Nicolas felt a surge of rage and fear erupt in him at the same time.
He so wanted to tear apart the monster in front of him. Use all his spells and knowledge to destroy Voldemort.
But the threat of Voldemort's wand at his wife's neck kept him in check. He fears a single misstep could cause a disaster.
Perenelle was relieved upon seeing her husband. While waiting for Nicolas, Voldemort had bound her to the chair and kept standing behind her. During that time, she had time to think.
Surely Voldemort did not want her dead. He had so much time to do so. Seeing her position, how she was kept as a hostage, meant that Voldemort was going to use her against Nicolas in exchange for something. She just prayed that whatever it was, no harm was going to happen to her husband.
"What do you want, Voldemort?" Nicolas demanded. His eyes kept moving between Voldemort and Perenelle.
"Oh, Nicolas. Not even a small greeting. It seemed that old age had caused you to forget manners. No issue," he mocked the ancient wizard and continued, "What I desire is nothing much. Just a small favor."
Nicolas couldn't fathom what favor Voldemort could possibly seek, but he knew better than to be careless in front of the Dark Lord, as his wife's fate was literally in Voldemort's hands.
"I need something from you, Nicolas Flamel," Voldemort stated. "Something only you can provide. A particular marvel in the domain of alchemy... The philosopher's stone."
Nicolas Flamel was shocked for a second before his expression returned to normal. "You seek the Philosopher's Stone, but I must inform you that it no longer exists. Many years back, I personally destroyed it to make sure it never fell into your hands."
When Dumbledore brought the stone to him some years back, Nicolas felt that its existence was going to cause more harm than good. At that time, Nicolas shattered the stone, destroying the very creation that made him who he was today. All that remained were the shattered pieces of the Philosopher's stone in a box with no functionality.
Nicolas felt a sense of pride. He had annihilated Voldemort's plan before it even got the chance to start.
Yet, Voldemort laughed. Unfazed by the news.
"Oh, Nicolas, I am well aware of the stone's destruction. I am not here for the remnants of a shattered dream. No, no. I am here for the promise of a new creation... a new Philosopher's Stone that you will create for me."
The revelation struck like a thunderbolt, leaving both Nicolas and Perenelle momentarily speechless.
Nicolas's hand shack. There was a small favor. How could he abide by such an absurd request? There was no way.
"That's not possible. I cannot create another Philosopher's Stone. The ingredients are no longer available."
Voldemort's expression remained indifferent, his wand still pointed at Perenelle, who, despite the dire circumstances, maintained a calm composure.
She looked at Nicolas. How much pain her husband must be going through. His hand was restricted just because she was a hostage. She needed to support him, give him the courage to do what was necessary.
"Do not give in, Nicolas," Perenelle urged, her voice a whisper but filled with unwavering resolve. "I am ready to face whatever comes. Our love and the life we've shared cannot be overshadowed by the darkness he seeks."
Voldemort, amused by the exchange, allowed a cold smile to play on his lips. "How touching. But sentimentality has no place in the world I aim to shape. Nicolas, your refusal comes at a cost. You can watch as your wife succumbs to the inevitable, or you can choose the path of cooperation."
"Look at me, Nic," Perenelle said. "We have already prepared to leave this world once and for all. If not being able to rest eternally together in the embrace of each other is the price to pay, then I'm willing to do it to prevent such a powerful stone from falling into the wrong hands."
Nicolas, torn between the love for his wife and the ethical dilemma presented by Voldemort, felt the weight of the decision bearing down on him. He couldn't bear to witness harm befall his beloved, yet the creation of a new Philosopher's Stone was a perilous prospect with consequences beyond their personal tragedy.
"Oh, look at both of you. LOVE once again. Haha. I must admit, it sure is one of the most powerful magics. That's why I have also decided to use it." After Voldemort said that, he pointed at the entrance door with his other hand, and the door opened.
"Do I look like a fool, Nicolas? I know very well how both of you have been preparing to complete your leftover work and finally accept death. I would not be stupid enough to just kill your wife like that. No. I also can't use the Crucio spell on her. You could die just from the slight pain. I need to convince you in some other way. Look." Voldemort pointed toward the entrance door he had just opened.
Nicolas looked at the door.
Who or what could be coming next? He did not have any children or any close relatives for Voldemort to use as blackmail.
Nicolas watched as the door opened. The first thing he noticed was not a figure. It was the change in environment. The ambient temperature in the room seemed to descend, and an unnatural chill filled the room.
There was something at the entrance, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. A shadowy figure appeared at the door, gliding into the room with a terrifying motion. This was the unmistakable presence of a Dementor.
The room grew colder as the Dementor, a harbinger of despair and darkness, approached Perenelle. Nicolas, unable to look away, felt the numbing sensation spreading through his limbs. The very essence of his joyful memories seemed to be drained from him, replaced by an overwhelming sense of hopelessness.
"A woman who has lived this much," Voldemort remarked in a mockingly tone, "must have a plentiful supply of joyful memories."