Harry coughed, a rattling cough amplified by the stone walls. His whole body shook and he collapsed onto the grimy floor. His arms felt as though they were being ripped apart.
"You okay in there?" asked the guard, knocking on the door.
Harry was so shocked that he couldn't even splutter out a yes. They have spent two weeks, he thought bitterly. They have spent two weeks torturing me, two weeks without food, and only rancid water to drink – just to ask if I was alright?
"Are you?" the keys clanked as the guard opened the door.
"Y-y-yes," Harry said, shaking. Even in the dim light, he could recognize the massive figure – Macnair, the executioner who killed – Harry choked back a sob.
Macnair left the room, closing the door behind him. Harry could hear him sharpening his sword on the wall.
A loud crash rang through Harry's ears as Macnair dropped the heavy sword. But the voice that spoke shook him even more.
"Unlock the prisoner," ordered the high voice. "No, not her, you fool, the boy."
Harry's arms were unlocked from the walls and he fell forward onto the floor, splitting his lip. He spat out the salty blood as he was lifted to his feet and led outside.
"Come, Harry," said Lord Voldemort. "We have business to attend to."
Harry glimpsed the other cells as he was led out of the dungeon. They were empty until the last one - a thin girl with matted hair. He hadn't seen her for months, but he could still recognize her.
"Hermione!"