A/N: Okay...I'm not sure how well this story is going to be received as it delves a little into the world's current issues. Please just consider it a piece of character exploration and not me trying to perpetuate any political views because honestly, this story practically wrote itself, I just went along for the ride :P. I hope you enjoy it :D!
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns everything, but I don't care 'cause she's awesome.
The Other Minister
"They'll regroup if you don't do anything!"
"Mr Potter, if you just listen -"
"No you listen, Minister," Harry snarled, the scars littering his face contorting. "Just because Voldemort's gone it does not mean you should stop hunting Death Eaters. They're not stupid, as much as we wished it were true. They'll recover before we know it and we'll have a whole new war on our hands!"
The Minister's balding forehead gleamed with perspiration.
"I understand your concerns," he said as calmly as possible, "but we can't waste resources chasing after dark wizards when there are so many other causes."
Harry sighed, exasperated, "Look, I know a lot of people are hurting right now, but it won't do them any good if you just have to abandon them again. Those Death Eaters are dangerous, Voldemort or not!"
The Minister drew himself up to his full height (which wasn't much compared to Harry's six-foot-one).
"Potter," he said firmly, although rather nervously. The kid seemed to ooze authority and demand respect. He was in half a mind to just give him his prestigious position of Minister for Magic.
"Potter," he repeated, "You are not part of the Ministry, and although you've contributed greatly to the ceasing of this war I cannot adhere to your requests."
Harry's eyes narrowed and the Minister immediately deflated. Being harshly scrutinized by an Order of Merlin recipient (First Class, nonetheless) wasn't pleasant.
"You will regret not doing anything," the boy said softly, "it's what Fudge did and everyone remembers how that turned out. This war is not over, and by dismantling the Auror Corps by ninety five percentyou'll be handing the government right back over to the Death Eaters."
The Minister bristled.
"Please!" Harry continued, almost begging, "Don't let all this suffering be in vain. You need to detain them!"
The stouter man stood firm. He couldn't comprehend what this – this child wanted him to do. He wasn't a wartime minister! They'd plucked him from his relatively insignificant seat in the Wizengamot because of the neutral status he'd managed to uphold during the conflict. They'd told him it would be easy. That he would just be returning the Ministry back to normal.
And now this?
"I'm sorry Potter," he said, "but you are not the Minister for Magic and therefore do not have any power in the matter. You're a talented fighter yes, but you have no political influence or experience. Our ministry is the most powerful government throughout the United Kingdom, Europe and Asia. Its leader will not be pushed into something that shouldn't be done."
Harry eyes blazed, "I'm not pushing you into anything!" his voice began to rise, "And seeing as I am the person who killed Voldemort I think it's safe to say that I do, in fact, have quite a bit of influence in affairs pertaining to war!"
"We are not at war!" the Minister shouted.
"Of course we're at war!" Harry bellowed, slapping his hand on the desk between them, "We've been at war for the past three decades! Don't think that just by destroying the captain that the whole ship will sink!"
"Mental am I? Mental?" Harry laughed humourlessly, "I think you're the one with problems if you think your precious ministry is so strong it can survive with five percent if its Auror force!"
The Minister drew himself up for a second time. Why couldn't the boy see that by killing You-Know-Who he'd disassembled the whole dark regime? "Potter, my word is final. Our priorities have moved on from simply detaining some wayward dark wizards."
Harry's expression turned steely, "You're making a massive mistake."
"I highly doubt that."
"Fine," Harry said coldly, "but don't come running to me when it all goes to shit."
"Wouldn't dream of it," the Minister sniffed.
Harry, who had strode to the door turned back and fixed the politician with a withering gaze, "You're not, you know."
"Not the most powerful government."
He snorted, "I think you'll find that we are, even despite having emerged from a war."
Harry burst out laughing, "Oh please," he scorned, "the muggle government could flatten you in a heartbeat."
It was the Minister's turn to laugh.
