69

When it was night, Harry was still working hard in the secret room, only giving up for the meal times. A part of it was to show himself around to prevent them from panicking — not that he expected them to notice his absence based on their aimless rush.

A bigger part was to have an excuse to reject Kreacher's offer to prepare food. His attitude had improved significantly with each dark spell Harry had managed to cast, to the point of turning into near worship.

Harry still didn't want to risk tasting his food. He didn't fear Kreacher poisoning him … intentionally.

It was safer to observe for a few days first, and start with safer things like tea … or maybe water.

Still, Harry had grudgingly admitted that he was impressed with just how well Kreacher knew his way around the library, easily pointing him toward several books whenever he list a spell based on requirements, even though those requirements were vogue.

The only problem, he had a penchant for spells that would torture the victims rather than kill them directly. "No, Kreacher, I need something that will take them directly. I can't afford to keep my wand pointing them for three minutes while a battle is going on," he repeated, probably for the hundredth time for the day.

"Maybe —" he started.

"No, Kreacher, I can't trust the rest of the order to delay them while I focus on breaking the morale of the enemy," he explained with patience, his experience with Dobby coming useful. He was familiar with just how obsessive elves could be with an idea, and shouting them repeatedly would hardly help.

That was just a quirk he needed to accept.

"As mudblood master wishes," he answered and waved his hand, another book popping into his hand. He opened the relevant page and passed the book to him.

"Much better," Harry said as he examined the transfiguration spell that was described, as scary, and effective.

And most importantly, quick to cast, adding another useful spell to his limited list of combat spells.

He closed his eyes, replicating the image in his mind several times, visualizing perfectly — Occlumency helping him greatly — before waving his wand. A horde of daggers flew toward the targets, hard enough to leave several dents despite the protective spells.

"Enough for the day," he murmured as he nodded to Kreacher and walked out. To his surprise, Kreacher just nodded, and didn't ask him to stay and practice more despite his clear moral involvement with the process.

Good, because Harry was absolutely exhausted. Learning that many spells in a day were exhausting, even if most of the days were passed in studying rather than casting. Using unfamiliar spells was always more exhausting than just practicing the familiar ones.

His mind wasn't the only part that was exhausted. Casting that many spells made him feel drained. As he walked, his leg felt wooden, even making him limp as he climbed up.

As he passed the secret entrance and arrived at the main library, however, he met with a sight that he wasn't expecting.

A little ongoing meeting. They were lost in their discussion enough to miss his appearance at the corner, enough to allow him to pull the cloak over and walk forward.

As he got nearer, he saw that most of the Order was already there, including McGonagall, most of the Weasleys, and Lupin, though Sirius was absent.

A notable omission, he thought as he walked to them. " … what about Southern London, there were some interesting reports. Any chance that they might be dementors," someone that Harry didn't recognize said.

"I had read that report, but it just seems like an ordinary mist, even though it's a bit untimely. The dementors are still reported to be in Azkaban, none of them missing," someone else answered, then gave his report.

Harry decided to stay, curious about what they would say. He didn't show any sign of his presence as each member of the Order reported their events, showing nothing out of ordinary was going on. Curious, Harry stayed on, continuing to listen to the reports absentmindedly, even as he recategorized all the spells he had learned during the day, trying to create a coherent fighting style around them in different conditions; one against one, one against many, defending against an ambush, conducting an ambush…

Yet, soon, he noticed an interesting pattern. The reports were ordinary.

Too ordinary.

It might not be too suspicious while Voldemort was still trying to keep a low profile, but right now, it was the complete opposite. It was the point they were supposed to be most aggressive, and their lack of action was stunning.

Curious, Harry started peeking into the minds of the ones that was delivering the reports. At first, he didn't notice much. The report was accurate … mostly, just a few omissions here and there. Maybe someone had delayed the report a bit, or didn't bother to validate part of the information they had gathered, not wanting to risk themselves.

