"And you have three children?"
"Yes, three…and they're waiting for me right now." At the very thought, the Mudblood's face crumpled and, like so many others sitting in this room, she began to sob. Keene put his face in his hands. This was getting tiring.
He had been working as an interrogator for quite some time now. Vexing work, really, listening to people sob and cry about their families, and their lives, and on and on. A vacation was in order, perhaps.
Ah, the stupid Mudbloods. They didn't seem to understand exactly how little it mattered that they sobbed their heart out in this dungeon. It didn't change a thing; not a single, damn thing.
Raised to believe in the purity of blood, Keene had never had any doubts about his superiority. It was simple fact—he just had more magic in his bloodline, and therefore in his blood.
It was why he had taken the job, to punish the Mudbloods for ever believing they could compare with him. The fools.
"Exactly how much time do you spend with your parents? The muggles?" Why did he have to ask these questions? It wasn't like the answers meant anything. If you were a Mudblood, you just were.
It didn't change because of how much time you spent with muggles, or how many spells you could cast, or anything of the sort.
The Ministry was ridiculous about this image they were trying to hold up with tiny twigs. As if anybody could believe it was a fair trial.
After being reduced to a sniveling mess, the dementors finally glided in and pulled the Mudblood out of the room. Keene ignored her screams and pleas that she should see her children one last time.
Bored, he ran his finger down the list of Mudbloods that he had to interrogate. The next name on the list was Fayre. He magnified his voice and called her into the dungeon.
He heard the tapping of heels on the dungeon floor and glanced up.
There was immediately an intake of breath across the room. This Mudblood was easily the most attractive creature he had ever seen. And yet, the real difference between her and the other Mudbloods was that she had walked into the room with her head held high.
She walked in as if she were interrogating him, rather than the other way around. She confidently sat in the chair, completely ignoring the chains that rose and wrapped themselves around her arms.
Keene concealed his surprise behind a look of indifferent amusement. She stared back aggressively, tossing her short, strawberry blond hair around, as if daring him to question her.
He felt desire pooling into the pit of his stomach—this was a raring, undomesticated wildcat on the chair in front of him. And yet…he knew his job. She was a Mudblood, the list stated the fact clearly.
"Name your parents, please." He spoke much more confidently than he felt. In truth, he didn't like the way she was making him feel at all.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair under her direct gaze.
"Don't worry, you wouldn't have them listed, they're Muggles," she said defiantly. Another gasp echoed across the room.
Nobody had ever accepted their fate so easily, so readily. Everyone at least tried to deny their parentage, if only initially. Each face slowly turned to Keene, to see how he would react.
Years of experience told him to remain impassive, yet he couldn't stop a brief spasm of shock from breaking onto his face. To make matters worse, it seemed that she noticed his slip, as the hint of a smile appeared.
Keene was surprised by this little chit of a girl, defying him like nobody had ever dared. His intimidating presence had silenced so many, but this girl screamed at him silently, never once opening her mouth.
"You may now plead guilty, or try to prove your innocence." The words echoed into silence. She had already stated her guilt, although it was far from a plea.
"I plead innocence." Yet another gasp. Heads turned, and whispers broke out across the room. She had stated her parentage as Muggle! How could she claim innocence?
Keene stared, his jaw dropping. Pulling himself together, he returned to procedure.
"State your reasons."
"I have done nothing but been born, with extraordinary powers that I am thankful for every day. You may decide whether my powers make me a witch, a fake, or whatever you want to call it, but none of it was by choice. The Ministry will fall one day, and it will be because they were so arrogant that they could not accept anybody more powerful than they. You may call me a Mudblood, but in reality, you are afraid of me, afraid that I am a better witch than you will ever be."
And Keene knew it to be true. He knew that he was afraid of this girl who dared defy him, afraid of this girl who called him arrogant, who insulted him in front of his own court.
In that very moment, he knew everything she said was true—there was no such thing as superiority of blood, it meant absolutely nothing. Everything he had fought for meant nothing.
He gave a slight nod of his head, and watched the dementors glide in, and for the first time felt a chill in the room as they entered. He watched them drag her away without so much as blinking. He watched her go without a word of protest, and he did not lift a finger to save her.
Everyone seated in the dungeon turned to look at him with shock apparent on their face. And some of them with undisguised disgust. In that moment, Keene hated the girl, hated the Ministry, hated everyone. In that moment, Keene hated himself.
A/N: It's been a while. Apologies, I've been exceedingly busy. This struck me in a moment of inspiration, so here it is, even though I promised the next chapter of D or N first. I rarely write OC stuff, so I would say this is one of the better examples of my attempts. I don't know if I like this or not--it's not really consistent with my regular writing style, and the ending is a bit too sudden for my taste, but I didn't know where else to go with it. The names, as with all my OC's, have significant meanings, so I'll give you a challenge. Whoever reviews first with the correct meanings of the names of both characters gets to request a fic. The title means "bitter" in French.