"Muggles? Flatten us?" he scoffed, "You really must be off your rocker, Potter."
"Oh trust me," he said, "they could."
Slowly, a sly smile spread across Harry's face and the Minister could tell he was forming a complicated idea.
"Just watch me," the boy chuckled darkly, and then he was gone.
Twelve years later...
"Up next on BBC News we take an in depth look into our newly elected Prime Minister. Just who is –"
Tuning out the muggle television blaring in the corner of the cafe, the longest standing Minister for Magic in history, Norman Doge, sipped his coffee. It was peaceful here, away from the fighting in the magical world.
He rubbed at his face tiredly. He had meant to go into the ministry this morning but at the last minute had instead disappeared into muggle London. He couldn't face it today. It being all the killings and kidnappings and intolerance... he couldn't help but feel responsible for why his people were being destroyed.
He should've listened all those years ago...
Draining the last of his drink Norman clinked his mug on the table and stood up, jerking on his travelling cloak. It would not be healthy for him to dwell on past mistakes. He had to face his responsibility now so the magical world wasn't pushed further into turmoil. He glanced up at the annoying talking muggle contraption and nearly fainted. Was that...was that...? No, it couldn't be...
Surreptitiously, he flicked his wand at the television and the volume increased.
"Born on the thirty-first of July, nineteen-eighty and orphaned in a car crash at the age of one, Harry James Potter was raised in Surrey by his aunt and uncle."
Paper white, Norman sank back into his chair.
"Attending Little Whinging Primary until the age of eleven, Mr Potter then moved to a prestigious boarding school in Scotland. Priding themselves on respect and privacy, not even the name of this institution has been released for fear of media attention disrupting students. However, fellow Little Whinging schoolmate Piers Polkiss, twenty-nine, remembers the Prime Minister clearly from their younger years."
Norman's eyes were glued to the television as a rat-faced man filled the screen.
"'He was a quiet kid. Smart enough I suppose, but nothing too outstanding. To tell the truth he was picked on a little back then. Nothing like that would happen now though. We've got our school reunion coming up soon but no one thinks he'll be there, what with all the stuff he's got to do. Prime Minister, blimey...' After completing secondary school at seventeen, Mr Potter left his aunt and uncle (surprisingly, two of the Prime Minister's least supportive constituents) and moved to Lancashire. At the age of eighteen Mr Potter created his own political party (New Nation) and in 2001 won the seat of Fylde just shy of his twenty-first birthday, making him the youngest politician in the House of Commons."
The Minister for Magic shakily agreed to another coffee when asked by the waiter, straining to hear everything the BBC was saying.
"In that election New Nation won a staggering 17.7 percent of the popular vote and secured forty-nine seats, making it the most successful newly created party ever. In the 2005 general election Mr Potter retained his seat in Fylde and New Nation managed to snatch eighteen more seats away from the Conservative and Labour parties, the success being strongly attributed to Mr Potter's views on foreign policy and economic procedure. By 2007 New Nation expanded to become one of the most major parties in the United Kingdom, a rise perpetuated by Mr Potter's plan for the global financial crisis. In the recent 2010 election Mr Potter led the party to a phenomenal victory and formed one of the largest majority governments ever recorded, with New Nation acquiring eighty-six percent of the popular vote and winning 551 seats in the House of Commons."
"Your coffee sir," said a voice.
"Oh, yes. Thank you," Norman said, distractedly taking the mug.
"At the age of twenty-nine Mr Potter became one the youngest and most popular Prime Ministers on record. We at the BBC asked a few Londoners what they thought of having such an inexperienced leader. 'I was a little hesitant at first' said fifty-six year old executive Mark Bower, 'but he's got a sturdy set of economic policies to back him up, which is something the other parties just didn't have.' 'I like his plans for Iraq and Afghanistan,' said thirty-two year old teacher Jessica Grey, 'his age doesn't really matter to me,'."
Norman felt his hands shaking as a montage of film all involving one young man with black hair and round glasses filled the screen. Potter at a conference, Potter with the Queen, Potter debating in parliament, Potter at a school...
