Absolving Fate

To any casual observer, the man sitting under a tree in the middle of an unkempt lawn was not too strange a sight. Oh, there were his long grey beard and strange garment, but the things you saw people wearing these days! Regardless, there was no one was about to see the man for many minutes, and he continued to read a newspaper, his face looking graver and graver for each line he read. If there had been an observer, and if he had looked closer, he might have been shocked to see that the pictures on the paper were moving, that the ads changed and flashed almost - well, almost as if by magic. But the elderly gentleman (somehow the term "old man" was not appropriate) was oblivious to any stir that his paper might cause, and continued reading.

Later, with a slight pop!, an almost-young witch appeared, and strode over to where the man was sitting. "Where," she asked, her tone impatient but still as shockingly regal as the blue cloak that just skimmed the top of the grass, "is Alastor?"

"Probably making sure our Headquarters are completely Unplottable and setting up an assortment of nasty hexes for anyone who isn't in the Order, should they come upon us," the man replied, turning back to his paper, eyes twinkling. He knew this queen-like woman already, it seemed, and there was silence between them, but it was filled with his amusement and her impatience; they knew eachother too well to need to say anything.

The woman began to pace the lawn, her cloak billowing about her ankles in the breeze, revealing boots that did not match her robes or her manner at all, but certainly explained why she could stride about with such ease. By now any casual observer would have been very confused, and this feeling would certainly have been heightened by a loud crash that resulted in the woman and a man (who, it seemed, had appeared from nowhere) lying sprawled on the ground. The woman, looking affronted in the way one would expect any monarch to look if she had just been bowled over, rose first, wrinkling her nose. She clearly did not want to be associated with this man, whether he was of her kind or not.

This seemed to be a signal for more people to appear, and they did, in succession - a young man with thick blonde hair, and a slight old man who held out a strange, stick-like object and caused sparks to shoot out from it. The woman wrinkled her nose again, and strode over to the man reading the newspaper. "Albus," she said in an undertone, by now looking distinctly concerned, "Sturgis Podmore hasn't even gotten his N.E.W.T.s back, and the stories his aunt told me about him! And Dedalus, why, he would tell every Muggle in England exactly what we're doing; you know how he is! And that man who crashed into me... Why, he can't have had his Apparation license for long, is all I can say. These people, for what may prove to be the salvation of our world, Albus? These, for the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Emmeline," he replied, still serene to that casual observer, but with the little bit of steel in his voice that caused her to flush, "Emmeline, they want to be here; they want to be here and they will fight Voldemort." (He ignored her flinch; everyone flinched at his name then.) "They will fight him with all of their strength. They have little else, so they will learn and they will be as tough as the best Aurors. Besides," and at this his tone returned to its serene norm, "Alastor will scare them into shape if need be.You must stay humble, dear Emmeline. You may be the queen, but, my dear, the queen does not rule. Remember this, please."

It was obvious that she would remember these words, spoken so low that only he and she would hear. It was obvious that she felt suddenly different as she joined the circle of men she only moments ago disdained. Perhaps she was not as eager as Dedalus (the little old man with a surprisingly loud voice), but she was not petulant - she was too queenly to be so.

The man reading the newspaper smiled as if he were God watching the first inhabitants of Eden decide how to overcome Satan.

This informal gathering of strange, excited people continued for almost an hour, until the man reading the newspaper yawned, folded it up, and checked his watch, one which no casual observer could have understood at all. As if on cue (which seemed to happen a lot around this man; there was something unearthly about him, almost as if he really was God), another man appeared out of nowhere; this is the Alastor they had all been waiting for. Everyone grouped excitedly around him, Alastor seemed to know what he was doing, who exuded an aura of capability that may have had something to do with his grizzled hair or from the grimace of concentration on his face. It may simply have been his reputation; Alastor Moody was known across England as the Auror not to be aggravated.

He took out his wand, and Emmeline looked approving as he waved it brusquely, causing the tree that Albus Dumbledore was sitting under to move ever-so-slightly. A stairway appeared where the tree had just stood, and the little group followed the passageway downwards. It was so simple it was almost laughable, and Dedalus Diggle did laugh, and Emmeline did not wrinkle her nose at him. It seemed to Dumbledore and to Alastor Moody, that they were happy to have somewhere to be.

The tunnel, not well lit, had a feeling of mustiness without actually smelling that way, but the stairs leading downward were solid. On the whole, it exuded the feeling of a burrow, safe and even a little cozy - a surprise, coming from Alastor, who had a reputation for austerity, for oversimplifying things he felt unimportant - like meeting places. It seemed an everlasting time before they reached the end of the stairs, and this was oddly satisfying, a sort of haven from the world above. Of course, Moody would have thought of such things; while he did not care about comfort, figured you could repair your own stairs on the way down, he did care about safety, especially from Death Eaters.

The stairs emptied into a room that was not large but not quite small enough to be snug. Occupying most of the space was a large table, too large for the six people who stood there, admiring it. The room, however, was as badly lit as the passage-way had been; Emmeline flicked her wand determinedly and a crystal chandelier suddenly hung above the table, rainbows of light darting around the room.

