26.
Outside the house, under the late‑afternoon sky, Moody pulled a communication mirror from his pocket and began writing on its surface:
"Names and locations obtained. Requesting permission to proceed with Eye for an Eye and Tooth for a Tooth."
After writing, he slipped the mirror back into his coat.
The street was mildly busy, its noise cut only by the distant hum of the city. Dedalus Diggle took a deep breath, trying to push away the image of Amycus's wife writhing on the floor, the sounds, the raw helplessness on Carrow's face. He wiped his hands nervously on his robes, as if he could erase his own complicity.
Moody, however, didn't move right away. His magical eye rotated backward, sweeping the dark windows around them, ever vigilant. When he finally turned to Dedalus, his one natural eye no longer carried the calculated coldness from before — now it only looked tired, deeply marked, and piercing.
"Diggle."
Moody's voice came out rougher than ever, a rasping whisper bearing the weight of decades of conflict. "We need to talk."
Dedalus raised his eyes, still unsettled.
"What is it?"
Moody pointed a calloused hand back toward the house.
"That in there. The threat. The demonstration. It was nothing."
He spat onto the cobblestones.
"You found it disgusting, didn't you? You feel sick to your stomach, bile in your throat?"
Dedalus nodded, unable to express the storm of thoughts and guilt inside him.
"Good," Moody continued, his gaze gripping Dedalus like claws. "Hold onto that disgust. Remember it. But never — never — let it paralyze you again. Not when you're on the field."
He stepped closer, his presence suddenly heavy as gravity.
"You think we're living in a fairy tale, Diggle? Shining knights against monstrous Dark Lords? Good versus Evil, drawn in neat little lines like in a children's book?"
Moody barked a humorless, brittle laugh.
"Forget it. That fairy tale died with the first child the Death Eaters tortured to get information from their parents. It died with every decent witch and wizard who turned their backs while Muggles were hunted like animals."
Dedalus tried to protest, but Moody raised a hand, silencing him.
"We're in a war, Dedalus. A filthy, brutal war without rules — at least not the ones the Death Eaters respect. They have no restraint. They use fear, torture, the murder of innocents as tools. And us?"
Moody thumped his chest with a fist.
"We have to survive. We have to protect whoever can still be protected. Even if that means…"
He paused, his magical eye spinning slowly.
"… dirtying our hands in the swamp they dragged us into."
He pointed again at the Carrows' house.
"Was what we did in there horrible? Yes. Repugnant? Without question. But does it even compare to what they did on Privet Drive?"
Diggle lowered his head.
"That saved lives, Diggle. The blackmail, the Binding… it's a vile weapon, just like the ones they use. But they're the only weapons that work against beasts like Carrow, in a world where Aurors are shackled by bureaucracy and the Ministry is rotten to the core."
Moody leaned closer, his breath hitting Dedalus's face.
"The world isn't black and white, man. It's gray. A dirty gray, stained with blood and tears. And in that gray, sometimes the only 'good' choice left is choosing the lesser evil. Doing what must be done — even if it makes you sick — to stop something far worse."
He placed a heavy hand on Dedalus's shoulder, not as comfort, but as a reminder of a shared burden.
"You're loyal. You're brave. But your kindness — your desire to stay… clean — is a luxury we can't afford. Not in this war. Today, you hesitated when I told you to collect the blood. That hesitation, in a critical moment, can cost lives. Can cost your life."
Moody removed his hand, his gaze losing some of its intensity, but none of its gravity.
"You need to harden, Diggle. Not your heart — keep your compassion for those who deserve it. But your will. You must be ready to step into the shadows, to do what must be done, even if it keeps you awake at night. Because the other side? The other side doesn't hesitate. The other side rejoices in the filth."
Dedalus Diggle looked down at his own hands, still feeling the imaginary weight of the vial of blood, the vision of Carrow's wife. Moody's words echoed in his mind, heavy and true as gravestones. They didn't erase the disgust — but planted a seed of grim, necessary resolve. He understood. He hated it, but he understood.
The world had fallen into an abyss, and to fight within it — even for the light — one had to be willing to get dirty.
"Understood, Mr. Moody," Dedalus murmured, his voice hoarse. He didn't agree, not entirely. But he understood the lesson. A lesson written in blood and terror — and Moody, more than anyone, was the most qualified man to teach it.
A vibration echoed. Moody reached into his pocket and pulled out the mirror. On its surface, words had appeared:
"Wait for reinforcements, then proceed."
Moody pocketed the mirror again and, with a faint smile, said:
"Today, we're diving straight into the gutter."