The dementor glided toward Perenelle, drifting over the ground. Its robes billowed naturally even without any wind inside the room. Its hand and face were completely hidden.
As it got in front of the old female alchemist, Perenelle could smell the dementor's rotten, death-cold breath, filling her own lungs, drowning her.
What was a dementor doing here? It should be in Azkaban. How could the Minister let this happen?
Nicolas's mind was unable to process what was in front. Like his mind, his body became paralyzed. Nicolas felt the numbing effects of the Dementor's presence. His limbs grew heavy, unable to take the needed step.
The Demontor was just hovering over his wife. Perenelle went rigid and started twitching.
Nicolas needed to do something.
In that moment of helplessness, he yearned to cast the Patronus Charm, to summon the only solution to fight against the Dementor.
But sadly for Nicolas, Voldemort was here, and he was not just going to let his plan get foiled. Voldemort raised his wand with a taunting smile. "Ah, the Patronus Charm, the feeble attempt to ward off despair. How desperate. But I'm afraid your little charm won't save you now."
Perenelle was going through so much pain right now. Her eyes rolled up into her head. She could not see. Among the despair, she heard Voldemort's voice.
"If you desire to cheat your husband one last time before death, perhaps a kiss from the Dementor would suffice," Voldemort said with a cruel smirk.
The Dementor's Kiss was the act of a Dementor sucking out a person's soul. The Dementor's Kiss was generally considered to be a punishment worse than death. Victims were left in what Muggles would call a Persistent Vegetative State. An empty shell that was still alive but irretrievably gone. It was impossible to return as a ghost, for the Kiss consumed the soul, and the soul of a person was required in order to become a ghost.
The dementor raised both its rotting hands and lowered its hood. Where there should have been eyes, there was only thin, grey, scabbed skin, stretched blankly over empty sockets. But there was a mouth … a gaping, shapeless hole, sucking the air with the sound of a death rattle. A paralyzing terror filled Perenelle so that she couldn't move or speak.
Nicolas, torn between his love for Perenelle and the harrowing reality unfolding before him, felt a surge of desperation.
Noooo.
In a moment of anguished surrender, Nicolas screamed, his voice carrying a mixture of agony and defeat. "Stop! I'll comply! Just spare her!" he pleaded, his wand falling limply to his side.
Voldemort, pleased by the submission, nodded toward the Dementor. The hooded creature paused, its unseen face seemingly acknowledging the unspoken command. The oppressive atmosphere in the room lifted slightly, though the cold residue of despair lingered.
Voldemort, savoring the moment of triumph, approached Nicolas with a smug expression. "See, not so difficult after all. All you needed was a bit of motivation," he remarked.
But Voldemort, reveling in his perceived victory, decided to demonstrate an unexpected semblance of mercy. "I am not entirely heartless, Nicolas Flamel. If you complete the Philosopher's Stone as promised, I give you my word that your wife will remain unharmed. As a sign of my sincerity, I shall make an Unbreakable Vow," he declared, a twisted sense of honor underlying his words.
An Unbreakable Vow was a type of binding magical contract cast between two parties, that if broken by either party, would result in the imminent death of whoever broke the contract. For the charm, a third person was also required to witness the vow by each side and act as a witness.
"WORMTAIL," Voldemort yelled.
Then Nicolas heard a noise just behind him and some seconds later saw a rat running on the floor until it was by Voldemort's side. The rat began to transform in front of Nicolas, and then, instead of a rat, stood a person.
The new Voldemort has learned his lesson from the memories. To never be overconfident and always have a backup plan. If at any moment something unexpected were to happen, Wormtail, who was hidden, would be able to cast a spell to help Lord Voldemort.
Voldemort lowered himself so that he was kneeling opposite the crying Nicolas. He took hold of Nicolas's right hand with his. "Wormtail, you shall be the Bonder of this Unbreakable Vow. Approach."
Wormtail knew about this. He was the one who had been monitoring the Flamel for days. He was the one who gave all the clues, like when Nicolas usually leaves, and who visited their house. Before coming here, Voldemort had explained to him the plan and even told him to practice the spell for the unbreakable vow. So he was ready.
Voldemort spoke.
"I, Voldemort, will not harm or kill your wife, Perenelle Flamel, if you, Nicolas Flamel, will produce the Philosopher's Stone in the quickest time and to the perfect form. Will you?"
There was no other choice. For his wife. It did not matter if he sacrificed the whole of humanity just to save his wife. Although it pained him, he had to do it.
"I will," Nicolas responded, his voice carrying the burden of his choice.
A thin strand of flame issued from the wand of Wormtail and wound its way around their hands like a red-hot wire.
"And you will not attempt to warn or inform directly or indirectly Dumbledore or anyone about this event. Any assistance or ingredient in the making of the stone you require from any person will be kept in top secrecy, and you will not let them have an indication of the creation of the stone or the reason behind."
"I will," said Nicolas.
A second tongue of flame shot from the wand and interlinked with the first, making a fine, glowing chain.
"And you will not attempt to prolong or tamper with the creation of the stone, even after. You will hand me the working Philosopher's Stone, which should not be less powerful than the working one you had. From now on, you will speak only the truth to me. If you comply, I will set your wife free without harming or killing her before or after the creation of the stone.
"I will," said Nicolas.
Wormtail's face glowed red in the blaze of a third tongue of flame, which shot from the wand, twisted with the others, and bound itself thickly around their clasped hands, like a rope, like a fiery snake.