Author's Note: Unlike my previous story, I have actually planned ahead and therefore wrote ahead so as to avoid writer's block. I have a specific plan for posting, which can be viewed on my profile. Also, please note that this story may contain minor spoilers for the additional content on Pottermore. More information on how I am handling the issue is on my profile as well, but this fanfiction will consist primarily of filling in the blanks of canon. In this first chapter, don't worry - I changed a total of four words in separate sentences to accommodate new information, and you will be highly unlikely to spot it.

Disclaimer: If you honestly think I am J. K. Rowling, you might want to find a definition of "fan fiction" to clarify this grievous misconception.

CHAPTER 1

"Courage is not the lack of fear, but rather the judgment that there is something more important than fear."

– Ambrose Redmoon

1972

"I've come to give a very grave announcement to you. Mr. Wood, that's enough. I would suggest that you listen to me."

Minerva allowed a stony silence to descend over the Gryffindor common room as she arched an imperious eyebrow at her still-disobedient fifth year. From their place near the hearth, Ben Fenwick, Shannon Kerrigan, and Adaira Stirling seemed motivated to divert their attention from work, a miracle in of itself. Minerva began as soon as James Potter and Sirius Black, the only first years who did not appear currently petrified with fear of their impending doom, finally summoned enough good sense to be silent.

"Undoubtedly, you all have heard rumors, perhaps even in the Daily Prophet, but the Headmaster requests that we make this official before you inevitably read the muddled accounts in the papers tomorrow morning. As you well know, there have been multiple unexplained killings of varying degree recently, in both the Wizarding and Muggle Communities.

"All of these fatalities have been accredited to a single mass murderer and wizard. I assure you from what we know thus far, he is not a standard lunatic – Mr. Potter, do be quiet, this is not a laughing matter – and these crimes have been substantially premeditated. Voldemort has developed a stringent attitude toward all opposition, and he and his supporters, which you know he has called Death Eaters, will be most severe in executing any sort of punishment they feel is in order. I do hope you understand me when I say that this wizard is of great threat to the Wizarding and Muggle Communities, and to you personally as well, along with your families. By now, surely you know this."

Minerva paused to restore her previous briskness into the conclusion, so as to not send the first years into a state of panic. Several of them seemed already to have managed to multiply the size of their eyes to the size of a house elf's.

"In light of the situation, the Daily Prophet will be issuing a safety guide tomorrow morning, and I would like you first to know that the Headmaster suggests you all exercise utmost caution in your day-to-day proceedings at Hogwarts and during your summer holidays."

Professor McGonagall regarded her students briefly as a dismissal and quickly made to escape through the portrait hole. Unfortunately, she was promptly interrupted by a verbal explosion of several students, who were intent on barraging her with inquiries. She couldn't say she didn't expect it. At the Ministry's insistent instruction, the students had been kept almost entirely in the dark in regards to Voldemort's escalation over the school year.

"Professor, what are we to do about this? Sit around and wait for him?" demanded Wood, rising from his chair.

"What business would he have at Hogwarts anyway?" asked Henry Brown, a dark-haired fifth year, whose naïveté occasionally threatened his wellbeing.

"How is he gathering supporters?"

"He's not using mind-control, is he?" asked a frightened second-year. Minerva suppressed a shudder.

"And how have they figured out all of this information anyway?"

"Sounds like a nutter, if you ask me," commented James offhandedly, inciting some laughter from his sidekick.

"Where is he? Has he been sighted around here?"

"Wait, what does he look like?"

"Who are his supporters? Haven't they any clue about that?" scoffed Mark Cuthbert, an evidently angry fourth year.

"You haven't even told us his name, Professor!"

"Is he targeting everybody or just select groups of wizards and muggles? Who is fighting against him?" inquired Adaira.

"What is he aiming for? Has he made any demands to the Ministry?" asked Ben.

"How is he going about these killings? Does he give warnings? Does he have sophisticated weaponry?" demanded Sigmund Throckmore, an apparently military-minded fifth year.

"Are people going into hiding?" squeaked a nervous first-year.

"Why is he killing so many people? Is it at random?"

"What do you mean, 'exercise caution'? Refuse to go outside during the holidays?"

