A/N: This fic was written for the Grammar Love Ficathon at nosmutforyou on LiveJournal. My chosen prompt was onomatopoeia.
Heat
By now Draco was used to the not-quite-silence of his captivity. There was the incessant dripping of water into a shallow saucer in the corner of his cell, muffled thuds from upstairs, and occasionally the howling of wind or the splattering of rain. There wasn't much use in looking around; the dungeon was dank and the scenery never changed.
He heard the dungeon door creak open and the familiar dull crunch of boots on gravel that signaled an impending meal delivery, but now there was a second step of footsteps, a sharp click-clack that could only come from heels. Soon they, too, were crunching on gravel, and then both were obscured by the sound of grinding stones. Draco wasn't sure what to do. He usually pretended to be sleeping when his daily meal was brought in order to avoid looking into the face of someone he'd once considered his ally, but something unusual seemed to be happening.
"A little present for you, luv."
Aunt Bella. Well, this was most unusual. He cracked his eyes open as he heard the jangling of keys. There were two of them standing outside in full Death Eater regalia; the one on the left had to be Bellatrix. "What's going on?" he croaked.
She let out a tinkling little laugh that caused the hairs on his forearms to stand on end. He'd learned years ago what that laugh meant. "You're getting a present, I just said. Now, don't move or your Auntie will hex you." The door to his cell screeched on its hinges as it swung open, and his large package was shoved unceremoniously inside. The thing wheezed and Draco realised it was a person. His new companion remained crumpled on the ground and all he could do was gape at them as the door clanged shut again. Bella raised a gloved hand and waved. "Be good," she jeered as she walked away with her companion.
"Where's my food?" he shouted after them.
His cry reverberated off the stone walls and seemed to jolt his companion to life. A head snapped up. "Don't touch me," she snapped.
"What?"
"Don't ever touch me," she ordered, pushing herself up into a sitting position on shaky arms. "Ever. Stay on your side."
It had taken him a moment to place her, but he finally recognised her voice. "Weasley?" he asked incredulously. She looked like she'd been rolled through a forest.
"Don't talk, either."
"When did you get caught? What's going on out there?"
"Don't talk," she repeated, wrapping her arms around her shins and huddling in the corner.
Draco decided not to push her yet. She'd talk eventually, and then he'd finally have something to entertain him during his waking hours. He closed his eyes again and listened to the water drip. The perfect monotony of the sound was marred by an irregular scrabbling; Ginny was curling and uncurling her toes in the gravel. He found that this annoyed him more than it should, but when he opened his eyes to glare at her and tell her off, he saw that her whole body was trembling. "It's okay, Weasley," he said in a tone that was less harsh than he'd planned on using.
"Nothing will ever be okay again," she hissed, and even her voice shook with the force of her tremours.
Taken aback, Draco rolled towards the wall. Drip. Drip. Scritch-scritch-scritch. Drip. Drip. Drip. Scritch. "Stop that." Drip.
Scritch. "Sorry."
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Yes, that was better.
***
He must've dozed off, but the creaking dungeon door brought him back to consciousness immediately. There were the crunching footsteps, alone this time. This was what he was used to – no greetings, no keys jangling, no door screeching open, just the clatter of trays being exchanged on the stones and the snap of the food flap as it fell shut again. He waited for three footfalls before he looked upon the day's bounty.
One small loaf of bread, broken in two. Two charred portions of meat. Two fat slices of cheese. Two low-slung bowls of broth, piping hot. Draco was disappointed. He'd been hoping for beans on toast again, despite the mess he made without utensils. (Good heavens, his standards had gone to shite since he'd been here!) However, Ginny was looking at the food as if it was Christmas dinner. He wondered how long she'd been starved for. "The soup is mine!" she declared, throwing herself towards the food on her hands and knees.
"Don't be greedy, Weasley. There's two bowls there."
"You can have everything else. The soup is mine." She picked up one bowl with a trembling hand. It wavered dangerously, and she set her jaw and glared at her appendage as if it offended her. The metal vessel scraped along the gravel as she set it down.
Draco got to his feet. "You can't really expect to-"
"Stay there," she growled. "You can come when I've taken the other bowl."
"It won't fill you."
"But you're getting double portions, so why are you complaining?"
