It had been 5 years that day. Five years since that fateful confrontation in the Great Hall, in Hogwarts Castle. Antonin Dolohov could still remember it, that cannon-like blast as his master, the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time, Tom Marvolo Riddle aka Lord Voldemort, fell over dead, never to kill, torture, or cause any harm again. The war was over; the Boy-Who-Lived had triumphed over the Dark Lord. The time for fighting was over, the time for recovery and mourning had begun.
Of course, there were some wounds that did not heal easily. Dolohov sat, staring at the faded grey outline of the Dark Mark on his left forearm that had once been his connection with Voldemort. He remembered, bitterly, the pain of it burning, summoning him and his comrades to the Dark Lord's presence. He remembered being ordered, to torture and kill hapless Muggles and Muggle-Born wizards.
Oh sure, as a young fool, he believed in what he thought Voldemort's cause, believed that Muggles were inherently inferior, barbaric, weak, and primitive and should live only to serve Wizards, be kept downtrodden, much as Grindelwald had tried to do. But he never wished any harm to them, only to civilize them. And he never believed for an instant that Muggle-Born wizards were inferior, after all, they were still wizards; they had to have a witch or wizard in the family tree somewhere, for magic can only be inherited genetically.
But Dolohov had jumped at the opportunity to join the Death Eaters and bring about a new Wizarding Empire. Only later, did he realize that Voldemort was not the chivalrous warrior, heroic saviour of the Wizarding race that Dolohov had imagined, but a cold,sadistic killer that cared only for himself. But after he took the Dark Mark, there was no turning back. It was an eternity of service to Voldemort, or death, not only for himself, but also for...her. I would not let him kill her, he thought.
As if on cue, there came a knock on the door to the study, interrupting Antonin Dolohov's reminiscing.
"Antonin, dinner's ready" came her voice. "Coming, Svetlana" he responded. As he opened the heavy door, there she stood, Svetlana Vladimirevna Dolohova. She narrowed her deep blue eyes, staring into Antonin's own light brown. "You were staring at it again, brooding over the past again." It wasn't a question. "No, no, I was..."
"Don't lie, Antonin Vasel'yevich! We've been married for almost five years now, and I have known you for almost our entire lives, I know when you're lying." She said. "I told you many times, you were young, foolish, and didn't know what you were getting into; I do not care the past. I love you for who you are". "But I have done so many...terrible things...." he muttered, almost as much to himself as to his lifelong love, Svetlana. "Once you took the Mark, there was no escape" she said, gazing deep into Antonin's eyes. His heart raced. "Damn, how can she still do that?" he thought. "If you did not obey, he would kill you, and everyone you cared about. Remember what happened to him". There was no question of whom she meant be "him": Regulus Black, the only Death Eater to ever openly betray the Dark Lord, and the only one whom Antonin ever truly respected.
Antonin Dolohov decided there was no point in arguing, he couldn't win. He followed his wife to the dining room table and sat down to eat. Only then did a large owl swoop in on the meal, dropping on Dolohov's head a letter from the one man whom he'd hoped to never have to see or hear from again.