Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. Touhou Project is created and owned by ZUN. This story is a recursive fanfic of dead things, a HP fic written by EclipseWing on AO3.
(This story has no relation to The Changeability of Dreams, the other HP/Touhou crossover written by me.)
When the train leaves without you, all you can do is follow the tracks to see where they lead.
I/II–The Question
The War was over, but there was no one left to celebrate.
No. That statement is wrong.
The War was over, and although they had suffered much, and lost many, people were celebrating.
Harry Potter was not one of them. If one looked closely, they could see it in his eyes, his movements, and his speech.
Harry himself knows this, knows that something is irrevocably wrong with him. He feels empty, like a silent voice or a feather on the wind. He doesn't seem to want to do anything, any longer – it feels as if his own life ended when Voldemort did.
He forces himself to laugh at Ginny's jokes, forces himself to smile at Ron and Hermione's courtship, forces himself to enroll in the Auror Academy to have something to do.
It doesn't fill the hole in his heart, the crack in his soul.
~~[c]~~
The years pass, and everything still feels the same.
"Congratulations on making Captain rank, Harry." Hermione greets, a sunny expression on her face. "The youngest Auror Captain in decades."
"Sped through training in record time, too," Ron remarks from the side. "When're you becoming Department Head?"
"Hopefully never," retorts Harry. "Can't imagine dealing with the paperwork." At this point, he could still keep up the façade of caring, of being able to feel, but he didn't know how much longer he could.
Actually, he knew. The answer was "forever", and it was the question that was wrong. The real question was: how much longer would he bother?
The real answer was: three months, apparently.
Hermione finds him reading quietly by himself in the Grimmauld Place, looking through the old tomes of the Black Family, the collected lore of an Ancient and Most Noble house.
She was different, Harry knew. Hermione was a rising star in the Ministry, a reformist, a champion for the rights of Muggleborn and magical creatures. She had a vision of a better world, and fire in her heart to forge it with.
"You quit? You just quit? What's wrong with you, Harry?"
She berates him at first, demanding reasons, and when Harry simply shrugged his shoulders she began to suspect that something was wrong. There was then a long and sombre conversation, with Hermione doing most of the talking, and then–
"I think you should see a mind healer, Harry."
~~[c]~~
It did not help. Healer Featherine had been surprised when a living legend had walked into his office, requesting therapy, and he had tried his best, but it simply had not worked. No amount of Occlumency, of meditation or thought exercises had worked. Cheering Charms washed over him like rain that left him dry, and even a special permit for the Imperius Curse, for the most severe of circumstances, had failed.
"I'm immune to that," Harry had said, a wry smile on his face, and Featherine sighed.
"Of course you would be."
A week after that, Harry cancelled all of his appointments, and sat down at the dining table back in Grimmauld Place. The house was filled with memories, and Harry tried to recall them all, both positive and negative: the joy of Remus and Tonks' son being born, the grief at Sirius' death, and even before, the anger at being left out of the Order, of being told he was too young to know things.
(And here he was now; older, wiser, but broken.)
He couldn't feel anything, except the gnawing of the sea of emptiness, constant waves at the edges of his soul.
"Ah, screw this."
He picked up his wand, turned the tip to point towards himself.
"Avada Kedavra."
~~[c]~~
On hindsight, he should have known that wouldn't work. Voldemort had tried twice and failed twice, after all.
A knife wound to his wrist healed before he bled out. A noose to the ceiling left him there, gagging for an hour, before he thought to try something else and burnt the rope to ashes with a thought. (He had not been lying down and doing nothing, after all.) His neck had not been broken, and on inspection with his other bones using a hammer, he found that either he healed ridiculously quickly, or that his bones were unbreakable.
And pain? He looked up at the night sky, away from where various instruments had been laid out on a wooden picnic table in the backyard of Grimmauld Place. Pain was dim and distant, like the pale moon that hung above him.
He rolled his eyes in exasperation. Perhaps more extreme measures were needed.
Grabbing a knife of goblin-silver from the spread before him, he Apparated into Hogwarts, into the only place in Hogwarts that you could Apparate to, which coincidentally held the corpse of a dead Basilisk.
In the Chamber of Secrets he cut through a fang, imbued the knife with the deadly poison, stabbed it unhesitatingly into his own chest, and waited.
Basilisk venom, as he had read, did not lose potency, ever. It was said to be the essence of corrosion and death itself, much like how Fiendfyre were the fires of hell made animate, and was said to be countered only by phoenix tears, which was its polar opposite, the form of life.
(Surely you didn't expect Horcruxes to be destroyed just by snake venom, right?)
There was a tingling sensation.
He waited some more.
It did not work.
Sighing, he yanked it out of his chest.
Perhaps it was time for some travel abroad?
~~[c]~~
Werewolves in Germany, vampires in Romania, hags in Albania, wights in Ukraine.
He conducted tests, which involved him doing things to other people, or letting other people do things to him.
At first he stuck to criminals, the underbelly, but over time he found that the unsuspecting and the peaceful made for easier test subjects. Well, it wasn't as if Hermione was around to lecture him on things like morality, after all, and the people of some random village wouldn't really be missed.
Still nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.
Nothing, except for the single wry thought that came to him one day, in a cottage that was not his, where the blood of a nameless father, mother and son lined the walls in magic circles.
The thought that at last, he understood how Voldemort had felt. What Voldemort must have felt. A fractured soul? A soul fractured that many times, with so many links to the abyss? The cold, the void, would have driven him insane.
It probably did drive him insane, now that he thought about it.
Harry rather thought that he was approaching the same destination through a different path, like the ends of a horseshoe meeting.
Well, if he wasn't already there.
Looking over the ruins of the Garden of Time, in an ancient corner of Magical Sicily, he sighed to himself. The Dark Lady Testarossa had done some terrible things, but at the very least, deep down, there had been something in her that cared.
This exploring, this undirected research wasn't going anywhere. No, he needed depth, and an existing, extensive knowledge base–
~~[c]~~
The Department of Mysteries practically wet themselves at the prospect of recruiting the so-called Boy-Who-Lived. Harry had strode in, making no appointments, and demanded himself to be given employment as both researcher and test subject.
He underwent numerous experiments, put his body and his mind to extreme conditions. (As long as it doesn't last more than a month, Harry had stipulated. He wanted to die, not suffer eternity conscious.) He looked through deep archives of magic, into the cataclysm that erased Atlantis, to artefacts and spells of destruction such as the Dragon Slave, rumoured to destroy cities, and the Fluted Rod, rumoured to destroy souls.
Nothing.
Nothing by which an existence like himself might be erased.
