Author's notes: Idk, I thought it would be cool where instead of Death!Harry, we had War!Harry (because the Wizarding War, duh) or Famine!Harry (because he was starved when he lived at the Dursleys). Nooooot sure about Pestilence tho. Also I thought I would be a little funny if somehow a different Horseman got hold of the Deathly Hallows.
Death is neither cruel or kind. Death only takes those who have served their time, nothing more, nothing less. Death allows new life to replace those who have died, allowing the cycle to go on. As the oldest of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Death is the wisest of them all.
Famine and Pestilence are a little more malevolent. However, they do keep nature in order, preventing a tip in balance. As much suffering they cause, they are a part of the world as much as the next rabbit or cat. It's hard to say who was first, as Famine and Pestilence are more intertwined than bees and flowers.
War is a bastard. Nothing to be said here. As the youngest of the bunch, War has the attitude of a person on crack. Although, it was thought by the others, that his more humane side (compared with Death, Famine, and Pestilence anyway) came from the fact that his existence is closely tied with humans, the only species on Earth that engage in war. Yay. Go us.
Anyway, even then as Harry Potter, they were a bastard.
This is the story of how War participated in the most disappointing war of all time.
I waited patiently for about five minutes after Dumbledore and McGonagall disappeared, before I swiftly transformed from a helpless baby to a ten year old. I stepped off the steps (HAH) of the Dursley's house, and inspected it. Man, I cannot believe Dumbledore wanted to leave me here. I know that as War, I could handle whatever the mortals have to dish out, but why should I, when I could avoid it altogether?
Sure, it could be ten fun years of terroism, but that gets boring real fast.
I hummed as I absently rubbed on the new scar on my forehead. There's no horcrux though, I just made a scar to look cool.
Backstory here. The reason I became Harry Potter was so that I could become the Chosen One, then do nothing about Voldemort, thus prolonging the war. Why? Because I felt a little pity for the man, being so pathetic. Obviously that did NOT work out.
Voldemort is so incompetent, holy fuck. I should just kill him next time, and make room for a better Dark Lord.
Looking back at the particularly flammable looking house, I conjured up an orange flame within my hand.
"This bitch empty, YEET!" I screeched as I chucked the fire into one of the windows. After a while, the nice smoky scent of roasted meat filled the air. Mm, tasty.
Pretty soon however, the sun started to rise. Okay, technically it was six hours, however I'm pretty old, so it felt like ten seconds.
I innocently whistled as the neighbors called 999 (the British version of 911) and skipped away from the house inconspicuously.
Now, it was time to get my old house back.
I do have a house, you know. Well, land, at least. I'm not sure if the house is actually still there after 200 years of the opposite of maintenance. It all started when me and the other Horsemen had a bit of a bet going on to see who could. . . actually I forgot what the actual bet included, but it had to do with being in the human world, and not using our powers. Obviously, with my natural affinity with humans, I won.
So, yeah. It's a nice place, actually. It had a large garden, lots of flowers, a cozy little house, and bees that I kept. That is, if anything is still there. You know, since it's been abandoned for about 200 years.
I had placed powerful magic over the place to keep out heavy snow, people, and whatever nasties existed before I left. Since I'm War, they of course should still be there. The spells, I meant. Not the house.
I popped into Georgia (where the fuck do you think I was going to have a garden and bees in Europe?) and strolled over to a very large forest. Fortunately not destroyed by humans, thanks to my awesome powers.
The location of the house is somewhere deeper in the forest, so during the trip, I casually admired the scenery all around me. Nothing changed too much. At least, until I got to the actual house itself.
Remember when I said I kept bees? Yeah, the bees apparently made the house into a fucking nest now. The literal scent of the honey almost knocked me out, and that's saying something, since I'm War.
"Damn," I muttered under my breath. Hell, starting all over again would be easier than this bullshittery.
First things first, I need to relocate the bees. And to do that, I need bee hives. A lot. Which I don't have.
I mean, I could just tear the entire thing down, and start anew. No one would be stopping me. And it saves me tons of chapters of me doing nothing but doing housework. But like, there's probably a lot of honey there, which I want. Just to clarify, I don't need to eat, per se, but I can enjoy cuisine every now and then. Like that one time I bought out Walmart's entire stock of ramen and ate it all in one hour because I felt bored.
Cautiously stepping into the house, by which I was immediately swarmed by a fuckton of bees, I literally had to step over puddles of goopy honey. The smell here was even worse. Not as in it's bad, as in it's so strong a Horseman of the Apocalypse could pass out from it. I don't even know what it would be like for humans.
Damn, who would have thought War would have to deal with a fucking bee infestation.
