A/N: This story is my baby, so to speak - I have over half of it planned out completely, and the entire thing broadly outlined. It is a politically oriented story, but it's also got action/adventure elements, with some romance thrown in as well. It's also told from several points of view. This story was influenced largely by George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire, and so you may see some similar elements - not so much in the world, but in the style of telling. Hopefully. It is also completely and utterly AU in that Harry's parents didn't die - more information on that later.

Disclaimer: I own neither the esteemable Mr. Martin's works nor those of the inimitable J.K. Rowling.

Fudge

The crowd applauded politely as Cornelius Fudge entered the chambers of the Wizengamot. He forced a smile, privately thinking of how many other things he could be doing right now that would be far better uses of his time. The truly sad thing was that he suspected the crowd felt the same way.

More scattered applause came as the seer entered the room carrying a smoky grey crystal ball before her with great reverence. She was clothed in long, many-layered, brightly-colored robes, and she wore thick round glasses that magnified her eyes significantly.

Fudge wondered if she had been given a written statement, or if she would be ad-libbing her prediction.

It was Albus Dumbledore's role as Chief Warlock to make the introductions, and so he stood and began the cursory niceties. It was all fairly standard and not at all different from how it had been three terms ago when Fudge had first become Minister of Magic. Fudge really didn't see the point in the foolishness; everybody present knew that this was the Minister's divining ceremony (and if they hadn't before, the seer and crystal ball should have clued them in).

It might have some sort of basis in educating the children, he mused, noting – among others – Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter sitting beside their respective fathers, watching the proceedings with rapt interest. But really, James Potter and Lucius Malfoy no doubt were explaining the entire thing to them, so the introduction still wasn't necessary.

The whole bit of foolishness really wasn't necessary, and now he was back to thinking about all of the more important things he needed to do.

Dumbledore finally finished his speech, benevolent smile on his face, and the seer began chanting softly. The torches along the wall of the chamber flickered, then dimmed, and Fudge shivered as a cool breeze passed through the room. He wondered how much these theatrics were going to cost. Whole-room illusions rarely came cheap.

The seer – Trelaney, or Tralonna, or something like that – opened her mouth to speak, gazing deeply into the crystal ball. For a second, no words came out, tendons standing out in her neck, mouth gaping.

Fudge had to give credit to whomever had devised this scene – and the seer's acting was excellent. He found himself interested for the first time today.

Finally, she spoke, in a flat, raspy voice, eyes still lost in the swirling mists of her crystal. "He approaches, before the end of the reign, inexorable darkness on the horizon... And all may be engulfed in his eternal night, for he shall be greater and more terrible than ever before. Foundations will crumble and blood will betray, for the dusk is upon the world."

And then she collapsed, blood running from her ears and nose.

Fudge blinked. What just happened?

Pandemonium reigned, and Fudge allowed himself to be pulled away from the chamber. Dumbledore stood to calm the crowd, but the door of the chamber closed before Fudge could see if he succeeded. Mind racing, Fudge turned to the man who had just pulled him away, John Dawlish.

"What just happened in there?" he snapped. Dawlish shrugged.

"If that was a real prediction..." Fudge murmured, glancing around the room they stood in. Looking at Dawlish again, he asked, "Have you seen Weasley?"

"Right here, Minister!" cried the boy in question, entering the room. Tall and thin with horn-rimmed glasses and perpetually carrying a small notebook, Percy Weasley was entirely too enthusiastic for his job. But he was a very good aide, and Fudge had found him useful in the past.

"Was Rita Skeeter here, Weasley?" Even as he asked, Fudge knew the answer was obvious; of course she was. Rita Skeeter was always on the scene when careers collapsed.

Weasley nodded, and Fudge cursed. The damage would be much worse now.

"The seer. Who is she?" he demanded. "Does she have any credibility?"

"Her name is Sybil Trelawney, sir," Weasley said. "She is – was the divination professor at Hogwarts. They've taken her to Saint Mungos, and aren't sure if she's going to wake up."

The name made Fudge feel sick. The last time Sybil Trelawney had made a prophecy, the darkest wizard of the century had died.

He supposed that for her final prophecy there was some poetic irony in that it suggested the return of the same wizard.

Speaking aloud, Fudge mused, "So she's probably not been bought off. Well. Good to know that only fate is conspiring against me, and not a politician."

Fudge stroked his chin a moment, lost in thought. The situation was bad. How bad remained to be seen, but – bad. That much was certain. Bad enough that he needed to immediately begin trying to salvage what he could.

And also bad enough to quietly prepare an exit strategy or two.

"Weasley," Fudge said, "schedule me a meeting with Lord Malfoy – and after, one with Dumbledore."

