A/N: I own nothing. No profit is intended from this fanfiction.

I hope you do enjoy it though.

Fraudulent Nobility

Love.

A bunch of jangling nervous signals swerving in and out of the neurons that constitute the nervous system. The same nervous system that is shattered by a blinding flash of white light – a white, yet dark, light - that exchanges pain for pleasure.

Cruciatus.

The darkest curse. A curse, which no human should ever resort to. No human. Notice the emphasis on human. Human.

Humanity.

Pity it had eroded to a mere idealistic concept these days. Yes, war could do that sometimes.

War.

A constant, cycle of violence that encompasses the history of the entire universe, with short pauses of silence – silence that is often mistakenly termed peace.

Peace.

The most idealistic assumption of them all. A silence that is never completely shrouded by a blanket of ethereal stillness. There are always pockets of infighting – darkened corners of the universe pervaded by violence.

A baby's cry shattered his quiet reverie. A low wail that morphed into a high-pitched bawl, eventually encircling the entire hallway like a banshee's cry. His ears registered the sound and transmitted a bunch of chemo-electric signals through his cochlea to the brain. And his brain sent a bunch of chemo-electric signals back, and his face flushed as the signals collided violently with the receptor organs. He was annoyed.

He couldn't believe this. He had taken to reading Muggle Biology text books in an attempt to escape the inane boredom.

The cry of the baby subsided. The house was quiet again.

He slammed the cover of the book in frustration, as mouldy bits of dust flew outwards, fanned by the pressure waves that spawned from the abrupt closure of its pages.

So this is hell.

Pity I'm not enjoying it, then.

I should.

After all, why shouldn't I?

I deserve it.

I deserve it all.

They all hate me.

Dumbledore.

The Order.

My wife.

My friends.

My son.

They hate me.

For I – once the scion of a proud pureblood family – am now nothing but an idiot… the moron of Gryffindor, James Potter.

Where had it all gone wrong?

Oh, he knew THAT too well.

All those times he had pointed that wand at Snape, all those times he had imposed his will upon the half-blood "prince", he should have known that a pile of Doxy eggs dropped on another's head would only break for the doxies to come back and bite you in the nuts.

Or as Lily said – Do unto others as others would do unto you.

Lily.

Hates.

Me.

Lily hates me.

James sighed and stoked the fire with his wand. It hissed for a while, and settled into an entrancing, ornate flame that raised its heads like a shape-shifting medusa.

Constant transition.

What they were coerced to undergo once the Prophecy broke free of the trap of that insect-that-has-the-Seeing-Eye – Cassandra Trelawney.

Bitch.

James laughed.

So he was assigning blame to others now.

Do unto others as others would do unto you.

A rising cacophony of laughter spiralled its way through the room, and floated into the bedroom whence a woman's lullaby could be heard.

The lullaby stopped for a moment – a sharp, ridiculously "loud" silence – that set the baby crying again.

James stopped laughing. The baby quietened down. The lullaby was resumed.

Fuck.

I'm going insane.

The pressure. He should've known that the pressure of constant transition for nearly a year would get to them, seeping into Lily's and James' inexperienced love for one another, twisting it into a bitter hatred that would've seemed impossible to them a year ago.

Constant transition, until Dumbledore thought of mentioning the Fidelius Charm.

James clenched the Biology book tightly. He raised it, as if preparing to slam it with all his might into the floor, but seemed to decide better of it, looking apprehensively at the bedroom door that was ajar, as if he feared the sound of the baby's cry. He slammed the book into the couch instead, and the thud was muffled.

Stupid, senile, conniving old bastards.

Both of them.

Dumbledore and Voldemort.

Why, oh why couldn't Dumbledore have suggested the Fidelius first? It might have helped them keep together as parents… as a couple.

And what, in Merlin's name, am I supposed to do about the Prophecy? Am I supposed to raise my son to be a warrior? Am I supposed to train him to defeat Voldemort? Am I supposed to hand him over to Dumbledore, who could best train him?

Oh no.

