Draco searched his mind for memories of his family, of childhood pets, teenage love, anything remotely happy Draco gripped onto it. He found the man’s happiest memories and played them out in a reel of the best moments of the ancient wizard's life, promising with every new picture that Voldemort would pay at Draco’s hands for what he had done. Each scene was clear and concise with his help to push it forward, the cries dimmed, the thrashing stilled. Mr Ollivander sighed gratefully into nothing, the hand Draco held squeezed his once before it slipped from his palm and thudded to the cursed dining table.