"'He's a real fighter that one," an old man rasped, noticing Norman's infatuation with the program.
"Huh?" the Minister said dumbly, glancing to look at the adjacent table.
The man laughed, gazing at some footage of Potter talking with military personnel, "'He's a fighter. I lived through the Second World War and I tell ya, Harry Potter talks as if 'e fought in it."
"Yeah," Norman answered weakly. Images of the young man's scarred and ravaged face (curiously smooth in all his Muggle appearances) bursting to the forefront of his mind. Potter had been in a war...
"Only time will tell if the Prime Minister will live up to his popularity. And that's the news for today. From all at the BBC..."
Norman stood up immediately when the segment ended, not bothering to finish his coffee. He bolted from the cafe and disappeared to the Ministry, determined to find out exactly why he'd never known Harry Potter was on track to becoming Prime Minister. Striding into the atrium of the Ministry and through multiple Auror security checks, he pulled out his diary for the day.
"Late! You're late!" it screeched and the appointment he should've been in ten minutes ago glowed orange.
8:30, it read, Customary meeting with the new Prime Minister of Muggles.
"Oh shit," mumbled Norman, before breaking into a run.
Collapsing into the comfy chair behind his desk Harry Potter relaxed. The election campaign had been gruelling but rewarding, and he was excited about future prospects.
Drawing his wand he flicked it, conjuring a bottle of firewhisky and a shot glass, pouring himself a generous portion of alcohol. Waving his wand again he cancelled the glamour charms on his face, feeling his long held scars reappear. Tonight would be his night off before the real drama began. Harry was just about to start reading his favourite book when he heard a small but distinctive cough. His head snapped towards the small portrait that hung on the wall, watching as the little man painted in it opened his mouth.
"Minister for Magic, Norman Doge, requests a meeting at eight thirty with the Prime Minister of Muggles."
Harry sighed, setting his book down, "I should've known...alright," he continued after a pause, "send him in when he's ready."
"Certainly," drawled the portrait and walked out of his canvass.
Leaning back in his chair, Harry rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. He'd been hoping to postpone the inevitable meeting between himself and the Minister for Magic until he'd fully organised his plan to deal with the wizarding world. Something must've triggered the breakdown of the 'Wizard-Notice-Me-Not' charm he'd placed on himself years ago. It was probably all the new publicity.
Straightening his tie, Harry waited. Eight thirty came and went eliciting a slight frown from the portrait who informed him that the Minister was running late. Harry laughed and told him not to worry.
"You're the first wizard Prime Minister, you know," the portrait said at eight thirty-five.
"Is that so?" said Harry, curious, "How many Prime Ministers have you worked with."
The portrait snorted, "All of them. Well, all those that have used this office."
"And not one of them was magical?"
"Nope. Not one," it looked like he was about to continue but stopped abruptly, "The Minister for Magic requests to meet at this time."
"Let him in," said Harry grimly. The portrait nodded and not one second later green flames exploded in the fireplace, and Norman Doge spun into existence.
For a while they both stood there looking at each other. The Minister for Magic had not aged gracefully. Thick, deep lines adored his face, and his eyes, once so energetic, seemed tired and reserved.
"We meet again Mr Potter," he said nervously.
"Indeed," Harry smiled, gesturing for him to sit down while conjuring another shot glass, "and what a while it's been."
"Yes, it has been a while," agreed Norman, taking the proffered glass and sinking into the chair, "How – how've you been Mr Pot – Prime Minister?"
"No need for the formalities Norman. Are we not equals here?" Harry smiled, "And I've been well, thank you. A little stressed but still enjoying life."
"Oh that's – that's good," the Minister replied, throwing back his firewhisky.
"And what about you?"
Norman shifted uncomfortably. Facing the man who warned you of a danger years ago and then proved to be correct was not exactly the best feeling.
Harry raised an eyebrow, "Coping?"