Did you actually want to read about War trying to buy a hundred bee hives and beekeeping tools, trying to look for the bee queen for a fucking week because the bees wouldn't stop flying into my eyes, then realizing in a nest the size of a house there would be at least fifty queens, then crying and contemplating burning it down, then coughing out bees for an entire day, then transferring the honeycombs to the hives, including the ones INSIDE OF THE FUCKING WALLS, WHICH I HAD TO RIP APART, AND THEN HAVE THE FUCKING HOUSE FALL ON TOP OF ME, WHICH I ALONE HAD TO SUFFER, AND THE BEES OUTSIDE DON'T EVEN CARE FOR MY PAIN!
Some of you may be wondering, "If you're War, why can't you use your godly powers to do all of that?" BECAUSE I'M WAR, NOT MOTHERFUCKING MOTHER NATURE!
Back to reality, it took me two weeks to move the bees out. I have about a hundred bee hives a mile from here (originally they a little closer, but even then, how the fuck did they move into my house?), more honey than I could ever know what to do with, and a collapsed building that still reeks of honey. With a flick of my hand, I banished what was left of the house. Gone forever. Thank fucking me.
With that out of the way, I should now build the house. I may be homeless, but at least I'm not honeyless. I won't be for ten years. No one wants that much fucking honey.
I sniffed myself. Damn, even I smell like honey.
Anyway, about the house. I waved my hands around, and a completely different yet cozy two floor house popped in. Took it somewhere in Massachusetts. It's not as if anyone will miss it, the owner died two hours ago.
Entering with great gusto, I banished everything I didn't like. That included the wallpapers, the floor tiles, the cooling body, and the furniture. Spinning a complete 180 °, I walked right out to buy everything I needed.
One day later, I was all set. Since it's November, I can't have a garden yet, so I have to drop by the market every time I feel bored.
Wondering what was going on back in England, I teleported there, only to get smacked in the face by a flying newspaper. I saw the headlines, "BOY WHO LIVED: MISSING," before it flew off. Glancing at my ten year old body, I shrugged. Eh, they won't notice.
You know, I almost forgot about Sirius. I should probably stop by and tell him he's relieved of his godfather duties since I don't actually need him.
Using my awesome powers, I stretched out my senses across the entire country, until I found him. . . . in a fucking prison.
Huh. Wonder what he did now.
Out of the nonexistent kindness of my heart, I decided to pay him a visit.
Appearing at Azkaban, I barely spared the Dementors a glance as I strode through the crumbling building. Don't even lie to me, one kick could knock this place down.
As the Dementors parted like water as I went down the hallway, I briefly wondered why Death decided to keep them. Death has absolute control and power over these creatures, to the point where they could order the Dementors to hang themselves. Not that they would die, but you get what I mean. However, with how much Death drones on and on about order and balance, keeping Dementors is a little hypocritical. They don't even do anything. They don't even kill most of the time.
Aye, at least being an acquaintance of Death makes the Dementors respect me. Although that might also be because I can set them on fire.
Back at Azkaban, I climbed about fifty floors before I arrived at the maximum security cells. Which, honestly, looks pretty easy to escape. Although that might just be because Dementors don't affect me.
"Aye, shoo." I waved off a Dementor. On second thoughts, why do we capitalize Dementors? That's like capitalizing Cat, which is only necessary when it's at the beginning of a sentence, or if it's a proper noun. And Dementors aren't proper nouns.
Ignoring that, the cries and screams of the prisoners grated my ears. That was, until I exploded their heads. All except for a familiar black, mangy dog.
"AYE SIRIUS!" I shouted at him as I rattled the bars of his cell. The dog on the other side yelped, then promptly transformed into my godfather.
"James. . .?" Sirius said.
"One generation off, buddy," I responded.
"Harry?!" Sirius said disbelievingly. Which makes sense, since I'm supposed to be a baby, not ten years old. Actually it might have been funnier if I came like that. Oh well.
"Yeah."
"What are you doing here?" Sirius leaped up and almost crashed to the bars in his haste to get closer to me. "How long was I here for?!"
"Getting you out of here, whaddya think?" I raised an eyebrow, not answering the other question.. With a light tap on the bars, I banished them, leaving no barrier between him and me.
"No, this is too good to be true," Sirius said, shaking his head. He paced around for a bit, before declaring, "I'm mad, aren't I?"
I stared at him.
"Sure," I said, "makes things easier for us." I grasped his hands, and we teleported back to America. It's not as if anyone is going to find him there.
Should this story have some angsty elements, or should it be cracky all the way? Angst would include self esteem issues, using several bad coping methods, and the other Horsemen not taking War seriously (due to his personality and age, but mostly because he doesn't contribute anything to society). I can't decide, so ya'll can pick.