"Starving"
Disclaimer: All characters, settings and so on all belong to the great J.K. Rowling! Not mine…don't sue.
She was starving.
Sure, she had oftentimes uttered the phrase "I'm starving!" to delineate a shallow hunger that would be satiated by a peanut butter sandwich or a handful of crackers, but she had never truly felt starvation. True starvation never let up. True starvation occurred when the body began literally eating itself alive for nourishment. Malnourishment engulfed her. She vomited and coughed up blood and bits of stomach lining. This was starvation.
She had been locked away for weeks. Months. Hell, years…she lost track. Time was so meaningless here. The only purpose time served to her was a reminder of how long it had been since her last taste of food…her last drink of water. Oh, water. Sweet water. She had forgotten what it tasted like. So weak from dehydration, she would simply hunch in the corner of the dark, damp room that was her prison. Her frail, cracked frame huddled, knees close, insistent on creating some form of warmth in a world so cold. Her torn, ragged clothing might as well have not existed. They covered nothing and served no purpose.
Cold.
So cold.
How long would this last? The world stood on end, preparing to fall over as she remembered why she was trapped not only in her cell, but in her mind as well. She felt no regrets. She fought hard. She tried. But she failed. And now she was dying.
The cellblock door creaked open, slamming against the adjacent stone wall, and her weary, bloodshot eyes darted away, avoiding the light now flooding the dreary chamber. Light stung. She didn't deserve to feel light…to see it. She wasn't worth it anymore. She was only a prisoner. She was curious as to the hour. The usual entrance occurred much later in the day, but she wasn't aware of time anymore. The last time the heavy door burst open was maybe only three hours ago…but it may as well have been three days. She didn't care.
No less than ten seconds later the room dimmed again, and she raised her eyes to the figure standing a mere two feet away from the now shut door. No sounds were heard, but the body shook with relentless sobs. Knees gave way and the dark silhouette crumpled to the floor with a dull thud. Moments later the body was still. Not dead…just still. Movement served no purpose. There was never anywhere to go…anything to see. Motions were just another way to waste precious energy and valuable breath. As she watched Ginny's body lie still in front of her, she sighed. She knew why Ginny was like this…it happened every night. Ginny fought them off at first…groups of Death Eaters. She refused to give in and contribute to their sick satisfaction. The first time they had been victorious Ginny limped back into their morbid chamber wailing in pain and clutching herself, sobbing to God and wondering what she had done to deserve what was bestowed unto her. Ginny never wanted it. However, as time went on…she stopped trying. It just became part of the routine. Wake up. Be taken. Submit. And die a little more on the inside.
She wanted to help Ginny, but there was nothing she could do. Their capturers were bigger and stronger, and even in her peak physical condition she didn't stand a chance against any single Death Eater. What made her sick to her stomach, though, was her immense feeling of relief. The Death Eaters didn't want her. They never took her from that room. Only Ginny. She knew what they did to her. She knew the deranged, filthy acts they performed on that broken soul. She heard the sobs and she heard the screams, and the only thought that ran through her mind was "I'm glad it's not me."
"I'm so glad it's not me."
Just the thought of those words echoing in her skull made her want to vomit. How could she have been reduced to these thoughts? What happened to her?
"Dehydration…that's right. I'm just really thirsty. I'm not like this. This isn't me. Just give me some water and I'll be me again."
But she knew this was false. However badly she felt for Ginny, she knew the poor girl was no longer her friend. A girl runs out of things to think about when in solitude after a while. She questions her mundane ties to people and wonders what good they are. Ginny sold her out. Ginny was the reason she was here. She didn't deserve her pity. She wanted to hate Ginny. She wanted Ginny to feel pain. If she still were in possession of her wand Crucio would be the first word she would utter. But Ginny was human. And so was she. She gave the girl her pity because it was all she had to give.
Ginny wiped blood from her legs and smeared it along the cold stone floor next to her. Pitifully she curled her knees to her chest and bit down on her lower lip to control its wavers. Unable to watch Ginny any longer, she closed her eyelids and wiped a tear from her dirt stained face. She wanted to pray, but she knew there was no use. What kind of a God would allow this to happen to anybody? What kind of a God would let His people suffer torture, starvation, and rape? Instead, she ignored her desire to pray, her sharp pangs of dehydration, and the young woman curled in the fetal position in front of her. Instead she sighed heavily and wished the world would just stop spinning.