He was joined by Luna Lovegood, who had turned her mind from mysterious creatures to the most arcane of mysteries, following in her mother's footsteps. She had blossomed into an ethereal beauty, and they shared many glasses of Firewhisky and many nights in bed.
Harry thought that he at least ought to be feeling something, but still, nothing. He had returned, somewhat, to walking on the footsteps of a regular human, but to him it felt as if he was simply acting in a play, being both puppet and puppeteer.
It was some consolation (or at least a lack of annoyance) that Luna did not berate him. "Your soul is cracked," she had said. "You've died once and the train left without you, and now you're trying to run along its tracks."
"Perhaps," Harry said.
They did not marry, nor did they have any children. Harry did not know if he could, and did not bother finding out.
Dementors ignored him as if he didn't exist. Polyjuice Potion did not react to his hair or hide. He walked through the Veil of Death, out through the curtains on the other side, and only told the astounded researchers that they were dusty.
So it was that Harry resigned himself to living, forever suffering slightly a slight cold in his chest and a void in his heart.
Unless…
~~[c]~~
Under the cover of the Cloak of Invisibility, Harry carefully unravelled the numerous protections around Dumbledore's tomb. Of course, he could have blasted it all to bits, and taken what he wanted by force, but really, that would lead to all kinds of consequences which the mortals would force upon him.
He could have ignored the consequences as well, but eventually enough of that might lead to him having additional problems, which may very well pile up.
He fingered the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, and turned it to point at himself–
"Avada Kedavra."
It did not work. He would try Diffindo on his neck later; if anything happened, he did not want to be trapped as a disembodied head for the rest of his existence.
So Harry silently resealed the tomb behind him, and turned to face the Forbidden Forest, to where he knew the third Hallow lay.
"Accio Resurrection Stone."
He was the Master of the Hallows, and it was a spell performed with the Elder Wand.
The stone zoomed into his hand, and again, he cast–
"Avada Kedavra."
It still did not work.
~~[c]~~
The world changed around him, and Harry remained. Even some in the Department of Mysteries whispered that he was a freak. To that comment he only idly noted that in a way, he had come full circle.
His body had not aged, and it was beginning to show. Even with the Deathly Hallows destroyed, torched by the summoned fires of hell as a last resort, Harry had not changed, his body remaining an eternal seventeen years of age or thereabouts.
The researchers went on and on about the reference points of the world and the nature of souls, and Harry did not care, only doing what he was told,
He saw Ron and Hermione less and less; they were both busy with their own careers, their own children. Even Luna had moved on, although they still occasionally talked from time to time, when she bothered to.
Then, a letter came.
~~[c]~~
The aged Headmaster Longbottom, previously a Field Herbologist, then later a Professor, but before all that the hero who had led Dumbledore's Army, welcomed Harry into his Office.
They made small talk about Minister Granger-Weasley's First Generation reforms, about the struggle to maintain secrecy in the face of advancing non-magical technology, and about the curse on the Defence position which was now long dispelled. Neville did not remark much about Harry's appearance, or his quiet demeanour, and Harry knew enough to act the part of a normal human being.
If he was going to live for eternity, in eternal torture with the void coldly pressing at his soul, he might as well not be bored doing so. He had long ago shed the need for amusement, but having some was better than none.
And so it was that Harry took the position of Charms Professor in Hogwarts.
"You're not disappointed, Harry? I thought you might prefer Defence, but it's already been filled." Neville stroked his beard.
"It doesn't matter too much to me."
Not as long as he had Hogwarts' Library and the Room of Requirement to use.
In between educating the next generation of students Harry combed the depths of his school, searching for the hidden lore of its Founders. He unturned some interesting keystones and artefacts, more hidden chambers, all of which he turned over to an astounded Headmaster.
Even so, he found nothing, and he wasn't expecting to find anything. The Department of Mysteries was much older than Hogwarts, after all, and had much deeper reservoirs of lore.
Harry settled into his new routine, and tried not to murder his students, tried not to remember the closest thing to exultation that he had felt since, the taking of life in Europe.
~~[c]~~
One day, the answer came.
~~[c]~~
The Triwizard Tournament had been resurrected, with new rules and safeguards and events, with more than one representative for each school, and it was Hogwarts' turn to host it yet again.
There had been many dinners and events, and it had been compulsory for the professors to attend, "to foster inter-school cooperation and harmony", you see.
It was there that he met her.
Some drunk person was singing loudly off-key in the corner, and Harry was about to return to his quarters for some peace and quiet before he was approached.
Blonde hair atop a young-looking face of pale skin. A light blue dress, adorned with white sleeves and pink ribbons, with a curious doll at her side.
(Robes were gradually falling out of popularity, but this…)
"They say you're the Charms Professor at Hogwarts, and a washed-up living legend. They say you're eccentric and suicidal, and yet hiding some incredible power." Her voice was melodic and precise, but behind it, behind that appearance, he sensed something greater.
"They may be right," Harry said neutrally. "But I don't want to hear that from an inhuman monster."
"You noticed?"
"Someone like you stands out amongst the sea of ordinary wizards and witches." Harry remarked, and it was true. The girl had an aura of timelessness that Harry had learnt to associate with both the divine and the demonic, and the unearthly power was a rainbow against the dull grey skies of life and the living.
"Who are you?"
"Alice Margatroid. Charms Professor at Beauxbatons."
"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said, as if that was enough to explain all. "Shall we get away from this noisy place?"
~~[c]~~
They exited the carriage and walked over to the lake.
"How did you know?"
"I recognize magic," Harry said simply. "I've been studying the arcane for years, now, and I had to kill a man who made Horcruxes when I was young." He spoke of the dark magic as if it was perfectly natural.
"Phylacteries, huh? He must have feared death greatly." Alice remarked. "More distasteful than to simply become a being of magic."
Two inhuman monsters, walking under the moonlight, speaking casually of sorceries…
Harry assessed his counterpart. "How old are you, really? You don't look a day over seventeen."
"Neither do you." Alice told him her actual age, and Harry gave off a low whistle.
"Not bad. So why're you a professor? You look more like the type to be doing research. Those with specialized magic," Harry nodded at the doll hovering beside her in the air, "usually tend to do so. Not to mention the distinct tang of fallen angel."
"So that's how you knew." Alice nodded. "To sum up: I'm estranged from my mother, a friend of mine died, and I'm running away from my problems." Alice said simply.
"Do you always speak this candidly to other people?" Harry remarked. "And on the first date?"
"You're barely a person; I don't think you count." The riposte came quickly and smoothly.
