Vox Corpis [Harmione]

Chapter 40

"I don't… I don't know how to do what you're asking," the old man said in a tremulous voice. A voice that had once been so unwavering was made almost unrecognizable by its new quiver. "I… I can't do what you want."

The man was cowering on the floor, stripped of all but his undergarments. His state of undress displayed the long lines of bleeding wounds that striped his back and sides, weeping red even as the man wept salty tears.

"Do you take me for a fool, wandsmith?" a dark, sinister voice hissed venomously. A horribly familiar voice. That voice. His voice. The air chilled to carry his voice, to ferry his words, to give him breath.

"I… please… you don't understand… the core… they're brother-wands, yours and his… phoenix feather… priori incantatum. I can't change that!" the wandsmith wailed in terrified protest.

Voldemort flicked his wand, slashed it through the air, and the wandsmith screamed as a fresh cut sliced open his side, precise and swift as a razor. It was a second before the blood welled and trailed down his heaving ribcage, like water escaping an over-full boiling kettle. Ollivander staggered on his hands and knees under the onslaught. He nearly went down, but at the last moment managed to stay supported by his trembling elbows. His blood dripped to the floor beneath him.

"I can't change it! Please! Stop this!"

"I will stop when you have given me what I want."

Ollivander shook his head weakly. "It can't… it can't be done… you're mad!"

Another twitch of his wand and Ollivander cried out. The wandsmith collapsed on the ground in a heap, fell into his own pooled blood, when his right hand flew to his chest and clutched into a fist. Ollivander seized and grimaced. After a moment he went lax, ashen and trembling.

"Must I tear your heart apart, old man?" Voldemort demanded.

"I… can't… can't… please," he lay panting, head and eyes rolling.

"You had best. I will not be played the fool thrice by this pathetic boy. You will do as I bid you, wandsmith. Your reputation for wandsmithing precedes you, and I expect satisfaction from your work. When next I cast the killing curse it will destroy him, you will see to that."

Ollivander muttered feebly, half mad from the pain, "Priori incantatum… priori… priori incantatum…"

Voldemort turned in a rustle of black robes and seethed in disgust. "Why do you all persist in protecting this worthless child with your lives?!" The dark wizard sucked in a breath and turned back to the cowering wandsmith. A sudden, disquieting calm had settled about him. "No matter… I see you are determined to die a slow, agonizing death, and I am more than willing to oblige. But perhaps you'd care to know that if you refuse to do as I command, I will find another wandsmith who will. Perhaps the talent runs in your family?"

Ollivander opened his eyes in mounting horror. "What?" he croaked.

Voldemort turned to a shadow in the outskirts of the room and barked, "Lucius, bring her."

Ollivander tried to stir. "You're asking for the impossible… it can't be done!"

"Perhaps you merely lack vision, or motivation, but I think I may be able to persuade you to find some of both."

"What… what have you done?"

The Death Eater returned, pushing before him a young woman. She trembled and shrieked as she was manhandled into the room with the dark lord. Her eyes turned in horror to the bloody and broken man on the floor, then they widened when she looked beyond the wounds and battered flesh to the man's face. Her own face lost all color. "Grandfather!" She tried to rush to him.