Chapter 322 - My OC Stash #22 - Who Dares Wins by OlegGunnarsson (HarryPotter) (1/2)

-Even if I've already read a lot of the twin MC stories, I still enjoyed this fic as the author did some new twists that are quite interesting!

Synopsis: A Harry Potter who grew up studying military tactics and strategy uses the attack on the Ministry as an opportunity to lay an ambush of his own - only to learn that his parents are still alive, as well as a twin brother whom Dumbledore calls the true boy-who-lived. And then, things get complicated. Military!Harry. A subversion of DZ2's Prodigal Son Challenge.Rated: M

Words: 121K

Posted on: fanfiction.net/s/13182638/1/Who-Dares-Wins (OlegGunnarsson)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1

Harry Potter had known that the rescue mission was a likely trap. Sirius Black had not been seen in the public sphere for months, at that point, and so no one would know that he had cut his black hair into a short, almost muggle style. His godson had suggested the change, arguing that it was one less thing to worry about in a fight. The fact that Harry Potter kept his hair in the same short style merely hammered the argument home.

So when Harry began to see visions of his long-haired godfather being tortured, he knew what Voldemort was trying to accomplish - Sirius was to be the lure that drew the boy-who-lived into the Ministry.

If there are death eaters at the Ministry, reasoned Harry, then that's where I need to be. With Madam Umbridge's rather abrupt resignation at knifepoint earlier that evening, the list of Harry's enemies in the castle was a small one. It was time for his focus to shift.

He was in his dorm room, putting on his dragonhide boots and checking the rest of his kit, when Ron and Neville found him. To his surprise, they were already wearing their basilisk-skin coats. Harry looked up at them, and they looked back at him - and in that moment, Harry had known that those two boys…. No, those two men, would never let him walk into the line of fire alone.

Harry stood, and Neville checked him over. Holly wand at his wrist, Cherry wand on his t_h_i_g_h. Throwing knives, Combat knife, baton, expanded bag, first aid kit, potions, darkness powder. Harry was even carrying a bottle of the phosphorus-based potion that Hermione had called a 'Pocket Lumos,' and which functioned much like a muggle flashbang grenade when thrown. With a nod, Neville pronounced him ready.

The three strode into the common room, and found Hermione and Ginny waiting for them. Each wore the basilisk-skin coats that Harry had had made for them, matching those worn by the boys. Only Ginny had not objected at the time; she figured (correctly) that she was owed part of that basilisk, seeing how it was part of the darkest year of her life.

Harry checked the girls over, just as Neville had looked over his kit. They were probably more prepared than he was, but you never went into combat without checking your gear - and none of them had any notion that this trip would not involve combat. But this is what they had trained for, this small group. Today was where all those long hours of work in the Room of Requirement and the Forbidden Forest would pay off.

Today, Harry Potter went to war.

oOoOoOoOo

The quickest way to the Ministry would be via Floo. None of the six could apparate, just yet, though Harry had been practicing in secret. Voldemort's plan was based on angering Harry enough to drive him into making a mistake and charging into the ministry headlong - and he might have done just that, if time was of the essence and Sirius was truly at risk.

But that wasn't the case. Sirius was safe. So, the trip to London was made on the backs of thestrals, provided through the grace of Miss Luna Lovegood, who flew in the lead. Their entrance to the ministry would be through the front door - the last place they were expected.

As they flew, Harry thought back to that summer, so long ago, when everything had changed. Oh, his training had not begun in earnest until last summer, to be certain - Colonel Ramsay would not have allowed it. No, Harry thought about the summer of his ninth year, when he met the Colonel for the first time.

”You're a little small to be cutting my grass, lad, aren't you?”

Harry looked up from the mower, surprised to see the owner of the house. The man was wearing some sort of green overalls, with the pants tucked into big black boots. On one shoulder, the man was carrying what had to be a very heavy bag, probably big enough to fit Harry.

”Um, sir, I was supposed to cut the grass while you were on vacation.” The boy seemed to shrink into himself, as if expecting to be admonished roughly. Ramsay had seen the look before, and his eyes narrowed at the implications.

”As I recall,” Ramsay said, trying to sound as kind and calm as he could. ”I had asked the Polkiss boy to cut the grass.”