No, no, no, no…

James clutched at his hair, bowing his head a burying it under his arms, which in turn were folded over his thighs. His body shook slightly and inched towards the shadowy cranny of the room, as if he wanted to avoid the scrutiny of the fire-light.

I'm doing it again. My son is not a killing machine!

Or is he?

Constant vigilance or a childhood? What should he bestow upon his son?

Moody would like the first option.

Moody.

The Order.

My former profession.

James could feel his heart thumping beneath his ribs, like a cornered animal raging against its shackles, fearful and yet plodding on because it has to. A pale palm emerged into his faint wandlight, signalling him to stop.

He stopped. The team huddled together. The darkness lessened though the chill seemed to intensify. Their breath was rising in mists before them, even as they whispered to each other.

"I don't care if you trust Severus," Amelia Bones whispered to them, "I don't. He might have given us the right location. He might have told us this is the place where they hold the prisoners. He might have told us that there would be no obstacles before us. But I don't trust him. And it does not matter. As far as I'm concerned, You-Know-Who himself is behind that door. So, we burst in, go to the far corner as the map indicates, open the door, rescue Moody and the others, and get out of there. Understand?"

As one, they nodded.

And then, the door burst open. Amelia went through the door, followed by Alice and Frank. Lily squeezed his hand, as if reassuring him, and plunged into the unfathomable darkness.

James took a deep breath and plunged in after her.

There was no one there.

James squinted and raised his wand. They were in a long corridor with two doors at the far end, one carved into the wall on the side, and one leading out of the corridor; apart from the one they had come through, that is. For all means and purposes, the corridor was a cul de sac if someone had followed them, or looped around them.

Amelia had already reached the door opening into the side wall at the far end of the corridor. She opened it.

And she gasped.

James tensed.

An immense burst of fire issued forth from the door. Amelia flung herself to the side so as to avoid the fiery burst.

James flicked his wand. So did the others, apparently, for four shields emerged and protected Amelia from the fiery surge. And from the room the tip of a cloak emerged. Followed by the rest of the entity wearing it.

No. NO! Fuck no!

Lord Voldemort stood resplendent in the corridor, glancing at them bemusedly.

"I am surprised and impressed," Voldemort hissed, "I did not expect to see Dumbledore's minions here. Is my former Transfiguration professor scared to come out and play?"

A burst of fire issued forth from Voldemort again. The shields stopped them in time once more.

Voldemort flicked his wand and four people emerged from the cell, floating unconscious behind him.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Rufus Scrimgeour, another Ministry worker James had never met and a barely recognisable Alastor Moody. While the former three appeared to be relatively unharmed, a chunk of Alastor's leg seemed to be missing, and his right eye seemed to have imploded, judging by the blood coating his face.

Lord Voldemort had only begun his torture.

"Perhaps this is what you came for?" the Dark Lord hissed, depositing the pile of bodies behind him, and turning to face them.

And then, the battle erupted. A blur of light and shields and muttered incantations.

Lily flicked her wand trying to summon the bound and unconscious prisoners to her, while Amelia sent a blue jet of light at Voldemort. Alice and Frank sent reductor curses at him, judging by the red beams.

Voldemort conjured a metallic shield that seemed to absorb the curses. The prisoners did not move, despite Lily's persistent efforts. James hurried forward. His wife seemed to be concentrating intensely on the prisoners, muttering words beneath her breath.

Multiple jets of light erupted from Voldemort's wand, flying towards Amelia and Frank. Alice and James shielded them, whilst Amelia managed to sneak in a jinx. Voldemort waved his wand, and the jinx was flicked aside effortlessly. The Dark Lord then thrust his wand forward. A powerful burst of wind accompanied the thrust and James staggered back. Amelia, Frank and Alice who were directly between James and Voldemort were flung back towards the entrance.

James ducked as the three whooshed over his head. He winced as he heard the thuds, and jumped towards the side to avoid Voldemort's green jet. Voldemort raised his want and conjured a fiery whip that bore down upon him.

