23.
Amycus cursed in response:
"Go to hell."
Moody, unfazed, began:
"So they knew you had a family and did nothing?"
Amycus let out a bitter laugh.
"Everyone has their secrets… and their fetishes. How many at the Ministry keep their 'private' maids? Slaves, really. And no one cares. Why would the Dark Lord care? You're no better than him. And how did you find me? How did you learn about my family?"
Moody knew the rumors—aristocrats and their hidden horrors, things that weren't crimes under ancient law. Things that made his blood boil. With a swift movement, he slapped Amycus across the face.
"I ask the questions. Let's get to the point. Who captured Percival?"
Amycus spat blood, the mark of Moody's hand glowing red on his cheek, and replied:
"We're just as in the dark as you are. Not even the Dark Lord knows who did it."
"The Concealment Potion," Moody thought. The true kryptonite of investigators and seers.
Moody leaned back slightly on the stool, absorbing the information, his eyes fixed on the man sprawled before him.
"I didn't expect to get much from you," he said coldly. "But with Hadrian missing… Aurelius gave me full permission to handle things my own way. Understand?"
A faint trace of something like a smile crossed his lips—something far from joy, closer to pity.
From his pocket, he pulled out a grotesque clay doll with an enormous, deformed belly. Amycus instantly paled at the sight.
"No… no… you're not going to—"
"You recognize it?" Moody asked with a hint of admiration. "Of course you do. One of the malevolent relics of Salazar Slytherin. Only the Light knows what a bastard he was—no offense. Later it belonged to Morfin Gaunt, who loved showing it off. His most precious heirloom. And that son of a b#tch made this thing very famous," Moody continued with somber bitterness. "He was the one who gave me most of the scars I carry today."
He tapped his metal leg with his knuckles and smiled, exposing several missing teeth.
"But I killed him. After giving everything back tenfold," he added thoughtfully. "They say students surpass their masters, don't they?"
Alastor Moody was not only one of the most feared and respected Aurors of the Ministry—he was the product of a life crushed under an unforgiving destiny. His existence was divided between the before and after of being captured by Morfin Gaunt, one of the greatest bastards ever to walk the earth. A deranged man with more than a few screws loose, driven by the voices in his head to torture and kill.
Moody placed the artifact on the floor before Amycus and spoke the activation word clearly, igniting their magical link.
Behind him, Dédalus murmured uneasily:
"There are limits, Moody. Lines that shouldn't be crossed…"
Moody turned, furious:
"Shut up, Diggle. Who was the coward who insisted on coming along?" he snapped. "You saw what the Death Eaters did this morning. Everyone dead—women, youths, children, even babies—and you talk to me about limits?"
Dédalus fell silent, staring at the floor.
"You coward. Hypocrite," Moody finished bitterly.
Amycus, still lying there, spoke in a tone of despair:
"I had nothing to do with that massacre. That… that was the Dark Lord's doing. And the monsters he commands. They… they fed on the souls of those innocents… and then… then Nagini tore the bodies apart…"
Moody crouched down, staring straight into his eyes.
"You were there. You saw it. And you did nothing."
Amycus stammered, panicking:
"What was I supposed to do? Kill myself? Let them kill my family? I… I just wanted to survive…"
Moody remained silent for a moment. The clay doll pulsed faintly on the floor. The house was drowned in heavy stillness, broken only by Amycus's trembling breaths and the distant sound of a car horn outside.
War, Moody thought, was a vile business. Made of gray zones… and decisions filthy and impossible to forget.
Instead of answering, Moody turned to Dédalus Diggle, his voice rough like stones scraping against each other:
"Diggle, be so kind as to draw a little blood from the wife and the children. Hair would work, but blood performs wonders."
Amycus thrashed violently, trying to break free, but Moody pressed the enchanted stone against his chest, immobilizing him with a silent spell.
"No! Don't touch them!" Amycus shouted, eyes wide with terror.
Dédalus hesitated.
"Moody… is this really necessary?"
"Just do it." Moody's voice was forged iron.
Uncomfortable, Diggle approached the unconscious woman and quickly collected samples with his wand. The children slept deeply, unaware. Moody grabbed the small vials and poured them into the mouth of the grotesque clay artifact, its cracked surface lined with dark veins. The artifact swallowed with a shiver, its carved eyes flashing deep red for an instant.
He cast the spell on Amycus.
"It's done," Moody declared, his voice weighted with finality.