Harry nodded. ”You did. But Niall made his little brother Piers do it, and Piers made my cousin Dudley do it because he lost a bet, and Vernon made me do it for Dudley.”

”Who's Vernon?”

”My uncle.” The boy's quiet response told Ramsay all that he needed to know.

”Ah,” was his reply. ”Well, since you're doing the work, you get the reward.” He made a show of inspecting the front yard, as if he were reviewing new recruits. Harry's eyes grew wide when the Colonel's knife appeared in his hand, causing Ramsay to chuckle. ”Best to do the thing properly,” he said, as he used the knife to pretend to measure the length of the grass. He nodded, standing up, and noticed that Harry seemed to relax a little at that.

”Very well done, lad. You've passed inspection, and as a reward, you get some lemonade and a sit down.” Hefting his bag onto his shoulder, Ramsay started walking to the back gate. Pausing, he turned around, looking at a very confused boy. ”Coming?”

Colonel Ramsay's house was his escape, that summer, for it was far enough away from Durzkaban to be a safe haven from Dudley and his mates, but close enough to make the walk to and from an easy one. Ramsay had graciously told Vernon that Harry needed some of ”Her Majesty's Discipline,” and that some intensive yard work would not go amiss. Vernon knew that the Colonel still worked in the Army's training command, and that he still had the voice of a drill instructor.

The boy could use the discipline, his dear uncle had said. Don't spare the rod, you hear?

The Colonel had nodded at that. Harry learned later that the nod was precisely calculated to show proper respect to a civilian while simultaneously signaling how utterly unworthy of respect this particular civilian actually was. It was a level of nuance that Harry could appreciate.

What had started out as the Colonel wanting to help one of the neighborhood boys quickly became a long-term project. Summer saw Harry learning how to exercise, and - more importantly - why. When Ramsay learned about Harry Hunting, he got very quiet, and then began referring to Dudley and his friends as ”OPFOR”, or opposing force. He made Harry think about ways to escape, routes to prepare, tactics to delay the slower, heavier pursuers. He told Harry that the side that prepares better will win, ninety nine times out of a hundred.

Harry liked those odds. He soaked up the lessons like a sponge.

As the weather cooled, Harry found himself stopping by Colonel Ramsay's house in the evenings to go over his homework. It was the lessons after homework was done that Harry would remember most, during that long thestral flight.

”Pretend to be weak,” said Colonel Ramsay, reading from the small book on the table. ”So that your enemy grows arrogant. If he is relaxed, give him no rest. Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected.” Ramsay tapped the book. ”Do you know what all this means, Harry?”

The boy nodded. ”The winner is the one who does what their enemy doesn't expect, and does it before their enemy can respond?”

The Colonel smiled. ”Are you asking me or telling me?”

That got a grin from Harry as well. Never did the drill instructor voice come out between them - Ramsay was more of a professor than a drill sergeant, even when they exercised. Harry had come to know the Colonel as a student of warfare and strategy, almost more than he was a teacher of it - one of his favorite sayings was that there was always more to learn. The man's job as an occasional instructor for the Academy at Sandhurst proved that, for he spent just as much time in the Academy's library as he did in its classrooms.

”Telling you, sir,” Harry said confidently.

Ramsay nodded. ”Good. You'll find that most battles are won before most of the people involved even realize that there was a battle. All because one smart fellow was more prepared than the other guy.” He closed the book, sliding it across the table to Harry. ”Your job is to be the smart fellow, rather than the other guy.

Harry ran his hand across the title of the leather-bound book. ”The Art of War,” he said.

oOoOoOoOo

Entering the Ministry was trivial, once they arrived in London. Hermione had elbowed Harry in the ribs - hard - when he gave their reason for entry as ”Extrajudicial counter-terrorism exercise.”

Luna, meanwhile, had simply laughed her airy laugh. Anyone who mistook her for a weak link on the team needed only look at the throwing knives on her belt, or the potion bottles ready to be thrown, or the determined look in her eye. She had trained as hard, if not harder, than any of the six. She knew exactly how many times Lucius Malfoy had threatened her father's magazine. She knew exactly how many 'gas main explosions' there had been since the breakout at Azkaban in December.

