Chapter Nine

Firewhiskey Blues

TRAITOR AND MURDERER ALBUS DUMBLEDORE DIES IN HIS CELL!

By Justina Jugson

Wilfred Wilkes, 34, Auror at Azkaban, revealed early this morning that the convict Albus Dumbledore died of natural causes yesterday night in his cell in the wizard prison. Wilkes revealed that everything was alright yesterday night when he went to give the prisoner his dinner: 'He wasn't exactly chatty or anything, since he's been always an unnervingly quiet prisoner, but there was nothing wrong then because when I retrieved the plate, it was already empty,' Wilkes told the Daily Prophet, 'and no-one can enter Azkaban without us knowing; after all, it was Lord Britain who set up the wards there – nobody can penetrate them without explicit permission,' he added fervently, trying to eliminate the rumours circling around that some righteously angry person had broken into Azkaban to make Dumbledore pay for the crimes he had committed, which wouldn't have been surprising at all, I might add.

Most of us are glad that the treacherous scum that was Albus Dumbledore is finally dead. This way we know he won't harm any innocents again. We may now sleep peacefully knowing that such a dangerous man is forever gone, and will only remain as a long forgotten nightmare.

No sooner had Wilkes brought the news to the Ministry, then a huge raucous party broke out, officials and visitors alike bonded by the common joy at hearing about the death of one of the most notorious criminals in the history of our noble Britain. The young and intrepid Auror smiled shyly when I commented about the hero status he now holds for having have brought such wonderful news.

Curious about his death, I asked about how he had find out about it. Shrugging his shoulders, he said simply, 'I was doing my morning rounds in that area and when I passed by his cell, something caught my eye: he was lying on the floor and not moving at all,' he stated, smiling slightly at the memory, 'I didn't dare to hope for it; so after several minutes of just standing there and seeing that not a single muscle moved – I couldn't even see him breathing – I entered his cell,' he said sheepishly. What a bold move, my readers, what a bold and brave move indeed. Dumbledore, no matter traitorous and weakened by his stay in Azkaban, was still until yesterday one of the most powerful magic-wielders in Europe; although he never was a match for Lord Britain, as had been continuously shown, he could still wipe the floor with most of us. When I said that, he just replied nonchalantly 'Well, someone had to do it; and to be frank, I'm glad it was me. I found him there, pale and as stiff as a board. After a few medical spells, I determined he was dead and brought the wonderful news to the Ministry,' he finished, smiling in a ruggedly handsome way.

It is Aurors like Wilfred Wilkes that bring peace to our Nation. It is Aurors like Wilfred Wilkes that are brave enough to do what must be done. It is Aurors like Wilfred Wilkes that bleed to death to protect and serve the people of Great Britain from the hands of criminals like Albus Dumbledore and The Renegades.

Albus Dumbledore was once a very known figure, both for being the Headmaster of Slytherin School (formerly "Hogwarts") where he ruled over the student body with his terrorist ways, and a very politically influential person, holding positions of power by means of corruption and blackmailing. Being such a notorious man, one must ask about his funeral: 'He has already been buried in the common graveyard of Azkaban, and that's it. No criminal should have a decent burial,' Wilkes stated firmly, his face set on a serious expression, 'I'll truly never understand why our great Lord Britain never allowed the Dementors to perform the Kiss on that mongrel.'

Indeed, that is something many of us wondered; but then again, we cannot even begin to understand how Lord Britain's mind works; for he is merciful and compassionate. 'He was my teacher,' he confessed, a sad expression on his face, 'I trusted him with my life, and viewed him as a parental figure,' he explains, his voice so forlorn he broke my heart; 'andI suppose that one small part of me believed that he would regret his actions and come back to me, because everyone deserves a second chance,' he finished and excused himself, a despairing expression on his handsome features – and for that, only for that, we must all hate Dumbledore: the coward, the fool, the betrayer, the criminal and the one who has cause so much grief to Lord Britain.

But for now, let us rejoice that we are truly free of that threat, let us enjoy the camaraderie found only on special occasion such as this one, let us celebrate that the greatest enemy of our Nation has passed away!

For Dumbledore's trial, turn to page 2.

For Dumbledore's heinous crimes, turn to page 5.

For Dumbledore's reign of terror at Slytherin School, turn to page 25.

-oOoOoOoOo-

For the first time since he was brought into this foreign Britain, Harry woke up refreshed, not a drop of exhaustion in his body. It had been a very long time since he had slept so thoroughly; in fact, he could not remember any other time he had managed to be so rested and relaxed in all his life. He supposed that when he was a baby he had done so, save for the restless nights he had woken up his parents when he cried; but his memory couldn't go back that far. However, he could say without any doubt that with the Dursleys he had never managed to sleep more than five hours a night for one reason or another - Dudley throwing one of his infamous tantrums at some ungodly hour, mainly. When he went to Hogwarts, he thought that was what a normal –well, as normal as Hogwarts could get, anyway - life should be, and believed his hours of daily sleep would be normal. Needless to say, Voldemort didn't care too much about Harry's health. But that day, after having rescued Dumbledore from Azkaban, Harry felt unworried, relaxed, drained but content and even – dare I say it – optimistic.