"Touché." Harry shrugged. "How did you know?" He frowned. "The doll was conducting analysis, wasn't it?"
"Somewhat, but the course of dollmaking has led me to be familiar with souls." Alice said. "And you, Potter, lack a full soul, don't you?"
"Like I said, it's Horcruxes." Harry shrugged again, still maintaining the casual air. "And a prophecy. 'Either must die at the hand of the other', something like that. As a friend once told me, my train has already left, and I'm just running along the tracks to try and catch up."
"You do realize that people have literally killed to be immortal." Alice pointed out. And here you are, being ungrateful. Harry heard the unspoken comment clearly.
"I once knew a guy, yes," Harry remarked. "But I don't think even he would have wanted to live like this, with nearly all of your emotions gone and the abyss constantly at the edge of your awareness. Descending into insanity is not an option, either– I have no desire to destroy half the world and then be locked up to suffer for all eternity. If I have to be some fool's marionette, I'd rather dance on a pretty stage, you know." He glanced again at the doll. "With no offense to your profession, of course."
"None taken." Alice nodded. "So why are you a Professor, then?"
"Hogwarts has a good library." Harry deadpanned.
"Clearly not one for education, then. And so the question follows," Alice put a finger to her cheek, and the doll did so in a strange synchrony, "what are you trying to achieve?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Harry said simply. "An end."
"And none of the usual methods work, I take it?" Alice looked off into the distance. "A broken soul, stuck in stasis, connected to the body…return from the dead, so the concept of 'death' might have been potentially erased…though that should not be enough…"
"Hey, stop looking at me as if I'm a puzzle to solve," Harry snapped a finger in front of Alice's face.
"Apologies," Alice said, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "If I could ask you to be my research subject…but no, I would not even request that of you. Tell me, have you travelled before?"
"What, to try and kill myself? I've jumped all around Europe."
Alice shook her head. "If you want to die that badly…why not walk into the Netherworld yourself?"
"If such a convenient portal existed…oh wait, it does! And guess what, it didn't work for me."
"Maybe it was a fake." Alice shot back with an equal amount of sarcasm.
"Oh no, it was very much real. A 4000-year-old archway with atrocious drapery, which calls to you with the voices of your deceased loved ones, and if you walk though it you're never seen again."
"So somebody put an exceptionally strong Vanishing Charm on an archway," Alice shrugged, her doll doing the same, only with an expression of mocking sadness on its face. "And an enchantment to prey on impressionable minds."
Harry raised a hand to gesture an objection, and paused in mid-action. "You…huh, you may be right. If only the boys were here to hear this."
"Excuse me?"
"The researchers where I used to work. At the Department of Mysteries."
"Of course."
"Did I mention that the archway was in plain sight, and that a teenager waltzed up to it with minimal effort?'
"I wouldn't be surprised. Mortals aren't exactly the most prudent beings, after all." There was a twinge of bitterness in the tone, which Harry recognized and ignored.
"So, about walking into the Netherworld." Harry prompted.
"Go to Japan. Seek out the Land of Illusion, Gensokyo. Once you are within, fly into the sky upwind, and the Barrier of Life and Death will be found above the clouds."
"Uh huh," Harry said sceptically.
"If I recall, the barrier has been weakened since the Princess of the Netherworld wanted to see some flowers blooming a while back, so simply flying over the door should do the trick."
"You say all of this with complete seriousness."
Alice shrugged. "Believe me or not, I do not particularly care. That is the way I know."
"And simply stepping into the Netherworld would cause my death?" Harry questioned.
"As it stands, I do not know, but then again, you don't have very many options left, do you?"
"Point taken." Harry nodded. "So, when you say 'seek out Gensokyo'…"
"The entrance is somewhere in the mountains. Where exactly, I do not know by name, only by sight and feel." The puppeteer helpfully added. "Oh, and don't bother asking the local wizards about it. Powerful magics hiding existence and all that."
"Of course they would." Harry said. "And how exactly would I know when I'm in Gensokyo?"
"I would tell you to look for a shrine, but it's more likely that you'll know it when you see it. In fact, there is a nonzero chance that an existence like yourself might even be drawn to it."
"My existence, like a undying immortal being torn between life and death?"
"No, like being a hero who's slowly being forgotten." Alice corrected, with little malice in her voice. "Oh, don't look at me like that." She rolled her eyes at Harry's cold stare. "With how little you appear in public, you do know that the younger generations are starting to believe that you're made up?"
"How? I teach here. They see me every week."
"You should hear what your own students are saying. Apparently, you're a convenient story to explain the last war. An implausible miracle, with the real work being done by some hidden group of assassins or some equally secretive explanation."
Harry gave it some thought. "You know, when you put it that way, it certainly seems much more possible then a war ending because of three teenagers taking a camping trip. Now, it has been a pleasant evening and all, but if you'll excuse me, I must go and tender my resignation."
"When you get to Gensokyo, please do try not to kill anyone." Alice said more seriously. "You may be above mortality, but the rest of aren't above vengeance."
"Of course, of course." Harry waved a hand airily.
"And if you need any more help, the Scarlet Devil Mansion may be of assistance. At least, the last I so heard," Alice added, a parting gift. "Their Librarian is an old friend, and highly knowledgeable in multiple fields of magic." She cracked a smile, as if amused by some hidden joke.
~~[c]~~
"Hey Neville. I resign."
"Harry, you can't just–in the middle of the Triwizard–"
"What are you going to do, kill me?"
~~[c]~~
If there was one thing that Harry got wrong, it was that he couldn't feel emotions.
Think of a soul as a cup. Harry's cup had a very large hole in it, so what was poured in quickly drained away, but if you had enough, and was constantly giving it more, the illusion of having a drinkable glass could be maintained.
For the first time in nearly a hundred years, Harry felt a sense of excitement.
Apparating into the Department of Mysteries (he had never resigned properly, after all), he grabbed a Portkey from a bin marked "anonymous, no clearance" and was whisked away on the spot, reappearing in an unfamiliar atrium.
Immediately, he was assailed with voices of surprise in an unfamiliar language.
Oh, bother.
Stuffing the now-nonmagical paper airplane into his robes, he vanished under a recreation of his favourite Hallow. Walking out of what he assumed to be the Japanese Ministry of Magic, he emerged into the crisp, autumnal Tokyo air, the morning sun shining on him and through him.
"In any case, the fact that you are here right now means you are as good as dead. Or rather, being here means that you have died."
–Perfect Cherry Blossom, Stage 6
II/II–The Answer
The air was filled with unfamiliar colors and shapes. He appeared to be on a long street, the buildings to either side having architecture he had never seen before, layers of sloping roofs.
