fear has a name

WHO: Antonin Dolohov and Peter Pettigrew WHEN: Saturday, March 18th, 1978. WHERE: The Room of Requirement

“Damn. Have you always looked like that? Nice ass, Dolohov”

@dclohovs

Motherfucker. Had Pettigrew always looked this good? Antonin felt his mouth hanging open at the sight. “You’re not too bad yourself.” 

Imogen frowned, her brows drawing together and she stared at her hand hanging in the air, empty. “But it’s my ring.” She said, her chin tilting in confusion. “Why would you keep it?” 

“Does it have any sentimental value to you?” Antonin asked, the bored expression remaining clear on his face. Truth be told, he didn’t care much for the ring. He was just in the mood to annoy someone, and Imogen seemed like a particularly nice target.

A slow smile tugged at Gwen’s lips and she held out her hand. “Very funny, Antonin. Give it back. Besides, you’re better at potions than I am. What would you even do with my essay, turn it in for me?”  

“Potions essay? How dull — I was hoping I’d caught you with some kind of long, lyrical love letter, Goyle.” Antonin pulled a face. “You misspelled dittany, by the way.” 

Only one person could rile her up this way, and despite her best efforts to suppress the growing smirk upon her lips for how exactly she could have had it out with him she pushed it down to instead have a rather irritated look upon her features. “Do you Dolohov? Do you think you’ll still like it when I hex you?” She replied as she took a step closer towards the other before deciding, “But perhaps I’ll readjust my methods for you.” Her face merely millimetres apart from him she whispered coyly beside his ear, “Oh you’ll get my worst — I promise you.”

“I think I’d very much enjoy you hexing me, yes.” It was hard to stop his smirk from growing even further. They were in public, and Antonin Dolohov was not a lovesick fool. Well, maybe a little bit. “Readjust your methods? Color me intrigued.” He replied, raising his eyebrows slightly before pulling Zhenya to a more secluded corner.  Didn’t want to traumatize the first years — not in this way, at least. They were private. They were only theirs to witness. “Don’t keep me waiting. You know I’m not a patient man, Zhenya Selwyn.”

Pinky glanced at the periwinkle blue nail polish in Antonin’s hand, feeling anxious at the thought of asking for it back. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Well— fine. It’ll look good with your complexion, I guess.”

He’d thought it had been a Potions vial. Merlin’s beard, had he really had that much to drink? “It will definitely bring out the pop of blue in my eyes,” Anyone else, Antonin would’ve hexed instantly, but he’d been trying to be nicer with Pinky. Trying. 

Hestia barely even glanced at him. “Put it back on the table or I will hex you.” She warned, “You know I will.”

“Jones — I thought you knew better by now,” Antonin drawled on, tilting his head slightly. “C’mon. Give me something that’ll hurt.”

“Give it back.” Zhenya hissed, taking a step closer to the other as a small smirk began to float upon her lips. “I can almost guarantee you won’t. Watch where you take your next step Dolohov, lest you regret your decision.”

“I like it when you threaten me,” Antonin gave her a very audacious smirk, one that would likely get him into even more trouble with Zhenya. But wasn’t that exactly what he wanted? “Well, come on then — give me your worst, Selwyn.” 

A small smirk upon her lips, Zhenya rolled her eyes as she replied flippantly, “You’ll give it back if you know what’s good for you — or else.”

“Hm,” Antonin debated, holding the quill above her head, where Zhenya couldn’t reach. “Why do I have a feeling I might end up enjoying those consequences?”

some nights she carries cathedrals beneath her skin; temples made of ribs and hip bones and a graveyard of songs in the narrow path of her throat. her body: an endless ode to decay to the beauty of fleeting time, the holiest place, right under my fingertips. i whisper her name with trembling lips, my love for her, a prayer, loud enough to tear the world to shreds.

Zhenya had been contemplating upon her decisions ever since she had been attacked, and Antonin’s own confession had made her perhaps reconsider her pathways. Her Lord hadn’t been taking care of his own followers the way she had seen Voldemort do for his own, especially his favoured like Bellatrix. Although how betrayed she had initially felt about his confessions about the truth of his loyalties, it perhaps made her less angered about his actions and more understanding. He had only done all that because he had tried to protect her. And this changed everything. But as she heard the footsteps nearing the alcove, her fingers tightly gripped her wand as she pointed it directly at the intruder until she realised who it truthfully was. “Ant.” She stated with a small smile as she relaxed her grip upon her wand as she tilted her head to raise an eyebrow as she asked, “A gift? Well I suppose I should come and look at this gift of yours, if you insist I’ll like it.” It was the first time a real smile had appeared upon her features since the attack, of course it had been him to be the one to deliver it.

