68

The next morning, Harry woke up to the annoying cries of an alarm spell. It was only technically the morning, as it was barely five. He wanted to be able to blame someone else for the annoying sound.

Unfortunately, he thought as he frowned, that was not possible, considering he was the one that was responsible for it. He wanted to channel the attitude of his old Quidditch Captain Wood, and wake up early to practice.

With Dumbledore gone and Voldemort back, he needed all the advantages he could get. With their attack on Bones manor broken horribly, resulting in horrible losses, he didn't expect Voldemort to attack immediately, but there was no harm in working hard.

Especially since he had spent the previous day having a — much-needed — break, with the exception of coming to an agreement with Amelia.

Sleeping a few hours was not that much of a problem, especially since he already had a pepper-up potion waiting for him, prepared after he sent Fleur away. He finished it in one gulp, spicy fire spreading into his body to destroy the hints of exhaustion, his magic doing the rest.

"Let's do some training," he murmured as he walked down to the library — wearing his invisibility cloak to avoid the members of the Orders, walking around like headless chickens after Dumbledore's death — a man that he lost most of his respect after his attempt to use Sirius against him just before his death.

His first destination was the library, to see if Black Library held any interesting spells for him to learn. But, just as he was about to do so, Kreacher popped into view. "What is the mudblood master doing?" he shouted, his anger palpable.

Harry was about to order him to go away, when he realized his weird way of referring to him. He could have asked, but after his early waking up, he wasn't in the mood to deal with a half-crazy, sadistic elf. Instead, he peeked into his mind to get the answer.

Only to find himself going deep, every flash of memory giving him more of a surprise. The first thing he learned was why Kreacher was calling him Master. Sirius had woken up at one point — free of Dumbledore's mental manipulations — and immediately called Kreacher to declare Harry as the heir of the Black family.

Much to Kreacher's fury, but that part didn't surprise Harry too much.

What surprised him was another memory on the surface. Not a recent memory, but still being thought by him. One that showed the death of Sirius' brother, sacrificing his life to steal one of Voldemort's anchors of immortality.

"That's surprising," he found himself murmuring as he delved deeper, trying to get a better sense of Kreacher.

What he saw didn't change his mind about Kreacher much. He was still a sadistic, vindictive asshole. Not that Harry could blame much, considering what he had seen from Black family's children, from Sirius to Bellatrix, each crazy in their own way.

Harry treated Sirius as the closest thing to a parental figure — well, more of a loving yet distant uncle — but Harry wasn't delusional enough to deny the fact that Sirius was completely crazy. He just didn't see that as a problem.

And, seeing that Kreacher seemed to hate V0ldemort as much as Harry, and for reasons that were equally personal, Harry had no problem extending that to him as well. Yes, he was mean and insulting, but Sirius almost killed him with his harebrained ideas during the third year, yet Harry forgave him just as easily.

"What does mudblood master mean by surprising," he said, his frustration clear.

Harry didn't want to confront Kreacher about his biggest secret immediately. Luckily, he had an alternative way. "It's surprising that I can't find any proper deadly spells in the library."

"D-deadly spells," Kreacher stammered.

Harry froze for a moment, recognizing the sudden change of attitude, enough to have flashbacks of another crazy elf. He had a horrible premonition that he was creating another horrible source of trouble. A well-meaning source of trouble, just like Dobby, but he wasn't sure if that helped much.

Dobby came closer to killing him than Voldemort could even dream.

"Of course, as the Heir of the Black Family, it's a shame that I don't know the proper spells to kill my enemies in great pain. Especially that madman Voldemort is trying to kill me."

Kreacher's eyes widened. "M-mudblood Master wants to attack D-Dark Lord with deadly spells?" he stammered, fury tinging his tone. If it wasn't for his ability to peek into his mind, Harry would have assumed that Kreacher shared the usual attitude of the Black family, and was angry at him for daring to stand up against Voldemort.

But little bugger was excited that someone was finally mentioning killing Voldemort rather than somehow trying to resist him. Kreacher's memories told that he didn't mention anything about Voldemort, because he didn't trust the order to actually do anything. Apparently, Harry wasn't the only one fed up with Order's idea of resistance.

After learning Dumbledore's idiotic plans, Harry couldn't exactly blame him.

"Well, not before torturing him a bit first if I can manage," Harry said with a shrug. That was a lie, not because he wouldn't have loved the opportunity, but because he appreciated a dead Voldemort more than personal satisfaction.

Trying to torture enemies pointlessly was a stupid strategy. Harry had learned that from Voldemort himself, back in his fourth year, when Voldemort chose to torture him and force him into a stupid duel rather than just killing him.

He just saw no harm in exaggerating his position a bit.

Kreacher stayed frozen for a moment, and Harry used the opportunity to enhance his trust a bit more. "M-maybe Mudblood Master could find what he was looking for in the private library of the head of the house," he said.

"What a good idea, Kreacher," Harry said, following him as Kreacher waved his hand, and a secret tunnel opened. He was tense, which was ironic as he had access to Kreacher's thoughts, but Dobby had taught him well that good intentions might still be dangerous when interpreted by an overeager house elf with a warped sense of reality.

But a secret library filled with dangerous, deadly spells that he couldn't find in Hogwarts library was tempting enough to take that risk when war was about to start.

He walked, palming his wand ready while he followed him, the tunnel he was walking dangerously dark.

Then, they entered a large room. There weren't many books, just a bookshelf or two, but conveniently, the room also had a long dueling ring, and several targets at the other side of the room, made of a metal he didn't recognize, marred horribly.

"H-here is the books, Mudblood Master," Kreacher said hesitantly as Harry walked toward the bookshelf. First, he cast several spells to make sure the books weren't cursed, then cast another spell to turn the pages.

He didn't trust generations of Blacks to actually touch the books. And, if it wasn't for his trust in his mind magic, he wouldn't dare even that much.

Even as he had gone through a few pages, he had a new appreciation of the craziness of the Black family. Most of the spells in the book were horribly violent, yet pointlessly complicated, but there were enough gems to make it worth it.

"Let's give it a try," Harry murmured as he pointed his wand toward one of the targets, and imagined a fiery volcano exploding, lava flowing recklessly. "Magmatarus," he murmured, and a thick line exploded off his wand. The trajectory and the feel of the spell were just like Augamenti, the spell to summon water…

Just made of burning magma rather than cool water.

"Not as impressive as I hoped," Harry murmured as he examined the impact. The spell description had been more impactful. The spell lacked the intensity of the fires and the tight focus the description suggested. He repeated the spell several more times, but the practice didn't help as much as he had hoped.

"I remember old master practicing that spell," Kreacher said. "He used to mention the names of his enemies before casting it."

"Of course, how silly for me to miss that fact," Harry murmured as he chuckled. It was just like Blacks to not bother mentioning that the fires of the volcano were supposed to be visualized as burning his enemies.

Just like a college calculus book not explaining how to do simple sums…

No wonder Blacks were crazy with no exception. Maybe learning those spells wasn't the most excellent idea…

Too bad that the madman that was determined to kill him left him no chance…