"Yes," said Norman tartly, trying to think up a way to tell his companion about the twelve year war that had been raging in his absence.
Harry sighed, "Muggle Prime Minister or not, Norman, I am still a wizard and therefore remain well informed about what is occurring in our world."
The Minister for Magic seemed a little embarrassed at this. "Well," he said, "we are having a few problems with er...with, well..."
"Death Eaters?" Harry asked shrewdly.
"Yes. With Death Eaters," Norman screwed up as much courage as possible, "it seems you were correct all those years ago. Unfortunately we paid the price for not listening to you."
Harry observed him for a moment, "Thank you. But don't worry about them anymore. I know where they are and I have them covered."
"I – what?" gaped Norman, nearly dropping his shot glass "How do you know where the Death Eaters are?"
"A few days ago I had my first briefing with the muggle defence minister," Harry said calmly, "it seems The Commonwealth and her allies have developed a heat sensing satellite imaging system that's picked up the whole wizarding world, including Death Eater bases."
"What?" asked Norman, dumbfounded.
Harry leant forward, "None of the enchantments you have on your dwellings that repel muggles or stay invisible retain any heat."
"And so with this technology your positions glow like little red beacons," Harry explained, "all I need now is for you to point out which congregations of wizards aren't yours."
Norman was filled with both hesitation and excitement. Could this mean the end of the war? Harry Potter certainly seemed to think it might be. By discovering the positions of every Death Eater base they'd have a massive advantage over them.
"Here," the Minister said slowly, waving his wand and conjuring a map of the United Kingdom, "these are all the wizarding settlements we have. Anything else would have been built illegally."
Harry looked at the map, "Good, most of the highly active hubs are away from civilian settlements." He conjured his own map, which had many more areas plotted on it than the other, "Here Norman, tell your Aurors not to go near these new areas for the next two weeks, and pull out all your double agents."
"What're you going to do?"
"Oh I've got a faint idea," Harry grinned slightly wickedly, "The only thing I need you to worry about is staying away. I don't think you'd appreciate being hit by a nuclear warhead anymore than the next person."
The Minister's eyes bulged, "What?"
"Oh don't worry," placated Harry, waving his hand impatiently, "I've hired some wizards in the defence department. They've managed to jinx any nuclear fallout to dissipate in a one mile radius from the impact zone, and not only that, but the area will be liveable again just a week after the explosion!"
The jagged scars on Harry Potter's face gleaned savagely in the dim office light and Norman swallowed nervously. Was he doing the right thing, and more pressingly, why did Harry suddenly seem so...sinister?
"Trust me, Minister," implored Harry.
Breathing deeply Norman made his decision and nodded, meeting the startlingly young eyes across from him, "I'll send out the Aurors to go incognito around the Death Eater bases and draw a three mile perimeter around them. We don't want any civilians stumbling in at the wrong time."
"That sounds good," Harry agreed, "I've never done this before, but I'm going to have to confound some army personnel to think they're carrying out a training regime when they launch the missiles. Also, tell me when you draw the perimeters which ones have traces of Dark magic near them. That way we won't be hitting any non-Death Eater bases."
"Non-Death Eater bases?"
Harry looked at him, "just make completely sure that what will be hit is actually what we want to dismantle. If there is even a shadow of doubt around one area we will not destroy it."
The Minister gulped. The seventeen year old he'd known had changed a lot in the past years. Never, Norman knew, would the younger Harry Potter ever considered doing what his older version was doing now. The years had twisted and moulded him into something the Minister barely recognised. And again Norman was being proven wrong. The muggle government could flatten them in a heartbeat...
He swallowed and flexed his hands nervously, by agreeing to what was being proposed he'd be condemning thousands of people (albeit Death Eaters) to certain death, but surely the dark regime, given the chance, would do exactly the same thing to them? No, it had to be done or the war would drag on forever. It had taken Norman over a decade to finally realise that Potter had been correct all along, what's to say he wouldn't be right about this as well?