He ducked beneath the whip, and then conjured his own. The two fire whips crashed, and went up in flame. Lily was still hiding in a dark corner at one of the ends of the corridor, muttering beneath her breath and moving her wand furiously.

Voldemort waved his wand again, before James could even regain his balance as the whips went up in smoke. Two stones dislodged themselves from the corridor walls and went straight for his head.

James waved his wand and the two stoned merged together, solidifying into a giant eagle that flew down upon Voldemort. Voldemort flicked his wand and the eagle burst into fragments.

"Impressive," the Dark Lord murmured, as he spun on the spot, allowing a burst of light from James' wand to pass him by.

James did not pause, letting loose bursts of spells from his wand, all the powerful incantations he knew rushing through his head.

Confringo! Abrumpo! Reducto! Depulso! Flagrate!

Voldemort blocked them all with an amused smile. All, except for the last one. He let the fiery bolt thrown at him approach him and waved his wand. The bolt disintegrated into several smaller bolts of fire which threw themselves at James.

He ducked and waved his wand simultaneously. Most of the bolts missed, and the others burst upon his robes, leaving some scorch marks.

The Dark Lord was toying with him. With them all.

Suddenly, there was a snap, as if a metallic link had broken, and the prisoners flew from behind the Dark Lord towards Lily. The Dark Lord's anti-summoning charm had been cancelled. James felt a deep feeling of pride well up within him for Lily. Voldemort gave an inhuman screech, as Amelia shouted from behind James, apparently recovered, "Now!"

"Fiendfyre!" Amelia screeched.

And then the Order members clutched the portkeys in their pockets and muttered at once, "Activate."

The Dark Lord disappeared from sight, just as an unholy fire began to engulf them.

James collapsed immediately. The mission had been successful. The prisoners were safe.

Safe.

Safe and sorry.

He shuddered as he understood the true meaning of the expression. They were safe. But safety from the Dark Lord could only be found in hell.

Hell.

A stagnant, lonely hell, where there was hate aplenty… a hell that was littered by hushed sobs and a baby's laughter.

James rubbed his eyes tiredly, as if weary of the endless progression of his thoughts. And then he punched the cushions again, as if willing his thoughts to stop with the furious physical gesture.

Dammit. The Dark Lord was supposed to be dead. No one could stop Fiendfyre.

But the Dark Lord had lived on. And Amelia had been alienated by the Order for using Dark magic.

Fuck Voldemort and the Order.

And fuck me. Stop thinking, for fuck's sake!

An endless chain of thoughts.

A flurried frenzy of emotion.

Emotion.

Happiness.

Pranks.

Hogwarts.

Their last prank at the wizened old school.

James laughed. Over and over and over, like a rising tide of happiness that shall never retreat, despite the lunar pull of the cold darkness outside.

Voldemort could go fuck himself in the clit with his own wand.

Lily looked exactly like McGonagall. And he looked exactly like Dumbledore. Procuring hair from the teachers had been extremely easy. A minor task for the greatest pranksters Hogwarts had ever known. And making the Polyjuice Potion even more trivial. And of course, their NEWTs were over and done with. It was truly their last day of Hogwarts. They couldn't even be expelled.

The hard part had been convincing Lily – as a former Head Girl, she had found it hard to let go of her law-abiding nature. Remus and Sirius joined in the cacophony, probably because they just saw Dumbledore and McGonagall laughing themselves silly just looking at each other.

"And now," declared James, bowing to Remus and Sirius, "I will take my adorable date, the enchanting Minerva, Transfiguration Mistress, to the lovely little shop yonder o'er at the village. To Madam Puddifoot's we go!"

Sirius snorted, and Remus chortled.

"Damn," James muttered to Lily, "Pettgrew is missing out on this stuff. Where is he?"

Lily shrugged. James was glad for her. She had finally let her hair down for a bit.

They left the castle, hand in hand, much to the embarrassment and amazement of the students in the Entrance Hall, and meandered towards Hogsmeade with Remus and Sirius in tow, albeit a fair distance behind.