Harry took a moment to take in everything, to exult in being in a new world. For the shortest of instants, the cold receded from his soul, before reality returned to him.
Alice had mentioned a mountains, but no doubt there were tens, no, hundreds of mountains.
Additionally, Apparation did not work unless one had an accurate image of the destination, which usually entailed having previously been to the location.
Harry thought about it for a moment–
–and came up with a solution.
A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic. He had long forgotten the person who made that statement, but it surfaced in his mind nonetheless.
Well, right now he was one of those 'greatest wizards', and also an exception to that rule.
Harry stepped out of the magical quarter of Japan, and emerged, still invisible, into a mundane city street.
Well, this is more lively than I'm used to, but it'll do.
~~[c]~~
Occlumency. It had been another line of research, to see if he would be able to shut out the feeling of the cold, unending void from his mind. Obviously, it had not worked, not the way he wanted.
Even if you could fly, you could still die from falling if you forgot to flap your wings, and this method required him to flap his wings frantically, unendingly, for the rest of his continued existence. Not much different than his usual state, in other words.
In hindsight, Harry had cursed himself for ever thinking that it would ever have a chance of working in the first place. After all, no amount of Occlumency had helped him with his connection to Voldemort, linked to him with his soul.
Still, he took what scraps of relief he could get, and there had been side benefits like him becoming pretty damn proficient with the Mind Arts.
Rapidly, Harry dived in and out of every nonmagical's mind in a six-foot radius, looking for the image of mountains, and other relevant information besides.
After a few minutes, he gave up. Apart from the occasional hiking hobbyist, it seemed that most people only knew the world through their televisions or their phones. A pity, but it gave him another idea.
He searched around again, and found a salaryman on his way to work. "Imperio."
The Imperius Curse was much weaker when the caster did not share a language with the recipient–that had also been research-worthy, apparently. But again, as Voldemort showed, a fractured soul wasn't correlated with magical power.
Harry put his newfound, Legilimency-based knowledge to use, and searched for the most likely concentration of mountain experts. Magic may still make technology go on the fritz, but an Imperiused nonmagical human using a search engine for you did just fine. Apparently, a Japanese Alpine Club existed…and was in another district of the city. Sighing, Harry looked for the closest area the man had been to, and found an image.
Releasing the man from his control, Harry Apparated again once more, but not before slapping with a borderline Dark Compulsion Curse…to be braver and more assertive. If Harry was going to be giving out blessings, it wouldn't be something as cheap as "good fortune".
~~[c]~~
In a similar fashion he made his way to the Club's headquarters, which was more like an office, and, entering the office, he did the exact same thing.
He was about to command the worker to print out a simple alphabetical list (machine translated to English first, of course), before another idea reached his mind.
Magic left traces, always. Technology couldn't capture it, but memories and rumour remained. History became myth, and myth became legend and so on.
Problem was, Japan was an old country, and the animism of Shinto meant a god around every corner. Even so…
Use logic, Harry. It probably isn't Mount Fuji, since Alice would definitely remember the most famous fucking mountain in the country. Therefore, look for something significant, but not that well-known.
The gears turned in his head, a cold machinery working…
Well, there was nothing to lose. Getting a printout anyway, Harry Apparated to the rooftop, and shed his Cloak. Laying the list on the concrete, he considered his next idea.
He raised his finger in the air…no. Harry closed his eyes, and raised his wand in the air, Yew, thirteen and a half inches.
An existence like yourself might even be drawn to it…
He brought down the wand, casting no spell. The tip of it had landed on…
Yatsugatake. A mountain said to be once taller than Fuji itself, before Fuji's Goddess tore it down in a fit of jealousy.
Significant but not famous.
Harry Apparated away once more.
~~[c]~~
He reappeared on a mountainside, where everything looked the same as everything else.
Oh bother.
So close. He was so very close, to his death, and to the end of his suffering. He had long forgotten how being warm felt like, but he could imagine something all the same.
Thankfully, he didn't have to search on foot.
Harry Potter rose into the air.
One of Voldemort's most fearsome feats, unaided flight, an ancient magic that had its roots in the time of the Romans, pioneered by a certain wizard by the name of Simon Magus.
As Harry flew, his eyes darted around, looking for the distinctive rectangular arch of a Shinto shrine.
The counterspell to flight had been laughably simple, and was even a matter of nonmagical historical record. You simply told God, or magic, or whatever force you thought was holding the person in the air, to let the user go, and they would fall to their deaths.
Despair. Harry had laughed in despair when he found out. One of Voldemort's weaknesses, right there in the open, and everyone had simply just passed it off as unexplainable, another impossible feat fitting for a Dark Lord, and not a single person had thought to question it.
Fools. Humans were fools.
~~[c]~~
The search took six days. When it was light out he flew, and when night came he applied a Supersensory Charm to his eyes and flew slightly lower.
Right now he was close to the south-eastern end of the mountain range. To his left, he could look down upon most the land through a thin veil of early morning mist. The greenery of the downlands was dotted with signs of modernity: angular, grey buildings which did not meet the gentle curves of the hills.
To his front was an old, crumbling archway: a torii gate (he recalled the native language) which had once been a vivid shade of red.
He took a deep breath, and stepped through.
~~[c]~~
The first thing that hit him was the magic. The air seemed to be saturated with it, and despite the how run-down the shrine in front of him seemed, everything seemed more vivid, more colourful than the Outside World had been.
The second thing, perhaps correlated with the first, was the warmth. A cup with a hole didn't matter if you were standing under a waterfall, and Harry felt as if he could collapse at any moment and simply start drinking.
And the third…was a curious weight settling onto his soul, that stirred his sense of caution, and forced him to tear himself away from his newfound exultation.
A magical oath. Apparently, by entering this place, he was bound to its rules.
Harry drew his own wand, thirteen inches of Ash, and looked around warily.
"Hey, mister, are you lost?" A young girl, maybe around seven or eight, approached him. She was dressed in a strange costume–shrine maiden's robes.
"I…I'm looking for the Netherworld." Harry said honestly.
"And who are you to look for such a place?" Even without Occlumency, the girl's suspicion was clear, and he could see her slowly shifting into a stance of readiness.
Well, if she's itching to fight…
With only an amused look, Harry tore into her mind, looking for directions. Dimly, he noted that the girl was now screaming in pain.
"It hurts, it hurts! Mom, help–"
He caught a glimpse of four wooden pillars emerging from the clouds, guarding a colossal wooden door, before he was forcefully ejected.
What–
Harry stumbled backwards in shock, then staggered back again as something hit him in the chest.