"Dammit, Vance, this is supposed to a secret operation" Moody growled, "not a palace."

"I, for one," she said, very offended at being referred to so disrespectfully, "Would enjoy some light, Alastor." But at his continued glare, the chandelier became a less ornate overhead light. Dumbledore sighed a little, as if he had hoped that these few might at least show at least a semblance of getting along. But then he realized that they were still people, if people he trusted, and sat down.

Although the resistance against Voldemoft had already existed before this, in their hopes and in their work, the Order of the Phoenix did not really begin until Albus Dumbledore sat down and began the first meeting. They were a few scattered witches and wizards fighting against Voldemort, like a few ants protecting their good, hard-working colony from a swarm of vicious wasps tat attacked on no provocation, except that some of the ants were different. And these little people, little ants, could do very little without dying. They had this sense of guilt, because some had died already, but what could they do? They would stay alive and fight for this Order, for Dumbledore.

At his nod, they sat down, as if he were their king - he was easily more important to them than the Minister -- and had given them permission. He did not have to tell them that this meeting, this moment, signaled the end of his protection over them, that he would no longer protect them like his precious students. They knew that they would look death in the eye from that moment on, that at any meeting, one or more could be dead. But they stayed, and the first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix began.

"The thing we need to do," Dumbledore said without much introduction, "is work as an Order. We are infinitely stronger against Voldemort and his Death Eaters together than any one of us is, even with a clear head and the strongest counter jinxes. If we are not going to work together, then it would be a much better use of our time to sample the Sugar Quills at Honeydukes, because it would be just about as productive."

"Professor Dumbledore?" Sturgis said, unsure if he should raise his hand or not in the presence of his former headmaster. "You're saying that our aims have to be the same, correct? Not that we have to attack Death Eaters and things all together, right?"

"You'll want to, if you can," Alastor interjected. "No use in getting yourself killed by ten Death Eaters if you can bring people with you and hex 'em until you can get the Ministry. Much more effective, anyway - Aurors usually work in pairs, at least."

"Not only that, but we have to accept eachother and work together, even when we're not actually together," added the man, Elphias Doge, who had crashed into Emmeline, revealing a surprisingly melodious voice. Emmeline had the decency to look ashamed, and did not wrinkle her nose.

"Exactly," Dumbledore said. "Shall we take a vote, or are we all in agreement? Because if you aren't, I believe you will be escorted to Diagon Alley by one or another of the spells Alastor has put on this place."

They all nodded, and it was settled. They were the Order of the Phoenix, not just in thought anymore, but officially. Somehow, though it was not intended, they all had their wands in their hands and gripped them a little harder, as if showing their determination to fight Voldemort. Because now, they all felt, it was no longer an option, or a castle in the air to aspire for. It was their duty - to fight Voldemort, eventually, to triumph over him. All hoped that the day would come soon, but none, following Dumbledore, was too optimistic.

"We need internal spies," Emmeline put in suddenly, her voice a little shocking in the midst of the unintentionally silent moment. "The Prophet is simply unfit for gathering any new information, or for finding anything we don't already know." Then she looked around the table, as if asking for volunteers. No one said anything, but perhaps not everyone had recovered from the full realization of the task at hand.

"I think I have an idea," Elphias put in, his voice shocking; it was too melodious for a man. "It's this tracking-system thing that my department figured might work for foul tracking during Quidditch games. It was abandoned soon after they came up with it; you had to keep recasting the spell for foul checking. Pain in the arse, it looked to be."

"But how would that help us get information?" Emmeline pressed on.

"Listen to Elphias," Dumbledore said, serenely, reminding her with his eyes of the promise she'd made only a few minutes before. Emmeline looked as if she couldn't remember when she'd felt less queenly.

"The blueprints are sitting around somewhere," Elphias continued, clearly ignoring the exchange. "I don't know how easy modifications would be, or anything, but it's worth a try, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Dedalus firmly, surprising everyone. "But putting it on them would be a problem, wouldn't it? We couldn't just go up to them and ask to put a spell on them."

"That's why we need spies," Emmeline said, her cheeks pink. "We need to know what these people want to do, what You-Know-Who wants them to do, what they're going to do, before they go out and do it! How would we know in advance? We need spies, all right?" Something about her shifted; she was no longer queenly; she was just desperate to make her point.

"Then do it, if you're so keen," Sturgis half-muttered, clearly forgetting his previous nervousness.

"Yes," Elphias added, looking at Emmeline in a bemused fashion, "you've certainly got the presence to do it. You could go to high-society balls, flirt most admirably, get into a wizard's pants, and make him tell you everything he knows about You-Know-Who." No one had ever seen Emmeline blush so much, or look so determined not to look amused.

"There's the problem of getting invited, however," she demurred, struggling to regain her composure.

"Why?" he said, clearly determined, "I always see you going to those balls and basking in the limelight; it's not as if you're not attractive, or clever."

