He looks down at his prize, sneers.
Prize.
What a joke.
He doesn't care how intelligent she is, how talented. She is a mudblood and he is expected to taint himself by touching her?
Break her, the Dark Lord said. You know how, he slyly intimated.
And he does. It's long been a past time of his.
But never with anyone impure.
The tap of his cane on the cold stone floor startles her and she glares up at him.
No tears.
That surprises him.
Defiance.
That as well.
And a spark of interest lights in him.
When she calls him a bastard and spits in his face, he almost laughs. There is something pretty in her gamine features twisted with hatred. She's not cowed by him in the least.
He likes that.
Still impure and dirty, a mudblood, Gryffindor whore.
But...perhaps he can bear to touch her.
If only to see how long that defiance lasts in those flashing eyes.
End