"What do you think you're doing to my daughter, young man?"
This time, it was a woman, dressed in similar but not identical robes of vibrant red and white, who stared at him with narrowed eyes. Her face held a strange timelessness, and her hair, brown with a tinge of grey that belied age, was tied back in a large bow. In her hand was a strange rod, with a trailing ribbon at the end.
Harry couldn't decide if she looked sixteen or sixty, but she was radiating a palpable aura of power all the same.
"Mom, he–"
"Get back inside, Sacchin." The woman did not break her gaze from Harry's. "This isn't any old simple youkai."
The girl fled into the shrine's interior without protest.
"And who might you be?"
"I'm Hakurei Reimu." The woman said. "The shrine maiden of Gensokyo. Now state your identity and business, before I decide to eliminate you or not." The tone of voice held iron, and open hostility. Behind her, an orb of black and white moved into position, and hovered at the ready.
Right, her daughter. Really, these sentimental humans…
"I'm Harry Potter." Harry said. If these people are as powerful as they seem, then talking would be more efficient than shooting. "I came here to look for the Netherworld."
"And why are you looking for such a place?"
Harry's wand vanished back into his sleeve, and he shrugged. "I want to die."
The shrine maiden carefully took in Harry's appearance, before sighing. "You'd better come in. Although, I must insist that you do one other thing first, before I hear you out further."
~~[c]~~
"I'm sorry I tried to attack your mind." Harry bowed to the little girl, while trying to remember that diplomacy was the faster route in this case.
"Okay." She said, before perking up again once more. "So, do you want green tea or black tea?"
"Green, please."
As the girl bustled off to the kitchen, Reimu spoke from beside him. "I did not hear a trace of sincerity in those words, but I suppose a token gesture is better than none."
Harry only nodded. Inwardly, he was trying to control his impatience, but that was helped somewhat by the fact that the abundant magic in the place seemed to diminish his connection to the void.
"So," she continued, "you are a magician. An experiment went wrong, and now you find yourself tethered to this mortal plane without a way to move on naturally, with your soul in eternal torment. Am I right?"
No Legilimency. Harry's eyes widened slightly, in the mildest expression of surprise. "Not my experiment. But how could you tell?"
"Experience." Reimu said, without elaboration. "I will hear your story, if you care to tell it." The shrine maiden's daughter set down some tea, then bowed and left.
Harry took the teacup, then a sip. "It is a long story, and I would rather just be done with it quickly and pass on." He took another sip. "Although this tea is quite good."
"Pass on, huh?" Reimu looked out towards the empty shrine grounds. "I can see it in your eyes. They are empty. You're old, but also not past the point of a human's natural lifespan. Tell me, what is the actual problem?"
The actual problem… Harry followed Reimu's gaze. Right now, it was autumn, and the leaves were beginning to fall, but Harry had the strangest feeling that the place would be beautiful in spring, when the flowers bloomed.
"My soul…it isn't whole." For the first time, Harry spoke about his life, his entire history. About Voldemort, about his time in Hogwarts, about the Horcruxes and the Hallows, and about his long journey afterwards, ending with the previous week's meeting with the blonde magician, Alice.
"Alice..." The shrine maiden had a wistful expression on her face. "If anything, I understood why she had to leave. This place probably holds many painful memories for her. I'm glad she found a place where she could put her talents to use."
Harry nodded again. A small part of him was curious, but in the end, everything else was a distraction from his final goal. He stood. "I need to get going."
"I suppose you do." Reimu shook her head sadly. "The Netherworld lies in that direction." She pointed. "When you pass the gate, seek out the estate of the Princess of the Netherworld." She described the building to Harry, and he nodded. "She has the ability to manipulate death, and it is likely that she will give you the answer you seek."
Only likely, huh? A seed of doubt began to grow, and Harry killed it. No, not after we've came this far. Outwardly, he spoke. "Thank you."
~~[c]~~
A simple Stupefy took care of most of the fairies who accosted him, and he purged the rest of the wandering phantasms with Incendio and Fulminis, fire and lightning. No greater foe came to challenge him, and the barrier itself offered only minimal resistance.
As he passed it, he noted the distinct return of the dreaded, chilly feeling, and tried to ignore it.
It'll be over soon.
Without aplomb, Harry touched down in Hakugyokurou's courtyard. Apart from himself and the ethereal butterflies, the only other thing that was seemingly animate was a young woman, strolling about and inspecting a tree. The trees here, too, were shedding their leaves, and yet the ground was clean of litter.
"May I help you?" The voice was soft and graceful, flowing like silk. Simple robes of pale blue, but not wizards' robes, but a kimono. A cap of the same shade complemented her pink hair.
"I would like to see the Princess of the Netherworld." Harry stated. "I have a simple request to make of her."
"And why should I grant you an audience with her?" The lady began walking back to the house.
"Please wait!" Harry said, a tad desperately. "It's not a difficult request. I just need her to grant my death. Please."
"That is quite odd." Her voice was still conversational, but she did not stop walking. "Why would you want such a thing?"
"You would, if you had to spend every moment alive suffering and unfeeling," Harry tried to keep up. "Please."
"Very well. Youmu!"
There was a flash of light, more felt than seen, and Harry felt his head detach from his shoulders. There was a moment of brief bliss, of reprise–
–before he felt his magic pull back and reattach his neck.
You–what was–are you joking?
He wheeled around to see a shorter woman, with a round face, silver hair, and soft but mature features.
And simpler clothes than the other lady, which means that the one with pink hair should actually be–
"You're the Princess?" Harry spun back around.
"'Princess' is somewhat inaccurate, though I suppose it'll do. And yes, I am Saigyouji Yuyuko, and this is my gardener, Konpaku Youmu." She smiled at him, though it didn't quite seem to reach her eyes. "And who are you that wants to die?"
"Harry Potter." Harry said. "I've already told my life story to the shrine maiden, so please, just end it."
The ghost princess looked into Harry's empty, pleading eyes. "Very well, then. Summarize."
"My soul is fractured." Harry bit out. "I can't…I've lost the ability to feel positive emotions, and I just feel cold, all the time, like death itself is calling me. But I died once before, and now I just can't die."
"And yet, I can feel death all around you." Yuyuko remarked. Her voice was still soft and slow.
"Ah…that may be due to the–"
–Deathly Hallows. Where Reimu had listened quietly, without judgement, the gentler-looking ghost princess seemed to be looking right through him, carefully evaluating his every word.
"Artefacts to master Death? An interesting story."
"But they're destroyed." Harry said quickly. "So they shouldn't be able to work any longer, right?"
