Who: Lucius Malfoy and Ollivander What: Fetching Ollivander Where: Ollivander's When: Late Tuesday/early Wednesday Status: Closed, complete Rating: Slight mention of torture
Well after the time when all respectable establishments closed for the evening, Lucius slipped out of the shadows of Diagon Alley and toward the entrance to Ollivander’s. A simple alohomora opened the door, much to his disgust—honestly, he had been hoping for a bit of a challenge.
Once he slipped inside, Lucius saw Ollivander himself (still at work, of course), his back to the entrance as he levitated a stack of boxes back into place. It would have been simple enough to stun the man before he even realized he wasn’t alone, but it was all so dreadfully boring, and Lucius was hoping to work off some of his frustration this evening. Lucius cleared his throat, and Ollivander turned around, looking unsurprised to see him.
“Lucius Malfoy,” he started, “Elm with a dragon heartstring.”
“Yes,” Lucius interrupted, the word a soft hiss. He bared his teeth at Ollivander, drawing his wand. “Would you like to see it?”
Ollivander regarded the drawn wand solemnly, before meeting Lucius’ gaze. “I’m afraid we are closed at the moment. If you need assistance, please return tomorrow.”
Lucius lifted an eyebrow and did not bother responding. Ollivander’s chin lifted just a fraction, and his hand strayed toward his wand for the first time in their conversation. “What do you want?”
“I’m afraid you must come with me. Your services are needed.” Seeing Ollivander draw his wand, Lucius added with smooth delight, “Oh, I do hope you run.”
Ollivander’s only reply was a stunning spell that Lucius batted away like an irritating dragonfly. He could feel himself smiling, hard and dark and ugly, as he fired an imperius in Ollivander’s direction, laughing out loud when the man managed to dodge it. There was no doubt in his mind as to how this would end—he could see the same knowledge in Ollivander’s odd eyes.
Lucius had been dueling since he was a child, taught by the best tutors money could buy. Even a bit out of practice, he would easily best a wand-maker, and they both knew it.
Unwilling to end the game so quickly, Lucius kept his spells painful but not incapacitating; a slicing curse that opened a thin line of red along Ollivander’s torso, a blasting curse that just clipped his leg and exploded a stack of wands behind him. A sad lack of imagination on the part of his opponent meant Lucius was dodging variations on stunning and disarming spells, and nothing else.
At length, an odd emotion flickered across Ollivander’s face, and ball of flame flew from his wand. Lucius countered with a gush of water, but the fire came close enough to sear his hair and blister his face. Suddenly unamused, Lucius struck quickly with the cruciatus curse.
He let Ollivander scream for a long while, bleeding off anger and frustration, the disrespect of his fellows, his own growing fear that his fortunes would never rise. "I suppose I cannot damage you irreparably," he sighed, finally dropping the curse and staring at the heap on the floor. "Pity."
When he apparated them away, there was a peaceful smile on Lucius' face.