Darkness There and Nothing More

He stared at the figure.

It was mocking him.

"Why won't you move, you stupid, bloody thing!"

It just stared and stared.

"It would do well to have someone to play against. Knight to the --."

The moon distracted him. The invariable moon. It shone through his lone, barred window creating columns of light around the figure.

"Harry could threaten you. Yea, you'd move for him. The git, he's late. So late . . ." His voice trailed off into nothing.

He blinked to clear his vision.

"Now, if Hermio--." His face scrunched up in pain. No, mustn't think about that.

A loud thunk and a blood-curdling scream could be heard from the next room. Then the moaning began again.

"Always. Same time. Every night." He muttered as he shook his head. "How is any bloody fool supposed to get to sleep around here!?"

A tear rolled down his cheek. He sniffed and rubbed it violently off.

He shivered.

He was surrounded by stone: wall, floor, ceiling and he never got warm. The window held no glass. A cold wind blew in and chased the accumulated dust and debris around the floor.

A loud and painful cough rattled his chest.

"Where's Madame Pomfrey when you really need her? Who cares about the battlefields? We're losing, anyway. I need some Pepper-Up Potion!"

The figure glinted in the moonlight as if sneering at him and his petty complaints.

"Petty? You call them petty? Ha. You don't need Pepper-Up Potion. You never get sick." He glared. "Why won't you move!"

There was this stone sticking out of his wall. When the light shone on it and he squinted his eyes and turned his head just so, he could see her image, if only for a moment.

Why did she always have to hide from him?

Just the small glance isn't enough.

Why does she taunt me? Harry would make her see reason, he would. Enough of this silly shyness. I know you're braver than that.

He's late.

We're going to . . . what???

Harry, he's he's, (captured)?

This room. HE DIDN"T BELONG HERE!

Where was the warmth the red, the golden glow he was used to--the rich and plush fabrics that use to be his life? He did not like the icy light here. He curled into his shadowed corner and felt safe.

His breathing sped up and black spots danced in his vision.

Clarity. He needed a moment of clarity.

He heard the bolt slide-click open on the door behind him.

He turned, curious, and saw him.

"How's the mindless weasel today, hmmm?" The visitor asked, expected no response.

Then he remembered. Harry was gone. Lost.

Safe.

Hermione? That way was blocked, walled up.

He scrambled backwards, afraid, crawling towards his comforting shadows.

His hand hit something. A chess piece, the rook rolled onto the floor. It winked mockingly at him.

He hand entered a beam of light and he saw the missing finger. Sharply, he drew in his breath in shock.

When . . . ?

The visitor's arm gleamed as he brandished his wand.

It was playtime.

"Crucio!"

Pain. Pain like he's felt a thousand thousand times before and will always feel.

Then blackness.

FIN.