Sitting in interrogation rooms made him nervous.  It didn't matter how long he spent on the other side of the desk, how many times he used them as impromptu meeting space with other Aurors: there were some things about his time away from the Ministry that Jonas imagined he'd never be able to shake.  Just as a summons down to Level Ten made him unconsciously twitch, having to grill anyone in that sterile, unforgiving space, with the magical one-way wall that anyone could be lurking behind, left him feeling as if he were about to suddenly find himself on the wrong side of the interrogation.

As such, he'd chosen a slightly different environment for the interview with Eha Farro.  Farro was one of the few Auror applicants of whom he hadn't formed a prior impression.  Raised in both the United Kingdom and Estonia; a graduate of Durmstrang.  He'd been keeping an eye on her the past few days, as he'd been keeping an eye on all of the trainees, and she struck him as confident and straightforward.  Based on what he'd observed, it seemed unlikely that the added authority of the interrogation room was going to shake her.

Of course, it was equally unlikely that the disorganized chaos of Cameron Rosier's office was going to shake her any more, but at least it didn't leave Jonas with the itching feeling that he was going to be hauled off and arrested.  He'd considered actually putting in a request to use it, but with Rosier likely to give an emphatic No, the red-headed Auror had decided that he preferred whatever suffering came with asking forgiveness over the fight to get permission.  A quick, nonchalant check of Rosier's appointment book two days earlier had revealed a potential window.  After padding in enough time for the Department Head to clear out, he'd instructed Farro to plan on having her interview at fifteen minutes past noon on Wednesday.

"Naw, don't worry," he said easily, waving off the Welcome Witch who worked as Rosier's secretary as he breezed through the front room.  "We know he's at lunch.  We're just going to use his desk for a bit."

The impressive thing was that not a word of that had been a lie, Jonas thought cheerfully as he limped inside the smaller but-no-less-impressive Department Head's office.  "Close the door," he instructed Farro, casting a quick look over interior.  Nothing looked confidential, but with Rosier's normal mess, it rarely did.  The man could have laid out plans to overthrow the Ministry right under their very noses, and none of the Aurors would ever spot them in the massive piles of disorganized parchment spread around his office.  It was like being in the middle of a war zone, albeit one with battles that were fought entirely with crumbled pieces of paper and scattered office supplies. 

"And have a seat," he directed her, pointing at Rosier's grandiose throne.  If one of them was going to get yelled at for taking over their boss's personal space, it was going to be the trainee. Jonas smiled crookedly to himself as he claimed his usual visitor's chair, lowering himself carefully to sit.  At the very least, even if their superior returned ahead of schedule, he'd get to see how the potential trainee handled pressure.  Who needed a stress interview when they all worked for the least sane man in the Ministry?

"Now, Miss Farro," he said, flipping through his notebook.  He still preferred a Muggle spiral-bound pad of paper to the traditional parchment of the Ministry, and he'd be damned before he gave his pens up for the frustration of a quill.  "This'll be relatively straightforward.  I've got some standard questions that I'm going to ask you.  You answer as best you can, and we'll continue on from there."  He glanced up to meet the girl's gaze, eyebrows raised expectantly.  "Do you have any questions before we get started?"

Once upon a time, Eha had read a Muggle study that said that the correlation between expressions and emotions was actually a two-way street. Not only did one smile when one was happy, but smiling when one was not happy could also make one happy, or at least happier.

With that in mind, she made an effort to keep up her brave face heading into the office in Auror Trevelyan’s wake, in the hope that it would eventually leech back into her system. Her arms were folded firmly in the small of her back, so anyone standing behind her would be witness to the betrayal of her nerves as she tugged at the hem of her gloves (gray today, to match her tunic), but those in front would see only the poker face mask of a small smirk and narrowed eyes.

The look on the welcome witch’s face as they entered was Eha’s first clue that they weren’t really supposed to be here. The fact that Jonas pointed her to what, in any proper intimidate-the-newbie ritual, should have been his chair only solidified it. She glanced between Jonas and the chair as she pushed the door closed. “You sure?”

He was smiling. Eha took that to be a ‘yes’ and decided that, if they got in trouble for this, she’d claim to be following the instructions of a superior. She settled into the more impressive chair and leaned over the desk as Trevelyan explained how the interview was going to work.

"Do you have any questions before we get started?"

“Yeah: do you buy your own supplies?”

The question popped out before Eha had a chance to think about it. She’d raided a few Ministry supply cupboards while writing summer essays out of her father’s office, and she’d never seen anything in there but parchment and quills.

Realizing what she’d said, Eha gave an awkward little laugh and rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry. I just haven’t seen one of those pens in years. Drumstrang hates Muggle stuff.”

Jonas stopped short at the unexpected question, his forehead creasing as he regarded the girl.  For all of the ribbing that took place in the Auror office -- the endless comments about hair color, competency, and questionable virtues -- not one of his colleagues ever joked about magical heritage.  It wasn't unmentionable, but it hardly a topic of common conversation.  Too many of them had lived through the war.  As far as he knew, the ones who hadn't still got it.  No one pointed out his preference for pens over quills or commented on the countless Muggle-isms that he probably threw into everyday speech.  No one brought up choices in lifestyle or immersion in the Muggle world.  Even the tension between Adon and Zora Roh had been much more about a Muggle outsider coming in than any sort of disapproval over Muggles in general or wizards who chose to leave.

It wasn't a sore subject -- wasn't anything that he should take offense at -- except it sort of was, and he sort of did.  And this kid probably had no idea.

