Harry Potter and the Travel to Alternate Dimension

Harry Potter or Hadrian James Potter became the Master of Death when he foolishly, on the insistence of Ron and Hermione collected the Deathly Hallows after the defeat of Dark Lord after the Battle of Hogwarts, not knowing that the Hallows had already chosen him their master and made him the Master of Death. That night the three Hallows disappeared in front of the Golden Trio and unknown to anyone fused themselves to the mortal shell of Harry Potter. The manipulations and betrayals of Albus Dumbledore come to light and the young saviour tired of all betrayals, battles and bloodshed leaves the Magical Community to go on a two year self-exile at his newly discovered Potter Estate and Potter Lordship among others. Goblins demand compensation for the break in and damage to the bank and Harry Potter loses a third of his Potter Family Liquid assets to pay for his transgressions.

Two years forward and Harry Potter has become a force of nature in the whole of Magical Europe. He breaks away publically from the shadow of Dumbledore whose actions are brought to light by him and he tarnishes the image of Dumbledore forever. His works in various Magical fields and old magic make him a well-known person all over the globe. Harry Potter also goes through his magical maturity and breaks through several blocks on magical core and natural abilities making him a virtual god. Unknown to all and to Harry Potter himself, this is due to the influence of the Deathly Hallows who are slowly making him ready for their full powers.

Harry Potter joins the Department of Mysteries and studies the various secrets of the much feared department and in a year becomes its second in command. On the other hand, resentment and anger is growing in the remaining Pure Blood followers of Tom Riddle. They plan an assassination of the young Potter Lord in the Ministry and are supported by several of Dumbledore's supporters who feel the young lord is getting more powerful.

An year later, Harry Potter is attacked at the Death Chamber where he is studying the Veil of Death where he is betrayed by Ron Weasley who banishes him into the Veil of Death which seals itself off and levels half of the Ministry in an explosion of Chaos and Death magic which strips the cores of most of the attackers making them non magical. Seven days later, the Veil opens itself again and Harry Potter walks out as the Reincarnation of Death and essentially an immortal. His age had regressed to nineteen years of age. Harry Potter then kills all the supporters of his assassination plot and is brought up in front of the ICW to explain himself and the episode, where he is trialled and then acquitted of all charges due to no proof against him.

Harry Potter, who now knows his role as the Emissary of Death, decides to give the Magical World one more chance and is disappointed at their stupidity. After a few years, he vanishes from the magical world to ascend to the level of supernatural. This story is his adventure when he is summoned by another world's manipulative Dumbledore to kill their Voldemort after the Dark Lord killed the young Potter boy on the fateful night and only Lilly Potter survived the Killing Curse making her the Witch Who Lived.

The first two chapters are taken mostly from the fic which inspired me to write this story - On a Pale Horse by Hyliian.

Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Harry Potter.

A/N:

Before we start this, I want to tell you that I have been reading both fanfics and paid mainstream literature for the last several years. This story is the culmination of ideas that have been infesting my mind for months. There are a lot of ideas used in this story that come both from other fanfics and from mainstream books, TV, etc. So I request not to be told that things which I already know.

Chapter 1

Hadrian 'Harry' James Potter, Master of Death, Destroyer of Worlds, Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse, looked at the people walking below him on the streets of London and smiled to himself. His emerald green eyes glowed softly as he used the magical sight to scout for his next victim. Right now he was standing on the clock face of the famous Big Ben. He looked a bit bored and then decided to go home.

An old man who was ill from a terminal disease, died and Harry sighed softly to himself as he felt the soul of the person pass through him to the great beyond. Although, he felt each and every death on this world, he only looked at those souls that had a signified relevance to him. For example, this person who died was the last of the Dursleys, his great- great nephew to be exact. Even though he hated the bastards who abused him in his early mortal life, he still felt a kinship to them. After all blood was blood and so was family.