"I'm Muggle-born," she said after a moment, the words dropping like poisoned pearls from her lips, beautiful and despicable all at once - despite the risk she was taking, how could she be of any use to the Order if she could not associate with the people they needed to be in contact with; how could they put her in constant danger?

"It's worth a try, Vance," Alastor cut in, looking rather alarmed at the turn the exchange was taking. "There's always Polyjuice, and a few other charms you must've learned. Or Memory Charms, if it comes to that."

She paled, having for a moment forgotten about these things, perhaps it was only then that she truly realized what she was promising to do. But she squared her shoulders as queens had done for years and years, and simply nodded.

"We need to recruit more people," Dedalus piped, his wisps of white hair flowing slightly as his head bobbed to the words. "People that you trust," he added, indicating Dumbledore.

"Yes, I have talked to Hagrid; he was more than willing to do anything possible... My brother might enjoy this, although I'm not quite sure he would realize that it is serious. Most Hogwarts students, I should think, could be trusted. Although we may want to be selective and bide our time, as Voldemort may kill all of us if we attack too suddenly."

"But Professor..." Sturgis said, again more than a little unsure of himself, and looking rather afraid, "If we wait, behind the scenes, isn't it just better to work by ourselves? We need to do something! You-Know-Who is killing Muggles, Muggle-borns, and just decent people; how can we 'bide our time' when people, innocent people, are dying?"

"We must wait," Dumbledore repeated, more firmly this time. "We must wait and learn as much as we can."

"Albus - Wait, don't interrupt me!" Alastor growled, rising from his chair and almost hitting the ceiling in his haste, "We have been gathering information for the past four years. Emmeline can spy on social occasions, good. We need up to date information. But we also need to act on that information. And, all right, we can't have an all-out war with six people versus who knows how many, but if we just sit on our hands, I'll be damned if Voldemort won't kill us where we sit!"

Dumbledore nodded.

When the others looked back later, it seemed as if he had been testing them, to see if they would always follow orders even from those they trusted so implicitly. His smile was not so confusing with hindsight as it was then, that elderly gentleman beaming at them after they had just told him he was wrong. It seemed awfully strange then, though.

"You will gather information from the Ministry, then, Alastor?" he asked, still beaming, as if delighted with the utterly confused looks on their faces.

"Yeah, I will. But only if - "

"If we can do something!" they all chorused together, glaring at Dumbledore for perhaps the first time in their lives.

Dumbledore nodded again, still smiling. He knew that, if cornered by Death Eaters, each knew enough spells to be safe... most of the time. He had been serious about getting information; witches and wizards had been turning up dead, unmarked by any known spell, and no one knew how. The Order would face this sort of death eventually, he knew, and there were some things that couldn't be fought blindly. Still, they could not, as Alastor had put it, sit on their hands. Oh, how they needed more people to join, but where to find trustworthy people? Even the Ministry was constantly infiltrated with spies!

"Elphias, kindly bring your foul-tracking blueprints to my office at Hogwarts later this week. Do not, however, raise suspicion when you take them. We will discuss them at our next meeting."

"Isn't it best," Emmeline put forth, "For everyone not to come to every meeting? If the some of us are recognized as anti-You-Know-Who, and we were found standing around up there, it wouldn't be that hard for a group of Death Eaters to find Headquarters and hit us with every curse they know. I mean," she added, seeing Alastor's glare, "Not that it isn't safe here, but if all of us were attacked, all our work..."

"She's right," Dedalus echoed, to the surprise of them all, for he had a reputation for being ostentatious, "Perhaps only three of us should come to the next meeting, but all of us is altogether too risky."

"We need to find a way to communicate the time and place of meetings so that they can't be intercepted," Elphias suggested.

"What about your foul-tracking thing?" Sturgis asked, scratching his head. "Worked in reverse, perhaps? And put the spell on us, and maybe... An itch, a taste in our mouths, exactly two days before the next meeting?"

He stopped, as if he'd been in class and everyone was looking at him as if he were stupid. Except that they weren't -- they were nodding eagerly, eyes bright with enthusiasm. Sturgis blushed.

"Brilliant!" Dedalus cried, leaping from his chair and applauding. It was strange, and yet fitting for him to do so; this whole gathering was so strange, and in that moment, the cloak of schoolboy uncertainty was lifted from Sturgis Padmore, and he smiled.

"Now, then, Sturgis and Elphias, come to my office exactly two days from now," at which they all laughed with relief that Dumbledore could still raise their spirits, "to discuss both ideas. Emmeline, please join us - we need to decide how you are going to become the toast of the wizardring world."

Emmeline blushed but nodded with everyone else. It seemed to everyone that this whole meeting had been spent nodding and plotting. Then he rose, and, as before, they rose with him.

It was obvious that everyone saw Elphias pull Emmeline into a "secluded" corner. Everyone saw when she said, "I'm sorry..." and everyone smiled (Sturgis blushed) when he merely put his arms around her. They didn't see her begin to sob, because the rest of the Order of the Phoenix was too busy leaving before the pair realized they had been watched.