With his eyes open again, Harry realised he had been mentally absent for longer than he’d realised. Hooded figures in masks and cloaks were stalking forwards from behind the graves and between the trees. He watched in disgusted fascination, feeling vaguely like a spectator in this scene rather than a participant, as one by one they prostrated themselves before their master, crawling forwards on their hands and knees to kiss at the hem of his robes. It was ironic to Harry, that these proud, avid supporters of blood purity, were on their knees praying at the altar of a maniacal half-blood.  