His eyes fluttered open with the first rays of sunshine that illuminated his face, warming his skin ever so slightly, tickling him, until it woke him up - and for once he rose off the bed and into the bathroom without any usual morning grogginess. He snickered at the thought of how appalled Ron would be at his unusual morning briskness. Ron believed that getting up early was only for hens and chickens; oh, and for Hermione, of course, who was just weird.

Harry felt a sudden pang of loss when he thought about his friends. He missed them like he would never have thought he could. He sighed as he watched his face, 'I guess you really don't value things until they are gone,' he muttered to the mirror in front of him.

'It's one of the Wrackspurts effects, dear,' the mirror said merrily.

Harry blinked once. Twice. Thrice. Many times. And then he laughed. 'Trust Lu – Snorkack – to enchant the mirrors…'

He shook his head as he stepped into the shower, relaxing under the hot stream of water. He promised himself he would start looking for ways to bring his friends back to him, especially now that he had both Snorkack and Dumbledore, both of whom knew his real identity. He felt somewhat guilty at the thought of telling either Sirius or his father who he was, but somehow he just felt even more uneasy at the thought of letting them know exactly who he was. He knew he had been beyond ecstatic when he had seen them both; it was like a dream come true for an orphaned boy like him, but somehow he didn't feel like a part of the family anymore. As he had told himself again and again, it was only normal because he had grown up without his parents. Plus, there was the fact that apparently he had a brother – Julian. He would just disrupt their lives if he entered them proclaiming he was their long lost son, godson and brother. Also, there was the tiny wee hitch of Lord Voldemort: if Riddle got wind that he was the Harry Potter, he would set the Potters and Sirius as primary targets. He told himself hiding his identity was for the best; that he didn't want to risk their lives. But the truth was that he was bloody terrified, he didn't know if they would accept them; he had not been raised by them, they didn't know him, they didn't know what he had done and what he still had to do. They didn't know he had sacrificed the life of one young Death Eater to rescue Dumbledore. True, the Death Eater was scum and doing that had been for the Greater Good; but still, it made him wonder if he was just turning as bad and as manipulative as Dumbledore had been.

He sighed, defeated; he just didn't know what to think. He needed Hermione to use her impossibly logical brain to analyse this situation and tell him the most coherent and blatant answer. He needed Ginny to smack the back of his head, tell him he was an idiot and then snog the hell out of him. He needed Ron to shrug his shoulders and suggest a game of chess or a friendly Chaser-Keeper match.

Harry knew he had to do something about his friends. First of all, he didn't think he could pull this stunt without them and their support. If there was one thing true about them, more important than Ron's strategies, Hermione's brilliant ideas and Ginny's ferocity; it was the fact that they kept him sane and on his toes. Bloody hell, he needed them and he was going to have to do something about it soon, because he knew that although safe and sound in that world, they would never forgive him if he left them there in the dark. Considering how much pain he had gone through because of that, he wouldn't do that to his closest friends.

But it was not just those three he needed. He missed the Weasleys, the Burrow, he missed Luna and Hoggy Warty Hogwarts – he even missed Peeves. He slumped down on his bed and buried his face in his hands; he needed Neville. They should have given him the "Harry Mark"; apart from being a good and loyal friend, he was dead useful and they would sorely need his Herbology expertise. And he just missed the shy and quiet Gryffindor. He just wished he was there, too.

POP.

'AHHH!'

Harry rose to his feet, his wand brandished and at the ready to attack whatever had just landed on the floor of his room, breaking through the supposedly impenetrable Fidelius Charm. The lump on the floor was humanoid and covered in what looked green goo, leaves and a – wait a moment, was that a Mimbulus Mimbletonia?

'Neville?' he asked softly, lowering his wand about an inch, his eyes wide open in surprise and disbelief.

The lump lifted his head, and, although covered in green goo and possibly Stinkskap, Harry could clearly recognise Neville's features.

'Oh, hi, Harry! Help me up, won't you?' he asked cheerfully, as if having just crossed worlds was something as usual as rain in England.

Harry didn't dare to believe what he was seeing; his mind told him it was impossible: Neville hadn't been branded by him, after all; but his gut told him he was just that, Neville Longbottom.

He was about to extend his hand to help him up, when he decided to set a fierce scowl on his face, Moody's "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" ringing in his ears as if the old and scarred Auror was just next to him, deafening him with his yelling. 'If you are Neville Longbottom, answer these questions: first, what did Malfoy curse you with in our first year at Hogwarts and second, who lifted the curse?'

The person on the floor seemed at bit lost at first, but then answered. 'Malfoy cast a Leg-Locker Curse, I came hopping all the way to Gryffindor Tower - I don't remember the password, it was Hermione who lifted the spell. I told you that everyone knew I wasn't brave enough to be in Gryffindor and you said that I was worth twelve Malfoys. Then you gave me a Chocolate Frog and I gave you the card, because you collected them. It was Albus Dumbledore. And you said something about Nicholas Flamel?' It was more a question than a statement.

