"There is a bad person," he began slowly, quietly, enunciating every syllable, "just beneath the surface of every good one." He let his gaze wander around the room, looking at each person in turn, enjoying the tension in the air, the power at his fingertips, the authority on the tip of his tongue.
"Most people smother this monster if it makes an appearance, because surely it would get them rejected from society if they did not. Most people tell themselves that there is not something cold and calculating and unfeeling within them, because this idea scares them more than anything. A darker side to the human heart, made a shadow by the light of day? A monster lurking in the back of your consciousness that thinks bad things and accuses and hates, and is always sneering out at the world? Preposterous. And yet somehow they are still afraid; does this mean that the monster isn't so preposterous after all? Perhaps. Perhaps the possibility, the unknown, is what makes it so very frightening."
By now he had a faint smile on his lips and his eyes were as dark as coal as they searched the room for any who dared to disagree. He was quite a formidable figure for his fellows to look upon, standing before them like a prophet in his regal cloak.
"Most people are afraid of the unknown. Everyone wonders at some point about the creature that hides in the shadows and prowls on the blackest of nights, and they pretend that they don't believe. But a part of them does. And they are... afraid." He had a far off look as he finished, but suddenly his eyes focused again on those before him. Are you afraid? his unfeeling gaze seemed to ask, challenging them to speak. But no one said a word, and satisfied with the captivation that he had caused, he continued:
"One of the greatest unknowns is us. What are we, really? Why are there so many criminals and crazies if we're all supposed to be good? What darkness lingers in the human heart? To some extent, most people fear this... this ambiguity, this mystery. Most people, in secret, are just a little afraid of themselves." He paused for emphasis, and suddenly his voice took on much more conviction:
"But we... we are not most people. We knew that the bad was there, and we saw that it wanted very badly to reach the world. All that we did was let it out. We gave it room to breathe and grow within each of us, and it has flourished. It sneers and accuses and hates and darkens and suffocates and kills, always leaving filthy blood in its wake. It destroys the enemy, those who are unworthy, and leaves only us, the pure, behind. It makes us heroes as it works for the greater good. It gives us the power we rightfully deserve and makes us unstoppable. Because now that the monster is free to manifest itself in us..." he looked pointedly around the room and met the eyes of each and every one of the men and women present, relishing the fear in their eyes. "Now that it is free, there is no strange creature lurking in the dark. We are the creature, we are the unknown. And we have nothing left to fear."
He finished in a whisper, smiling coldly at his recruits. This was a moment he would look back on with pride. December 17th, 1977. This was Voldemort's true beginning.
"Who's with me?"