Rookwood's Prologue
He appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He would rant and rave about the need for pure-bloods to reassert their dominance over a Wizarding society that had degenerated so far from Salazar Slytherin's noble ideal. In spite of this, he didn't seem to be related to any of the families that we take as a matter of faith to make up "Nature's Nobility." In fact, his own identity was obscure. Many people, and I must admit this– even many of us, refused to take him seriously. Some even thought that we had no need to. The illegitimate Minister was gone, but we were foolish ever to believe that the world would simply return to what it had been a few short years before. (Had it been a decade already, since all this trouble had started?)
Nevertheless we rested on our laurels as our enemies organized all around us. The truth of the matter was that the "pure-blood aristocracy" that Leach and his followers railed on against, thought itself immortal on the eve of its death. I see this now.
And then, like lightning, the mood of the times changed. A certain Mudblood reporter for the Daily Prophet had written an article mocking the self-proclaimed "Lord Voldemort" as an insignificant and ridiculous figure with delusions of grandeur. Less than a week passed before the green skull with the serpent protruding from its mouth blazed brightly in the night sky over the reporter's home.
Britain would come to grow used to seeing our Lord's symbol in the months to come.
But who are we really? What is it that we're after? Wizards and Mudbloods across the waters turn troubled thoughts to our isles and wonder.
Soon, I think, the world will be learning more about us than they ever cared to know.