It was strange how much their demeanor towards one another had changed since the attack. Antonin had confided his true motives to her, and he, in return, had learned a lot about Zhenya, which is why instead of coldly sitting down across from her — he placed a delicate kiss on her forehead before lingering nearby. Physically, she looked a lot better, maybe even enough for him to give a special thank you to Pomfrey, and that was enough to have calmed his anger towards Fawley for a while, and of course, to Grindelwald, for not protecting her any better. Today, however, was going to be more of a conclusion to their saga. His surprise for Zhenya would hopefully be something she enjoyed, something that would help her heal a little further. “I wrapped it up in a beautiful red bow, just for you.” He grinned, holding out his hand to help her up, concerned she might still be hurting — the wound in her stomach had been so bad. “Are you alright? Did you have any pain today?”

zhenyaselwyn:

Zhenya could hear the noises of the pair around her talking, it was almost as if their voices were like swarms of bees that were surrounding her, with a hazy sort of sound so that she could barely make out the words that were being said around her. She tried to fight the pain and reopen her eyes, but it was as if she was fighting a losing battle, not able to overcome it at all. However as she felt the touch of someone upon her cheek, a small sigh of relief escaped her lips at the contact of something that wasn’t pain or dark magic for once; instead being something soft and warm. It brought back the memories of when she was a younger child and playing outside in the grass with the sun upon her back.

She could feel the magic thrumming about her as Pinky cast her spell, wishing it almost to heal instantaneously although it seemed not to be. The ease of the pain began to make her be able to almost be able to fight the haze she was within as she tried to open her eyes yet again, amidst the blackness that she could feel surrounding her. “Thank you.” She whispered softly as she began to hear Antonin’s comforting words speak to her. She knew that they had much to talk about. Even herself with Pinky, but she was so grateful for them here now. She knew how easily she could have been left there. And possibly how easily she could have died.

@pinkyparkinson

Antonin’s voice broke through Pinky’s panic, providing her with both a wonderful moment of clarity, as well as direction to push forward. Do you think you could heal her enough for us to get her to Pomfrey — or enough for me to get her here? Pinky considered this quickly, her eyes flickering across the different wounds she could see all across Zhenya’s body. There were the bruises on her face, but those were superficial and could be healed later. Her hand seemed broken as well, but again, that was an easy fix. There was a wound in her shoulder as well. Pinky peered in closer. It looked to be a stab wound – not as deep as her stomach, thankfully – that was cursed with the same affliction as her stomach. Her attacker must have used the same weapon in her shoulder and stomach. “Okay.” She said to herself, nodding a little as the pieces of a plan slowly began to stitch themselves together in her mind. 

“I can.” She said, surprised at how sure she was. She listened to Antonin’s explanation, nodding a little every couple of words. Cursed knife or blade. That made sense. She was somewhat dully aware that Antonin was still insulting her, but her focus was on Zhenya. Cursed knife or blade. Cursed knife or blade. “I can’t do anything about the Dark Magic.” She said. She wasn’t that skilled, no matter how much she wished that she were at the moment. “But I can stop the bleeding. I’ll have to use my wand to keep it flowing inside of her, instead of out of her wound.” The spellwork for that was something she had mastered a long time ago. But now… how to get to her to the Hospital Wing. She looked up at Antonin. “If you can levitate her, – carefully – then I can follow next to you and keep the blood inside. It’s not–” She took a deep breath, “– it’s not a fix. But if we can get her to the Hospital Wing before the curse does it’s job, then she should be fine.” Hopefully. “But right now, the blood loss is her biggest danger. So… so I think it’s the only thing that will work.” She took another deep breath to steady herself, before leaning back down over Zhenya. 

“Hey, Zhenya,” She said gently, her voice almost resembling that of a mother’s coo. Tears weer still streaming down her face, but she ignored them. “Antonin and I are going to take care of you, okay.” She smoothed Zhenya’s hair back, and then looked up to Antonin. “Are you ready?”