That was more than enough for Harry. He didn't care that he would get soaked in green goo; he pocketed his wand and pulled him off the floor. 'It's good to have you here, Neville,' he said sincerely, helping him towards the mattress, wanting to check for any injuries.

Had it been any other question, Harry might have been suspicious, for although the answer was correct, it just fitted too damn well for a person as forgetful as Neville. But that time, well, Harry guessed it was probably the first time someone had boosted his almost nonexistent ego, and helped him become the person he was today. Of course, the DA did most of it, but that was the beginning; and beginnings were such delicate things… Maybe if they hadn't he would still be afraid of his shadow. Maybe not, but he liked Neville the way he was now.

He would never forget his role in the Battle; it was, after all, thanks to him that the final Horcrux, Nagini, was destroyed.

'Is Madam Pomfrey around? I think I've broken some bones…' Neville said as he landed on the bed.

Harry shook his head. 'Madam Pomfrey isn't alive in this world,' he answered, sadly. After all, he had spent too much time in the clutches of the overzealous school nurse. 'She was a Muggleborn,' he added, his voice hardening, 'and here, Muggleborns aren't allowed to live,' he spat.

Needless to say, Neville was speechless and had forgotten all about his broken parts.

'However, Kreacher is great when it comes to nursing. Between having have been in a house were people loved the Dark Arts and having myself as his master, knowing my knack for trouble…' Harry said sheepishly, 'well, Kreacher is a very good nurse-elf. Kreacher!'

With a loud pop, the elderly House-Elf appeared in the room, his eyes wide in surprise when he saw Neville, all covered in his goo-ish glory, on Harry's bed.

'Master?' he asked tentatively.

Harry smiled. 'Kreacher, this is my friend Neville. I'm not sure how he did this – but he is from our world,' he said happily. 'He has some injuries, would you mind helping him, please?

Kreacher obliged Harry's wishes without any further questions, and left the room promptly after he finished going through Neville's injuries: two broken metatarsi, a pulled quadriceps, too many bruises and too much dirt on him.

While Neville was being healed, Harry wondered how it was that he had been able to cross worlds. He hadn't branded him with the "Harry Mark", but he had seen it on his right forearm when Kreacher was diagnosing his body and healing the bruises there. So he guessed that somehow, Hermione had managed to be able to brand others without him, to link them to him without being there. All in all, he was very happy that Neville was there, but he couldn't help the feeling that he was in the dark, not knowing how many people were risking their lives for the crazy mission he had to accomplish; and that made him very nervous and anguished.

He did wonder, however, how was it that Neville was able to be here with him while it had been impossible to summon Ron, Ginny and Hermione. The only possible explanation would be that the three of them were alive in this world. Hermione, well, she might be alive, but it was highly unlikely, since the Muggleborn persecution was all over Europe and had become stricter by the day. She might've fled Hogwarts and Great Britain if she was lucky, but it seemed very uncertain that she had managed to avoid all of the Dark Lord's forces with only one year of training at Hogwarts. However, when it came to Ron and Ginny, he was at a loss. They were not alive in this world. He had seen the headlines, he had read the articles and had visited their graves. They were not alive; so what force was preventing them from crossing worlds?

He asked Neville that, but the latter didn't have any ideas as to what might be happening. He did tell them, though, that all of his friends were furious because they were beginning to think that Harry didn't want them there, that he had not summoned them because he was doing a very Gryffindorish thing, risking himself to keep them safe.

Harry, of course, said that while for some time that might've been true, it was not like that at the moment. He had tried and tried and tried to bring them there, but to no avail. He was a bit hurt that his friends might think that he wouldn't carry out his promises.

Neville sighed. 'Harry, let's face it: you do have a saving people thing.'

Harry winced. Yes, that was true.

'So what's happening over there? The Ministry people being bigots and demanding to know where I am? How did you get the Mark? How many people have it?'

Neville scratched his now clean forehead in thought. 'Things aren't as easy as when you left,' he admitted, a flash of sadness crossing his eyes. 'The economy is going down, the Ministry is in shambles, and harvests are going dry because it doesn't rain anymore in rainy England. It's all like that. It's mayhem. And the thing is that we don't know why,' he finished forcefully, a single tone of anguish and desperation in his voice.

Needless to say, Harry was in shock, and the only thing that came to his mind was a very Ronnish thing to say. 'Bloody hell.'

'My thoughts exactly,' Neville said wearily, while playing with his wand. 'Harry, the thing is that it just happened out of the blue. The day you left was the last day it rained, and things just started going downhill from then on. We have gone through eight earthquakes already, and the Muggles have no explanation to that either since there is apparently no, er, hypocentre and ee-pill-centre, either. I don't understand any of that, but since Hermione understands what the Muggles talk about, well, I guess they are right. And also -'

Snorkack, Luna, whatever entered Harry's room with a loud bang, talking to herself about who-knows-what until she stopped in her tracks, when she saw Neville.

'Luna?' he asked tentatively.

That snapped her out of her daze. 'I'm not Luna, I'm Snorkack. And the boy next to you is not Harry, he is Gryffindor,' she said calmly but somewhat briskly. 'I have received a message from my captain, Owl. They request your presence tonight, and I will take you there,' she added in a business-like, Hermione-ish tone. 'Dumbledore is awake and is asking for you,' she finished promptly and left the room, without letting either of the boys say a single word.