"I cannot say for certain." Yuyuko shook her head. "And I am not a magician, so I wouldn't know, but what I know is this: you, Harry Potter, by all means, have already died."
No. NO.
"And so I can't die again?" Harry's voice began to grow louder. "What about, like, people being resuscitated?"
"How did you die, Harry?" It was clear that the ghost was trying to be gentle, in spite of his growing agitation.
"I was hit by a Killing Curse, a spell that was designed to separate a soul from its body." Harry had studied the mechanism, the Arithmancy, all the work that went into those six syllables of Aramaic. "I saw my dead mentor and a train, and I chose to remain behind."
"And therein lies the problem. You have already died. By all accounts, you are somewhat like a ghost that managed to retain its body."
A ghost, that retained its body? "Like a poltergeist?"
"You can still use…your own magic. You have not had a tendency to interact with other objects. No, you aren't a poltergeist, and I would know; I have three of them around to perform music on a regular basis."
With growing desperation, Harry rounded on Yuyuko, who raised a hand. He turned around to see that the gardener had stepped forward, with a hand on the hilt of one of two swords. He looked back at Yuyuko. "Can't you try anyway? Reimu said that you can manipulate death."
"Death and departed souls." Yuyuko nodded. "But you, so-called Master of Death, are neither. Moreover, I do not wish to bring more pain on to you than you have already endured."
"I've come all the way here. Please, my lady."
Yuyuko sighed. "I did warn you. For what it's worth, I am sorry." The ghost princess stepped forward and laid her hand on Harry's shoulder, who immediately collapsed on his knees.
If Harry thought he had been close to the void before, he was wrong. It was worse than anything he had ever endured, worse than the Blood-Freezing Curse that he had subjected himself to before his ability to feel pain had faded.
He was in the depths of the abyss, and somehow, he was still here.
Distantly, he heard a voice. "Youmu! Use Hakrouken this time!"
He felt his body being torn, being slashed apart, then reforming–
"No, use both!"
More slashes, and yet, he was still here, his body returning to its prior state–
–then the void in his veins receded, leaving behind an old, familiar chill. The brain was able to acclimatize to physical pain over time, but this was much deeper than that.
Harry Potter slowly got up from the floor, and stumbled back out into the courtyard.
"It failed," he said simply.
"I am sorry, Harry Potter. I cannot give you the release you seek."
He turned around, and in a fit of frustration, he tore into, not the princess' mind, but the servant's, and asked–
Roukanken, the Watchtower Sword, said to kill ten spirits in one stroke, and Hakrouken, the White Tower Sword, said to dispel confusion and send ghosts to nirvana–
Both had failed. The princess, said to have the ability to manipulate death itself, had failed.
Icy weight slammed onto his shoulders, and Harry detached himself from the woman's mind.
"No. I will not accept this." Harry spat. "I was promised death, and you will give it to me. I will see to it, by any means necessary."
Voldemort's old wand, with the weight of its history behind it, turned on the princess, and he cursed, with the one spell on his mind. "Avadakedavra!"
Green light blasted Yuyuko backwards, and Harry surged into the air, causing Youmu's sword slashes to only sever a foot. "If I burn down your estate, will you try harder? If I torture all those you love, will you try harder? If you see me as an enemy, will you try harder?"
Youmu leapt forth–
"Kettebinden."
–and was promptly slammed back to the ground, held down by Harry's Chain Bind.
"You will give me my death, Yuyuko. If you cannot do so of your own volition, I will simply just have to force it out of you."
The ghost princess reappeared, looking none the worse for wear, and raised a hand. Immediately, Harry felt it again: the pressure, the icy weight, the compulsion to death–
"That doesn't work on me." He laughed, and laughed again, the same laugh that he himself had once heard, coming from one of the two people that had forced this living hell onto him. "It's not enough!"
He brandished his wand. "Qliphah Keter Thamiel! Lux Stella Mautina! Az-reth, az-reth, az-reth, Maleficus Ignis!"
The names of devils and fallen angels came to his lips, and hell came to the Netherworld. The fire hurt the eyes to see, an evil reddish-purplish-black with colors that humans could not perceive, and it formed itself into numerous beasts, all of which Harry was familiar with.
Six Realms Sword ~ A Single Thought and Infinite Kalpas
All of which were immediately cut down.
So the swords can cut down the Fiendfyre constructs? But they'll just reform.
He felt his torso split into two, then three, then four–
"It's no use!" He taunted. The gardener's–the swordswoman's speed was fast at first, but eventually even she began to slow.
If his suffering was not going to end, perhaps he should amuse himself?
It began to get colder, more desolate, but it was nothing compared to what he was feeling now.
Two Hundred Yojana in One Slash came at him, and was intercepted by a Fiendfyre lion and snake, and Youmu came at him once more, a slash up high, towards his head–
"Surtr Lavaetain." But Harry had a sword of his own, the burning wand to end the world, and he parried the slash, repelled it, and she disengaged.
"Stop this immediately!" Youmu shouted. "We already told you it's not possible!"
"Then you both better find a way to make it possible, and then we can both get what we want!" he shouted.
Eighty long years of suffering, eighty long years of searching, and when he had almost given up an angel had appeared, and then it turned out to be–
The greatest despair did not come from merely torturing a man for years on end. It comes from taking a person at the peak of their hopes, and throwing them into the abyss.
"Youmu, get Reimu." Yuyuko ordered. "I will hold him off myself."
Youmu looked from her mistress to an increasingly deranged Harry Potter, and nodded. "I trust you, my lady."
"Are you sure that was wise?" Harry mocked. "I know you're already a ghost, but there are fates worse than death, you know." He laid his hands on a Grim, a reproduction en flame, and began to stroke it, an act of affection which would have destroyed the soul of any other wizard.
Yuyuko only smiled back.
"Unlike you or I," she said, "Youmu is still half-human. Therefore–"
The weight on Harry's shoulders increased tenfold, and the Fiendfyre began to diminish. The world seemed to fall away.
Yes, yes! This is what I needed. The greater the pain, the greater Harry's exultation became. He was close, so close!
A maelstrom of butterflies began to form around him. The trees, which had been still, were now shedding their petals.
What he thought was a second, passed. Then another. Then another.
Still not enough? The Princess is going at full power, and I'm standing in the freezing void, begging it to take me. How is it still not enough?
The answer was this: the mind may be the driver of the body, but the body had its own impulses, the first and foremost being the preservation of itself. And a ghost with a body still had a body, and the small fragment of Harry that was a simple wish to live still persisted, despite all else.
In the face of what seemed like imminent death, it surfaced, and it reached out to the only part of him not borne down by the weight of death.