"Barricade the doors to our houses?"

"Are there any jinxes or charms we can put up to protect ourselves and our families?" Shannon inquired.

"Defend ourselves? I'd kill him if I could!" shouted a seventh-year, standing.

"What about muggle-borns? We can't do any magic at outside of school for preventative purposes!" exclaimed Lily Evans. By that time, most of the common room had quickly risen to their feet. Some looked fearful; others, furious.

Fifth year Eoin Bryan started angrily, "Professor, we'd really appreciate some decent informat—

"SILENCE!" shouted Professor McGonagall, eyes blazing and hands shaking. "Now, listen. And sit down, for heaven's sake!"

She waited impatiently for the Gryffindors to settle down enough to be generally quiet while she was speaking.

"There is not much that we do know, so that is why there appears to be such a ridiculous lack of information. It is not only you who are being deprived of it," she said quietly, an odd look spanning across her face for a few moments.

"However, I can tell you that there will be more advice for you from the Headmaster on how to best defend yourselves and your families when you return home for the summer holidays. It will likely be given at the end-of-term feast. So, for now, if you would only harass me with questions in a civilized manner , while being conscious of the fact that I may not be able to provide you with an answer, I would be very appreciative," she added quickly, staring at them all with her eyebrows raised.

Following that, she did answer some simple questions to some of the younger students and refused to respond to the majority of the questions posed by the older, more perceptive ones. Now was not the appropriate time to launch a tangent of her own conspiracy theories on the subject. Finally, a lull came over the common room, and Minerva took her opportunity.

"It is almost midnight. I would suggest you all go off to bed. Good night." With that, she abruptly left the common room and the swarm of frantic students within.

Minerva walked back to her office hurriedly. Despite the fact that it was approaching an increasingly dreadful time of night, she had several stacks of ungraded essays sitting forebodingly atop her desk. Now, assaulted by nervous thoughts about Voldemort, she would be driven to insomnia regardless.

Minerva pulled open the wooden door to her office with the intention of lighting a fire and having several cups of highly-caffeinated tea, but her plan soon proved highly unworkable when she detected a tall, Headmaster-shaped impediment in her office.

"Minerva, my dear, your Gryffindors must certainly have had a word or two to say in response. Pomona was finished most recently, and that was approximately thirty minutes ago. I believe some of her younger students were rather upset."

It appeared Albus Dumbledore had taken up residence behind Minerva's desk. As per usual, his attire was ridiculously colorful and flamboyant, not to mention downright offensive to some people. Half-moon spectacles framed his clear blue eyes, which always seemed to be twinkling for some reason or another. He stood then, his smile illuminated by the fire that he had already thought to light, and he held out a cup to her.

"Tea, Minerva?" he asked kindly.

Minerva nodded gratefully but continued to stand at the threshold of the room with a rather puzzled expression on her face.

"Thank you. But, is there anything I can do for you, Dumbledore?" she inquired, her tone tinged with impatience. Before that evening, Dumbledore had absconded to London for a week in order to attend some sort of conference which he had refused to elaborate on. Minerva, consequently, had been abandoned to not only prepare her Transfiguration students for upcoming exams but also manage the proceedings of an entire school lodged in a magical castle of somewhat unpredictable nature. In short, Albus Dumbledore had earned her displeasure.

"You know, Minerva, I should not be the one to invite you into your own office," he mused with a slight laugh in his voice. "I should have explained myself, I suppose. Actually, better yet, would you mind terribly coming up to my office for a short time? I'm afraid it's of a rather urgent nature."

Minerva attempted to replace her disapproval with curiosity, but to no avail. Dumbledore frequently summoned her to his office on grounds that Minerva found somewhat useless.

"I assure you, under ordinary circumstances I would insist you go to bed immediately and take the day off tomorrow, but these times, I am sure you will agree, are not very ordinary at all."

Minerva sighed resignedly. He was her boss. "Of course."

The pair reached Dumbledore's office shortly thereafter. Dumbledore seemed oddly grim, which, to Minerva, indicated something was certainly amiss. Immediately unsettled by what else could be worse than Voldemort's current ravages upon Great Britain, Minerva's mind began thinking circles around itself in a sort of terror until Dumbledore's calm voice floated across the room.

