"We do not speak his name. We do not hear it. We do not even think it."
"That's silly," snorted Harry. "Fear of a name only prolongs fear of the person."
Moody's eyes darkened as he shifted his glance away from Harry.
"Count yourself lucky that he was before your time. When people say that those were dark days, it was no exaggeration. Battle-hardened witches and wizards such as Snape and McGonagall who have cut out their enemies intestines, razed buildings, and split their opponents' bodies apart with curses fear to utter his name. They ve seen horrors that would make you fucking puke."
He paused, taking a moment to collect himself before continuing:
"It takes a monster to kill a man, Potter. It takes a devil to kill a nation. His murders, brutal as they were, were only actions. What they meant, however, was a psychological terrorism that drove men and women insane."
He pointed to a portrait on the wall.
"Miranda Bagnold, daughter of the Minister of Magic in 1979. Her father, predecessor to fourteen Minister assassinations, was the one who managed to mobilize the Ministry's Aurors and began hunting and executing Death Eaters with some degree of success. The public finally had a figure to rally behind."
Mad-Eye took a swig from his flask before he resumed his story:
"One day, the Dark Lord infiltrated the Ministry, killed his way into the Minister s office and proceeded to imperio both the Minister and his daughter. He gave the Minister an elemental sphere and commanded him to walk into the middle of Diagon Alley. As his supporters mobbed him and cheered Mr. Bagnold, the Dark Lord s imperio made the Minister blow himself and half of Diagon Alley away. You can say that was the last time the people trusted the government under the Dark Lord s reign."
Visibly wincing, Harry couldn't help but venture a question.
"And the Minister's daughter?"
"Raped. Repeatedly, and the skin of her face was peeled off and sent by owl to the Wizengamot."
A dark silence pressed down between the two as Harry digested the news.
"You couldn't come out of that war without a few screws loose boy. He had a habit of killing his own followers, just to keep the public guessing. It was considered an honor for Death Eaters to die for their Lord, and the newspapers listed those bloody bastards names in the obituary next to true heroes like the Prewetts. You didn t know who was working for who, and all you could do was hide in the darkest hole you could find and hope for the mercy of death."
Moody suddenly let out a bark of laughter:
"And that's the most terrifying thing about that piece of shit, Potter. Not his spells, or the way he looks, or even his army of blood-thirsty fanatics, but the way he understands our minds. He knows fear, knows pain like the veins running through the back of his hand. He knows the way paranoia creeps in the back of your head and never leaves, or the way sorrow feels like crushed glass in your chest. He becomes the shadow that you cast, and even in the most well-lit places that shadow will still remain behind you. Always watching."
Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody's single blue eye fixed itself on Harry s face, swivelling back and forth frantically.
"Off you go Potter."