Rolling in the Deep
Summary: When Harry looses his last line of support at Hogwarts he is forced to find a new path. A path that takes him into the depths of the ministry and politics as he fights the war in a new way. A ministry aligned savior might be just what the world needs to avoid a devastating war. Slash! HP/KS
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and would never dream of taking the well earned credit away from JK. She is one of my idols and is an inspiration to keep writing. I use my fanfictions to learn and grow in my own style. I am eternally grateful she allows us lowly fanficers to manhandle her characters.
Rating: Mature, and yes I mean it!
Warnings: Slash relationships, political intrigue, occasional violence, and thoughts of self-harm. He will not be a cutter, but he will consider it at several points, because I'm writing him with that mindset this story may trigger some people in recovery. Please read with caution.
A/N: Well surprise, I have once again started another story when I said I wouldn't. This one just wouldn't leave me alone. I really did try to stop myself, but there is so much untapped potential in political Harry fanfictions I wanted to write one. Too many authors forget there isn't just two sides to the war, there is a third already established, with plenty of interesting characters to write. I am starting out simple and pairing him with Kingsley in a short, slashy, story that will let me know if I should continue on with a few of these or leave this one as my final Harry Potter project... until the next plot bunny attack anyway.
The day had started out like any other for Harry Potter. He got up grumbling about the hour, getting dressed and ready for the day in a groggy fog. His spirits heightened a bit as he reached the great hall for Breakfast. The house elves always had such good food waiting for the students. Seemed like such a shame that most student's didn't have a clue who or what cooked their food or made their beds for them. Of course they didn't notice right up until it wasn't done, heads would role in that unfortunate situation. Sometimes literally as the case was with the definitely insane Black family with their neat rows of severed elf heads adorning the walls.
He was distracted from his somewhat grim thoughts by the tantalizing scents of eggs and bacon. It was amazing how much food could distract a person. Especially if that person happened to be a sixteen year old wizard, the energy needed to both grow and use magic properly came from food, lots and lots of food. Harry was well on his way to polishing off his food before Ron came staggering into the Great Hall.
Harry made room for Ron at the table, and continued with his food. Ron was notorious for either not saying a word, or talking with his mouth so full you couldn't hear a word he was saying, if you tried to start up a conversation with him before he reached for seconds.
Hermione was the last one of their trio to get to the Great Hall. Harry always suspected this was due to her trying to get in that last few minutes of study time before class, exam or no exam. She ate at a much calmer pace than her male friends, which made Harry slow a bit in his own eating. He didn't like making a spectacle of himself, gorging himself like a pig sitting next to Ron was different than being next to Hermione, she was much more dignified. Best not to bring focus onto his lack of table manners, after all one can't practice what one doesn't know.
That is when this simple morning turned into a living nightmare and his world once again crumbled.
Two men dressed in somber black robes arrived in the Great Hall, with a golden scroll tied shut with a black silk ribbon. That did not bode well for good news in Harry's mind. He looked around quickly, and only then did he notice the Headmaster was not at the head table. His stomach plummeted as the taller of the two men carefully untied the scroll in full view of the students, a small blue spark of magic flying from the knot, apparently confirming the seal had just been broken. The first man handed it to the second to read. The suspense killing the seated students.
"It is in the utmost regrets that I am to deliver this message to you, the student's of Hogwarts." The man read steadily from the scroll, little inflection coming to his voice in performing a task that was unfortunately part of his job. "As Executor of Wills for the Ministry of Magic, it is my solemn duty to inform you that on November 6th at 10:25 PM, Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was pronounced dead by a team of doctors from St. Mungos hospital. The cause of death was proven to be a curse of unknown origins, the matter is currently under investigation by skilled wizards trained in tracking this kind of magic.
"The Headship position is to be passed to the Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, she will hence forth assume the duties of Headmistress of this school. An interim Transfiguration Professor will be provided by the ministry until the new Headmistress can hold applicant Interviews for the position herself.
"Any personal bequeaths made to individuals by Albus Dumbledore have been properly divided out and will be available for those who receive an official notice from the Department of Wills. Directions on where to receive your inheritance will be included in the notice along with the description of the items being given.
"Once again it is my regretful duty to inform you that Headmaster Albus Dumbledore is dead." The man finished reading, and carefully handed the damnable scroll to the teary eyed former Transfiguration professor.
The two ministry employees bowed slightly in respect to the new Headmistress, but retreated quickly from the hall. Soon nothing was left but a dead silence and an elderly woman holding onto a golden scroll for dear life.
Welcome To My Nightmare
"Harry where are you going?" Hermione asked worried about her best friend.
