Disclaimer: Don’t own Harry Potter or Negima. If I did own the last one, all the half naked girls would be 4-5 years older.
A/N: I was talking with myself and said, “You know what this world needs more of, King of No Pants?” “Nudity?” “No, well, Yes but that’s not what I’m talking about. It needs more Harry Potter/Negima crossovers.” “I Believe you’re right. You shall write such a cross. So mote it be.” “But I have other fics I need to-“ “So. Mote. It. Be!” So you people get this instead of Son of a Snake.
Harry’s brow was knit together in frustration as he scanned the titles of the restricted section. Why was it so damn hard to find a book on handling or subduing large creatures? He couldn’t be the only person in the world that has had to fight dragons. Maybe the only fourth year but that was beside the point.
He skipped over the tome bound in what appeared to be leather that seemed to be whispering at him slightly (Harry had learned from Ginny’s mistake about trusting books even if Hermione had not) and his eyes fell on something he’d never seen in the library before. A scroll sat crowded between two books in such a fashion that it was easily overlooked. Harry pulled it gently from the shelf and examined it. It was bound tightly with a sturdy ribbon and showed no signs of age except for the card tied to the knot with a piece of string. The card itself was yellowed with age and the ink was smudged beyond legibility. On the outside of the scroll, one word was written in large, proud letters like a desperate vow: POWER.
Harry stared at the word for a moment with strange and powerful emotions boiling under the surface of his thoughts. It felt like some kind of ancient and primal desire to gain more power, to protect himself and those he cared for. He felt the need to be stronger.
With deliberate movement, he untied the knot holding the scroll closed and spread it out on the table across from the shelf he got the scroll from. There were no words on the paper, just one large series of pictographic spellforms. Harry’s first clue that something was dangerously wrong was that the line of the spellforms seemed to twirl and move on their own. He didn’t get a second clue before passing out.
Madam Pince was a harsh woman. She tended to enjoy the company of books more than that of people. Hogwarts librarian was, in fact, the most wonderful job she could ask for. If it wasn’t for all the damn children soiling her precious books. So, it was with rage in her eyes and the hope of maybe closing the library early in her heart that she investigated the crashing sound that came from the restricted section.
What she did not expect was to find Harry Potter passed out, writhing in agony on the floor.
Madame Pince looked down in annoyance. “Well, there goes my afternoon.”
Ron Wesley was having a very bad day. That show off he used to call a friend was in the infirmary and Hermione was dragging him by his flaming red hair to go visit him. The jerk probably just did it for the attention. Again.
This was his general line of thought right up to the point that he saw the Headmaster and Madam Pomfrey standing over Harry as he convulsed and contorted in horrific pain with the occasional massive wound opening in random patterns on his body, shredding his clothes as fountain like sprays of blood covered his increasingly terror-stricken caregivers. It was Ron that gave the most apt description.
“Minerva, would you be so kind as to escort Mr. Potter’s friends into the hall until he is ready to receive visitors.” The Headmaster’s voice was as kind and courteous as ever but his eyes held no twinkle. “It is soon to become very crowded here and we wouldn’t want them to be run over by some well-meaning healer.” He never stopped casting healing spells as he spoke.
“Yes of course, I am rather useless here anyway.” Professor McGonagall, bless her Scottish heart, attempted to keep her composure in the face of overwhelming fear and concern. “Come along Miss Granger, Mister Wesley.”
She led the two shocked students away from the carnage and into the hall, beyond the silencing charms that muffled those blood-freezing screams. Neither even thought of protesting. It was Hermione who found her voice first.
“ W-what happened?” The Professor let out a long sigh before she seemed to latch on to the teacher role as a way to steady her frayed nerves.
“Mr. Potter was found in the restricted section of the library, where he-“ Hermione cut her off.
“Professor Moody gave him permission to be there so he could study for the first task!”
“We know and words shall be had with Alastor about giving full access to the most dangerous part of the library to a fourth year. Now, may I continue?” Hermione nodded sheepishly. “He was found passed out in front of a scroll of considerable dark power. It was donated to the school nearly 300 years ago after it was taken from the library of the vampire Evangeline McDowell after she was defeated and her puppet armies were crushed. The purpose of this scroll was to create an imaginary world inside of the reader’s mind so that they could train for combat with a magical construct as a tutor at a rate of three years to every one day we experience.”
Hermione’s face was a mask of awe with contemplation of such a complex spell. “But that’s amazing! Why isn’t that kind of spell used more often?”
The Professor’s face set in a stern mask but it was Ron who answered “Because it will kill almost anyone who uses it. Evangeline McDowell is, bar none, the most dangerous criminal in the magical world and anything She created would be the foulest, darkest magic imaginable. She’s used as a boogey man to scare little wizards and witches into going to bed and eating their vegetables. If anyone managed to collect the bounty on her head, several small nations would go bankrupt.” Hermione gave him a surprised look. “Every pure and half blood that grew up with magic knows about Dark Evangel the Puppet Master.” He stated all this with a matter-of-fact tone.
At this point, Professor McGonagall decided to reenter the conversation. “Mr. Wesley is correct. The strain it places on Harry’s body is horrendous, a fact that should have been on the warning card attached to the scroll. It will grant its user great power if they survive.” A heavy silence fell over them like a blanket. After a few moments, McGonagall got up to leave, but paused, “Five points to Gryffindore for your explanation Mr. Wesley.”
