When he was a boy, Antonin had fallen through a patch of thin ice atop a lake near his family’s home, plunging into the black murk below with nothing to hold fast to, nothing to steel him against the piercing chill that felt akin to a thousand pinpricks beneath his skin. He’d flailed about, entirely ungraceful, too cold to breathe and too horrified to grab ahold of the jagged ice around him. The groundskeeper had been there to pull him out, to drag his sopping body onto the ice and watch him steam, for the cold had not been given ample opportunity to seep beneath his skin.
This was not the case for the water of Hogwart’s great lake, it seemed. The water was an immediate dagger between his ribs, pulling his feet out from underneath him. Stalwart prince turned to ice as he was thrashed sideways, skull smacking violently against a column as a singular thought persisted - Walburga. He’d been pulled from her grasp by the current, yanked from between slender fingers and pushed downward beneath a swell; whereas young Antonin had been paralyzed by the fear of what lay below the dark deep, the Antonin of present day was gripped by a singular horror.
A horror which was abruptly realized as he forced his head above the current to see a head of raven hair slipping beneath the swell, almost as if something had gotten hold of her ankle and given her a vehement tug. Antonin pushed against the current, feet scraping misplaced stone and knees knocking suits of armor too heavy to swim on their own. His head throbbed, pounded; any sensible man would have found his way to higher ground, would have clung onto one of the pillars that still remained intact along the far side of the wall.
It seemed, then, that Antonin Dolohov was not a sensible man.
He threw the entirety of his weight against the current, hands flailing not for purchase of solid ground, but for the delicate face that now turned downward into the water; a wave and a swirling of torrential current pulled her downward, and he swiftly followed, lungs screaming for breath and eyes keening against the salt of the water. He felt as if he might burst at the ribs before reaching her - but it was a miracle in itself that his ice-hued fingers found her wrist, pulling her like a doll through a stream to press into his side. Head surfacing once more, he hoisted Walburga up, propping slender form against his hip as he made for the high ground of the staircase winding upward, on which a number of horrified onlookers perched.
It was yet another miracle that he was able to pull her to the shore.
A pair of unfamiliar hands reached to pull her from him as he clambered onto the broken steps. “Off!” he commanded, each bellowing breath producing a splutter of water and salt from his nose, his mouth; Antonin nearly pitched to the side as he scrambled on his hands and knees toward her, all semblance of composure lost as he scattered those who might help. The water licked dangerously close to where she lay, but he had little time to move her; careful, with gentility not seen by many, he came to settle at her shoulder, back hunched to protect from the spray and frozen fingers brushing strands of hair from her too-still face. “давай же,” he hissed, hands falling to pump at her chest, “Breathe now, Walburga.” Waterlogged, choked, haggard and frantic, he abandoned the pumping of her chest, hands leaving heart to cup her jaw, her cheeks.
Perhaps she would slap him if she woke - his lips were on hers, stretching her mouth into an “O” and breathing out; he’d never done this before, but he’d read about it enough. What little breath he had to spare was pushed into her lungs, lips on honeyed lips (how was it that she tasted of honey and roses, even now? thorns and sugar and all.) in the hopes that perhaps he would earn a slap. In hopes that, perhaps, she would breathe - and grant him another miracle.
“Breathe -” he muttered once against her lips, catching his own breath, for his head spun, “пожалуйста.” Please.
Death has been a topic for years with a few poems constantly lingering at the edge of Walburga’s lips to be used on command. Even in a situation that permits a heavy threat, she focuses on an aesthetic of grace and superiority with each poem memorized to be repeated as a final warning. She never realized that each of these poems would never be used as her almost death had come far too soon. As much as she despised the words of muggles, it was the poem of Emily Dickinson that resonated in the darkness that now consumed her.
“ It makes the parting tranquil and keeps the soul serene. “
She could only hope that her death would be as beautifully written as that. However, her parting would likely be far from tranquil, but one could hold on to a small ounce of a dream for a death as such. Darkness still held onto her mind without the peace of a memory to block the realization that life after death was nonexistent. She feared that this would be the rest of her existence in darkness and without the comfort of a past to recall in this state.
In her mind, Walburga had already spent decades in this momentary darkness that trapped her for eternity. She begged the darkness of death to give her a memory to live out for eternity ; a single loop would be enough. Muted pleas for more were soon answered as a single memory came flooding back, and she almost wished she had not asked for it.
Her body laid beneath a fur blanket with the silk of her dress trapping her legs from moving. The morning had been filled with a formal breakfast, and she had almost felt the urge to jump from the window to escape the mundane conversation that usually took place. It was here that she would have to live out the rest of her eternity. It was in this single memory that she would have to live over and over again and realize that she was beneath her own superiority.
“ You’d better not bring any more of your wayward children home. “
She had begged for a memory, and her own torturous mind had given her one that had broken her. The screams that would have been heard from miles were trapped within herself, and her mind slowly started to break like fine china. It had only taken the moment once to shatter her, but to live through it again, she could feel a self-hatred sprout in ways that she would never be able to recover from. The last bit ran its course before starting from the very beginning.
She was about to accept her fate when a burn broke the cycle and filled her throat. Water rushed back the way it had once come and a fit of coughs followed. Her body jerked and rolled to its side as life had been granted another chance. Her hand clung to another as her eyes lightly fluttered opened to see that she had been thrust back into chaos again. Everyone seemed to be working their way around her without a care of her current state, placing their own lives above her own.
Walburga would have struck them dead herself if she was not distracted by an additional burn that was misplaced. A burn that came from her lips as fingers soon ran against them, revealing a touch from another. It only took a short glance up to see who had the audacity to save her life. Her fist balled up and drew back only to fall short by the fear that mirrored back at her. Antonin Dolohov showed a glimpse of emotion that neither of them cared to express towards another person. ‘ Had I vexed him to become mine? ‘ She thought to herself before screams from below continued to flood the air.
“ Antonin— “ She whispered as her throat ached from the sudden intake of water that did not wish to come back up. An acid from her stomach making words more difficult to express, but it was the grasp of his arm that should have given him enough to know what she needed. “ Lift me, please. “ It was all she could say as her body began to grow weaker and mind soon threatened to go dark again. “ Now! We must go quickly. “
There was an additional conversation that would need to take place as her lips still told a story that she wished more than anything would have been a lie. His lips on her own made her stomach ache even more so than the water, knowing that the touch alone could warp his mind to become a slave to his desire to please her. The topic would not be addressed now as survival was still reigning supreme above anything else, and she almost wished for time to convince herself that his lips on hers were something she could desire herself.