A pity, Petunia never understood that and so never did Vernon. Well, it made his fun more enjoyable when he collected their souls after their deaths and tortured those by making them live their lives as house elves, abused house elves to be exact. It was in his own morbid manner of a poetic justice for him. Dudley had changed a lot so Harry only scared him by pretending to throw his soul into hell before sending him to the Great Beyond for his reward.

Being a Master of Death made him know a lot of things. He could travel into any time duration and anywhere to amuse himself. All he had to do was to simply maintain Balance between Life and Death.

Master of Death - a title he now donned was as misleading as it was the first time he heard it eons ago. A reality that was shoved into face when he was banished into the Veil of Death. He was the Pale Rider. He was Death personified. Before he united the Hallows, Death was not a person, or a creature, or a thing that could conceivably have a 'master.' Death simply was. Being Master of Death did not give him control over 'Death' as the name might have once implied. No, being Master of Death meant that the concept of Death, of The End of All Things, of The Final Breath of the World, was personified in him. He became Death. He was 'officially' in charge of making sure souls got to the afterlife once they died, but that whole business was done entirely subconsciously—he wasn't even aware that he was doing it until two thousand years in his training during a period of intense meditation—meaning he was free to do basically whatever he wanted in the meantime.

As Death, he (obviously) could not be killed. At all. Oh he could be injured, wounded, torn apart, atomized, liquefied, or otherwise obliterated, but he always pulled himself back together in short order. Killing Death was like trying to make water wet, or set fire to a flame. It was pointless because it was already true.

Harry was always 'dead,' so killing him again was useless.

In the void of the Veil, he had undergone pain and torture that no one could endure but he did it by not bending his will to the sensations of his flesh. Then came his salvation. His family; his father and mother - James Potter and Lily Potter; his godfather - Sirius Black; his Uncle Moony - Remus Lupin and his wife Nymphadora Tonks; and many others. He was explained many things, his role as the Emissary of Death, his powers, his strength and last but not the least his impending ascension to supernatural.

The real world had counted only seven days. Harry Potter had counted seven million years. Knowledge of eras past and future, secrets of the world and its people, his abilities, his responsibilities etc. were all covered. Then he was taught to allow the deaths of people, collecting the souls of those passed and passing judgements while learning how to prevent any imbalances like Riddle did with his Horcruxes, Albus did with his Greater Good, Hitler did with his Aryan Supremacy and many others. Teachers of all eras, times and levels of life taught him all they knew.-

He'd learned everything he could think to learn, read everything he could get his hands on, found teachers to teach him things he'd have never imagined, and did just about everything he'd ever wanted to do.

When he came back, he was more like a walking god amongst the living only no one knew it. He often limited himself by large margins. And that was before his Ascension to Death. When he became Immortal.

One time he decided to find out about those souls that were stolen from him by Dementors and the fact why he was affected by Dementors so much when as a child. On learning their origins, he actually found out that Hermione Granger had made the damn monsters in a fit of rage and madness when she had been transported into the past during the times of Dark Ages. She had been his very close friend before the incident. Those soul sucking monsters had been her personal guard and they had instructions to search for him till they perished. And considering that Dementors had an average life span of seven hundred years, they would search for him for a very long time.

It was slightly ironic that he used to have such a strong reaction to them as a mortal, since his best friend had actually created them in the past to search for her best friend after he'd transcended mortality in the future.

Paradoxes.

They still boggled his mind.

The Dementors had been attracted to him due to the instructions of Hermione to them which had been messed up slightly after her Death more than four hundred years of living.

Hermione had been a Dark Lady more terrible than Voldemort and Grindelwald combined. When transported to the past, she had lost most of her memories except for a few memories of her early life and times with Harry up to his incident in the Death Chamber. Curiously, her magical knowledge had not been damaged at the least. {He later found that it were the Fates messing in his domain.}

Blinded by the loss and grief, she had actually stolen the Resurrection Stone and created the Dementors using Necromancy and Demonology. He had punished her for that. The woman was now in his personal dimensional prison but not as a prisoner but as his slave. Even though she was his friend, as Death he had to be fair. And no one steals from Death.