When Arthur Weasley had been attacked in the Ministry, it had been Luna who calmed Harry down afterwards. It had been Luna and Hermione who took his anger at the blatant attack and tried to channel it into something productive.

The idea to start their own miniature DA, just the six of them, focusing on small unit tactics against death eaters? That was Ron, who wanted to make sure he would be prepared, if and when. Ginny had agreed, saying nothing - but her hard eyes were focused on Harry, who had lost himself in thought at that point.

Neville had broken the silence. ”Where a Potter goes, a Longbottom follows.” Harry looked up at his friend, before looking across the faces of the others.

”If we do this, we do it all the way.” They nodded. ”We train like the muggles do, we fight like the muggles do.” They nodded. ”No quarter.”

Each of them nodded.

”Good.” said Harry. Behind him, the Room of Requirement had created a row of wooden targets, and a table covered with small pieces of metal. Harry grinned as he picked one up - it was a perfectly balanced, gleaming surgical steel throwing knife. ”Alright, let's start with these.” Turning, he threw the knife downrange.

The five watched with awe as the knife buried itself in the throat of the target.

In the atrium of the Ministry, they found four death eaters waiting at the floo points, their eyes fixed on the flames. They were probably there in case some innocent worker stumbled into the office that evening, for if Harry had planned to floo in he would have done so by now.

Four well placed stunners sent the death eaters to the floor. Neville collected the wands and incinerated them, while Hermione and Ginny tied the death eaters up with a variant of the Incarcerous. Instead of ropes, the spell used razor wire - before disillusioning the bindings. The idea was to prevent the downed wizards from being freed, or - failing that - keep the rescuers busy long enough to take them down as well.

And if they struggled and cut their wrists and ankles? ”Welp,” Harry had said, with a shrug. He would not cut the throats of fallen enemies, however richly they deserved it, but nor would he see to their comfort.

To the group's surprise, there were no other death eaters in evidence - none hiding under cloaks or in shadows, none of the marked employees they knew had to have infiltrated the Ministry by now, no one.

Down to Level 9 they went.

oOoOoOoOo

When Harry returned to Privet Drive after his third year at Hogwarts, he visited Colonel Ramsay the next day. To his surprise, he found his mentor reading a copy of Hogwarts, a History.

”A man from Downing Street came by last week,” Ramsay began. ”He mentioned that I was being read into some s_e_n_s_i_t_i_v_e projects above Top Secret.”

”Oh?” asked Harry, sitting down across from the Colonel.

”Oh, indeed. It seems I had inadvertently befriended a wizard, and not just any wizard, mind, but one who had some importance to Her Majesty's government.” He smiled at Harry. ”Funny thing, isn't it?”

Harry looked uncomfortable. ”Sir, normally I'm forbidden from telling anyone about…”

Ramsay stopped him. ”Oh, they told me. No worries there.” He leaned forward, extending a hand. ”It's a p_l_e_a_s_u_r_e to finally meet the real you, Mister Potter.” Harry grinned as they shook hands.

Over the course of that summer, Harry told his story. His parents, their deaths, his relatives, his school. He spoke of his friends, his classes, his teachers.

He was surprised when Ramsay prompted him to speak about Quirrelmort. About the basilisk. The Dementors. His godfather.

The conversation turned to a more narrow focus. His wants, his goals, his objectives. Ramsay only grew annoyed once, when Harry said that his highest goal at the moment was to survive his fourth year.

”No army who fought just to survive ever won anything. You need to do more than survive, you need to live, perhaps even to love.”

Harry had grown melancholy at that point. ”The only time I really remember being loved was before my parents died. Voldemort took that from me. He took everything from me.”

”That he did,” agreed Ramsay. ”But look, now you have a godfather on your side, you have friends, you have allies. You're not alone, Harry.”

”I know,” he said, smiling a bit at the thought of his friends. ”But it's taken a very long time to get to this point. If I lost them, I don't know what I'd do.”

Ramsay stood up to refill their tea. ”I do.” Harry looked up, and met the Colonel's eyes. ”You'd force yourself to keep going. To do what needed doing.”

”Would I?” asked Harry, unsure.

