Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Level 9!
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.
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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.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone