All Is Fair In love and War
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: In a world where James and Lily lived, and Harry is the self-sworn protector of two younger brothers, the conflict with Voldemort takes a very different turn. NO BWL. AU. OOC. HP/DG.
Rating: M for language, violence, adult themes, and character death.
Author: tlyxor1.
All Is Fair In Love and War
Chapter One:
The grim confirmation came with the 'Daily Prophet'. By then, though, the words were unnecessary. The slaughtered Quidditch World Cup revellers, the Dark Mark, the Death Eaters - they were all affirmation enough: Lord Voldemort had returned, as lethal and merciless as ever.
At once, the wards around Potter Manor - Ysgarlad - were raised to maximum security, all but family and the most trusted of friends were permitted indefinite entry, and James and Lily began to prepare their family for the worst.
"We knew this day would come," James Potter said gravely, his expression artfully neutral. The ill-disguised panic in the man's gaze was unmistakeable, however, and Harry Potter wondered if he was the only one of his siblings to notice. "Your mother and I have been preparing for this day since his downfall."
Next to Harry, Jude wrung his hands. It was a nervous habit, settled only when a bow and violin were in his grasp, and Harry had never seen his brother appear so terrified. At 14, caught between a growth spurt, the beginnings of whiskers on his chin, Harry couldn't blame him.
Similarly, Angus' hazel eyes were wide with fright, his fingernails firmly trapped between his teeth, his free hand knotted in his auburn hair. He was only 11, old enough to understand, but too young to protect himself. In Harry's eyes, he'd never looked more vulnerable.
"What's going to happen now?" Jude queried. It was a question that had been on Harry's mind, too, but the older boy was more preoccupied with figuring out the best ways to protect his brothers. He was glad Jude had asked.
"Your mother and I will teach you boys to protect yourselves - just in case - but otherwise, life should continue on as normal."
"Where is Mum?" Angus interjected. "I haven't seen her since breakfast."
"She went to Gringott's to sort some things," James answered, "She'll be back soon."
Jude cleared his throat. "What kind of training will you give us, Dad? It's the 29th. There isn't much time."
Harry waited, curious, too. He'd begun his Charms Creditation with Professor Flitwick the year before, his focus on defensive and offensive magic. He'd been part of the National and International Duelling Circuit since he'd turned 15, and the Marauders had made certain that Harry was competent in skirmish scenarios, also. Of course, Harry didn't have his father's flare for Transfiguration, or Sirius' frankly absurd ability to conjure temporary wards out of thin air, or even Remus' vast repertoire of original spells and spell chains, but he did have his own Charms skills to put to the table. That said, those skirmishes had never been about winning. Instead, it had been about learning, and in retrospect, it had been about preparing, as well.
"And that's good," James answered, "Hogwarts is the safest place to be. Dumbledore is the only man who could match Voldemort's power. You won't be in Hogwarts forever, though."
Jude glanced at Harry. Angus did too. They were scared, justifiably, but they were worried for him, as well. He only had one more year left inside the castle, after all, until he was left to the mercies of the world beyond. There was war on the horizon, however, and such a prospect wasn't as pleasant as it had been days earlier.
It was bizarre, he thought, how quickly things could change.
James cleared his throat, slid a journal to each of his sons, and explained quietly, "These are spells your mother and I want each of you to learn. Harry and Jude, their catered to your specific skill sets, but Angus, until we understand what aspects of magic you're best at, you'll be sticking to the basics."
Idly, Harry flicked through the pages, and marvelled at the work that had gone into its creation. A mix of his parents' handwriting, Sirius' and Remus' too - they must have been working on it for years. Most of the spells weren't patented, but there were a few advanced charms and curses Harry had come across during his studies with Flitwick, and Harry determined that the journal was finished only recently.
"I want you boys to learn them all by Yule," James concluded.
"Sure, Dad," Harry acquiesced. He closed the journal once again, set it down in front of him, and drummed his fingers against the leather cover. Idly, he wondered about how he'd fit that in with the rest of his commitments, but if it meant saving his life - or one of his brothers' - Harry was certain he'd find the time. He'd probably have to quit the quidditch team to do it, but that was a small price to pay. "What are you and Mum going to do?"
It was a valid question. During the original war against Voldemort, they'd both been heavily involved in the conflict. Their day jobs - as it were - as an auror and a healer, respectively, had dominated much of their time. In their free hours, they'd moonlighted as unspeakables and members of Dumbledore's 'Order of the Phoenix'. James had served the Wizengamot as Lord Potter, of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, defying and degrading the pureblood agenda and such things. Later in the war, Lily had made waves with the controversial articles she published in the Daily Prophet. Subsequently, they'd been rigorously hunted by the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, and no doubt, they would be again, if only because old mate didn't seem like the type to let go of old grudges.
It wasn't a pleasing prospect. Disregarding the fact that they were his parents, and he didn't want to see them hurt, both James and Lily had a responsibility to Harry and his siblings. Voldemort was a terrible enemy to have, and he'd never been known to be merciful. The fact that they had sons to raise wouldn't save his parents' lives. Thus, Harry wouldn't be thrilled to see them return to the battlefield, to Voldemort's hit list, or to Dumbledore's Order. He recognised and respected their need to fight against oppression, even sympathised with it, but Harry didn't want to end up as Lord Potter at 17, or the sole guardian of Angus and Jude, either.
"Your mother and I are currently discussing that," James hedged.
"You mean to fight again," Jude determined. Angus looked between them, eyes wide, and Harry's fingers stilled on the cover of his journal. His middle brother's moments of insight were few and far between, but they never failed to be correct.
"But you can't do that," Angus protested. "We need you."
"Preferably alive," Harry interjected glibly. "You'd be signing your own death warrant."
His gaze wandered to the folded edition of that morning's 'Daily Prophet'. Over 80 people were dead, men, women, children, from countries all over the globe. He could still hear their screams, the acrid burn of smoke in his throat, the chaotic flash of spellfire, and Harry wondered if he'd ever forget. He wanted to, to never remember their pleas for mercy that didn't come, for salvation that had arrived far too late. They'd done nothing to deserve their fate, simply hapless victims in a madman's war, and Harry hated it - hated Voldemort - and could currently do nothing about it except train, prepare, and protect his family.
"Your mum and I have no definitive plans beyond making certain you three are safe," James said resolutely, "Let us worry about everything else."
"That's easier said than done, Dad," Harry answered bitingly, "Especially if you two are going to be actively fighting him. Again."
"How in Merlin's name do you expect us not to worry about you?" Jude contributed.
Next to them, Angus nodded fervently. "What if you die?"
"We won't," James answered, "We won't die, Gus."
Angus appeared hardly placated, and Jude didn't appear comforted at all. It was a promise that neither James nor Lily could guarantee, and all three of the brothers were old enough to know it. In the same vein, however, they each knew that there was no convincing their father to avoid the conflict, and thus, they resigned themselves to the reality ahead of them: their parents would fight in the war, and meanwhile, the brothers would return to the safety within Hogwarts' walls.
For Harry, it was a bitter potion to swallow. Accept it he did, however, and he retreated from the study with a resigned sigh. The journal was tucked under his arm, and Harry made his way towards his bedroom in search of peace. The heir's ring on his right index finger - a new addition to his wardrobe - weighed heavy on his mind, and Harry wondered, bleakly, if it would be replaced with its successor before he was ready for it.
More than anything, Harry hoped not. He'd only been heir apparent for a month, had been overwhelmed by the responsibilities and lessons his father had guided him through, and Harry wouldn't - couldn't - handle an entire estate. Not at this point in time.
Merlin, he had no idea how James managed it.