Chapter 1: Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody
Mad-Eye Moody had never been much for words, preferring spells and violence to get his point across, and he was rather good at it, to be Frank. Though, in this situation, direct warfare was not something that was feasible. To be fair, he was rather well read in the ways of Covert Warfare as well.
It was for this reason, two weeks after he had lost his leg in a battle with Voldemort, that he grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill and started to write.
Hey You,
Not quite as elegant as some people (like Dumbledore) would have used, but it suited the poser rather nicely in Moody's mind, so he didn't change it.
Do you remember me? I am the one who killed three of your followers yesterday, when they showed up at my house.
Yes, Voldemort would remember him. A grim smile crossed his face, even as rage started to make his blood boil.
They managed to take my leg, and I still managed to kill them. How pitiful is it, that your most valued Slaves, for that is what they are, can be taken down by a one legged man.
Moody smirked. Slaves were a very good word for what the Death Eaters were. Mindless drones who didn't have an original thought in their entire life. He paused momentarily to gather his thoughts.
I killed your followers and you showed up at my house after them. Maybe you were hoping that I would be dead, or maybe you were sure that your followers were as pathetic as I always thought, but it really doesn't matter, since you couldn't kill me.
Moody worked the muscle in his jaw; he was slowly getting more and more furious with every passing second.
But you, you worthless bastard, you made a fatal mistake in targeting my wife and son. You couldn't kill them, but that is beside the point. What sort of man would I be if I allowed you to do that?
Moody smirked once again, even as he glowered at the paper.
I hid them away; you will never be able to find them. But I will find you. And when I do you will regret the day that you made Alastor Moody your enemy.
When I find you I will castrate you with a wooden spoon, and then string you up in the streets with your own intestines.
Moody nodded. Augusta was right about putting his feelings to paper, it was very cathartic.
Hoping you Burn and Rot in Hell,
Alastor Moody, Head Auror.
He paused for a moment; the letter seemed to be missing something.
P.S. In case you are too dense to understand what I am saying. I HATE YOU!
Moody read over his letter twice, nodded happily, and folded it in half. One day Voldemort would read his letter, even if it was after his death.