A timeless, ancient contract, that bound all that stepped foot into the world's last fragment of paradise.
Duels between youkai are a threat to the existence of the world (Gensokyo). However, youkai will fade if they do not cause conflict. Therefore, duels are permitted under the following rules:
First, combatants will give names and meaning to the duel, for beauty's sake.
Second, combatants will not use attacks that lack meaning.
Third, combatants will desist on a loss, even if they have remaining strength.
Fourth, combatants are obliged to honor the agreements made on the duel's results…
Instinct made him grab hold of the lifeline, and Harry surfaced, understanding blooming in his mind.
"Runic Sign – Thunderbolt Sun!"
"It appears you've finally learnt to play by the rules." Yuyuko nodded at him. "Good. We do not need any senseless beasts here. Deadly Dance – Law of Mortality!"
The surging waves of butterflies met fire and lightning from Harry's dual wands, equal forces cancelling each other out. As one, Harry and Yuyuko rose into the air, and the battle began anew.
"What an interesting form of magic," Harry remarked casually. "If I win, you must honour my request, eh? But this too, is enjoyable." He dodged and wove through more butterflies, both real and bullets, and through the targeted spheres of energy that came his way. "I might even be enjoying this too much to die!"
"I'm glad that is the case." Yuyuko's voice was still measured, but her form was now flickering, a noticeable shade dimmer. "Flowery Soul – Butterfly Delusion!"
To the princess situated in a nexus of bullets, Harry simply laughed again. "Too predictable! Invocation – I Destroy As I Speak!"
Green light flew forth, in jets and lasers both, and Yuyuko fell to the ground, defeated.
"Now," Harry advanced on the Princess. "You will give me–"
Dream Sign ~ Duplex Barrier
The world's colors appeared to change, and Harry surged again into the air, an equivalent to leaping backwards in surprise.
"It appears you are less of a human than I perceived, which is a shame." The shrine maiden had now arrived.
"So you've come," Harry said coldly.
"I did tell you it was only likely, not certain." Reimu shook her head sadly. "And here you are, a grown man having a tantrum, destroying my home. I cannot abide this."
"Fuck you, Hakurei," Harry spat. "You don't understand. I have suffered debilitating pain for the past eighty years of my existence. Your friend Alice gave me hope, and now I find that the salvation I sought was a lie. I laid down my life for the world, and I will find my debt repaid."
"Not in this place, and not at this time."
"Really, now? I'm Harry fucking Potter, the unkillable Master of Death. You think you can stop me from doing what I please?"
A hero who had been left to suffer, who had been trodden upon even as he tried to do good, whose victory had been taken for granted, written off with nothing more than a plaque and a title, even as his very soul had been broken in the process–
Perhaps such an outcome was inevitable. Perhaps the wrong lessons had been learnt.
But–
"And I am Hakurei Reimu, the eternal shrine maiden. I maintain the barrier of this last fragment of paradise. My duty is to balance, to preserve dreams and fantasy. But if you dream of death and destruction…" Reimu rose into the air, "I will grant it to you."
"Bah. Prophecy ~ Fogbound Red String Strangulation!" The fallen hero called in response. Fog began to rise, and the red threads of causality began to close in on the shrine maiden–
–who was already on him, purification rod at hand raised and ready to strike.
Spell break. Harry landed in a cherry tree, with a great cracking of branches, and twisted quickly away as several Persuasion Needles lined the tree bark.
She's not playing around, huh? "Summoning Sign – Animate Hellfire!" Fiendfyre rose again once more, this time given new life, and converged once again on Reimu.
But the shrine maiden gracefully weaved in and out, dodging the fangs of a Basilisk, the snapping jaws of Fluffy, the wingbeats of a Hungarian Horntail, all of Harry's conquered enemies given shape.
And Harry himself found that he was being pursued, as several homing amulets began to draw near.
He dodged a stream of needles high, and lost the amulets as they thudded into another tree, but as he turned–
–the Yin-Yang Orb blasted into his torso, sending him spinning.
Spell break. The shrine maiden was now closing the distance with her superior speed, and Harry drew into himself once again. Three left. I might actually lose, but…he fingered his next card…the rest aren't like the ones before.
Frozen Samsara ~ Fate's Treadmill
Helplessness, resignation, the wheel of fortune that ground him–raw magic and emotion surged forth, fire and lightning and frost all at once, an endlessly pursuing monster–
Reimu had decades of experience at her call, but even she was not invincible. Fire and lightning she dodged, but the ice hit her in the air, and she tumbled.
Upside-down, she reached for a Card of her own.
Spirit Sign ~ Fantasy Seal
Harry twisted his head back as he felt magic surround him, and twisted his body as more amulets began to fly in on all vectors.
And Reimu herself was closing in on him with clear intent, her body wreathed in a strange, iridescent light.
Spell break. Harry hit the ground and tasted dirt. All emotion flowed away from him–not in the manner of being drained, but in a state of pure concentration, of nothing but focus, to defeat the enemy in his way.
He rose into the air once more. "Sorrow Sign ~ Wading in Tantalus' Lake!"
There was helplessness and inevitability, but this was the despair that came afterwards. The salvation that was seen, but always out of reach, surged forth in negative space.
Reimu simply shook her head, dodging in between the waves and the torrents, keeping up with the tension of the irregular rhythm that promised no rest.
"Make peace with your nature, Harry." The shrine maiden spoke sadly. "Cease this pointless attack on my home."
"Nuh…uh!" Harry shook his head, directed another wave of water forwards. "No more peace. No more goodness. If I have to end the world to kill myself…" he dodged several sweeps of the gohei, "then too bad!"
The remark earned him a blast of multicolored light, but not before he struck the shrine maiden with a wave of despair-inducing water.
The two of them regrouped, took a breath, returned to face each other in the air. Equals, ancient heroes, stared each other down, neither willing to concede.
"I don't want to do this, Harry Potter. You don't deserve it." Reimu shook her head, the lines on her face visible in the evening light.
"Then don't do it," Harry laughed, a ragged, old laugh. "Find me a way. Find me a way now! Give me something! I'm out of patience!"
"In time, Harry." Reimu stared equally. "I am willing to help, but–"
"There is no more time. I am tired of waiting." Harry snarled back.
"You…ah. The soul fracture inhibits the maturation of the mind. Of course." Reimu raised the weapons again. "Must be tiring, to be partially stuck in adolescence for all eternity."
Harry gave a roar of rage, and surged forward, his Last Word on his lips, incoherent, its meaning now clouded to him.