Neville turned to Harry, troubled. 'What was that all about?' he asked blankly.

Harry sighed. 'That was Luna Lovegood's counterpart in this world, Snorkack. C'mon, I'll explain you our situation while we go to Dumbledore's room,' he said, helping Neville up.

'What? Dumbledore's alive?'

'Yeah, we just got him from Azkaban yesterday.'

Neville whistled. 'This place is sure messed up.'

Harry grinned. 'Tell me about it,' he said, rolling his eyes.

-oOoOoOoOo-

'No, it cannot be done like that, Professor. I do respect you, but this time it won't be like that again. Maybe I'm taking more risks this way, maybe I am not. But with all due respect, Professor Dumbledore, you have just escaped a prison that drives people mad within a year, and I'm not sure I trust your judgement yet,' Harry said fiercely, balling his fists over the wooden table, the glasses of Firewhiskey around them shaking. 'I will listen to you, because you have the knowledge, age, experience and brain that I don't have, but that doesn't mean you will take the leadership of this resistance group because there will be no leader in it; no pawns, no puppets. And if I have to pull the Life Debt you owe me, then so will I. I will make my own decisions and consult them but I will not be a pawn again.'

The rest of the table was silent: Dumbledore was thoughtful and sad; Neville was still going through the shock of seeing his old Headmaster alive. Snorkack, however, was giving Harry her silent approval.

Dumbledore sighed. 'I am starting to believe that my previous strategies and tactics would be neither adequate nor welcomed in the current situation. However, I cannot stop imploring you not to take drastic actions without consulting with me first.'

Harry smiled. 'That I can do, Professor Dumbledore.'

It was just then that they both formed an alliance, one based in equality and trust. One that would save many lives and doom some others.

-oOoOoOoOo-

For some reason, it seemed that all of the Death Eaters had left Hogwarts – Slytherin School – that day, so Harry decided that it would be best to contact the people at Hogwarts immediately and talk to them in person as soon as they got a chance to.

As inconspicuously as possible, the group of four sent themselves to Hagrid's hut. It was a proof of how incapable and overconfident Death Eaters were that the alarms of the school didn't go off as soon as they crossed the threshold. The wards didn't act up against them, and that only made them think that Death Eaters thought it impossible that someone would try to release Hogwarts from their clutches, believing that Voldemort had absolute power and no-one dared to defy him. They were too content and believed themselves safe against any outer aggression.

That could only play in Harry's favour.

Snorkack, Neville and Harry were all wearing special robes that covered all of their features. They were invisible by means of the Disillusionment Charm. Dumbledore, however, wore no other disguises than his own brand of wandless magic to make himself invisible. Harry was itching to ask him how he did that, it could come in handy.

They had decided to reveal Snorkack and Neville's presence when all of the people they were to see were gathered. It'd be easier for them to explain things just once, instead of doing so many times. Harry was sceptical, but he didn't say anything since he was outvoted.

Knock, knock.

Sirius opened the door slowly. At first, he looked tired and weary, but soon his expression changed to utter confusion. There was nobody there!

'What the hell?' he asked.

Harry quickly pushed him in and removed the Disillusionment Charm from himself, covering Sirius' mouth with his hand to extinguish his yelp.

'It's me, Gryffindor,' he whispered.

Sirius' eyes went wide open in recognition, and Harry removed his hand from his mouth. 'Gee, you could have said that before. I would have welcomed you in, full-stop. No need to make me feel as if I'm going to be murdered,' he muttered darkly.

Harry snorted. 'Right. And I believe you,' Harry retorted sarcastically. 'Have you told the others to come here?' he asked.

Sirius nodded. 'Yeah. We have some questions to ask you, especially after having read the Daily Prophet today,' he said angrily, tossing him a copy of Britain's wizard newspaper.

'Oh, bloody hell!' Harry cursed, reading the headlines that clearly stated that Dumbledore was dead. No wonder Sirius looked mad at him. He might actually think he had killed off the former Headmaster.

'Well?' Sirius asked icily, while shooting beams out of his wand, presumably to contact the others, telling them to come down to Hagrid's hut at once. 'I thought you were going to save Dumbledore, not off him,' he spat venomously, his wand reaching Harry's chin, his grey eyes dancing with fury.

'I – I can explain -'

'What is there to explain? I trusted you! I suppose this was some sort of plot to catch the Disgraces unaware, wasn't it? Because that's all you want, don't you? To bloody do me in so you can get the Black fortune?' Sirius ranted vindictively, applying more pressure to Harry's throat.

Harry could feel his heart break. Maybe this could've been avoided if he had come clean from the start, if he had told Sirius who he was. He only wanted to save them this time around. But the look on Sirius' eyes – Harry knew it was certain his godfather wouldn't believe him now. It was a tale already difficult to believe, and now…

'Sirius, that's enough!' another voice said authoritatively.

Harry could've kicked himself, hard. Of course! Bloody Dumbledore was there to bloody prove he wasn't bloody effing dead!

