, it was the sapient pearwood that added the touch.

With that settled, it was time to get Harry's wand–the last, but most important item.

Never mind that Harry had already resolved to never depend on anything but his own force of will to cast magic. The wand, the magical focus, would be a tool, nothing more.

Ollivander's shop seemed to have a timeless air about it, and Elly noted that it seemed no different in Tom Riddle's day as compared to how it looked now.

"Good afternoon." The wandmaker's silvery eyes peered at Harry as he entered. "I thought I'd be seeing you here soon, Harry Potter."

Harry nodded. The old man seemed to be able to peer right through him, in a way he couldn't quite discern. If he had started talking to Elly directly, Harry would not have been surprised.

There were many cryptic comments made, and Ollivander confirmed that Voldemort's wand was indeed thirteen and a half inches, yew, again matching Tom Riddle's memory.

And what a strong memory it was, Elly noted to herself. Many others had been corrupted, lost due to time or madness, but the memory of him receiving his wand remains almost pure.

Then came the moment of truth–which dragged on to several moments, then several minutes, then several tens of minutes, as each wand was tried out, and deemed incompatible.

Thankfully, the old wandmaker did not seem discontent. Rather, he seemed happy, like a man who had found an particularly interesting mystery to solve.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match soon enough. I wonder, now. Try this: holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took it and waved it, but it didn't seem to respond.

Ollivander nodded, and took back the wand. "I see. So this is how it is, then?" He disappeared into the dark recesses of the shop, and returned with more boxes. Unlike the ones Harry had already tried, these boxes looked older, and were not all of the same size and shape. "Worry not," he continued, without prompting. "If none of these match you, then we'll craft one for you from scratch. It'll be an interesting challenge, to say the least, but what is life without trials, eh?"

You don't need to tell me. Harry and Elly thought simultaneously.

"Here. Plum and night sparrow feather, nine inches. No? How about maple and kappa scale, ten and a quarter inches?"

No response.

"What about this? Cherry and cuckoo's wing feather, twelve inches?"

The instant Harry laid down his fingers, he knew it was the one. The magic was palpable: he could feel it, both within him, and around him. It was like seeing with his eyes closed, or hearing with his ears plugged–a sixth sense, completely new and yet also familiar.

"I see, I see. Perhaps I should write to Mistress Saigyouji, and tell her one of her creations has found a home." Ollivander nodded thoughtfully to himself. "But I never would have thought…"

"Mr Ollivander." Harry raised a tentative hand, because something had caught his attention.

"Yes?"

"Isn't the cuckoo a…normal bird?" Is this because I said to myself that I didn't need a wand? Did I miss out on having a powerful magical artefact?

"Some are, and some aren't." Ollivander turned to Harry. "I'll explain it to you, since this isn't a core I would normally use."

Harry listened with rapt attention.

This particular cuckoo, the hototogisu, was actually a magical creature, a shide no tori.

A dying bird.

An undying bird, that instantly regenerates from any injuries, and instantly cures itself of any sickness it receives. It only dies at the end of its lifespan, and comes to life again by being born from the womb of another mother, which it enters before death.

Not as prestigious as a phoenix despite being functionally similar, nor anywhere close to being as powerful as a yatagarasu, a hell raven.

It was simply a persistent existence, endlessly being reincarnated.

Elly simply watched in silence as the wandmaker presented Harry with the wand's box, and a holster that he had opted to purchase.

Heavy thoughts weighed on her mind, dark clouds of contemplation.

The other half, the wand wood–she knew what it meant. Anyone who had spent time in the East would know what the sakura meant.

Spring and transience of life.

Destiny and karma.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said, as they left the shop. "I think–you receiving that wand, its…"

Just another sign of Aleister Crowley's curse. A curse to never succeed without failure. To never be able to bloom without wilting.

"I don't care," Harry thought in response. "If I got this wand because of you, that means that you chose it for me. And I'm happy with that."

He dearly wanted to try it out, but he could wait until he was alone again.

One Apparation jump later, and both the young boy and the old professor were back at St Ursula's.

And that was when Harry voiced the nascent question that had been forming ever since he had shaken that hand in the Leaky Cauldron–a question that had slowly condensed, with every passerby and shopkeeper that seemed awed by the name of Harry Potter.

"It's strange, you know." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "You say I saved everyone, but then…why was I left with my Aunt and Uncle?"

Why did nobody save me when I nearly died?

"Harry…" The professor gave a long sigh.

"The worst kind of Muggles, Albus!"

The words she had spoken a long time ago came back to her, and she did not know what to say, except–

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Harry waved her off. "Sometimes bad things happen to people who don't deserve them. I know that much."

And Minerva McGonagall finally placed what it was that bothered her about Harry's expression.

It was haunted.

It was the same eyes she had seen on many during the Dark Lord's reign of terror, and she only failed to recognise them because they were on an eleven-year-old (soon to be) boy.

Just what had Harry been through, to end up where he was now?

Just how had he suffered?

Had the witches and wizards of Britain failed their savior?

At the very least, she hoped that the answer of 'yes' was not yet set in stone.

In line with tradition, a bottomless bag and special awesome magical trunk must make an appearance, even if they are never made use of or mentioned in any way afterwards.

Elements of the chapter shamelessly stolen from Methods of Rationality and Sarah1281's Oh God Not Again, because I hate writing shopping trips. If you think something is a Touhou reference, it probably is, but the shide no tori is from Nisemonogatari.

Also in line with hp fic tradition, Harry gets a special wand–though I would say that it's not special, simply different. There's not going to be any secret hidden technique involving it, et cetera. It's just a wand. A deliberately symbolic one, but an ordinary wand nonetheless.

Next chapter: the Hogwarts Express.

Review please!