Purgatorial
The freezing metal pressed into his wrists, cutting the blood in his veins just short of reaching his blue fingertips. It seared his flesh, and the cold crept into his skin. Tiny slivers of ice bit into the tissue of his arms and climbed to his shoulders. It frosted the hair on the back of his neck, burrowed into his skull, and then burst from his eyes in the form of two, perfect, crystal tears.
The tears wove their way over his sharp cheek bones, down his pale, sunken cheeks, and reunited on the tip of his articulate chin. As a single entity, they splashed onto the chilled cuffs encircling his wrists. It froze on impact with the frigid shackles.
Draco tentatively raised a shaking finger and brushed the icy gem off his manacles. It clattered to the floor and Draco's head immediately shot up as he glanced around to see if his captor had heard. Across the tepid dungeon, the dark figure didn't stir. Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He allowed his gaze to relax and it settled on the frozen tear. For an insane moment, he considered swallowing it.
Draco hadn't been fed in a week.
He shifted positions on the stone floor and resettled his limbs as quietly as possible, taking each movement as slowly as he could. If he could just get his legs out from under him, he could curl up and perhaps warm himself. He was gradually pulling his slender legs up to his concave chest when the chains of his handcuffs clanked against the shackles around his ankles.
Draco froze. From across the dungeon, the figure rose. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor and Draco didn't even dare breathe. The man knelt in front of him. Draco's body shook and he couldn't wrench his gaze from the man's shoes.
"Draco." He couldn't move. "Draco, look at me." Trembling, Draco raised his ashen head and directed his gaze to the man's nose.
"That's better. Now, Draco." The man's velvety voice bit into his skin. "Are you sorry for your disobediance?" Draco nods, not trusting his vocal chords. "Good." The man takes out his wand and Draco flinches, fully expecting a curse to strike his vulnerable flesh. Instead, the man touches the wand to the shackles and with a small flash of azure light, they fall to the floor. He roughly grabs Draco's shoulder and pulls him up. Draco's knees can't support him. He returns to the stone floor in a heap of robes. Immediately, the man is full of rage.
"What's wrong with you? You're never going to be strong enough to serve the Dark Lord!" This time when the wand comes out, it isn't for unlocking his bonds.
Ten excruciating minutes later, the man stalked away. Over his shoulder he calls "Come upstairs when you can pull your miserable self together. Your mother is waiting for you in the dining room."
Draco couldn't move his aching body an inch. His face was awash in bitter, salty tears. He laid there for a few moments, gathering his strength. With a horrible groan, he raised himself from the floor on shaking arms. He forced himself to his feet. Each step across the dungeon was a whole new lesson in pain. He concentrated only on his feet and somehow managed to put one foot in front of the other long enough to take him up the stone steps, through the winding passageways, and into the richly decorated dining room.
He slides into his usual seat at the end of the long table, his body screaming in relief at the rest. His mother places the dish in front of him. The avoid each other's piercing, grey eyes as he dutifully blows out the six candles.