A rush of magic twirled around Harry, making his senses tingle for some reason, and he saw Dumbledore appearing just next to him before Sirius' very shocked face.

'But – but you are dead!' Sirius cried, not daring to believe what he was seeing. Leaving his wand where it was, just under Harry's chin, he quickly snatched the newspaper from Harry's hands with the other one and waved it over Dumbledore's face, as if to prove his point, that Dumbledore was dead. Sirius seemed unfazed by the fact that he was making his former Professor eat his own very long and very silver beard. Bloody hell, Sirius was nutters.

'Sirius, calm down,' Dumbledore said softly yet imperiously, and his godfather instantly stopped smacking the old warlock with the drenched newspaper. 'Now, it is very wise of you, my dear boy, to be wary of my presence, for, as this copy says, I am, in fact, dead,' Dumbledore said enigmatically, emphasising the last parts of his words. Conjuring a blue-with-bumblebees chintz wandlessly, he sat down on it and glanced over the article for a few seconds and then raised his gaze, 'and yet, I am here. How can that ever be possible?' he asked rhetorically, as if he were questioning his favourite student about a very entertaining magical paradox. For once, Harry was amused at Dumbledore's irritating antics since they were not directed at him. Not very nice of him, but such is life.

'But no matter how many times I say to you that I am Albus Dumbledore, you will not believe my claim until I prove it to you,' the Headmaster said calmly, entertaining himself with the two-dimensional bumblebees that zoomed around his chintz. 'As you no doubt guessed the moment I performed this piece of wandless magic, I can only be two people: myself or Voldemort,' he explained serenely, as if he was simply explaining that magical paradox to his favourite student, who had failed to find an explanation for it.

'As for what Voldemort might do to convince you that he is me, I do not know. I cannot even fathom what he would gain from that experience,' he proceeded. Twirling his beard, Dumbledore continued, 'unless he wanted to know what it feels like to have facial hair.'

'So that moves us to the point: how do I convince you that I am myself, Albus Dumbledore? Simple, by telling you something only you and I know,' he stated, and then twirled his beard again. 'You do remember the day you were brought into my office for the second time after you pulled that cruel and thoughtless prank on Severus, one that might have cost his life?' he asked, and without waiting for answer, he continued talking. 'If my memory serves me well, you had already been at the end of your friends' rage, especially James Potter's rage.'

Harry saw Sirius blush, and that intrigued him. He knew Dumbledore was talking about the prank that led a teenager Snape into the passage past the Whomping Willow, where Remus Lupin was placed every lunar cycle to go through his monthly transformation into a werewolf. But he had never heard about the aftermath, and that made him curious.

'Now, it is my belief that James thought that it was the Marauders' duty to punish you for your rash actions, and not anyone else's. Or perhaps he thought that you felt ashamed enough and wanted to lift your spirits; I'll have to ask him about that at some point,' he paused, not noticing the red cheeks Sirius supported. 'However, even the best of us fail, and instead of raising your spirits, he embarrassed you deeply,' he continued, smiling slightly in reminiscence. 'He Confounded a pigeon into believing she was to mate with Fawkes, but instead, the pigeon went after you -'

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed loudly at that. Sirius sent some venomous glares his way, but he released the pressure of the wand from his chin, albeit grudgingly.

'Fine, fine, it's you alright. I believe you,' he muttered morosely. 'But then what's with the article?' he asked, nodding at the newspaper that was still in Dumbledore's hands.

The elderly Professor glanced again at the article and Harry guessed he was skimming through it, trying to decipher what had happened.

'It's a wee bit overdramatic, and some parts are clearly twisted since Tom Riddle and I never had any sort of relationship that could be considered more than the usual teacher-student relationship, but I do not think this is a hoax. I think it's real -'

BOOM.

'YOU KILLED MY BROTHER! YOU KILLED MY BROTHER BEFORE I COULD PUNCH AND BREAK HIS NOSE AGAIN! YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!'

Pow.

'OUCH!' Harry yelled, after Aberforth Dumbledore's fist punched him square on his left jaw. He barely had time to cup his jaw before the wayward Dumbledore brother grabbed his robes, lifting him a several of inches from the floor and thrust him against the wall.

'Aberforth! Enough!' Professor Dumbledore shouted, intercepting his brother as he was about to swing another hellish punch at Harry.

Aberforth looked as if he had just been slapped. 'What the hell, Albus?' he asked verbosely, letting go of Harry as if he was on fire.

'Hello, brother,' said Dumbledore merrily, 'and hello Minerva, James,' he added, turning to the door of the hut.

Cupping his injured jaw, Harry turned his head towards the door, and yes, standing right there were a gobsmacked Minerva McGonagall, and his own very confused father, James Potter. Hooray! Now the party could start! Would anyone care to punch a Boy-Who-Lived again, please? All the money is given to spew!

Harry sighed slightly: he was bloody loosing it. He concentrated on his aching jaw and tried to move it a bit, but stopped only about a second later, wincing. Waving his hand and concentrating on the amount of magic he wanted to pour into the spell, he thought 'Hielo!' A small chunk of ice appeared in his hand and, after conjuring a small plastic bag to put the ice in, he glued it against his injured jaw.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Dumbledore was the only one to see that bit of wandless magic. Harry cursed himself; he should have used his wand. Oh well, it's not worth crying over the split potion.

