Open Letter From Mad-Eye Moody's Eye to Barty Crouch Jr.
You claimed me as a prize without knowing the weight of valuable.
Have you ever seen under the hood of a Dementor, Barty?
Ever peeked through an opaque wardrobe cover to see the
Smiling boggart waiting inside? I have, Barty. It's not pretty.
Even the good souls smell like rotting unicorn blood when they expire.
Not all that glitters should be plucked from the eye socket of an
Unconscious man and treasured like a pearl. I shine like the mist of
Your nightmares exposed to sunlight. The wizard who transfigured
Me filled a cauldron with one part elephant tears, two parts scythe,
And zero parts etch-a-sketch sand. I will not be shaken clean, Barty.
Cannot be scribbled on lightly with dry erase marker. When you're
Designed to see through the back of your own head, the cover of
Eyelids offer no protection. I am a bulb without a lampshade.
A sundial without a shadow. The glow of immortality does not
Lead to rest, Barty. It leads to paranoia. It leads to madness.
Did you plant me in your head because you were too cowardly to
Kill with your own eyes open?
Moody knew how this would end. He didn't replace his other eye
With me because he wanted to hide. He did it because he wanted
To be found. He was a wiser man than you, Barty. Wise with years
Of experience he wished he could unlearn. He wanted nothing more
Than to have his identity robbed and left in a dungeon to starve to death.
He knew death was the only reward worth seeking. I still remember the
Weekends when he would walk by the houses of the blind like he was
Window shopping for virginity. When he would stroll enviously by the
Beds of the Memory Impaired Ward of St. Mungos to see men who
Had forgotten everything. They were the lucky ones. The ones who
Could unlearn the cruel magic of this world. The ones who could unsee
Voldemort ripping Muggles apart for fun, muscle from bone. The ones
Who could watch the uncold bodies of Potters and Longbottoms unhit
The ground and rise like an army from graveyards and hospital beds,
As vibrant and animated as when they were alive.
Yet, you still looked for me Barty. Still sought asylum under the
Skin of a man who marked a ransom on his head and a bullseye on
His chest. Found a boy under an invisibility cloak and raised him
For slaughter, thinking his blood sang immortality. And, out of all
Organs you could transplant, you chose an all-seeing eye as a weapon
To hide under. What fools mortals are! You could have broken your wand
And met death on your own terms. You could have cast me into the
Wastebasket like a diseased appendix and ran while you had the chance.