3 chapter 3: Who Wins?

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 sensitive 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 pleasure 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."

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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.

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"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?"