James shuddered violently, clutched at his head, and sighed.

Happy days.

Pity they would remain a distant memory.

If only they had lived in a different time.

A time when the old wanker and the serpent fondler had not been.

If only this war did not exist.

If only…

James thumped the couch again. The cushion, buckled as if deciding it had had enough of the excruciating blows, and imploded, leaving feathery bits floating around.

"Reparo", James muttered.

The feathers flew back into the cushion, which resealed itself promptly, with a zipping sigh, as if it was resigned to its fate as a punching bag.

There were no "ifs" now.

They had made their decision that day.

James ran along, clutching a laughing Lily's hand, as they zig-zagged across the High Street in Hogsmeade.

They must've looked odd to the villagers. The sight of the venerable Headmaster of Hogwarts and the Deputy Headmistress acting like a bunch of love-struck adolescents is hardly appealing and commonplace. It must've been downright distressing. Yet, the potion would wear off soon, and James needed some quality time with Lily. He had a proposal to make… of a very important, life-changing sort, and as always, such delicate situations needed to be handled away from a certain Sirius Black.

"James!" Lily cried, laughing along, probably at the expressions of the dumbstruck villagers that hastily shuffled out of their way as they sprinted along the High Street, "I love you!"

James stopped, dumbfounded, and Lily crashed into his back sending both of them toppling into the ground. James turned around, grabbed Lily and forced her to the ground, as he lay on top of her.

He chanced a glance around. Pity there weren't any villagers nearby. The sight of Dumbledore straddling Minerva McGonagall might have made for amusingly distressing reactions.

He turned to Lily, opened his mouth and whispered, "Lily, will you…"

A chill crept up his spine and his mouth snapped shut of its own accord.

"Just when I thought you couldn't sink any further, Albus," a high, cold voice called out.

James stood up as if he had been electrocuted and whirled around on the spot.

The Dark Lord stood before him, wielding a wand.

The Dark Lord.

The sun set over the mountains plunging them into twilit darkness.

"I had told you, Albus," Lord Voldemort continued, his voice sending a chill into James' veins, making him shudder with fear and revulsion, "The day you stepped outside your petty little wards, I'd be waiting for you."

Lily stood up and gasped.

This was so fucking unreal.

This couldn't be true.

It shouldn't be true.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

NO!

Voldemort flicked his wand and Lily was thrown aside like a rag doll.

She did not rise again.

James had never experienced such conflicting emotions before. Fear and fury. Fear. Fury.

Like an endless chain that repeated itself again and again. A random sequence of fearful and vengeful thoughts that constantly struggled for supremacy.

Fury won.

"Bastard!" James hissed, as he waved his wand, sending a tremor along the ground. It did not matter that he was barely a graduate and was taking on one of the most powerful dark wizards in British history. It did not matter that he was nearly crapping his pants with fear.

Lily. All that mattered was Lily. The all-consuming fear and rage were something he had never experienced in such abundance before. Was this love?

Voldemort flicked his wand, dispelling the tremor with ease, and narrowed his eyes.

And then the eyes widened in surprise.

"You are not Albus," Voldemort hissed, whether in anger or surprise, James did not know.

It turned out to be rage, for Voldemort snarled, and set a bolt of green light at him. He ducked and waved his wand conjuring a flight of birds.

Engorgio!

The birds enlarged. James waved his wand again, and the birds transformed into miniature dragons. Voldemort waved his wand and the dragons vanished into puffs of smoke.

Voldemort smiled. "Impressive," he said with a flourish of the hand, as if hailing him with a mocking salute, "I could do with you at my side. I shall spare you the ignominious death I would otherwise bestow upon a wizard of your calibre. I'll even spare… her."

James snarled. "NEVER!" he roared waving his wand wildly, shooting off a reductor curse at Voldemort. The Dark Lord whirled his wand, and an electric blue shield emerged from its tip, which promptly absorbed the curse. Voldemort then flicked his wand and the blue shield morphed into a cage, enveloping James, wand and all.

The cage turned blood red.