'Bloody hell, Aberforth… You sure pack a punch!' he said, half-jokingly, to break the tension. To be honest, he couldn't really blame him. No matter how much of Death Eater propaganda the Prophet published, they wouldn't twist the facts with something as earth-shattering as Dumbledore's – the Kingdom's Traitor – death. Plus, barely one week ago they had met in secret and talked about Dumbledore, so it wasn't that strange to have been punched by the brother of the presumed dead Headmaster. Still, it would've been nice if he hadn't jumped to conclusions…

'Thanks, I think' he said, not sounding very apologetic. He then turned to his brother. 'Well?' he asked impatiently.

'Albus? Is it really you?' McGonagall asked, a slight tremor in her voice, as if she thought her eyes were cruelly deceiving her.

'Yes, Minerva,' he answered softly. He twirled his hands and another seven comfortable seats appeared. Thankfully, he spared them the bumblebees this time. 'Sit down,' he said, and the seats moved forward and gently hit their calves, making their knees buckle.

'Why are there two other empty seats?' Sirius wondered.

'They are not empty,' another voice said, Snorkack. Both she and Neville appeared then, and the others save for Harry and Dumbledore brandished their wands at them.

'Everyone lower your wands,' Dumbledore commanded, and at once all wands were sheathed back in their respective pockets. 'We are all on the same side.'

Even though no wands were seen, Harry could feel the air so tense he could cut it down with a knife if he had it. But then again, it was understandable. Dumbledore was supposedly dead, Harry was a mystery, and then suddenly two people appear out of thin air, covered from head to toes, and everyone expects them to be all jolly when war is raging outside? Harry thought not.

'This is Snorkack,' he said pointing at Luna, 'and this is, er -'

They had forgotten about Neville's name! Oh, bloody flippin' heck!

'I'm the Avenger,' Neville stated fiercely, gazing around proudly, as if daring the others to criticise his chosen name.

Harry thought it was a tad cheesy, but then again, if Neville intended to do what he thought he did, then it was probably the best name to pick. Still, it was a bit cheesy. But then again, Harry had chosen "Gryffindor", so maybe he should shut up about that.

'Right. Snorkack is from the Renegades -'

'You are a Renegade?' James asked, surprised. 'But you look so young,' he added, a frown on his forehead.

'Does it matter if I'm young or not, Mr Potter?' Snorkack spat. 'Did it matter that Draco Malfoy was a first year when he died? Did that matter to your first-born, dead at the age of one?'

'Snorkack - ENOUGH!' Harry boomed, not believing what he had just heard. Of all the things to say, that had to be the most hurtful and hateful one she could ever think of. 'You know very well what it's like to lose family, so shut up!'

Snorkack glared at him but said nothing apart from a weak apology, but the glares she received did not weaken at all after it. Harry sighed, it was expected. He had hoped they would all get along more or less, but the secrecy and the frayed nerves were taking their toll on them. He sighed again; perhaps things would get better with time.

'We have many things to discuss and very little time, so it would be wise to leave our hard feelings behind and focus on the task at hand,' Dumbledore said calmly yet strictly. He swished his wand and eight cups of steaming tea and a couple of bottles of Odgen's Firewhiskey appeared on a table. Although it would be difficult for Harry, Neville and Snorkack to drink their tea or the Firewhiskey, since their faces were covered up, the gesture was nonetheless appreciated. With one mug in his hand, he waved with the other one the newspaper to catch the others' attention.

'As you will have already read in the paper, today the world rejoiced. The cause was my apparent death, which, as it is obvious, is only that – apparent. Sirius here can attest to the wrongfulness of this article,' he explained, nodding at a blushing Sirius ('yeah, it's Dumbledore al lright,' he muttered darkly). 'However, it is likely that many of you have questions; and indeed, not retelling this most adventurous game would be a disservice to the person who rescued me from Azkaban,' he finished, raising his mug to Harry, nodding, and then taking a sip.

Harry could feel his cheeks redden at the sharp looks he was receiving. He had never been particularly skilled when being in the spotlight, and, most definitely, he had never been comfortable with too much attention.

'You rescued my brother?' Aberforth croaked, his eyes slightly brighter.

Harry gulped. 'Yeah,' he answered sheepishly.

'Sorry about your jaw, lad,' Aberforth said, now looking really sorry.

Harry waved a hand in dismissal. His jaw still hurt, and he would most likely have an ugly bruise the following day, but it was not the end of the world.

'How did you get him out? And what's with the article? Is it real?' James asked.

And so, Harry explained it to them. Well, more or less, he did omit some bits, like the fact that he came from another world, that Snorkack was actually Luna Lovegood, and, most important, he didn't tell them he had used his Animagus form to rescue Dumbledore. If news spread that a phoenix Animagus had rescued Dumbledore, then he would see himself very restricted to use that ability. He did tell them about the Death Eater he had captured – but not where he had got him from - and how they had transformed him into Dumbledore by means of Polyjuice Potion and then Petrified him.

