Desolate
Drabble
The worst thing was the silence. The screaming of the prisoners, the rattled breathing of the Dementors, the howling of the wind should all have been present, but they'd been muted somehow. He couldn't hear anything anymore. Perhaps for his own sake his mind had blocked it all out to preserve his sanity. Though it was more likely to drive him insane. Perhaps he'd already gone mad. Even his own voice was silenced.
It was an unnatural silence. No, not silence, it was stillness. Even the deaf would go mad from it.
He shivered, trying to take some warmth from the ragged blanket he'd been provided. The cold seeped down to his very core. He feared that he might get frostbite. It had happened to others. He saw them carry the corpses out.
He rubbed his bare feet with his hands to give himself something to do. He doubted it would prevent him from getting frostbite. He examined his toes and found that the small toe on his right foot was already a nasty blue. He ripped two pieces off his threadbare blanket and wrapped each foot tightly.
There was a disgusting mattress infested with bugs that he'd propped up against the back wall to stop rain and snow from getting in through the barred window. He ripped a dry piece of material off of the top and shook the bugs out of it. This piece was ripped in half and used to wrap each hand. Now he had mittens and boots, sort of, and enough of the blanket to still cover himself with.
He sunk down to the floor with his back against the mattress. He carefully laid the blanket partially underneath him and pulled the rest over his torso. He hugged his legs close to his chest and rested his chin on his knees. It wasn't a very comfortable position, but he did not plan on sleeping. Falling asleep would be foolish.
He moved occasionally, rubbing his hands and feet through the clothe. Moving around just to keep his blood circulating. He doubted that the prison guards, the human ones, would offer any assistance if he got a blood clot.
It seemed to get colder as the morning came. Finally, the temperature evened out though it was still quite cold. He leaned back against the mattress in relief. He was no longer in danger of frostbite and the temperature would rise at least a little as the day went on.
He considered his luck. Out of nine hundred cells, he had somehow gotten one out of the two hundred with a window. He had rotten luck. Without a window, his cell would be drier and he could actually use the mattress, as disgusting as it was.
It was pathetic that his only hope at the moment was that maybe they might have him change cells and he would get one without a window. He had no other dreams than to be dry and slightly less cold.
The sound of the iron door at the end of the hall scraping against the floor as it opened caught his attention. He moved to the bars of his cell where he could see what was happening. Knowing better than to look directly, he lowered his eyes to the ground as the guard and guest made their way past. He watched the shadows as they halted directly in front of him.
Unbelievably, his cell door was being opened. He sat, frozen in shock, as words were spoken softly to him. A wrinkled hand came into his line of sight as the person tried to help him stand up. To his shame, he was crying as he heard and understood what was being said.
His salvation was at hand. No, his redemption.
Severus raised his eyes.
A/N: Written for the Just Dialogue/Description Challenge at the HPFFC forum. I chose to do description only.