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“I think I have a present for you, Mr. Ollivander,” Luna said with a smile.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, then quietly said, “Lumos.”

A ball of light the size of a Snitch gathered itself together in front of her, its flames tinged a delicate shade of peach. Ollivander stared in wonder at light, actual light, as long as his weakened eyes allowed.

“Merry Christmas,” she said. “I believe I can conjure it whenever we need it. I hope you like it.”

“Like it? Luna,” he said, barely holding back tears, “you’ve given me the Christmas star.”

It was amazing how much the light was able to cheer both of them. No longer dependent solely on the feeble sunlight from their prison window, they were able to see one another clearly when they spoke, avoid tripping over the uneven stone floor, even draw use their fingers to draw pictures in the dust to illustrate their points. But they were careful to blot out any sign of their activities immediately in case one of the Death Eaters were to pay them an unexpected call.

Just before New Year’s Eve, they received exactly such an unwelcome visitor: Peter Pettigrew.

Ollivander’s instinct was to shield Luna as the door to the cellar opened, but he knew there was very little he could do to protect her. As he watched Pettigrew’s shoes descend the staircase, unwilling to look any higher at the man, he thought wildly that perhaps Luna was going to be released. He no longer even considered the possibility for himself. But Pettigrew’s interest was not with the girl.

“Ollivander!” he yelled it what Pettigrew must have thought was a commanding voice, though it had a distinctly rodent ring to it. “You’re wanted upstairs!”

His only feeling was relief.

“May I come with him?” Luna asked quietly.

Pettigrew looked at her in shock, and Ollivander was horrified.

“No, child!” Ollivander said. “This isn’t going to be pleasant.”

“Not at all,” Pettigrew said with an evil grin. “I can assure you of that.”

“I know,” she said simply. “I don’t want him to be alone.”

Pettigrew continued staring at her, his mouth hanging open.

“No,” he finally said, to Ollivander’s everlasting gratitude. “You stay here.”

Luna nodded and threw her arms around the old man in a hug.

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” she said in a calm voice.

Ollivander followed Pettigrew up the stairs without resistance. His mind, however, was reeling from Luna’s close call. He’d been through these sessions before, and he knew how they went. The only question was who would be doing the interrogation: a Death Eater or Voldemort personally.

After he was led to the dining room of the Malfoy house, his question was answered. The fireplace was the only light in the room, but he could still see the room’s other occupant. Seated at the table, his red eyes glittering in the firelight, was the Dark Lord. And he did not look happy.

“I would wish you a happy new year, but I’m not overly fond of lies,” Voldemort said, his high voice caressing the words. “As you already know, I am always aware when someone is not telling the truth.”

Ollivander inclined his head to show his knowledge of this. He had learned that the less he spoke during these encounters, the better, not that anything helped much.

“Very well,” Voldemort said, drawing his wand. “Let’s begin then, shall we? Tell me all you know about the Elder Wand.”

“No,” Ollivander said firmly.

“I rather thought you’d say that,” Voldemort said. “Crucio!”

“I must congratulate, Mr. Ollivander,” Voldemort said some time later. “You really do have remarkable resilience, especially for a man of your age. I give credit where it is due.”

Ollivander barely heard him. He had long since been unable to keep his feet under the barrage of torture, and now he lay on the table itself. He remembered poor Charity Burbage. She’d been a very kind woman, and Pettigrew had informed him mockingly of the details of her death. He wondered if he too was to be fodder for Nagini.

“I must admit, as much as I admire your stamina, I am weary of our little visits,” Voldemort said, flicking his wand to create another stab of pain. “Now, give me the information I desire and I will show you how merciful I can be. Your death will be swift and painless.”

“I don’t know anything,” Ollivander repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Lie,” Voldemort said, spitting the word as he sent another wave of pain through him. “Dear, dear. Whatever am I to do with you? You’re no good to me dead. How can I motivate you?”

“I cannot tell you what I do not know,” Ollivander said. “I’m not a hero. I would have given you the information a long time before this.”

“And again, you are lying,” Voldemort said, fury written on his face. “You have gone beyond trying my patience! Wormtail!”

“Yes, my lord,” he said, appearing at once from the corridor.

“Does this man have no family at all?” he said.

“None, my lord,” Wormtail said, groveling.

“How very similar we are, then,” Voldemort said, giving Ollivander a look of mock pity. “Of course, I killed mine, but the outcome is the same.”

Ollivander was not skilled at wandless magic, but he had trained himself over the years to be able to achieve one feat that was remarkably difficult for most wizards. Many competitors had tried to steal the secrets of his business. For this reason, he had worked long and hard at Occlemency. It had saved his life to this point since Voldemort couldn’t penetrate his thoughts.

And it apparently now saved Luna’s as well since the Dark Lord didn’t realize that all he would have to do is threaten the girl to make Ollivander reveal every secret he had ever known.
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