His frown grew the more minds he checked, realizing that those omissions were not rare, everyone had some of them. Yet, the more he peeked into their memories and compared the results, the more he realized just how big of a problem it was creating. After all, some of the omissions were only small … because their decision to measure the impact relied on the past report of the others…

Until those little omissions and lies compounded, leaving cracks in the pictures created by the reports … more crack than color.

No wonder Order was failing spectacularly…

Harry turned his attention to the discussion, even as the doubt crept in. His doubts weren't about the general attitude of the order, but something more fundamental.

That whether he should bother trying to deal with them in the first place. He didn't doubt their intention — well, most of them, he thought as his gaze fell on Mangundus — and they were certainly courageous enough when the situation called, joining the resistance rather than ignoring the responsibility.

Yet, neither fact changed the fact that they were not fighters.

More importantly, they clearly had no intention of changing the fact.

He could work with them rather than studying alone, helping them to learn more dangerous spells and tactics, but most of them had been already fighting during the first war, with almost two decades in between. If they didn't learn anything, Harry doubted that he could just encourage them — at least not without putting enough effort to make it pointless.

Harry shook his head slightly in disappointment. Another thing Dumbledore ruined, deciding to run a para-military organization like a neighborhood barbecue, all because he was obsessively afraid of power.

Harry frowned a little bit as he thought about it. He wanted to make a comment, but to do that, he had to reveal himself, making it too long. Instead, he continued to observe, each second making him closer to a decision, a negative one.

Then, a Patronus arrived at the meeting, interrupting the flow. "There's a Death Eater attack in Hogsmeade," it said.

Harry looked at them, willing to give them a chance to react. Yet, even with McGonagall barking orders, and a few reacting quickly, most of them started flailing in panic.

"Or maybe not," he murmured to himself even as he moved toward the corner of the library, and apparated.

Studying time was over. It was time for some practical demonstration.

A spell later, he was at the edge of Hogsmeade, the closest he could appear while avoiding the wards that were set to prevent reinforcements.

Harry made sure to keep his cloak up, to make sure his body remained covered, even going so far as to apply a quick sticking charm to prevent getting blown off by an errant gust of wind, or if he needed to move fast.

Finding out where the battle was going didn't take particularly long. He just needed to follow the sound. Screams filled with dread, mixing with occasional dark laughter as the spells exploded.

"And … it begins," Harry muttered, even as he dashed, ignoring the people that were running in the opposite direction, with no attempt to defend themselves.

That was always fascinating to Harry. They had the power to rewrite reality at their fingertips, yet they did nothing, not even bothering to put a simple resistance, just trying to get out of the wards that prevented them from apparating.

He was yet to see the Death Eaters, but luckily, they were kind enough to show their location by throwing their floating skull symbol to the sky, giving him an excellent target.

Another minute, and he finally saw the pointed hoods of the Death Eaters, leaving terror and destruction in their wake as they shot spells indiscriminately. He could see that they seemed to be far more focused on destruction than they were on actually killing anyone.

Yet, that destruction had no strategic purpose, no intent, nothing.

They weren't alone, as several Aurors had already arrived, fighting against them — though neither the numbers nor the skills were particularly impressive. Harry didn't blame Amelia for that, though. It took time to make changes, and it had been just a day since she had the power officially.

Though, the numbers seemed too low even considering the depleted state.

A few from the Order had already arrived, but apart from McGonagall, none of them were putting in any decent effort, and there was only too much McGonagall impact — especially by the way she was holding back.

Curious, Harry decided to waste some time and dig deeper rather than just join the battle.

It was hard to peek into the mind of people from a distance, but his growing abilities allowed for that. He first targeted one of the Aurors, learning that he was a new recruit, sent here because it was a less-priority target.

There was another battle going on in the Ministry, and they were the best they could afford.

Curious, he peeked at the mind of the nearest Death Eater as well, only to see that not only he was aware of their role as the diversion, but they also had no fear. Confident enough to bet with a friend about who would kill more civilians.

Why should he, when he was confident that he could get away easily, and even if he failed, he would just end up in Azkaban, to be freed in a few days at most.

Maybe even faster if — most likely, when — Dementors changed sides.

Harry decided to target that sensation…