Eric made his way to a deserted part of the platform, there turning to Evelyn. "Well?"

She shook her head. "I can't approve, Eric. She's been raised as a muggle, and she's got way too many problems. You deserve so much more than that."

He felt his jaw tighten. "Evelyn, I love her."

She looked about, then seemed to sigh. "Well, we'll see. Maybe it is for the best."

He repressed a smile, not wishing to hurt her feelings by celebrating. "You'll see. She really is special." He shared a quiet moment with her, gathering his wits before going after his belongings.

... that's when everything went black.

Eric opened his eyes to darkness. This was not the darkness of night, nor an internal room or closet. As he padded his hands about, he determined that this room was especially built to remove any possibility of light, leaving him in a level of darkness that made any sense of sight useless. He padded himself, only to find that someone had apparently dressed him in shorts and a t-shirt. He had no shoes and no socks.

He tried to move about to measure his circumstances, but suddenly stopped. His head felt light; not as if he had knocked it or held his breath, but as if it had simply lost a great deal of weight. Setting his hands to his head, he was shocked to find that his hair was gone, or at least most of it was. Where there was a vast wealth that stretched all the way to his belt, he now had a short mat which could only be half an inch long at most.

He couldn't believe this was happening. Why would someone do this to anyone, and how? The last thing he remembered was Platform 9-3/4. He was just about to get his belongings, then everything went black. Now he was in an enclosed room in pitch darkness. Feeling about, he found that it had a toilet and a sink, but absolutely nothing else. A reasonable effort might keep him clean, but he would have no way of knowing for sure.

Suddenly there were noises. He couldn't make out quite where they were from, but he could tell that they were men. However, they were merely muffled sounds until a wall burst open, streaming in a painful amount of daylight. "Bring the servant of darkness forth into the light." Blinded as he was, Eric could only stagger helplessly until two rough sets of hands grabbed his arms, dragging him outward. Straining as best he could, he could make out four figures dressed in dark clothing. This meant six in all, including the two who were currently holding him. In their midst was a roaring fire, which Eric determined first by the heat he felt.

He shook his head, desperate to clear his senses. This was a witch trial – he had read about them, but everything he knew said that such practices died out at least a hundred years ago. Fighting against the pain, he could begin to see the fire. It was a fairly large one, at least four feet in diameter and piled high. He began to struggle against his captors, for he had read that they often burned witches. Although he couldn't speak for anyone else, he was fairly sure he didn't want to go through the process.

"Now, disciple of the evil one, do you confess that these are the tools you use to serve your master?" He strained to see what was being held out while the sunlight continued to burn his eyes. With a great deal of effort, he finally could see his wand clutched in the gloved hand of one of his tormentors, along with the crystal that held the essence of his mother. "Watch as we strip you of your demonic power!" Without ceremony or hesitation, the figure threw them into the roaring fire.

"EVELYN!" He couldn't believe what was happening. He had just come to terms with the memory of his mother and had brought her to a point where she could accept Naomi Wainwright, a girl who had gained his heart. It took barely a second in the fire's core for the heat to shatter the crystal, dispelling the only link he had with his past. His wand took even less time to ignite, pluming out fire before curling into a thin string of coals.

"Calling out to your guardian demon will avail you naught. We have stripped you of your powers; now we will reclaim your soul." The two men holding his arms dragged him back to the room he came from, ignoring his shouts and pleas. They flung him hard against the rear wall of the room before closing the door, and then another to leave him in the same complete darkness that he woke up in.

He spent a good several hours trying to find a way out of the room. He managed to locate some vents, but they were far too small for him. Further, he occasionally heard scratching sounds from them. The room was currently clean, but if he opened the grates off of the vents, who knows what could scuttle in. He eventually resigned himself to waiting.

He had no idea how long it was before someone finally came. Once again, blazing light burned into his face, forcing him to close his eyes. He heard the scraping of a tray and then the light vanished. Groping in the dark, he eventually found the tray. It had food on it – marginally edible and not deliberately disgusting.

As he ate, he started to consider his captors. What kind of people were they? On the one hand, they were exceedingly cruel, and it seemed clear that they had it in for wizards – or at the very least, him. On the other hand, it was apparent that they didn't want him sick or emaciated. The room was dry and not too cold, if a bit bare. There were provisions for certain needs, especially cleanliness. This followed none of the usual patterns of torture that he was familiar with.

If they didn't want him sick, that meant there was a purpose in mind. All he would have to do is keep his head until that purpose was revealed, and act accordingly. He decided to spend the time considering transmutation or enchantment problems – they always amused him. He could spend the time trying to develop new spells or devices, or at least new ideas for them. That would keep his mind together until he got the chance to escape.

This proved more challenging that anticipated, however. Firstly, he had no references to study with, so there was only so much he could think about before he'd hit a creative wall. Second, his captors had a disrupting tendency to show up unannounced and with no pattern at all. They would come for one of three reasons. One was to feed him, another was to hose him down with cold water ( presumably to wash him ).

The third reason was torture. The methods varied on almost every occasion, though they usually involved leather straps or ropes. There was always a violently bright light burning his darkened eyes, and they always finished the session with the same words. "Consider this, when the time comes for your salvation." Eric had no idea what that meant. He wasn't acquainted with God personally, but everything he knew pointed to someone with a far more sociable personality.

As time crept on, Eric became weaker and weaker. His mind struggled to maintain a train of thought, and he was growing mad with the knowledge that any time he thought he saw something or someone, he was dreaming. He dreamt many times of being rescued; usually it was the Peals bursting in to save him. He'd be lead out with a gauze strip about his eyes, and Naomi would be there. She would be the one who lead everyone to him, having heard his cries for help.