A / N : Another drabble . . . this one I wrote while ill, so my feelings about it are a bit . . . iffy. But the challenge closes Sunday, so why not, I suppose.

For Inkfire, who helped me remember what I called this. (Yes, I was that out of it.) Without her, this would probably have stayed buried in my documents for ages, as I didn't have the time or patience to search through them all.

This may also make no sense, as writing insanity while ill is not the best idea I've ever had, and I'm finding it hard to be an objective judge. In case it isn't clear . . . this is set during Goblet of Fire, after Barty kills his father and buries the body (transfigured into a bone) outside Hagrid's cabin.

He is sitting at Moody's desk.

That's right . . . .

It isn't his desk - he has just stolen it for a while.

He likes to steal.

His master knows. His master always knows.

He's out in the grounds – what's left of him. A bone, rotting in dry earth.

(Does bone rot?)

Barty leans back. The eye begins to spin in its socket, faster and faster, exhilarating. The room blurs as his vision scissors through stone, ceiling, floor . . .

Pop!

The eye springs onto the desk, spinning madly, and Barty grins.

He wonders when the rot set in.