Though he would let her soul go as the damage done by the Fates to her would heal and make her whole. By his calculations he had to take care of her for seven hundred more years.

The prisoners were there whom he tortured when he wished and tried new experiments and punishments to amuse himself. They included the souls of Ronald Weasley, Peter Pettigrew, Albus Dumbledore, Tom Riddle, Dolores Umbridge, Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, and several other Death Eaters.

Heaving a sigh, Harry leaned back and sat down on a chair that materialized out of smoke and shadow just in time to catch him, angling his head toward the 'roof' of the expanse of nothing that made up his home.

He was so bored.

There was nothing to do anymore. He'd outlived all of Earth, twice, taken over various civilizations in various times and places, been a Dark Lord more times than he honestly cared to count, killed Tom Riddle as an infant six separate times out of sheer spite, and even united all the squibs in the magical world in revolt against their wizard superiors—which was surprisingly successful, seeing as squibs weren't afraid to use guns while their enemies disdained 'muggle weapons' as 'nonsense.'

And the purebloods kept on believing it was nonsense up until the squib Leader of the Revolution dropped a bomb on them.

Harry sighed again, letting his arm dangle off the side of his conjured smoke-chair and brushed the ground—it felt like grass for now—with long fingers that hadn't been that way before he'd made the mistake of retrieving the Resurrection Stone from the forest.

Honestly he couldn't even really call himself 'Harry Potter' anymore completely. The features he had in common with the old Harry Potter were mostly gone. He waved a hand absentmindedly and a full length mirror appeared in front of him.

The boy in the mirror was by far one of the best looking males that he had ever seen, better even than the male models he once saw modelling in a catalogue at his aunt's house when he was a mortal. It still shocked him to see the face he did now, every time he looked in the mirror or passed a reflective surface.

Where he used to be short and lanky, Harry now stood tall and broad shouldered at six feet five inches, his entire frame wrapped in thick corded muscles yet seemed built for speed. The scars that had once littered his whole body were now gone, leaving behind only pale white unblemished skin. Even his famous lightning bolt scar that had always looked fresh despite its age was no longer on his forehead. His features that had always been so much like his fathers were now more angular like his mother's had been, a resemblance that was enhanced by his eyes no longer being obscured by glasses, now that he no longer required them to see perfectly, beyond perfectly even.

Harry Potter could now be described as being in perfect physical shape, the epitome of male perfection. After being spotted and photographed by a reporter from Teen Witch Weekly, the first time he had gone out after his sudden and drastic physical change when he had returned from the Veil of Death, he had been labelled by the magazine and soon after by most of the female Wizarding population as the 'reincarnation of Adonis'.

He snorted to himself, ' Not Adonis but Death.'

And it had been bearable. He'd learned to live—sort of—with the fact that he was going to watch all his remaining friends and his family no matter how distantly related, die, and eventually the pain of losing them dulled to a sort of numb indifference—which really helped, actually, because being in constant emotional agony due to something he did had never helped him before. And then there was nothing left. Nothing. He had done everything possible to be done. No matter how small, how bizarre, or how dubiously moral… he'd done it.

And now he was bored.

Tossing a ball that hadn't existed until he'd wanted it to up and down in his hand, Harry pondered.

He sighed again. He was getting introspective.

It wasn't as if he could have led the squibs into revolution that one time when he was bored if he'd done it through showy examples of sheer power. He'd fixed everything afterwards, of course—leaving the Origin timeline so skewed would have been Very Bad Indeed. Knowing his luck, he could have accidentally written himself out of existence by preventing himself from being born or from gathering his Hallows.