@dclohovs·

Maybe his comment about Pinky Parkinson being a thickheaded cow had been a bit premature. Her idea to help Zhenya was not stupid, in fact, Antonin, after briefly thinking of any other possibilities, realized it was probably the only way to get her safely to the hospital wing where she would be treated. His eyes briefly flicked towards a note that was laying on the floor — on the dagger he’d pulled from her shoulder. Grindelwald’s Bitch. Antonin thought of destroying it or at least taking it with him, but Pinky had likely already seen it, and there was no way for him to pick it up without her noticing anyway. Trying not to think of the implications of the note, he came to the conclusion that he had to leave it — Zhenya’s reputation couldn’t be spared, but he would make sure to protect her best he could. 

“I can levitate her, I’ll make sure to stay close so that if something happens, I can also carry her.” He shot one last, lingering glance at Zhenya, filled with nothing but emotions, hoping she would catch it, before powering his emotional responses down and focussing on the task at hand instead. Antonin turned to Pinky, who seemed a little shaky. “You need to remain calm. If you’re emotional, we might mess up and she’s the one who will suffer from it. We’ll move as quickly as we can, but if you don’t remain calm, it’ll all be for nothing.” His voice was incredibly serene, something that he learned from his fathers. 

Taking out his wand, Antonin pointed it at Zhenya, who was still laying down with Pinky, being as careful as possible. “Wingardium Leviosa,” Slowly, he made her body lift upwards the slightest bit, and drew her near — like he’d said. “Zhen, why don’t you tell me and Pinky a story while we’re walking. Did you have any fun at the party tonight?” If she kept talking, it would mean she was still conscious, and that would make sure neither he or Pinky panicked and faltered in their task.

This was definitely an interesting way to drown sorrow. Amara had set out tonight with the determination that she would take a break from her bottle and that she might actually spend the night in her own bed. She hadn’t been prepared for the little addition of the game, but she was definitely out to play it.At first she hadn’t been aiming to win, but the stack of flowers she’d gathered in her arms was a decent indicator that she might do just that. Over the course of the evening she had spoken with many people, but she wasn’t expecting who she was nearly certain had to be Antonin Dolohov. “You tell me, Mr. Dolohov” she replied in response to the unexpected question. 

The stack of flowers in her arms was bigger than most bouquet’s he’d seen passed around for Valentine’s today, but Antonin quickly assumed hers was from gathering them through that game they were running tonight — it was quite an amusing sight. “Well, all things considered, I don’t think you’re doing that bad.” He nodded towards the staggering amount of roses she’d managed to gather, the amusement still quite clear in his expression. If this would continue, she’d likely win the whole thing. “Unless, of course, you don’t like that half of Hogwarts seems to have fallen at your feet, offering you all their roses?”

Ever since Christmas, Irina had been keeping a careful eye on Antonin. He’d hinted at secret information sensitive to her position in the ranks of Grindelwald’s Army and she wondered just how detrimental his information could be. She respected Antonin, the two shared a similar hunger for success and did relatively well amongst their peers. It was exactly why she didn’t trust him. She would step on him the same way she suspected he would crush her to advance his own position if given the opportunity, and that made him a liability. Any information in his hands would be considered a weapon. Normally, Irina would have preferred to eliminate this sort of threat to her precarious position, but Hogwarts was not the place for such action considering the Aurors were still crawling about the castle. So she did what she usually did when he slipped his arm around hers, smiled serenely and bided her time to get her revenge. “It’s been much too long, Antonin. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Why does everyone always assume I have ulterior motives — can’t I just say hello to a friend?” Antonin smiled, an almost innocent ease to it, though that was obviously faked. He rarely just passed by to say hello, especially not with someone like Irina. Quietly wondering if tonight would be the time to reveal exactly what he knew about her loyalties, Antonin gave Irina a once-over. If she’d actually been someone he could trust, she would’ve been a formidable ally — especially if that allyship would lay with Lord Voldemort entirely. Alas, things didn’t always work out the way they should. Maybe tonight could be a fun night to break the news to Irina. Everyone was so distracted trying to snog one another with this idiotic rose game, they could take a walk around the courtyard without anyone even wondering what they were talking about. But Antonin liked toying with her first. “How have you been, Irina darling?”