He fled at that like the coward that he was, The Daily Prophet with its normal, boring Quidditch scores abandoned along with the woman he’d seen tortured.  He lay on his narrow bed, shaking, and closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing.  Just nothing.  He could handle nothing.  In the void there were no monsters, no mad aunts, nothing hiding in the shadows.  The  void didn't have agendas and plans.