James tried to touch the cage, but he was flung back against the ground.

It seemed awfully like the redactor curse. The shield was a cage… a cage whose walls were literally carved from a spell. James' own spell.

He had never felt so helpless before. He snarled several curses at Voldemort, but the shield absorbed them all growing in thickness and strength. A cage of spells, created by the imprisoned himself.

Voldemort cackled.

Suddenly the shield cracked and red hair whipped around James as a spell ricocheted off the ground towards the Dark Lord. Voldemort hissed in surprise and deflected the spell.

A hand gripped James' own, and a voice muttered the banishing charm.

Lily had saved him. Lily was alright.

Even as he sped away from the snarling Dark Lord, James experienced a soothing sense of relief.

He cast a shield to deflect the Dark Lord's summoning spell.

A "pop" sound was heard as they were engulfed by the Hogwarts wards again, that stretched over Hogsmeade.

They slammed onto the ground, nearly fifteen feet away from where they had been, but safe within the wards. The Dark Lord stood five feet away from them, a bubble-like transparent wall separating them and the Dark Lord.

James sneered and held out a single finger.

Fuck you.

Lord Voldemort merely smiled and stepped right through the wards.

Oh my god.

There were several pops, a burst of fire, and the Dark Lord raised his hand, bidding a disdainful salute to someone behind James. And then Voldemort disapparated.

James turned around, and looked into the eyes of the true Albus Dumbledore.

He was so screwed.

The Headmaster had been far from happy. The punishment had come swift and fast, in the inimitable Hogwarts style, cleaning Filch's trophy cabinets and playing waiter at the last of the dainty little Slug Club meetings, despite the fact that they had already graduated.

Slug Club.

Club.

Group.

Organisation.

Secret society.

Order of the Phoenix.

Funny how some secret clubs could get you killed.

And how easily they could get you to hate the world.

The battle raged around them, the very air tingling with a dark music that hadn't been there before.

And where, in the name of Morgana's sodding vagina, was Albus Dumbledore?

James ducked underneath the powerful blast, as did the other three on the opposite side of the lone figure standing atop the miniature hillock, towering over them with its wand aloft.

Out of the corner of his limited line of sight, which was fast becoming crowded with the mangled bodies, he saw the red-haired figure of Lily Potter hold up something out of her pocket. He had seen the contraption once before. And before he could so much as stand up, the contraption emitted a burst of sound that nearly deafened him.

The Dark Lord, atop the hillock cackled and raised a shield. Countless projectiles smashed against the shield and dropped to the ground. But where were the projectiles coming from?

James held out his wand and sent a powerful red hex straight at the Dark Lord. Voldemort flicked aside the hex while maintaining the shield that protected him from the mysterious projectiles. Lily still held up the strange contraption.

Frank and Alice moved their hands in complex movements James had never seen nor heard of before. A thin golden thread appeared to dangle from their wands. James kept up a constant stream of fire from his wand. Voldemort blocked all his spells effortlessly, while the mysterious projectiles kept slamming against his powerful shield at unfathomable speed.

Lord Voldemort cackled again and flicked his wand, wrenching the contraption out of Lily Potter's hands. The projectiles stopped bombarding the Dark Lord's shield. James transfigured the entire hillock into a lion's head with a gaping maw. Lily whipped out her wand, just as the Dark Lord cast a shield.

But Lily's charm was aimed at the slowly mutating hillock at Voldemort's feet. The lion's head with a gaping maw appeared, and roared to life as Lily's sentience charm hit it. It roared, and Lord Voldemort suddenly lost his footing.

Frank and Alice had completed the spell. It gushed forth from their wands, an unending stream of golden light, encircling Voldemort. And suddenly, the Dark Lord, hillock, shield and all were swallowed up by a blinding explosion, sending all four of the Order members backwards through the air.

The night exploded into a shower of crimson flames, as blood spluttered from the wounds of several dozen wizards fighting an intense battle just outside the quaint town of Hogsmeade. James blocked a spell from a Death Eater, as he recovered his footing and shot a stunner straight back. The stunner did not disappoint.