The Minister stared the Prime Minister in the eye, "Okay, let's do this."
Harry's face morphed into a grim smile and it was only then that Norman realised his counterpart was as nervous as him.
"I don't likewhat we're doing," stated Harry, "but with the way things are going..."
"There's really no other hope."
The youngest sighed morosely and flicked his wand, pouring them both another shot of firewhisky.
"No," he answered, "I don't think there is."
"Fuck, I hate war," growled Norman, throwing back his alcohol, "Kill or be killed, eh?"
"Something like that," Harry muttered, downing his own, "humans are bloody tossers. We'd be better off as owls."
"Am I doing the right thing?"
Harry buried his face in his wife's hair as he asked, pressing them together and closing his eyes.
He could feel her hot breath on his neck as she spoke. Their baby kicked between them and Harry lovingly brushed a hand over her stomach.
"But killing them all? Death Eaters or not, they're still people."
"People who've had the chance to do the right thing for years," she said, placing a lingering kiss in his lips, "it's time they were stopped for good."
Harry sighed into her mouth, drawing comfort from her smooth touch.
"Yeah," he said, "you're right."
Wanting to escape from his simmering guilt, Harry kissed her firmly and started unbuttoning her blouse, his lips moving passionately from her mouth to her jaw line and throat. He just wanted to lose himself for a moment...get away from the guilt of having so many lives on his conscious...
"Harry," she said breathlessly, pulling away. Taking his face in her hands and searching his eyes, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his scar, "You're a good man."
He sighed and broke eye contact; his wife always knew when he was trying to forget something by making love to her, and normally she let him go through with it. It seemed tonight she had something to say about it.
"You're a good man," she repeated firmly, "you're doing what's right and not what's easy."
Harry glided his thumb across her abdomen and smiled slightly, "I know," he sighed, "I've just got to believe it myself."
He met her eyes briefly, and a moment later they were kissing again, hot and lustfully; the world forgotten.
Avery knew he was an experienced fighter. He'd been a loyal Death Eater for forty-two years and had served in every major battle. He was one of the highest ranking soldiers in the dark regime, and often aided the senior officials in their various raids and offences. He therefore, would be hard pressed to see something that would surprise him after so many years of servitude. However, despite being so experienced and very hard to shock, Avery always tuned his senses in for disturbances.
His hearing was the first thing that alerted Avery to the odd arrival.
A piercing whistle, growing closer, rent the air. Looking into the sky he spotted a thin, pointed cylinder hurtling at an incredible speed towards their magical wards. Frowning slightly and waving his wand, Avery sent a patronus to his superiors reporting on the strange occurrence. Peering back up, his eyes widened in horror. By the time his silver eel had dissipated, the strange object had already smashed through their protections with incredible brute force, and made contact with their castle-like base.
There was a shivering micro-millisecond of calm, and then Avery's world exploded.
"It is done."
The silver stag disappeared as Norman felt an unnatural chill permeate his skin. It is done...the sentence, so small, held so much meaning. He felt the ranking Aurors around him shift nervously as the reality of the situation pressed in on them. Was this the end of the war? Were they finally free?
"The anti-radiation shields should hold for at least a month now," said Seamus Finnegan, a newly promoted major, "although we'll only need a few days for the jinx to work..."
Collapsing into a chair, the minister nodded. How many people had he killed today? Too many... his conscious whispered. The room fell eerily silent, the only sound being the clock on the wall ticking down to six thirty when Prime Minister Potter would arrive and relay the damage caused. Norman found himself both hoping and dreading a high mortality, and it disgusted him. What had given him the right to take so many lives in the name of victory? Surely such wickedness is just as bad as what the Death Eater's had been doing? It needed to be done the little voice in his head told him, we were a breath away from losing the war...practically gasping for air...
The door flung open and a young Auror entered. Norman was wrenched from his thoughts.
"The dark trackers we placed," he gasped, "they-they've all gone dead! And we've picked up a sudden decline in magical activity over the UK! What's happening?"
