Cold.
So cold.
Bone deep cold.
He tries to imagine the warmth of a fireplace or the sun on his face.
He tries to imagine his family.
He tries to remember joy.
It's like trying to hear the echoes of a whisper.
Maybe they'll finally kiss him this time.
He wants to scream.
He wants to destroy his cell.
He wants to hurt someone.
He thuds his head against the damp stone wall.
He wants to cry.
He wants his son, his wife.
He wants to die.
They took his name.
He's nothing but a number now.
Decaying flesh, rotting bones.
Five digits on the side of his neck.
His father had taught him that his name meant everything.
The master key that would open every door.
Revered and envied.
The wizarding world on a silver platter.
A privilege that could not be earned.
A birthright that would shield him from consequences.
He had taught his son the same.
They took his pride.
He's no better than an animal now.
Sleeping on straw.
Eating moldy bread with his dirty hands.
Rolling in his own filth.
His father had taught him that his pride meant everything.
Never apologize.
Never show weakness.
Never cry.
Never admit to wrongdoing.
Never look up at them, always look down upon them.
He had taught his son the same.
He wants to plead.
He wants to apologize.
He wants to beg for forgiveness.
He thuds his head against the damp stone wall.
He wants to cry.
He wants his son, his wife.
He wants to die.