A Whisper in the Dark
"So, Gilderoy," said a velvety voice. It slid through the darkness to where Gilderoy Lockhart lay on the four-poster bed.
"Are your new accommodations to your liking?"
A whimper escaped Lockhart's lips. There was a rush of wind as the voice glided nearer.
"So terribly sorry I had to restrain you."
He felt the touch of cold fingertips on his wrist, and felt the spike-studded leather bands around his body tighten. Another rush of cold air cascaded across him, and the fingertips prodded his chest.
"Have you ever slept in the same bed as The Dark Lord before, man-slave?"
Lockhart struggled to keep his award-winning smile plastered on his face. He clamped his teeth shut tight, grinding his jaw from side to side anxiously. He felt the sandpaper texture of a snakelike tongue glide in and out of his ear.
"Prepare," Voldemort hissed, "For a truly satisfying experience."