The other faces in the room remained sombre.
"So it is done," whispered Finnegan, his voice muffled as he put his face in his hands, "we've – we've... oh Merlin..."
The junior officer looked confused, "What -?"
"Do not worry, Mr Adams," placated Barkley, another high ranking Auror, "those disturbances are merely side effects of a rather...sensitive operation."
"Oh, um...alright. Thank you, sir. I'll inform the others immediately."
The young officer hurriedly left the doorway and again silence ensued. Norman could hear himself breathing.
"A room of politicians and Aurors? I expected a lot more noise."
The Minister jerked in his seat and turned to see his muggle counterpart leaning casually against a filing cabinet, a grim expression on his young face and twirling a feather quill between his fingers. He must've apparated in silently through the wards. Norman could feel power radiating through the room.
"What's the damage?" he choked out as Harry waved his wand and conjured a chair before spinning it around and sitting on it backwards, his chin in his arms leaning on the backrest, "are there any...survivors?"
An almost amused expression crossed Harry's face, as though he were about to give Norman a present he knew would annoy him.
"Why don't you see for yourself." The Minister instinctively caught the quill he was tossed before feeling a familiar tug beneath his navel.
Coughing a few seconds later, Norman straightened himself as the Portkey ended. Plumes of smoke obscured his vision and he looked around frantically, trying to gather his bearings. A transparent bubble encased him and remained around his body as he began stumbling through stony debris.
Fear flooded his conscious as no reply was heard. Unsheathing his wand Norman continued to blunder through the rocks and smoke, he could barely see his own hand the smog was so thick and a pungent smell infused his nostrils. Beginning to move faster he didn't pay attention to the ground and tripped. Managing to prevent himself falling completely, the Minister glanced downwards and nearly fell anyway.
"Oh my God!"
An arm, dislodged from its body lay bloodied and charred by his boot. Norman's breathing hastened as he scrambled away from the limb, the smoke still encaging him completely. He vaguely heard whimpering before realising it was his own voice. Everything else was deathly silent.
"POTTER!" he screamed, realising with horror that his wand refused to work, "POTTER THIS ISN'T FUNNY!"
"No it's not, is it."
The minister snapped his head to the side and flung his wand out as Harry suddenly appeared, dressed impeccably in a completely black suit, tie and vest.
"In fact," he continued, not looking at Norman but instead staring straight ahead, hands clasped behind his back, "I would have to say this is the unfunniest thing I have ever seen."
Raising his wand so fast Norman couldn't react, Harry dissipated the smoke, and the Minister stared wide eyed at the destruction revealed. What was a castle stronghold for Death Eaters now consisted of smouldering piles of rouble. The obliteration was so complete rocks at what Norman assumed was the initial impact site, were melted and flat, their odd shapes mockingly artistic. He and Harry appeared to be the only living things in the vicinity. His stomach churned something dreadful.
"What have we done?" he whispered, barely noticing the tremors in his hands and voice.
Potter looked supremely apathetic. His gaze was steely and unreadable as he observed the landscape. Norman wondered if after all this fighting he'd merely made way for a new dark lord...the man was definitely powerful enough, and now with weapons as deadly as this on his side...
"The war is over for the most part," said Harry quietly, still looking out onto the smoky remains, "keep your Auror forces strong for a couple more years, and then gradually start cutting down. I'll be doing the same with the muggles – the wars they've been fighting have been directly caused by Death Eaters as well. Hopefully after this everything will be over and wizards will not be so arrogant to assume that their muggle cousins are weak."
For a brief second the Minister could have sworn a flicker of crimson flooded Harry's eyes and he shivered, but as soon as it had appeared, it left. Rumours of You-Know-Who transferring power into Harry Potter during their last encounter had been rife after they had 'won' the first time, but he'd been reluctant to believe it. Now, as twenty-nine year old Potter stared emotionlessly at a near genocide, Norman wasn't so sure those rumours were untrue.
