1 Chapter 1: Who Lived!
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 thigh. 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.
--------
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?