"I truly am sorry to bother you so late, Minerva, but I did not want to trouble you with this information until after you had been questioned by your students. It will prove to be, I think, one less thing that you will have to withhold from most of them."

Minerva looked into his translucent blue eyes, perplexed.

"Why, of course, you're confused. I apologize. I suppose I should start at the beginning. Do make yourself comfortable, my dear."

With a flourish of his wand, Dumbledore conjured two gaudy chintz armchairs and motioned for Minerva to sit down. She did so, stiffly. Dumbledore no longer appealed to her in this regard as he did during the early years of their acquaintance, and proceeded on with the conversation.

"As I'm sure you've deduced by now, I'd like to discuss the matter of Voldemort with you."

Minerva winced slightly, meriting a small look of disappointment from Dumbledore. Why were people, she included, becoming so affected by the mere mention of this man? She suppressed the urge to recoil into the furniture; she would much rather have been yelled or glared at – anything but Dumbledore's usual response to her indiscretions.

"Yes, I assumed so. But, I was under the impression that you had said all you intended to this morning at the staff meeting. Not to mention before," she answered.

Dumbledore studied his hands for a moment. "You see, this does not have so much to do with Voldemort as it does me and my personal intentions."

Minerva, having regained some of her former confidence, eyed him suspiciously.

"Minerva, contrary to the accusations of some of your more impassioned Gryffindors, I do not intend to stand by and allow Voldemort to carry out his plans without considerable opposition. As you no doubt have noticed, the Ministry has hardly been able to handle the situation thus far."

Unlike typical meetings in Dumbledore's office wherein her attention was overtaken by his various trinkets and historical artifacts, Minerva found herself leaning forward in her chair as Dumbledore's voice grew lower.

"What sort of opposition?" she asked in equally quiet tones.

"Quite an organized opposition. You were too young to be involved during the war against Grindelwald, but, I believe similar measures need to be taken. This of course, would be methodical – not rash, but preventative. I would much rather have levels of resistance at hand before things become worse, at any rate."

Now, Minerva McGonagall viewed herself as quite realistic and level-headed, but she trusted Dumbledore rather implicitly. If Dumbledore felt the situation would ultimately escalate further—

"You think it will get worse, then?" inquired Minerva in a softer voice, a searching voice that was not her own.

"Yes, I do," Dumbledore confirmed gravely. "Though, it is not reason to lose hope, but, rationally, I think we would be better outfitted if we overestimate Voldemort rather than underestimate him and scramble to assemble a few years from now."

She nodded earnestly. "Dumbledore, you mentioned Grindelwald."

"Oh, yes. Forgive an old man and his lost train of thought, Minerva. Thirty years ago, a small number of secret societies existed with the purpose of thwarting Grindelwald's actions at large. These organizations were indisputably valuable for the purpose of gathering intelligence, thus allowing us to maneuver to dismantle Grindelwald's plans. They were also a resource for combat against his forces, among other things," explained Dumbledore.

"So, that is what you intend to do. Form a secret society," inferred Minerva, looking to Dumbledore for confirmation. Once it was given, she continued. "Who else have you mentioned this to?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Well, I have been contemplating the idea for several months now, but you are the first to hear it in full."

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "Me? Why?"

"Why not you? I consider you one of my most trusted companions," said Dumbledore, apparently either ignorant of or unfazed by Minerva's shock. Minerva felt herself blush.

"Well, er—thank you, Dumbledore," she answered quickly. "Who else do you expect to recruit, then? I assume you don't expect to form your association using only the two of us."

"Minerva, you realize there is substantial risk and danger involved—

"I know, and I don't care," interrupted Minerva. "I would much rather be in a position to do something useful. You understand that I would bring myself to insanity if I wasn't." She could scarcely even take more than a weekend-long vacation over the summer holidays.

Laughing to himself, Dumbledore added, "Yes. I thought so, my dear. As for your inquiry, I would like to consult Elphias Doge, an old friend of mine. Also, you have met Irving and Caroline McKinnon, and I believe you had their daughter Marlene as a student. Alastor Moody as well, I think, and Dedalus Diggle – Minerva, I realize you aren't particularly fond of his lack of common sense, but he is quite loyal."