"Yes sir," Percy nodded. "As soon as possible, I assume – perhaps tomorrow –"

"Today," Fudge said. "I've no time to waste."

"But –"

"Today, Weasley – they will agree, I assure you." Fudge sighed. "Sharks do flock to blood in the water, after all."

Harry

"The Ceremony of Foretelling happens every time a new Minister enters office," James Potter told Harry quietly. "The next day, there's a traditional vote held - the Wizengamot can request that the Minister step down, if they don't like the future foretold."

"Does that happen often?" Harry asked, glancing around the chambers they were seated in, noting the Malfoys several seats down and the Longbottoms, across the room. He looked back at his father in time to catch the older man shaking his head.

"The predictions are usually just propaganda," his father said. "And even when they're not, Divination is notoriously unreliable. The vote is really just a formality - there've been a couple motions to abolish the entire procedure, recently, but there are just enough Lords left clinging to tradition that it's never quite passed."

"Why are so many people here, then?" Harry asked, as the torches on the wall of the chamber died down noticeably, except around the door; there, they brightened.

"The Seer's coming," James said, pointing. "I heard it's Trelawney, this year."

"Trelawney?" Harry asked, as the door opened, revealing his Divination professor. "She's been predicting my death for three years straight now. You'd think Fudge would want someone a bit sunnier."

"For the gold she's getting paid, I bet she's sunny as a summer's day," James chuckled, as Trelawney slowly strode down the aisle, carrying a large crystal ball.

Headmaster Dumbledore then stood, and began to speak.

"We are gathered here today to witness the Ceremony of Foretelling," he said, voice ringing out clear and sharp through the chamber. "Since the first Minister of Magic, the Ceremony has been an integral part of our election process, offering a glimpse into the future of our Minister's reign. I have the utmost faith that Minister Fudge's future will prove to be a bright one, and so I turn the proceedings over to Sybil Trelawney, the lady of the hour."

Dumbledore stepped down, and the Seer began chanting. The torches flickered, then dimmed further, and Harry shivered as a breeze swept the room.

"What's she saying?" he asked his father.

"Ancient words of power, supposedly," James whispered. "Passed down through generations, designed specifically for this purpose."

Trelawney stopped chanting, gazing into the crystal ball, and opened her mouth to speak. A moment passed without a sound leaving her lips, then she spoke, in a voice that was cold and harsh and most certainly not native to the Divination professor Harry knew.

"He approaches, before the end of the reign, inexorable darkness on the horizon... And all may be engulfed in his eternal night, for he shall be greater and more terrible than ever before. Foundations will crumble and blood will betray, for the dusk is upon the world."

The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and then the seer collapsed, out of sight. Murmurs broke out across the entire chamber, and nobody seemed entirely certain what was happening. Harry glanced up at where the Minister had been sitting to find the seat vacated.

Cursing under his breath, James stood. "Stay here," he said, and began to work his way to the front of the room - presumably to help the Seer.

Promptly ignoring his father's command, Harry turned and searched the crowd for the Longbottoms. Neville's grandmother's large vulture-topped hat stood above the rest of the crowd, and he began to make his way to her.

A hand gripped his elbow gently, and he pulled up short, turning to face Daphne Greengrass. She looked, as always, composed and haughty, but Harry thought he could see cracks forming in her facade - eyes that moved about just a bit too much, hair just a tad out of place, a nervous tapping of her fingers against her thigh.

"Potter," she said. "Does your father know what's going on?"

Harry weighed the consequences of telling her, and answered honestly. "He hasn't said anything to me."

Daphne's cool blue eyes darted over to the group of wizards surrounding the fallen Seer, then back to Harry. "You have taken her class, haven't you? Did it seem real?"

"It was different than anything I've seen in class." Harry shrugged. "Hoping it's true, Greengrass?"

"As much as I'd like an excuse to get move against Fudge," Daphne said, "the return of the Dark Lord would be bad for everyone."

Harry studied her. "I'm glad that you can see that." He wasn't at all sure if he believed her. "I'll owl you if I find anything out." Maybe. Possibly. Probably not, actually.

Daphne nodded. "I'll do the same." She held out her hand, and Harry didn't react for a second. He hadn't been expecting her to offer to shake on it; though it wasn't binding, a handshake still implied that some honor was at stake, and made it likely she was telling the truth.

Slowly, he reached out and took her hand. "I'll await your owl, then," he said.

"And I yours." Releasing his hand, Daphne turned and slipped away into the crowd before he could say anything more.

Shaking his head slightly to clear it, Harry resumed looking for the Longbottoms. He had the sudden feeling that something was beginning, and he didn't like it. Didn't like it at all.