Fic: Alone With the Dark
This week's challenge word on the Beloved Enemies list was "oubliette," meaning "a dungeon with an opening only at the top."
ALONE WITH THE DARK
Harry hardly ever opened his eyes anymore.
Why bother, when the only thing he could see were the thin bars of light outlining the trap door far above his head?
He had no idea where he was, or how he got there. The last thing he remembered was casting the curse that killed Voldemort, and then the world faded into darkness.
Total, absolute darkness.
At first, he passed the time exploring his surroundings, looking for a way out. His wand was gone, but it hardly mattered. The room was blanketed in wards that prevented him from using any magic.
When it became clear there was no escape, he began yelling for help, screaming for hours until his throat was raw and his voice cracked and died away. No one came, and eventually he fell into a silence as impenetrable as the dark.
***
He slept. There was nothing else to do.
One day when he awoke, there was a presence nearby. He heard the whisper of someone breathing, a sound so loud in the stillness of his prison that it jarred him from a sound sleep as effectively as an alarm clock.
"Who's there?" he asked, his voice rusty from disuse.
The Presence did not answer.
"Who are you?" he demanded again, louder.
"I am the new Dark Lord," the Presence said.
A sliver of fear stabbed Harry's heart. "What do you want?"
"I want you to join me."
"Never!" Harry said.
"You *will* join me," the voice assured him. "When you are ready." And then the Presence was gone.
"Never," Harry whispered.
And he meant it. The Dark was worse than the dark.
***
An eternity passed, and the solitude became unbearable. He ached to hear the sound of another voice, to feel the touch of another hand. He began screaming again, throwing himself against the wards in his desperation, hoping he would die in the process and escape from hell that way. This kind of life wasn't worth living.
It was hopeless. Someone was keeping him alive. After a while, it was no longer important who that Someone was.
***
He dreamed someone was sitting beside him on his cot, stroking his hair, speaking words of comfort in a low voice. It felt so *real* that he arched into the touch, nearly crying with relief.
"Join me," the dream voice said.
"No. Never."
"When you are ready, you will."
***
He slept more than ever now, hoping the dream would return. It always did, and it was the sweetest thing he had ever known. One night the voice was muted as the speaker's mouth ghosted its way down his abdomen and swallowed his cock. He awakened as the orgasm ripped through him, clutching handfuls of silky hair in each fist.
Not a dream. Reality.
"Are you ready to join me?" the voice asked once more, just before salty sweet lips pressed against his own.
"Yes," Harry whispered into the kiss.
And he meant it. The dark was worse than the Dark.