"Yeah, I do," he said easily.  His face and body language were still impassive, but he was watching Farro more intently now.  He'd never met many Durmstrang graduates; most of his conversations with them had been back in '94 and '95, during the investigation into the attack at the Quidditch Cup.  The Bulgarians, like most of the wizards they'd talked to, hadn't been very cooperative.

This was hardly the point that he wanted to start the interview off on.  Tell me about yourself, tell me why you want to be an Auror.  Questions about attitudes toward various minorities -- even though he'd hardly consider Muggleborns and Muggles to be a minority -- were buried somewhere in the middle of the list.  But if this was going to come up, Jonas would far rather seize hold of the elephant in the room now than remain married to some list of appropriate questions. 

"Hardly alone in that, are they?"  His voice was still even, his expression still relaxed, but there was a slight edge to both now.  Raising his eyebrows, he held her gaze.  "How do you feel about Muggle stuff, Miss Farro?"

Damn. She’d hit a nerve. Eha winced and bit her tongue before she could take back her question. It wouldn’t do any good now, and Trevelyan seemed determined to address the elephant in the room without calling it to direct attention, so she should – as far as social graces were concerned – follow suit. Eha rubbed her neck again, partially in a nervous twitch, and partially because she could feel the muscle there already knotting up.

“I…well. It’s not like I have any problem with it. Them. Er, nemad. Им. Всех?” Curse these limited English pronouns! All she wanted to say was that she didn't have a problem with Muggle things, not the Muggles themselves!

Not that she had a problem with Muggles, either. That was the point she really wanted to make clear, without saying it, because she shouldn't have to say it. There was no reason to dislike Muggles, or Muggle-borns for that matter. Sure, Drumstrang was a bit stuffy, but Papa's family originally made their living helping Muggles and Vanaema[1], to this day, would chip in a potion whenever a neighborhood child got sick. But bringing up noblesse oblige seemed like a bad idea, and Eha hesitated a moment, trying to gather her thoughts into a more rational and less-potentially-offensive response.

Her eyes fell on the pen. An old memory bobbed to the surface of her mind. Her lips twitched into a small smile.

“The last time I saw one of those pens was when my parents signed the adoption forms,” she said quietly, and chuckled. “Mama didn’t know how to use it – old, traditionalist British family, her side – but the town where Papa grew up in Estonia was more blended, and he showed her. After that, they took me back to London and, well…pure-blood family, Drumstrang education, not a lot of room for Muggle things. But there’s nothing wrong with them.”

She let out the remainder of her breath and leaned back in the chair. She shrugged, but the tension stuck. "Truth be told, I always liked their style better anyway, when it comes to clothes. Give me a good pair of jeans over a fluttery old robe any day."

1.

Grandma

Jonas watched her, the muscles in his jaw tight, even as he kept his shoulders relaxed, his face expressionless.  Nothing the girl said was convincing him.  Prattling on about Muggle fashion, as if appreciating a good pair of trousers every now and again was the unmistaken sign of a bleeding heart liberal. 

Putting it in those terms -- liking Muggle stuff, as if quaint belongings could stand in for the Muggles themselves -- made him want to claw at something, but he knew that wasn't fair.  He'd framed the conversation that way, set her up to begin with.  Taking it out on the girl when nothing she could say was going to satisfy him was not the best way to conduct this interview.  But even so, he wanted to make certain that the line was drawn.  He might not be able to single-handedly change Ministry policy, but between himself and his coworkers that he was certain would have his back, he could damned well make certain that the damaging prejudices that had taken hold during the last war would never get a chance to be reestablished.

"Liking a clothing style has nothing to do with how you treat folks who aren't wizards," he said matter-of-factly.  "Or Muggle-borns, for that matter.  Not having a problem with them isn't enough."

"This is your one caution, Miss Farro."  He met her gaze, held it, so that he could be sure the gravity was understood.  "There's plenty of us who were here during the last war.  This office won't get divided like that again," he said grimly.  "If you want to be an Auror, you sign on to protect everyone, whether they've got a wand or not."  He waited a beat, raised his eyebrows as he gave her a hard look.  "You reckon you can manage that?"

“Auror Trevelyan…that is an extremely rude assumption.”

Eha’s awkwardness evaporated under the heat of a sudden anger. Fists curled against the desktop until her gloves stretched audibly around the joints. The tightening cloth cut off her circulation, bringing a pain that focused her thoughts and reigned in her temper. This wasn’t something to get worked up about. Except that it was. 

Who the hell did Trevelyan think he was, questioning her motivations, her resolve?

“So I come from a pureblood family. So I attended a traditionalist school. So I don’t know much about Muggles, or their culture, or their things, and the only ones I’ve ever spoken to on a regular basis are the ones I go to church with.” The Orthodox didn’t have a lot of choice in London.  “That doesn’t mean anything. I’m sorry if my question offended you. But if it had been some wide-eyed Hufflepuff girl asking why you use ‘that funny plastic thing’, you sure as hell wouldn’t be lobbing accusations at her.”

That was what rankled. She’d had more than a few English wizards raise eyebrows at her Drumstrang credentials, as though the only reason anyone ever enrolled there was because they hated Muggles.

“Whatever my awareness of Muggle-borns and pens, it’s got nothing to do with this job. If someone needs my help, then for all I care, they could have been born a troll. I will still do everything in my power to keep them safe. That’s why I signed up.” And don’t you dare forget it.

Eha leaned back in the chair, pursed her lips, and completely failed to return to a state of relaxation. Her left hand tugged at the base of the right glove, and she frowned at the far corner, avoiding Trevelyan’s eye. Anger still simmered somewhere just below her heart, but she would reign it in. This was neither the time nor the place to let it go. “I think that we should change the subject now, sir.”