It had been a long time since she'd seen the sun. She supposed she'd forgotten what it felt like to be bathed in the warm sun, but now it felt like she never knew in the first place. All she knew now was the rusty smell of blood and the feel of dark. The dark was home to her now. She was accustomed to the uncomfortable feeling of prolonged silence but any relief from that particular discomfort, was far from her desires. It meant that they had come to torture her. It meant hours of agonizing pain and the feel of her flesh melting off her bones. It meant keeping herself from screaming even though they were twisting her body into contorted, unnatural positions. When she'd first arrived she had screamed with all the air in her lungs, until her vocal chords grew strained with pain but now, now, she stays silent. She refuses to allow them to win anymore even if winning meant extra hours of torture.
However, luckily for her, they did not come very often anymore. She supposed they had better things to do. But when they did and they brought her to that dark, dank room with the racks and the sharp instruments they'd tell her that her entire family was dead. They'd whisper in her ear as she struggled to keep from screaming that the Golden Trio had been murdered and that soon she'd be either dead or a slave. She simply spit in their faces. She couldn't bear for a second that it was true. The hazy memory of what was left of her family is the reason she had any sanity left at all.
She hated the Death Eaters with every fiber of her being. She hated them for the war and she hated them for the things she had to endure. She hated them for coaxing her into betraying her family. This however, gave her some comfort. She would never ever betray her family but this was simply because she couldn't.
A cold breeze seized her dank dark cell and sent shivers that racked her entire weak body. Curling her fingers against the hard cobblestone of the floor retaining any warmth she could, she recalled what she had done. She had created a chant using only wandless magic to kill oneself so as to prevent giving answers to the enemy. It was ancient magic stemming from the love of one's people and it had been effective in killing the others but, not her. With wandless magic the intent had to be pure but she had a secret desire to live that had botched the spell and left her without memories of the Order. She took solace in that even though she was still living she couldn't give any information away. Now she wished she could remember the chant, she would gladly end her life if it meant leaving this cell. If it meant she could see her family again.
In this cell she had little to live for. When she wiped herself of her memories she wiped herself of her hope; the only memories that gave her hope were gone. That was what the Order had become to her; Hope. The only thoughts that gave her any comfort were her memories of Harry and her family. She remembered a dim night long ago when she and Harry had spent the night together making love. The next morning he had disappeared leaving her alone to fend for herself. She had no further communication from him since then. It didn't matter, eight months later she had been captured.
That night had been so very long ago. She'd likely never see him again, but it was memories of the winter chill and the feel of him against her that gave her any comfort. It was the memories of her dead parents that gave her comfort. She lived in her memories but she really wanted death. So much had changed since then; she had lost herself in the war, and in this cell. There were no more clear winter nights or stolen goodbye kisses only the mere memories.
It felt like ages since she'd arrived in this horrible place and it most likely had been. The only human contact she ever got was from her torturers who knew they still couldn't get anything from her. Still, they took pleasure in trying to get her to scream. They made bets on how long they could put her hands in the fire before she screamed in pain, or if she would scream were they to send her to the whips again. Usually the Death eaters betting she would scream at all, lost. Veteran Death Eaters knew she could barely feel her hands or her back she was now so horribly scarred. These death eaters were the same ones who poured healing potions in with her breakfast to keep her alive for these sick games and bets.
One day out of those miserable days a man in a dark purple robe stopped by her cell earlier than usual. Complacently she sat, and waited for this death eater to drag her by her scrawny arm and drag her out of the cell. She sighed and shuddered, it was one of those days again. This time it was different, the death eater merely stood in front of her cell and kicked the bars to her prison "Hey you. What's your name?" He demanded, as she looked up into those blank soulless eyes.
"Prisoner 412 cell 4 Malfoy Manor." She responded hoarsely.
"No what's your real name?" he asked impatiently, kicking the bars of her cell. She thought about it. No one had called her by her true name for a very long time. They assigned everyone numbers as far as she could tell. They were no longer people, just numbers. Though in this place no one was human, no one could claim to be human anymore. She grasped a piece of her hair in her gnarled fingers. It was a fiery vibrant red and even though she was starved and malnourished her red hair was still beautiful. She thought for a moment then a name came to mind.
"Weasley. My name is Weasley." She responded hoarsely. "Ginny Weasely."