'So it's not a lie, then? Someone died, but he looked like Professor Dumbledore?' Sirius inquired, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

'Er, yes. The Death Eater, Alain Devreux, well, he committed many crimes, and the best place for him was Azkaban. But I didn't think, I didn't realise he would die,' Harry said, feeling the guilt of his death on his shoulders.

'Nonsense, Gryffindor. He got what he deserved,' Snorkack said tenaciously.

James frowned again. 'What I would like to know, is how did you manage to bypass the wards, when not even the Renegades have managed to breach them and not even Dumbledore was able to escape from them?'

Harry gulped. His father was sharper than he had ever imagined. People had always told him his mother had been the brains in the relationship, and if that was true, he was starting to fear his mum.

'A very wise question,' McGonagall acknowledged, and all heads turned to face Harry, who, in contrast, was trying to shy away from them.

'Er…'

'Like you said, Minerva, it is a very wise question indeed,' Dumbledore interceded, barely nodding at Harry's grateful eyes, 'however, this information is of a very delicate nature, and one must tread softly with it. Should this information ever reach the enemy's ears, we would lose a very valuable weapon,' he said, sipping on his tea from time to time.

'Why? Does he have a contact within the Death Eaters?' Sirius asked. His eyes glinted for a moment and then narrowed; 'or is he a Death Eater spy?'

Well, it was a feasible explanation, but still, Harry had to stop himself from gagging at the thought of ever having served that scum.

'No, none of that -'

'I flamed in and out,' Harry said, realising there was no point in beating around the bush. Since they already knew he was a Phoenix Animagus, well, he just hoped they wouldn't tell anyone. Dumbledore would make sure of that.

'Bloody hell!' Sirius exclaimed in awe.

Harry couldn't help it, he grinned. Sirius could be so much like Ron sometimes. Harry felt a tug on his heart; he did miss his friends.

'So basically, since Professor Dumbledore is thought to be dead, that gives us more freedom than before,' Neville – Avenger, Harry berated himself – concluded.

'Right,' James said. 'So what do you need us for? Why are you so keen on informing us?' he asked suspiciously. 'We are bound to Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, we cannot go any further.'

'Gryffindor here was the one who was so interested in keeping you informed, not me,' Snorkack said promptly.

'Gee, thanks a bunch, Snorkack,' Harry retorted sarcastically. This Luna was damn useful, but she was most certainly not a friend of his.

'However, being in the dark is dangerous, so there's no harm in keeping you informed. Apart from that, the brightest mind in the ranks of the Renegades, my captain Owl,' she added with pride, completely ignoring Harry's remark, 'is working on how to release you from it; and if Owl doesn't find a way, nobody will.'

Harry raised an eyebrow at Luna's tune. She seemed to worship the ground her captain walked on.

'Right,' said Sirius blankly. 'So what can we do for you? Is there any task we could carry out for you, even if we can't do much?'

Harry nodded. 'Yes. I think I would need three things. First, I need you to retrieve Ravenclaw's Lost Diadem from the Room of Requirements. Ask the room for a place to hide things. Don't do anything with Ravenclaw's Diadem, and never put it on, it's a Horcrux and I'll have to unlock it before destroying it. As soon as you find it, call upon my House-Elf, he will take it to my hideout where I'll be able to annihilate the piece of soul that lives there. Do you know where the Room is?' he asked, snapping out of his rant.

Both James and Sirius shook their heads, but Professor McGonagall knew where it was. Harry wondered how she had come across it.

'I will do it,' she offered. 'I'll retrieve it as soon as possible. However, I will need some help to fool the Death Eaters, so it's possible it will take me several days to find the best moment to carry it out, Gryffindor,' she said in her usual no-nonsense tone.

Harry nodded at her and then moved on to the following task. 'I need you to contact your spy. Tell him that resistance is on the move,' he said in a low voice, as if he were afraid of someone eavesdropping on them.

Both Sirius and James nodded at that.

'And last of all, I need you to keep an eye on Hogwarts: staff and students. We need to know what's going on within its walls to create a better resistance and strike as best as we can -'

'You want to bring back Hogwarts?' McGonagall whispered, her voice devoid of her usual briskly tone; instead, it was soft and sad, nostalgic and hopeful. Harry then realised that Hogwarts was not only his home, but the home of many others, too.

'Yes. I will, but for that I will need you to inform me about our possible allies within the castle's walls. The Zabinis, the Bullstrodes, the Greengrasses, the Notts…' he offered as examples.

James gave him a weird look. 'The Zabinis were slaughtered when they refused to become Voldemort's minions and remained neutral. The Bullstrodes are supporters but not active followers. The Greengrasses were under the Fidelius Charm but were betrayed by their Secret-Keeper, and they all died at the hands of the Unmentionable number two. The Notts are Death Eaters, save for their estranged son who severed ties with the family some time ago. This is all in public records, and unless you are a two year-old, you should know this,' James finished, once again suspicious of Harry.

Harry squirmed under his father's gaze. 'As I said, I have been, er, indisposed for a very long time,' he answered.