Harry collapsed to one knee and panted for breath. He was never going to trust the written word ever again and if Hermione had a problem with that, Harry had a scroll she could read and a diary she could write in. His musings were cut short by his ‘master’s’ sword of conviction spell slicing through the space his head had occupied a split second before. That’ll teach him to let his mind wander with a psychopathic vampire in a 10-year-old’s body trying to stab him with energy blades. He activated his own sword of conviction, learned by watching it performed countless times, and charged as the three foot long sword of light extended from his hand.
“Getting a little impetuous, are we boyo?” The tiny blonde vampire blocked his overhand strike with ease. “Good! Maybe killing you won’t be so boring now!” The exchange of blows was swift, deadly and ultimately, short, ending with Harry impaled, once again, on the end of Eva’s spell.
Harry smiled as he felt his life blood drain out of the vicious wound. “Heh, you’re slipping master,” He rasped, “I actually got a hit in.” A tiny trickle of blood ran down Eva’s face from an inch long cut below her left eye. Her tongue slipped out of her mouth and caught the drop on her cheek. She chuckled.
“Seems you’re getting better. Maybe I’ll teach you something nice when you’re finished dying.” She might have said more but Harry’s vision slipped to black and he died.
He awoke on the street in front of number 4 Privet Drive with his master stalking towards him. A ball of black energy appeared in her hand as a rolling mass of shadows. “Time to take it to the next level, Boyo. Magia Erebrea.” With that, she grabbed the sphere of darkness. Her skin turned black, her hair turned white and she grew a tail and longer claws. Harry was dead again in thirty seconds.
As he woke again, he thought to himself, ‘It’s going to be a long 18 months.’
Albus Dumbledore was worried. He had been casting healing spells on and off for the past twenty four hours. Harry’s wounds had seemed to slack off around the tenth and eleventh hours, decreasing in severity and frequency. Then, at the turning of the twelfth hour, the injuries became worse than ever and it seemed as though Harry was going to overdose on blood replenishing potions if he didn’t die from the massive bleeding. However, at the eighteenth hour, the rate at which he acquired wounds suddenly slowed to a grinding halt. Where a major slash had occurred every few minutes, they now occurred about once every thirty minutes.
And so, Albus Dumbledore watched as Harry’s muscles broke down and reformed themselves in stronger configurations. He watched as thick bands of magic formed into tattoos that glowed brightly when his magic flared and became invisible when it waned. He watched as the boy’s already formidable magical reserves grew larger and larger until it seemed to fill the room with its presence. Albus Dumbledore hadn’t felt this helpless since his sister had died.
Then, exactly one day from the moment that he first opened the scroll, Harry James Potter’s eyes snapped open. An odd mixture of hope, joy and dread welled up in his chest as he waited on baited breath to judge the changes that the Dark Evangel’s scroll had wrought.
“Never again.” The tension in the air shattered as the Headmaster blinked in surprise.
“I am never setting foot in the library ever again for as long as I live. And no force on earth, even Hermione, is going to change that.” A slow smile crept over Dumbledore’s face as he placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“Glad to have you back my boy.” He finished his sentence and promptly passed out from exhaustion.
Harry whistled casually as he made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning. As he entered, all conversation ceased. The staff had tried to keep a lid on any information but the only thing that travels faster than light is a rumor so it was more or less a futile effort. Two days ago, the mass of staring children would have unnerved Harry, but dying thousands of times over three years tends to give you a more mature outlook on life. Either that, or it destroys your psyche beyond repair but Harry wasn’t about to curl up in the fetal position anytime soon so we can rule that out.
He didn’t care about the muttered rumors or the looks of absolute terror on the purebloods’ faces. He laughed when his copy of The Prophet dropped in front of him with a six page article on his connections with the Child Queen of Darkness. ‘In hindsight,’ he mused, ‘The chuckling isn’t helping my reputation any… eh, what the hell. Let ‘em talk.’ “’Morning Hermione, Ron.”
“Um… Hey mate. Felling better?” Ron ventured.
“Tons. Although, Eva and I did spend the last four days in the Phantasmagoria just talking, so I had some time to recover.” Ron’s jaw dropped.
“Eva? As in The Evangeline McDowell?” Ron asked.
“As in Evangeline ‘The Visitation of Woe’ McDowell.” Neville added from nearby.
“Yup.” He knew it was mean to play with them like this but it was too much fun not to.
Hermione finally broke down and asked the obvious question, “So what happened?”
“Improperly labeled scroll filled with dark magic sucked me into my own head and made me fight a vampire mage for three years.” It was the same tone with which someone would describe the weather or stock market.
“Oh.” The rest of the meal passed in silence. No one had anything to say to that.
Harry stood before the massive black dragon and smirked a little. To the spectators, his body seemed to flicker for an instant and suddenly, he had the golden egg. To Dumbledore’s sharp eyes, Harry shifted his weight forward and he disappeared, only to reappear directly afterwards. It took replaying the event on omnioculars at 1/1000th speed to convince the other judges. Karkoff still gave him a 6.