Return of Campbell's Voyager
A spellcard for a hero that had descended into the darkness, that had been transformed and brought back light to his tribe. His journey, culminated in a single piece of magic and meaning, yet now was distorted in a perverse irony as he struck forth, more like the monster he had been destined to fight.
Every single spell that Harry had ever learnt threw itself at the keeper of paradise, and Reimu dodged out of the way, sorrow still heavy in her heart. Even though they had just met, even though he had caused so much suffering–
I feel sorry for you. Alone and in pain, all these years.
But it's all going to be fine. Gensokyo welcomes the monsters in the night like you. We welcome you, and we tame you, and you longer have to tear yourself apart, tormenting the outside world.
She turned, met those wild, emerald eyes with her own. "Fantasy Nature," she intoned.
She passed through the magic, untouched, ignored the expression of shock on the wizard's face–
–and reappeared behind him.
Now, be at peace.
The gohei descended on the back of Harry's head, and he knew no more.
~~[c]~~
Harry awoke, staring up at clear blue skies.
"Good morning," said a voice.
He turned to his side, and the shrine maiden was there, bearing a tray of teacups and rice balls.
His hand instantly dipped into his pockets, but–
"Your wands are on the table," Reimu said neutrally.
Harry slowly withdrew his hand under the shrine maiden's steely gaze. Much of his…genocidal intent had drained away since the previous day, and he was now feeling the fresh heat of embarrassment.
Embarrassment? When was the last time I felt that?
"Good. The seal seems to be holding."
"Seal?" Harry asked, then immediately reached his hand up to his chest, where an ofuda was stuck right above his sternum.
"With it and Gensokyo's ambient magic, you should feel less of the drain." A new, quiet voice spoke up, and Harry turned to his side to see a new figure, dressed in lavender-and-purple robes that looked more like pyjamas, along with equally purple hair.
"Patchouli Knowledge of the Scarlet Devil's Library. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Likewise." Harry said automatically, before a statement clicked in his brain. "For Merlin's sake, Alice, really?" he muttered to himself.
"Alice?" The magician's eyes lit up at the mention of the name. "Is she–"
"She's teaching at a–" Harry searched his brain for the words "–magic school? Yeah, magic school."
"I see." Patchouli looked down again. "I had hoped…well…I suppose I understand." She stretched her arms skyward, then turned her head from side to side, cracking her neck.
"Body holding up, Patchy?" Reimu proffered an onigiri to the magician, who accepted it gratefully.
The magician nodded. "Finally being able to breathe properly is good. And although Remi would slap me for this, being out in the sun also feels good."
Seeing that the two women were talking, Harry delved into himself, an Occlumantic trance to check himself for any enchantments and compulsions.
"Reimu," he said, resurfacing, "what exactly did you do to me?"
"It was more Patchy's work," the shrine maiden said. "But we sealed off the exposed edges of your soul. It's very likely that you'll still be unable to die, though."
"And what about this bind to," Harry closed his eyes, tried to describe the other feeling he felt, "not destroy Gensokyo?"
"You lost a Spellcard duel, which means you have to abide by the wishes of the victor, which is myself." The shrine maiden's grin was not smug, but the sentiment was there nevertheless.
Harry slumped back onto the wooden floor. "So what happens now?"
"Now? You basically free. You could go back outside, do whatever you want. You're even free to linger around in here, so long as you don't cause undue violence. The seal will probably last a substantial amount of time."
"But not forever." Harry said.
"Long enough," Patchouli interjected. "A few centuries. The Hakurei is a line of exceptional shrine maidens, and I am an exceptional magician."
Reimu only rolled her eyes at the lack of modesty.
Moments of silence passed, and Harry continued to look up again at the clear blue sky.
Where do I go from here?
"If you'll excuse me." Patchouli gave a cough of politeness, when the silence dragged on to an awkward length. "What our dear shrine maiden is waiting for is for you to ask if you can stay."
"Stay here?" Harry half-rolled over, looked back at Reimu. Her eyes betrayed no emotion, but she sighed, and ran her fingers through her graying hair.
"The Outside World grows less hospitable to magic by the day, as you should have realised," she spoke. "That means more newcomers like yourself, and more upheaval here."
"And you want me to help." Harry completed the pattern. "But why me? I nearly burned down Hagyou–the Netherworld. And killed–" Now that his conscience had returned to him, his sins were beginning to weigh down on his back.
The lavender magician burst out laughing, and Harry turned to her. "What's so funny?" he demanded.
"Reimu's speciality is to turn the perpetrators of any incident into her friends, or at the very least, allies. Even I, or more specifically, my mistress, started out as an enemy."
Harry tuned back to Reimu, who had a wry smile on her face. "So, what about it? Will you stay?"
I hardly know anything about this place. And even though there's an abundance of magic here…
"You've become an existence above humanity, even above those magic-users of the Outside World." The shrine maiden's voice was gentle. "And eternity is a long time to spend alone. Here, at least, you'll be among peers. Not to mention that if you ever go berserk, there'll be people to put you down." Reimu's voice turned serious at the end.
"I would like to add," Patchouli interjected, "that you are not alone. There are at least three other immortals in Gensokyo, also searching for a cure to their condition. You might find a solution there, as well."
Other immortals. Harry looked down, quiet in contemplation. Then, he stood. A flick of his fingers sent his wands soaring back into his hands, and both Reimu and Patchouli started in alarm.
"Don't worry." There was another motion, and his wands disappeared back into their holsters. For the first time in eighty years, Harry felt a sense of peace. His right hand reached up, almost unconsciously, to lay his fingers upon the seal at his chest.
"I'm in. I'll be in your care from now on, Hakurei Reimu."
To he side, he heard Patchouli breath a sigh of relief, and felt the faint tickle of a spell being disengaged from readiness.
But the shrine maiden of paradise only had a smile on her face.
"Welcome to Gensokyo, Master of Death. I hope you enjoy your stay."
The Veil of Death working by Vanishing Charm is based on an offhand comment in Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality.
Disclaimer: I do not actually know how the headquarters of the Japanese Alpine Club looks like, only that it is located in Tokyo.
A coincidence: Alice's title in Mystic Square is "Witch of Death".
Coming up with spellcards for Harry is…difficult, because there's so many possibilities and themes you could go with. In canon, he's just a vanilla wizard, but there's many things that he can be associated with. I limited myself to seven spellcards for thematic reasons.
ZUN's names are full of, as Toby Fox says, untranslatable Japanese idioms. "Barrier of Life and Death" doesn't quite convey the original Japanese, but it'll have to do.
I hope you enjoyed this short story. I'll leave to you to imagine what adventures Harry gets up to in Gensokyo.
Review please!