'James, leave him be,' Dumbledore ordered softly. 'He has a very good reason and he is trustworthy.'

Reluctantly, James tore his gaze from Harry and turned back to Dumbledore.

Harry reclined his back on the chintz. This reunion had been more draining than he had thought it would be. Apart from the punch, the suspicious and hostile looks he received, the tense atmosphere and whatnot, it was the fact that the more he learned, the more troubled he was.

Apparently, in this world, everyone belonged to Voldemort's reign, and getting allies would be much more difficult than he had expected. True, the Renegades were still there, but from what he had gathered, they were not as strong as Snorkack made them appear; they looked crippled and diminished. Suddenly, the task seemed much more foreboding than it once had, back in his own world. There, he could count on people to defend themselves and the population hadn't been so dwindled. Here, the only part of the wizarding world that remained intact was precisely the one he opposed.

Just then, life with the Dursleys didn't seem so hellish as he had once thought.

'Gryffindor, it's time to go,' Snorkack said, snapping him out of his reverie.

Dumbledore and Neville were to be taken back to the Sanctuary by Kreacher; whereas Aberforth, Sirius, McGonagall and his father were to go back to their posts. Snorkack and Harry, well, they had another meeting to go.

Just as they were about to leave, Harry heard Dumbledore whisper very softly to his father, 'don't worry James, I know the location of her Secret-Keeper, and he would give his life before anything happened to her.'

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

His mother was alive.

-oOoOoOoOo-

The safehouse number eight may be found on Cherry Lane number eight; Lewes, England.

Harry memorised the address before igniting the paper. Concentrating hard on the direction, he saw a decent-sized house materialise out of thin air right before him.

It was very dark, he couldn't see the house that well. It did look nearly in ruins, with grey mossy stones and black tiles. The grass around it was wild and packed with weeds, something that Aunt Petunia would heavily frown upon.

Snorkack directed him to the entrance, where the door was wooden, black and mouldy, but stopped him from advancing any further about a foot before it.

'The wards will kill you otherwise,' she said. She grabbed her wand and placed the tip of it on the palm of her hand. Muttering something that Harry did not understand between her teeth, her palm grew golden. Hastily, she glued her hand on the door.

'It is I, Snorkack, of the Chimera team, bringing our guest, Gryffindor,' she whispered to no-one.

Transfixed, Harry looked at the proceedings. Whoever had built this ward, he was nothing short of a magical genius. It applied the techniques Muggles used for digital identification, but used magic for it, probably identifying the core of the one who sought entrance.

The door opened for them with a creak and a soft feminine voice rang 'you are late.'

Luna grabbed his hand and pulled him forward into the darkest house he had ever been in. The only thing he could make out from the dark corridors he was flying through were the scant and thin candles that adorned the halls. He couldn't even see the floor he was walking on, let alone know where he was going. It seemed as if Snorkack knew her way very well, for she never made him bump against anything. Then again, the dingy place might as well be a palace from the inside, with wide and ample halls, but since the only thing he could see were candles suspended in midair, he couldn't really have an accurate opinion about the place.

He couldn't let go of the feeling he was being watched, though. He sensed as if countless eyes were following his every move, whispering behind him…

Another door creaked open and the light that came out blinded him for a few seconds. There, on the threshold of that room, Snorkack released his hand from her firm grip and walked towards the large black table before him.

Adjusting himself to the new light, Harry saw Luna take a seat at the end of a table packed with people, all covered from head to toes in very dark robes, most of them either sipping from a glass or clutching it, countless bottles of Firewhiskey laying around. Around twenty of them were looking at Harry avidly, their eyes shining behind what looked like Disfigurement Charms; some of them had a casual air around them, some others looked very tense; but all of them had their eyes fixed on him. Suddenly, Harry felt very naked.

The man in the centre of the table rose to his feet and bowed slightly to him. 'Welcome, Gryffindor,' he said in a rich baritone voice, 'we have heard much about you. Please take a seat,' he added, signalling the chair in front of him.

Harry obliged.

The man sat again and made himself comfortable before speaking again. 'I'm very glad you made it, Gryffindor,' he said in a husky, croaky and wild voice, making some part of his brain think he had at some point met this man in his previous life, 'we have much to discuss, but there is still some time for pleasantries,' he continued. Signalling the person to his right he said, 'this is Owl, the genius in this organisation,' he said fondly, while Harry nodded at Owl. He thought Owl was a woman, but he couldn't really tell. 'And this,' the man continued, nodding at the person to his left, 'this is Squeamish, our sneakiest operative.' The so called Squeamish barely twitched in acknowledgement.

The man placed a hand on his heart. 'And I; I am Dragon, the leader of the Renegades.'

Bloody hell

-oOoOoOoOo-

DISCLAIMER: CHEESECAKE DOMINATION!

-oOoOoOoOo-

A/N: sorry for the delay… Please review! As usual, for any of you that might be interested, there's a link to my Yahoo! Group on my profile page, the address is:

http://groups dot yahoo dot com forward slash group forward slash Vermouth underscore Fanfiction

Until next time,

Vermouth

Member of the Siriusan Order

REVISED by my very amazing beta-reader Hasufel: 22/05/2009