"Just going for a walk," The raven haired wizard replied distractedly as he wondered from the common room, normally vibrant green eyes devoid of emotion.
"Be careful," Hermione called after the distracted boy who lived. She was doubtful he heard her speak at all. She didn't really blame him, if she had gone through what he had, she didn't doubt she would be in the same or worse shape.
It was a lie. A total and utter lie that lead to this point. One so insidiously crafted it was sixty years in the making. Voldemort could have been stopped. There was a point in time that a powerful charismatic teen had decided to go bad, so deeply bad his name would one day become synonymous with death, and he was allowed to go down that road with little obstructions. Why? Because no one gave a damn. If for just one moment someone had thought to check on the young prodigy during the summers, or let him stay at the school like he had wanted to, there was a chance Tom Riddle might have had second thoughts about everything he did later in life.
The truly horrendous part about the whole thing? That wasn't even the lie that had Harry walking around the castle like a zombie. Voldemort's past just gave the lie a foothold in Harry's life.
No the lie was Harry himself. The Boy-Who-Lived, the savior, and all around hero. That was the lie. Harry was nothing like the world saw him as and his heart bled. The hope and dreams of the wizarding world had been draining on him like a leech since he had reemerged into the world of magic.
Harry didn't want to kill, but he had. Quirrell was dead by his hand. He wasn't even sure if the ashes had ever been swept up, he never checked.
Harry didn't want to speak with snakes, but he did. He couldn't have saved Ginny without it, but if it weren't for Fawkes he would have died from the Basilisk venom running in his veins from his fight to kill the King of Serpents.
Harry didn't want a psychopathic killer after his blood, but he did. The world had the wrong psychopath. A rat ran free to rejoin his master, and a dog was caged in a house holding a million and one horrors from his past.
Harry didn't want to be a Champion, but he had been. He even won that one according to the record books. The world never saw the tie for what it was, the death toll for a fellow classmate.
Harry didn't want to create a secret group of child fighters, but he had. Now his Godfather was dead and wasn't coming back. The prophecy haunted his every conscious thought, waking or not, he heard those words repeated in his head, over and over again.
Now in sixth year everything he knew and loved was being stolen from him, little by little it was all going away. Any innocence that managed to survive the previous years' strife was being stripped away. Hogwarts, the only real home he ever had, now felt like a prison. Every day he spent going to classes, doing homework, and enjoying time with his friends was one more day he wasn't out on the front lines of the war. The front lines where he was supposed to be fighting to uphold the safety and sanity of the magical world.
Harry didn't care. He never wanted to fight, he only ever wanted to live. He didn't want fame and glory, he only wanted friendship. He didn't want his name splattered in newspapers and used as political currency, he just wanted to finish school and build a life for himself. He never wanted people to die in his name, and he sure as Hades didn't want people to kill for him either. He would rather have those people safe, whole, and happy by his side than carry the guilt of their deaths because they died supporting his cause. A cause he had very little to do with beyond being a poster boy. Dumbledore would rather shoot himself in the foot than tell him anything important just in case the 'poor boy' couldn't handle it.
Dumbledore had finally started showing him things. Snippets of Voldemort's life that if the Dark Lord ever found out about Harry would be higher on his to kill list than he already was if that was even possible. Now, even that tentative truce was gone, the headmaster was dead. Anything Dumbledore might have been able to tell him to help him win died with the old man. Maybe he really did die rather than let Harry know anything worthwhile? Harry couldn't even rustle up enough gumption to either laugh or cringe at the last thought. He wasn't in control of his tumultuous thoughts, they were forcibly dragging him along for the ride.
That was how he knew Voldemort could have been stopped. The things Dumbledore had shown him were truely horrible. He watched the powerful, abused, little boy turn to the Dark for comfort and aid when the Light refused him. He saw shadows of himself in a monster he was destined to kill. He had felt resentment and anger at the very same people that created Lord Voldemort out of Tom Riddle.
What if someone had cared?
It was hard to think about, that what if. Just one word, one voice of kindness, and this could have all been a bad dream. Harry would still have parents, and maybe Tom Riddle would have used his brilliance to improve the magical world, not bring it to its knees. No, this train of thought was too painful. Too much ruined potential to bare thinking on.
Now Harry was left to clean up the mess. Without so much as being asked his opinion he would be sent out to try and kill the insane Dark Lord, all on the word of a batty old Divination professor who only gave two true predictions in her life, both of which brought Harry a little closer to his own personal Hell on Earth.
It was coming closer, this confrontation between Dark and Light. Every one knew it. From the young to old they all knew the battle would come. Just don't suggest they ever pick up a wand and defend themselves. No lets leave it to the Golden Boy. He will make it better, after all…
He is Harry Potter.