"Good point," he said belligerently. Drops of broth from the second bowl slopped to the ground and she growled at herself. When she'd moved the bowls over and resumed her place in the corner of the cell, she nodded curtly at him.
The cheese tasted terrible, but he could tell it was rich by the greasy feel of it on his lips so he ate it anyways. He gnawed on the meat and found it extremely difficult to eat, which he supposed was a good thing as it would give him something to do later. The bread was only a bit stale. Draco tried to be as positive as he could about his food because Ginny was slurping happily at hers, moaning rapturously at each gulp. It was a wonder she wasn't scorching herself. The broth couldn't be that good, could it? Then again, maybe her hoarding of the broth was strategic. She wouldn't want to make herself sick by eating too much after being starved for so long.
Ginng lapped up the last of the broth and smacked her lips one last time before curling back into a ball with a small smile on her face. "That good, eh?" Draco asked.
"Salty, actually."
"Would you like some water? I've been collecting some in this saucer. It tastes alright," he assured her, but she was already shaking her head. Unfounded annoyance shot through him. "Well, could you at least give me the bowls? They'd hold more water than this." He'd never been given soup before.
She stacked the bowls and sent them flying with a flick of her wrist. They skittered across the gravel to Draco and he set them under the water drip. He'd separate them when the top one was full. "Thanks. We should be able to get enough water for both of us."
"Don't talk," she warned him.
"You can't just not talk to me forever, Weasley. Besides, maybe the two of us can pool our knowledge and figure out when we're going to be rescued." She offered him a twisted smirk in response. "What?" But she wouldn't answer him. The only sound was the metallic plink of water hitting the aluminum soup bowls.
***
He'd sat and watched her for a long time – she hadn't said anything about staring, after all – but that was boring as she just sat curled up with her head on her knees and all he could see of her was arms and hair. It was one thing to be bored, but it was quite another to be bored when a source of entertainment was sitting right there. Every attempt he made to start a conversation was met by silence, not even a repeated admonition not to talk to her. Draco resented her.
It wasn't until after the plink of the water turned back into a drip that she did anything interesting. At first he hadn't been able to place the sound – a faint, rapid clicking, slightly dulled – but then she'd finally raised her head and Draco realised it was her teeth chattering. "All right, Weasley?" he asked cautiously.
She nodded, but she didn't look anywhere near fine. She was very pale and drawn, and there was no spark in her eyes.
"No you aren't."
"D-d-d-don' t-t-talk."
"Oh, come off it," he scoffed.
Ginny set her head back on her knees and shook violently. It unnerved Draco. What was happening? When she'd arrived, she'd been belligerent and weak but otherwise alright, and the broth should've fortified her at least a bit, especially since she'd had both-
No. Draco's throat went completely dry and he looked over her again with wide eyes. If they'd wanted to kill him, why wait until today, and why use poison when Aunt Bella was there with a willing wand? Why poison them both together? He was going to be sick. There was no one he could call to for help, obviously, but he had an overpowering urge to nonetheless. Maybe they hadn't meant to kill them, but to make them ill or weak. Maybe he'd as good as killed her when he let her take what she wanted.
Her head wasn't coming back up again. Draco splayed a shaking hand over his face and tried to compose himself.
Drip. Drip.
He pulled his hand down suddenly. "Weasley," he said, "drink this water."
Her head came up so she could sneer at him, but her lifeless eyes were what made Draco's spirit recoil. "Won't," she whispered hoarsely.
"I think it's going to make you feel better." As she huffed at him, he felt in his pocket and pulled out a hunk of charred meat, the hunk he should've forced her to eat in the first place. "You should eat this, too, so...."
She was continuing to huff. No, she wasn't huffing...she was laughing. At him.
He hurled the meat at her and she fell over in surprise. "I'll pour this water down your throat if I have to," he snarled.
She glared at him. "Don't touch me."
"You've been poisoned. I'm trying to help you."
Ginny sniggered at that. "Some great Lord you have!" she whooped.
Draco was dumbfounded by her non sequitur. "What?"
Her eyelids fluttered shut. "Don't ever touch me." She wasn't shaking anymore.
"Wake up."
She didn't.
"Do you think this is funny?"
Drip. Drip.
