Panic Dungeon

His feet slammed into cold stone and he almost lost his balance. He dropped the goblet, the clanking sound reverberating through the small room, and looked at his surroundings.

The room comprised only grey stone, like a dungeon. There were no windows, no doors, no— anything, really. The ceiling was a mass of large grey bricks, like the floor and walls, but there seemed to be small holes in it where light was seeping through. There were twenty or thirty holes in all, each one projecting a beam of light onto the floor, which allowed Voldemort to see in the room, as though the world above were being bathed in sunlight. The air that descended from above the ceiling was warm and dry, almost desert-like. There was a single curtain in a corner of the room; when Voldemort pulled it aside, it revealed a tiny bathroom. As Voldemort looked about the room once more, his eyes spotted a figure on the floor. It was a human girl, spread out on the floor, eyes closed. Voldemort could not figure out why she did so, for there seemed to be no rational explanation for her behavior. Her mass of blonde hair was spread above her head, and some of the rays of light landed directly on the strands.

“Girl,” Voldemort said, his cold voice dominating the space that enclosed him, “where are we? Tell me.”

The girl opened her eyes, directing the large, silvery-blue orbs at Voldemort. “I’m not sure, really,” she said, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head. “All I know about this place is that there’s no way out, as far as I can tell. I tried to leave in every magical and non-magical way I could think of, but I couldn’t escape. You’re more than welcome to give it a go, yourself, if you would like. After all, aren’t you the most powerful wizard there ever was?”

Voldemort would have struck her down if she had said all of this with even a hint of sarcasm, but she merely stated it as fact. At least he now knew that she was a witch; he could not stand being in a room with a Muggle unless he was torturing it. “You’re right; I am the most powerful wizard in existence. And I can get myself out of this.”

Voldemort raised his wand, shouting Bombarda! in his mind, but nothing happened. He tried Ascendio, Confringo, and Reducto, as well, but his wand did not send off a single spark. He also tried Apparating, but he looked as though he were trying out for the ballet rather than escaping. He grabbed his goblet, hoping the Portkey would send him back, but the room seemed to quash all magical attempts. Voldemort tried for hours, never accepting that his magic could be thwarted.

Finally exhausted, Voldemort sat on the floor by the wall opposite the girl. “It seems… impossible. I can’t believe this.”

“Then don’t,” the girl replied vaguely. “Don’t believe that it’s impossible, because there is a way out. We just haven’t found it. It’s just a puzzle, more difficult than I’ve had to deal with. If we can get in here, we can get out; it’s just common sense.”

Voldemort looked at the girl, studying her, trying to figure out who she was. He scrutinized her for hours, as she seemed to be deep in thought, about what, he did not know. But the night continued on in the same fashion until the girl curled up and fell asleep. Voldemort still studied her, even as she dreamed her dreams, puzzling over the enigma that was placed before him.