Barty
Dear Father,
You will never receive this letter, I hope.
No, it is not because I don't want you to read this letter; I couldn't care less whether you read this or not.
It is because, Father, you do not deserve to read this.
I've never received any love from you, have I? Only Mother loved me; even the house-elf cared about me more than you, Father, and you know how low you have sunken if I am comparing you to a mere house elf! The only things you truly love are the Ministry, power, money, fame, and, maybe, Mother; your greedy heart seems to have no more room for anything else.
All my life, all you've cared about that had anything to do with me was the effect I would have on your image. You cannot imagine how satisfied I am after tonight; after my master gave me my most prized possession – the skull tattoo on my left forearm.
It is a Dark Mark. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
If beauty even exists, that is. If beauty exists, the Death Eaters, the new group I am part of, is proof of it. I joined it to not follow the family name, ironically, if you compare this my comrades' reasons to join; doing so, I found a new father – yes, the Dark Lord is more of a father than you will ever be.
We share a name. We share blood. Maybe we even share facial traits.
But you're only ever so. Don't they say that a father is not only by name?
Lord Voldemort treats me like a human being. Lord Voldemort has the right idea.
You, on the contrary, do not.
I could make a list of the things you've done wrong, with me. I could, but I will not, because you are not worth being wasted on.
Farewell,
Bartemius Crouch, Jr., Death Eater