Notes: Written for fanfic100.

Prompt: 001 Beginnings
Claim: Order of the Phoenix

*

I've always marveled at how Albus Dumbledore could command silence just by entering a room.

The gathered crowd hushed expectantly, watching the tall, thin wizard make his way to the head of the table.

"If everyone would take a seat..." he began quietly.

We settled into our chairs, legs scraping loudly against the ground in unison. Looking around, I noticed there were only a few women: myself, a round-faced brunette, and a redhead who sat directly opposite of me. She looked at me with bright green eyes, as if she knew I was afraid. A sickly weight dropped into my stomach. So many of the people around me looked so powerful. Who was I? I was no one. I had to clench my hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

"We have convened here," said Dumbledore, "for one reason. Lord Voldemort has reigned terror long enough."

No one squeaked or gasped, much too used to the way Dumbledore used The name, but I shivered. The room were we gathered was too warm, and I could feel a bead of sweat drop down the middle of my back.

The seriousness of the situation began to weigh on me. I could feel every word Dumbledore was saying land in my chest, heavy and murky like a glob of mud. I could feel myself flushing, so I tried to focus on the superficial, the faces around me.

Next to the redheaded woman was a man whose hair stuck up at every angle. He looked ready to fight, and ready to win. His hand was on the redhead's shoulder. Fleetingly, I wondered if they'd both survive the war. I imagined her green eyes filled with tears, her small pale hands gripping his lifeless body. No, don't think that, I told myself. That's not going to happen.

Dumbledore was talking steadily, but every word of his speech disintegrated against my ear before I could comprehend even one syllable. There were twins at the far end of the table. Stocky, freckly, redheaded twins. They wore identical expressions of interest and excitement. I'll never be able to tell them apart.

Near me, a young man with sandy blond hair stared, but not at Dumbledore. He had light fringe, and I could see a few shining strands of gray hair. He looked tired, exhausted. There were scars laced across the bridge of his nose. My heart suddenly jumped as I thought of what kind of life he must've lived, how it might be over so soon. Stop, stop.

He was staring at a man with thick, semi-long black hair. "Sirius," he mumbled, tapping the raven-haired boy and then gesturing to Dumbledore. The dark-haired boy, who had obviously not listening to Dumbledore, blinked a few times. He had a carefree, handsome look about him. Carefree, I thought sardonically. Look where we are. Carefree. I remembered his face suddenly. He had gone to Hogwarts just a few years below me. He was a fourth year when I left, already heartbreakingly handsome. I remembered the way he tossed his hair when he caught Sarah staring at him; casual and smooth, letting the fringe stray into his eyes. He tossed his hair the same way now, trying to look as though he'd been paying attention.

I exhaled loudly. Dumbledore peered down at me, and I felt as if I were a a child back at school, being reprimanded for my wrongdoings. I blushed bright, cherry red.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, "We should get to know each other, our allies, who we can trust." He touched my shoulder. "Introduce yourself," he murmured quietly.

I stood, heart pounding. Next to the redhead's husband was a short round man I hadn't seen earlier. He looked just as nervous as I was. His small, beady eyes surveyed everyone. I felt an odd chill when he looked at me. He rubbed his left arm nervously, and I wondered if he was afraid that he'd have to introduce himself next. "Hello, everyone," I said, "I'm Marlene McKinnon. Welcome to my home."