Messing with the past had been fun for a while, but he always made sure that events leading up to his Ascension to Death were returned to Origin standards to avoid mistakes. Anything afterwards was free game, though. He couldn't care less what happened to the 'future,' and had amused himself for millennia by experimenting with what he could get away with before the world devolved into a dystopia of epic proportions.

No, if there was one thing Death knew how to do, it was clean up after himself.

But none of this solved his problem. He had nothing to do. He supposed he could go back to Earth again and screw up the timeline or something, maybe blow up a village or a small town, but he'd already done that so many times it really wasn't worth the effort. He sort of wondered if this was why Death had never been personified before. It wasn't like there was a 'Master of Life' he could talk to. He sort of hoped there never would be; despite how much he'd kill for some company—his jokes had only gotten worse due to the isolation—he would never wish his existence on anyone. Especially not the personification of Life itself.

Harry was halfway through another sigh when something interesting happened.

He almost missed it at first. It was a faint sort of tugging in his chest, like someone had tied a thread around one of his ribs and was pulling on it a bit. He felt an initial flash of irritation — Who goes and ties things around people's ribs? Honestly!—before he realized that this was different. This had never happened before, which was such a novel experience that he leapt from his chair (which dutifully dissolved unnoticed behind him) and stilled himself unnaturally so he could focus his considerable senses on this strange phenomenon.

It took him only three fractions of a second to scan his vast reservoirs of knowledge before the answer came to him.

He was being summoned!

He laughed aloud, the sound high and cold like it was dipped in the very freezing depths of the Arctic itself, but he barely noticed. Someone was summoning him! Him! Death! The Pale Rider himself! He paused at this revelation, furrowing his brows. No… not Death. No mortal could summon Death. But…

But.

A smile pulled at his lips. It was a slow thing that stretched from ear to ear, exactly like a Cheshire Cat's grin. They might not be capable of summoning Death… but they could summon Harry Potter.

He stretched out his power along the thread tied to his chest, following it curiously, only to find it led nowhere. It reached to the Edge of his formless Void, before abruptly vanishing into nothingness, as if the thread had materialized there and existed nowhere else. His mind raced with possibilities. The thread had not led him in the direction of the Earth, which meant the summons were not of Earth. Or… at least not of this Earth.

He had toyed with the idea of alternate realities of course, but had never dared try and cross over to one, not even in the depths of boredom. He had no way of knowing if a Death already existed there, and had no desire to find out what would happen should he wind up in conflict with another personification of Death. But another reality had reached out to him. This, logically, meant his arrival there would not bring him into conflict against another entity like himself. The Death there would not have allowed it, just as he would not have allowed some other Death to piggyback on a summoning from his Earth.

The grin on his face could not possibly be equated to a human smile any longer, full of pearly white teeth that sharpened the longer he held the expression until it would not look out of place on a predator, a highly apex predator. Harry paused, only briefly, as he considered what might happen to this world if he answered the summons. He was confident that, as Death, he had the power to remain subconsciously connected to this world so as to perform his duties. After all, didn't Death exist in all worlds and all places? It made sense that he could do likewise.

Pulling his power around him like a shroud— he created a full set of clothes over his body {Same as Albert Wesker's from Resident Evil - Afterlife when fighting Claire and Chris Redfield along with Alice} What? Don't you expect a person to make a good first impression?—Harry took a step forward and found himself at the end of the thread, having crossed the distance between him and it without actually having had to do so. Lifting up a pale, long-fingered hand, Harry delicately grasped the faint white thread between forefinger and thumb, his other digits raised elegantly in the air, and gave it a gentle yank.

Sensations of shock/fear/surprise/hope/elation echoed across the thread from whoever was summoning him—no, summoning Harry Potter, the boy he used to be—and the tug in his chest doubled. It was still barely noticeable to one such as himself, but at least his summoners' knew he was paying attention now. His smile tilted oddly at the thought; he wondered just what they would think if they knew they'd just gained the full attention of Death.

With a wide, feral grin, Harry stepped forward off the Edge, and decided to find out.