Author's Note:

This fanfiction is an experimental piece of work based on J.K Rowling's works. It is experimental in the sense that an AU is crafted on the premise of the Great Man theory, by Thomas Carlyle. Succintly put, Carlyle argued that history could be largely explained by the impact of great men (or individuals). These individuals often possess great intellect, wisdom and charisma. In the world of Harry Potter, J.K Rowling has left us two such individuals: Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore (each representing both ends of a moral spectrum). We could perhaps state with reasonable certainty that the entire story of Harry Potter arises out of the action and schemes of this pair.

There must have been something arguably convincing in Lord Voldemort's terror campaign. To have had so many Deatheaters swear allegiance to him, there must have been something utterly convincing in his propaganda. Suppose that there was indeed some truth in the pureblood supremacy that he preached of?

Suppose then that Voldemort's claims were examined critically through unjaundiced eyes without the humanistic vision of Dumbledore clouding them.

What would such a world be?

Prologue

A pop – followed by the silent footsteps of a dark cloaked man as he traversed the ornate room, reaching the seated figure whose fingers perched upon the ridges of an aquiline nose. Upon reaching, he kneeled and kissed the proffered hand which bore a golden ring, encrusted with an emerald.

"My Lord, the offer has been made. The coven will answer."

There was a stark silence –

"Very good… the pledge of the thirteen high witches of Albania will be very welcome indeed in these trying times, Malfoy."

"I am glad that you are pleased, My Lord," replied the scarred man. A long jagged scar ran through from the top of his head right across his lips. His sleek peroxide hair was combed neatly as it always was.

"And what of the old man's Order? What has our associate – " there was a brief smirk, "have to report?"

"The Order has begun amassing large quantities of phoenix's tears. It seems that they will be well prepared."

"Ah yes – phoenix's tears. Either the old bird's on a crying spree or it has received the support of its kin. Tell me Malfoy, do you know why a phoenix yields its tears so willingly?"

There was a brief hesitation in Malfoy. His master had the uncanny ability to retain everything he read. It was a formidable gift, and when combined with an unprecedented reading speed, made the man a walking library. Knowledge wielded in the hands of an exceptionally powerful wizard made his master a formidable opponent. Wisely, he kept silent.

"It is said that a phoenix is associated with the light and goodness. It experiences a constant rebirth. But none may force a phoenix to tear. Indeed, it knows not of compassion, and remains aloof of human suffering. The one and only reason it tears is because of suffering."

"How so, my Lord?"

"Dumbledore is a fool. He thinks that the phoenix is under his control, and yields to him and only to him. You would think that a phoenix tears in response to alleviating the sufferer's pain. But no – it tears because of suffering. It thrives on suffering and yearns to prolong it. And what greater way to prolong suffering than to give its sufferer more rope to hang himself upon? Life indeed, Malfoy. Life is the rope."

"Now – to name an Order after such a creature – one can only imagine the tragic irony indeed. While Dumbledore thinks that he is the master of life, he is in reality mastered by life. Fools led by fools indeed."

The figure raised himself from the recliner, and raised his hand – examining the ring with an unusual intensity. Malfoy stared impassively; it was not wise to interrupt.

"There is the Master of Life and then there is the Master of Death. One would imagine that the Elder Wand would have been discovered much sooner. No one ever questioned the unprecedented increase in magic power in Dumbledore. No one. It was simply assumed that magic had once again produced one of those rare prodigies."

The ring started glowing.

"Any magic can be broken – with sufficient thought. And with sufficient willpower - "

It grew brighter.

"even the Deathstick can be crushed."

It grew so bright that the room was soon shrouded in a luminescent green shade.

The figure's hand tightened. And the light disappeared.

"Power that is easily given is easily taken. Dumbledore grew too reliant on its power. He had forgotten the precious lesson which Grindelwald's defeat had taught him: Power is a fickle mistress."

Malfoy stood rigid now. Every fibre in his previously lax body was now taut as he was viscerally reminded of the sheer difference in power between him and his master. He remembered the look of utter defeat on the old man's face when his master crushed the Elder Wand as if it was but an old, weathered branch. Magic in its most potent form consisted of the Will. And his master had the strongest will he had ever encountered.

"Tell me, Malfoy, why do you serve?"

At that, the young man knelt and kissed the hem of the figure's robe.

"You rescued me from a meaningless existence, the network of lies that the magic world had been built upon. You revealed to me the truth of magic. You taught me everything you know. I am but your humble servant."

There was a short burst of clear laughter.

"And so your loyalty will be rewarded, just as your brethren. One day, our vision will be fulfilled. Magic will be restored to what it was once before."

Malfoy stood up, dusted his robes and raised his head. He looked into the eyes of his Master.

"My Lord – you mean…"

"Yes Malfoy, tonight the Order falls."

The ring began glowing once more.

Across miles, invisible runes began warming up on the forefingers of wizards and witches – chief amongst which was the Minister of Magic, Ronald Weasley. Clear eyes turned hazy even as they heard the soft, clear words of Harry Potter.

"It is time."