He stared hard at her. "If you don't give me some indication that you aren't dead, I'm going to come over there," he said with more bravado than he felt.
Drip. Drip.
He flung himself to her side of the cell, sending gravel skittering as he landed by her side. "Weasley?" Nothing. "You'd better tell me not to touch you, or I will." She was so still and pale. He shook back his sleeve to expose his marred forearm and reached his arm out over her, then laid his wrist cautiously on her forehead.
She was so cold that he recoiled in horror. She was dead. Guilt like he'd never known before washed over him. "I'm sorry," he croaked, his hand dropping to her shoulder. He felt her bones articulate slightly under his hand and it took a moment for him to register that her chest had moved up, not down, under his hand. Quckly, he stuck his finger under her cold nose. There was some air movement, but her breathing was so shallow. She was alive, but she wouldn't remain so with the chill she had. A quick tactile examination revealed that her entire body was as cold as her face. Maybe if he could.... Draco stretched out on the floor beside her body and gathered her into his arms, willing his own heat to warm her. He was surprised at how slight her form was. She'd always looked more substantial when they were at school. Then again, there was no telling what she'd been subjected to in the intervening years.
Her hair rustled softly as he brushed it out of his face. Dear Merlin, she was frigid! "Please," he breathed, shivering a little.
***
A louder thump than usual from upstairs woke Draco. The girl in his arms jerked awake and went rigid immediately.
He breathed a sigh of relief. She was conscious again. That had to be a good sign, even though all other signs pointed to the fact that he was within point-blank range of an enraged Gryffindor. "How do you feel?"
"You didn't touch my skin – oh, you idiot." She went limp.
He didn't know why he'd bothered to expect any accolades from her. He pushed away from her up into a sitting position, surprised at how chilly the air was. "How about a 'Thanks for saving my life, Draco'? You would've died if I hadn't kept you warm."
"I told you not to touch me!" she cried.
"They poisoned our broth. You drank both bowls."
She rolled over to face him, and he could tell immediately that there was some light back in her eyes. "There's no poison," she said, and although her voice seemed stronger than ever, she sounded defeated. "It's a curse. I can't generate any body heat."
"Wait a second – are you saying I'm going to have to hold you forever to keep you alive?" he asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste. No wonder she'd told him not to touch her. The thought was probably as repugnant to her as it was to him.
She let out a harsh bark of laughter which echoed off the stone walls. "Hardly. Your father did this to me, you know," she added in a conversational tone. "Your Dark Lord was enraged when he found out. He did everything he could to reverse it, but there's no counter-curse. I've been dying since before I arrived here. I took all the broth because it was hot. I was just trying to stay alive a while longer."
Draco was struggling to process all this new information. "Why would the Dark Lord care what happens to you?"
Ginny shrugged carelessly. "This is your father's punishment."
She'd gone from making very little sense to no sense whatsoever. "What is?"
"The curse is irreversible – and it's contagious. Through the skin. We're both going to die," she said when he just blinked incomprehensibly at her. "That's his punishment."
Draco felt his lips move, but he couldn't form any words and he just let out a whoosh of air instead.
"He said...." She chuckled bitterly. "He said you wouldn't be able to resist. Obviously, he doesn't remember our families' histories."
This undid him. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" he bellowed and was immediately sorry for it when his words rang painfully in his ears. "Or is this what you wanted all along?"
For the first time, she looked at him with sympathy. "I was charmed," she said. "I couldn't tell you anything specific. All I could do was keep telling you not to touch me. I must've sounded like a parrot."
It was so cold. "You also kept telling me not to talk."
"I couldn't handle it. I didn't want us becoming friendly or something, lest you do what you obviously did anyways and try to help me while I was unconscious." She was preternaturally calm about all of this. Dimly, Draco realised that was probably the only reason he hadn't fallen apart yet at her revelations.
"Why would we ever be friends?" he asked scornfully. "I hate you and you hate me, remember?"
She shook her head. "I've never hated you," she whispered. "You remind me of your father, and your father reminds me of him."
"Who?"
"Tom. Riddle," she prompted.
"Riddle? I don't even know that name. Are you suggesting that we associate with Mudbloods?"
He wasn't sure if she laughed or wheezed then. Outside, rain began to pummel the ground.