Chapter Text
The fact that Voldemort's power had grown to an incredible extent was certain to be known from the fact that even the Muggles had sensed it. They had no idea what was happening or why, but the mood of Muggle society had changed, and it assured the wizarding community, and especially Albus Dumbledore, that control was starting to slip out of their hands. The Dark Lord was recruiting more and more wizards to his followers - whether they joined by force or voluntarily, it was almost the same - while the forces of the resistance were dwindling due to deaths. It became common for anyone who rejected the Death Eaters to pay with their life.
Albus Dumbledore sat in the Hogwarts Headmaster's office, his gaze fixed on the parchment before him, scanning the elegant, gracefully curved letters. There were too few names on his list. Fawkes, the phoenix, gave his master a plaintive cry of dismay, and the old wizard looked at the bird.
"I know." That was all he said, then looked back at the parchment.
Dumbledore sighed deeply, then carved more names onto the parchment.
The headmaster lifted his quill in the air for a moment, then ran it across the parchment again. Each name he added was not only a spark of hope, but also a word of danger. He could see their faces in his mind: young, eager, brave - yet there was also a touch of fear in the old wizard, for these were innocent young people who, although they wanted to do something for a better future, still saw them as children. He had seen many of them grow up, scolded them for their mischief, which actually made him laugh at in secret, and watched with pride as they passed their final exams and then left school as adults.
The war was no longer a secret. It was present in homes, in families, spreading like poison through all layers of Wizarding society. He had seen such shadows in history before, but not with such cunning and cruelty. Voldemort's desire for power was surpassed only by his willingness to destroy all who opposed him.
Dumbledore pushed the parchment aside and clasped his fingers together. For too long he had tried to fight this battle alone, through the institutions that had once held sway: the Ministry, the Wizengamot, the international alliances. All of them were divided, now imbued with fear and corruption. He was too slow on his own, and he couldn't be in more than one place at once.
Something different was needed now. Something beyond the reach of the Ministry, invisible to the bureaucrats, and unbound by politics or hesitation. He needed a group of witches and wizards who would resist not because they were ordered to, but because they knew they had no choice.
His gaze fell back on Fawkes, who was watching him with unblinking patience, the flickering flame of his quills casting strange shadows across the room.
“It is time,” Dumbledore said quietly. “If he is gathering troops in the shadows... then so must I.”
The words seemed heavier after he said them out loud. A circle of his own. A brotherhood built on trust, bound by nothing but loyalty and courage. This was far from life insurance. It was dangerous, and there was no guarantee that every name on the parchment would stand by him, because no matter how enthusiastic someone was, it was a completely different thing if they were actually risking their lives.
Yet he saw no other option than to gather these people together and create a kind of resistance, with whose help he might have some chance of stopping Voldemort and the Death Eaters.
He leaned forward, wrote the last words at the top of the list, and underlined them with solid precision:
The Order of the Phoenix.