"I am tired of the wizarding world," said his companion smoothly, "I had dedicated my life to it and all that I received in return was arrogance and death."
The Minister gulped, "As – as I said before, it was wrong of us not to listen to you..."
A tiny smile tinged Harry's mouth, "Which is why you will listen to me now because I will be watching you, Norman. I may no longer consider myself part of the magical world but I do still consider myself a wizard, and a very...powerful wizard at that. You could almost say...a little bit dark."
There was no mistaking the red glow that flared into Harry's eyes this time and Norman gasped, stepping backwards, his wand outstretched.
"The rumours are true!"
Harry laughed coldly, his presence unnervingly calm.
"Indeed...but I do not harbour the same ill feelings towards muggles as Voldemort did. His powers...merely perpetuated my own opinions about such things and unluckily for you, I have never been very impressed with the wizarding government. Although, I have been lucky in that the evil within me is controllable...for the most part."
Norman could be feel droplets of sweat roll down his neck and his wand slipped in his grasp, "Are – are you going to destroy us? Like the Death Eaters?"
Harry let out a bark-like laugh, "Oh heavens no, dear Norman! But I will be keeping a very close eye on everything – you in particular and anyone who will succeed you. The wizarding government is a borderline dictatorship and while that is being fixed I will be watching anyone in power...one wrong move and I may just decide a little...intervention is required."
Norman gulped as he stared at Potter, his skin bone white in the murky light of the battlefield. Finally the younger wizard turned to look at the elder.
"Your heart is in the right place, Minister." he said, "Use it wisely and you will never see me again. Use it unwisely and I may just have to show you some more of my muggle weapons..."
Norman' breathing was erratic now as the threat became clear. Potter's eyes had returned to scarlet and remained that way as he spoke, his black hair a shock against the glittering red of his eyes and paleness of his skin. It was obvious who was speaking now, and it wasn't Harry.
Then suddenly, as quickly as he'd arrived, Harry left. The sound of his apparition as silent as the graves around him.
The Minister hadn't realised how much he'd been shaking until after he was left alone. The bubble that what he assumed was keeping the radiation at bay was still intact and he managed to appirate into his office. The vision of a Harry Potter with the wills, power and brutality of a Dark Lord, but harbouring ideas and beliefs most would share and agree were still fresh in his mind. Breathing slowly in a bid to stop himself panicking he sat down shakily and tore off his overcoat in an effort to rid himself of the deathly smell. Nothing helped though, and the odour he now recognised as burning flesh, still invaded his senses while the dismembered arm he'd tripped over kept replaying in his mind.
Then, inexplicably, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and Norman felt eyes boring into the back of his head.
"I've been told to keep watch on you," said the portrait Norman knew connected with Number 10 Downing Street. His heart sunk...he should've known Potter wouldn't leave him completely alone after their first debacle all those years ago.
Then the portrait's eyes flickered to an unearthly greenish red.
"No need to worry, Minister," said Harry's voice through the mouth of the painting, "I won't be interfering too much."
Norman had a feeling he wouldn't be the only one governing the wizarding world from now on.
A/N: Yes, I know...a little different from what I normally write, but this idea had been bugging me for ages. I REALLY hope you enjoyed it, I've never read a story where Harry become Prime Minister, (so if you know one, please recommend it to me) or a grey Harry and thought I might give it a shot (originality and all that jazz :P). I honestly and truly tried my best with getting all the electorate/British governmental campaigning correct but I know I may have made a few mistakes (or a lot) so I apologise in advance (I utilised Wikipedia quite extensively, so I've got a ninety percent chance of being right :P).
Anyways, happy reading and I'm looking forward to any fluffy/constructive/one worded/essay/non-English reviews you have on offer :D I love everything! (Oh and for anyone who's wondering, I'm close to finishing the sequel to 'Cupboard' and hoping to get it out in the next few weeks :) Byyyyessss!
PS: Just imagine his wife to be whomever you like :P