Ramsay nodded, holding Harry's gaze. ”The guard dies, but never surrenders.” Off harry's questioning look, Ramsay continued. ”Harry, you are one of the most determined people I have ever known, and I've been training soldiers for close to thirty years, everyone from Generals down to Privates. If you are fighting for what you believe in, for the people you love, then no force in the world could stop you.” Ramsay's voice grew quiet, as he spoke the words that Harry would never forget.

”They could never defeat you, not ever. All they could hope to do is kill you.”

oOoOoOoOo

The Hall of Prophecies was far more vast than they had expected. Even with Luna's accounts of the hall from her father, who had learned of it from her late mother, they were unprepared for the sheer scope of the place.

It was Hermione who detected the ward across the doorway. It was Ginny who bypassed it. Just the presence of that ward alone proved that this was a trap, that death eaters were laying in wait somewhere nearby. Removing their early warning might buy a few minutes, or so they hoped.

The correct prophecy was easily found. The tag listed the seer, their audience, and the subjects of the prophecy. Harry saw that the question mark was crossed off, with red ink showing the true subjects of the prophecy.

S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. in re Dark Lord and James Potter and Harry Potter

Harry looked at the tag, considering what it might mean. Why would my father be listed? Why not my mother as well? Quickly, Harry took the orb off the shelf and placed it in his pouch.

”Incoming,” said Neville, from his place near the intersection of that row and the next. Hermione's wards were good, and all six of them had trained to detect the subtle magic that came just before apparition. As Harry readied his wand, he saw another orb with 'Potter' on the tag. Without pausing, he grabbed that prophecy as well, tag and all.

A masked death eater appeared on his left, almost exactly where Harry's Reducto struck a second later. Two more death eaters met their deaths that way, as Harry's team took advantage of that split second disorientation on arrival. This enraged the remaining death eaters, which was part of why they had done it in the first place. These wizards expected six weak students, and instead found death.

Harry could hear Lucius Malfoy's voice trying to take control of the battle - a battle that he had not been expecting. Why give your enemy time to prepare? Harry could hear the Colonel's voice in his head.

Spells began to strike the shelves, sending shards of glass every which way. The six began making their way to the rear exit, covering each other with spellfire. One brave death eater tried to cut them off, and wound up with a knife in his throat. The mask fell away as the body crumpled to the floor, revealing Augustus Rookwood - an unspeakable.

That explains the wards, thought Harry. He and Neville were the last two at the doorway, the others having gone through already. With a grin, Neville pulled out the Lumos potion. Harry matched his move, and on the count of three they lobbed the potions at the approaching death eaters.

The flash of light that came under the door would have been blinding, had they waited for it.

oOoOoOoOo

”The Death Eaters operate on fear,” the Colonel had said, probably for the fiftieth time. ”In 1978, a dozen of them walked down Diagon Alley and destroyed three shopfronts, killing two and injuring seven.”

Ramsay and Harry were looking over reports from the Ministry about the first war. What little information the Muggle government had was in the form of reports like this one taken by inside agents, or derived from the Prophet. To an experienced soldier, though, they were a goldmine.

”There were over three hundred people in the Alley that day,” he continued. ”I assume most of them were carrying wands?” Harry nodded, that was likely. ”Alright, so answer me this - twelve people versus three hundred, who wins?”

Harry considered that. ”The three hundred are civilians,” he said.

”True,” replied the Colonel. ”All of whom can disintegrate a man's head with a word.”

Harry had to concede the point. ”Then I would say that the side more prepared to do what is necessary would win.”

”Correct.” Ramsay pointed to the report. ”If even half of those people had stood up and fought, the twelve would have withdrawn at best, died at worst.”

”So how do we fix that?” asked Harry.

”We don't.” was the reply. ”But for you, the lesson is this. They walked into that Alley and expected exactly what they got. Thus, they won. Your enemy will expect you to act a certain way, behave a certain way. So, don't.”

oOoOoOoOo

The six were bruised and sore when they made it to the Death Chamber. All were on their feet and able to fight, but none were at 100%.

”Potty's going to be in so much trouble!” shouted the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry felt Neville tense up beside him, and placed a hand on his friend's arm.