The flames cleared. The hillock had been razed. And atop its charred ruins stood the Dark Lord, a dark smile gracing his sinister face as he surveyed them.

Dammit, why did he keep surviving?

James couldn't even react before two of Voldemort's spells sent him careening straight into the ground. He heard Lily's cry of pain, Alice's wail and Frank's moan.

They should never have deluded themselves. They should never have taken on Lord Voldemort.

Green light burst in upon his vision as he rolled frantically away from the patch of grass he had previously occupied.

Suddenly, there was a burst of sparks from Voldemort's wand. The Death Eaters disappeared, one after another.

A flare of magic from the north-east indicated that Albus Dumbledore had indeed arrived, bearing reinforcements from the Ministry.

The clean-up crew, so to speak, had arrived late yet again.

And the foursome had survived yet again. For the third time.

Forty five seconds.

That was all the time it took for the Dark Lord to disarm four of the best wizards the Order of the Phoenix had to offer.

And his son had to stand up to that monster.

James stuffed his fist into his mouth, as his eyes narrowed in hysterical amusement. Muffled snorts still echoed around the room. Suddenly the snorts stopped. And then came the tears. Hard and fast, straight from his eyes, they dropped.

He was crying.

And laughing.

Insanity.

Insanity. What a year of isolation could do an angst-filled young couple barely out of their teens. An insanity that carried with it a deep sadness… sadness that like a dormant virus, buried itself deep within their minds, flaring in bursts, slowly driving them apart, wrenching their love and twisting it into a bitter hate-filled existence that filled an entire bitter, twisted karmic cubicle that fate loved taking a dump in.

There was no hope for their war.

Voldemort.

The sum total of all the sins that humanity had performed, twisted into a barely human form that thirsted for chaos and evil, revelling in it like a hard-working man would plunge into a hot bath after a good day's work.

He hated this life. He hated it. He didn't want it.

Damn. Those damn petulant thoughts again.

James got up and stretched, letting his hand, which had curled around his wand to relax. The wand fell slowly onto the cushion, like a sizzling, spent firework, emitting faint golden sparks. Its owner bustled into the space near the stairwell and peered up at the bedroom door where his wife sat with their sleeping son. He then sighed, and shook his head, as if he was trying to brush away his thoughts.

Suddenly the hallway lit up with a red light.

Cold.

A chilling cold that penetrated the deepest confines of his mind and crept up his bone like a glacier that defied gravity, paralysing him for an entire heart-numbing second.

No, no, no…

James looked at the entrance to their house, his eyes betraying his inner turmoil and the panic that had seized his mind in an iron grip, and then glanced up at the bedroom door.

"Lily!" he shouted, "Take Harry and go! It's Him! It's Him…"

The door burst open, revealing a tall, shrouded figure that gave off a slight gleam in the faint moonlight.

Peter had betrayed him.

Why?

James looked at the figure in panic, his hands trembling as a high-pitched, hair-raising laughter echoed through the mansion. James looked around wildly at the bedroom door.

He could hear Lily's fervent muttering.

He had to stall him.

He saw his wand on the couch.

And his heart nearly stopped beating.

Why would Peter betray him?

Had the hatred spread that far, taking his once beloved friends into its malignant grasp?

Perhaps.

James charged, his eyes betraying his knowledge of the futility of that act. The figure cackled with high-pitched laughter as it waved its wand.

How will my son remember me?

Will he see a hero, with his head in the skies and his feet floating above the earth – embellished by the heroic tales others wove around James Potter's death?

Or will he see a bitter, twisted man that hated himself and couldn't even hold a wand when it most mattered?

What would Harry Potter see?

And why was he even hoping that his defenceless son could even survive this?

A flash of green lit up his peripheral vision.

James Potter crumpled to the ground, his eyes vacant, and his body lifeless. The figure stepped into the lamplight, bringing its inhuman face into focus. It cast a disdainful look at the lifeless figure slouched on the ground, stepped over it, and advanced towards the bedroom door.