1977 : How can I trust you ? (Harry Potter)

3: Interrogated (1)

Face down, Edith was paralyzed.

Or at least stupefied.

But that was all the same.

Edith didn't know where she was, couldn't move, was alone and without her wand. She'd dropped it in shock when she recognized her Muggle. All she knew was that she'd been teleported to a cellar, lying on the cold and rough floor.

She tried to keep her nerve, but the situation was so dire that panic overcame her. The Death Eaters must have returned. They had taken her to their quarters for questioning. The people at the Ministry wouldn't have left her like that under the spell once she was out of danger. They had a minimum of respect for human beings.

What a beautiful night to die.

She may have been frightened, but she wasn't losing her mind: there was no way she could get out of there alive. They would torture her to get potential information out of her, or simply out of sadism, and then they would do as they pleased. How many wizards and muggles had disappeared and never been found? It was said that the Dark Lord's followers kept them captive to relieve themselves whenever a torture session tempted them.

Tears would have been shed if she hadn't been paralyzed. She would have preferred to allow herself this moment of pure distress to regain her courage, but she couldn't even do that. She had to forgo it and concentrate directly on what would follow.

A crucio, surely. Or maybe they'd scarify her. Oh no, she preferred a crucio. Though it was described as the worst pain... But she couldn't imagine her beautiful body being dismembered. No, she would endure the pain! She would endure it until she went mad, and her mind became nothing but empty fragments, where they would never find the Resistance's information. It was much better this way. As long as she remained conscious, she would use the Occlumency to prevent them from taking her secrets, and then madness would take care of the rest.

Somewhat reassured by this plan, which was undoubtedly unworkable but gave her a purpose, she felt her heart begin to beat regularly again.

She thought of Jean Moulin to give her courage, a man not much older than herself, who had opposed the German occupation at the start of the Second World War, risking everything and losing everything. He had led the Conseil National de la Résistance. Captured, tortured, he died. Scorned, savagely beaten, his head bloody, his organs ruptured, he had reached the limits of human suffering, without ever betraying a single secret, even though he knew them all.

He wasn't a wizard, he couldn't escape. Nor could she. It was almost ridiculous how harmless wizards became the moment they misplaced their wands. Muggles had surpassed the laws of physics, using waves to communicate over long distances while wizards still had to use owls. Muggles had mastered atoms, giving life to the fury of the sky with nuclear bombs. Fiendfyre were nothing in the face of these monsters. Muggles had reached the moon, when wizards flew no higher than birds on their flying broomsticks.

No, wizards were ridiculous for thinking themselves gods by waving their little wands. It was the Muggles who were, who made everything out of nothing.

For a brief instant, the young Frenchwoman had regretted having interposed herself during the attack. She was human, she feared suffering. Death was not harmful, but pain was frightening. If they were satisfied with a simple kedavra, she'd be extremely grateful.

But thinking back on those muggles, she swept away any hint of regret. She had saved innocent people. And she wasn't a nobody either. Her death would shake things up and speed up the fight to put an end to it! That a nameless Muggle would disappear was regrettable. That the founder of IllumisMoa, the most fashionable brand among wizards, would succumb to war was unthinkable! That the descendant of this noble family of pure French blood, renowned for their perfection and scientific work, would die was unforgivable. This family had ruled Aveyron under the French kings, spreading their influence throughout Europe... So many wizards were indebted to them for protection, funding, treatment of illness... Her death would stir Europe for sure.