Minerva nodded, beckoning him to continue.

"Hagrid, of course, will be informed."

"Hagrid, Dumbledore?"

"You might give him more credit, Minerva, and you will come to trust him as I do. Also, the Fenwick's, the Throckmore's, and Kathleen Kerrigan. As for some of the younger people, I believe Frank Longbottom will be eager to assist us, as well as perhaps the Prewett's. Can you think of any others, Minerva?"

"Edgar Bones," she answered without hesitation. Edgar Bones, head of the Justice Department at the Ministry, was a close friend of Minerva's family, not to mention so perceptive that he was likely to have suspected Voldemort years prior. "And my brother Malcolm. Perhaps my brother Robert as well. Emmeline Vance, too, if I can persuade her. I might think of others, but I would like to put it to thought, so as to not…unhinge your operation before it begins."

Dumbledore suddenly rid himself of all earlier grimness and smiled merrily. "Thank you, Minerva."

"You're welcome. But, how exactly do you hope to contact all of these people? I can help with a few, but it might be rather conspicuous of you to be making numerous unexpected house calls," pointed out Minerva.

"I expect Fawkes may be able to assist in that regard," responded Dumbledore, gesturing to his pet phoenix with brilliant red and gold plumage that rested on a perch beside his desk.

Minerva's eyes narrowed skeptically. "You expect people to endanger their lives at your request, as delivered by your bird? You expect them to answer to the orders of a phoenix – Dumbledore, honestly, sometimes I wonder about you. After all, letters via phoenix is hardly less outrageous than you knocking on doors yourself for the next week. This information isn't exactly something to be delivered by mail, in any case."

Dumbledore folded his hands and laced his fingers together contemplatively. "Hmm… what an intriguing name. The Order of the Phoenix. I rather like it, don't you?"

"I meant to offer criticism, not a title, Dumbledore," sighed Minerva, exasperated.

"Perhaps you were not, but I feel the name will work nicely just the same," answered Dumbledore. "But, for now, I must ask one more thing of you."

Minerva's eyebrows contracted. "Yes, Dumbledore?"

"Alastor Moody. If I'm right, you were once a close friend of his. I imagine that he may require a token more of convincing than the rest of the names I mentioned," explained Dumbledore.

"Moody? Dumbledore, he is the most maniacal conspiracy theorist I know. Persuading him to believe that Voldemort warrants some attention will not be difficult."

"Ah, yes, indeed. Just last year at the Ministry Christmas Gala – and, I must say, I was quite astonished that he made an appearance – I noticed he was very cautious about accepting beverages from the caterers. I daresay he offended some poor woman when he threatened to have her company's license revoked for improper preparing methods. I nearly intervened when—

"Dumbledore, the point, if you wouldn't mind."

"Oh, yes: the point. Alastor Moody, while he remains incurably skeptical of institutions, is quite liable to be equally distrusting of our operation, Minerva."

Minerva frowned, seeing where this was going. She was to bear the full force of Moody's flat rejection and subsequent arguments, and then finally attempt to draw him to a state of grudging consent to be inducted into Dumbledore's new Order.

"Of course," she muttered.

"And, Minerva, I expect a few of your Gryffindors might be interested in hearing more about Voldemort. Perhaps a few questions in the future could be answered in more detail, to select students, of course."

"Dumbledore! Have you just given my permission to run my mouth off at students about this?" she started.

Dumbledore chuckled to himself. "It does seem so. It's a good thing I trust your judgment, my dear. All I am saying is that you may feel free to use your discretion in how much you tell to students, and which students you choose to tell things to."

She looked at him sternly, but his smiling expression held. With that, Dumbledore politely bade her good night and released her from his office. Minerva returned to her rooms and fell asleep almost immediately, mind still whirring with images of dark lords, frightened students, and Albus Dumbledore, who was surely still sitting awake in his office, rather pleased with the clever name he had come up with for his secret society.

Another Author's Note: Thank you for reading. Please review! Also, I'm looking for a beta reader.