House: Slytherin

Category: Themed

Prompts: [Speech] "Stop expecting loyalty from a person who can't even give you honesty!" & [Word] Sleeve

Word count: 3094 (Excluding Author's Note, but including entire Entry and Title)

Warning: This is an AU (Alternate Universe) piece. Some mild language.

Characters: Antonin Dolohov; Rodolphus Lestrange

Summary: Antonin Dolohov wasn't like them and his Dark Mark knew it. He spent most of his night coming to terms with what he's done, trying to rid himself of all the pain by removing the mark by any means necessary. His companions knew he's wavering, but that didn't stop the mounting guilt of years of servitude. That is, until he stumbles upon someone who promises he can wash away all his sin.

Author's Note: This was a monster to write, but somehow I managed to get it posted on time. Hardest. Themed. Ever.

As always, enjoy

-Carolare Scarletus

Apolutrosis From Sin

Antonin Dolohov did his best to conceal his emotions as he proceeded to attend to the aftermath of the trial. Blood stained his hands, and he did everything within his power not to shudder at the sight of the warm substance and the lifeless body on the floor. The Dark Lord had given them the task of these trials as a means to find where Potter had escaped to. The little twerp had been right there under their noses, but the foolish son of Lucius Malfoy had somehow managed to protect him. Their Lord was furious. No matter how stunning the news was he was not to lift a single eyebrow, display a single hint of worry in the presence of another. Even his companions, who had done everything within their power to get on their Lord's good side that evening, had trouble concealing the dismay of seeing the cold, unmoving body of the student they had tortured. Antonin chose to ignore the guilt rising up inside his gut; she was the third this month, and she would not be the last.

It would have been completely unethical for a servant in his standing to express anything out of the ordinary neutral guise. Years of strict guidance had forced him to throw away all emotion, present himself appropriately, and embrace the integrity of how a lone soul should act. Antonin came into this profession shortly after leaving Hogwarts. He was the beloved spectacle of all who encountered him; with handsome aristocratic features, inked hair, stunning brown eyes that could sweep any young maiden off their feet at a single glance, Antonin was the very representation of his late grandfather. If one were to look at him, they would say he was the very essence of evil.

Antonin glanced once more at the girl, her blood pooling around her small frame. With a fleeting thought, he sent out a prayer. Not only for her, but for them all. Night was a desolant thing, and come morning, they'd need more than some coward's words spoken to the dead of night.

"Clean this mess up," he told one of the nearby Death Eaters. "This one, like the others, had nothing to provide. Your next choice better know something, Crabbe, or you will be next."

The man trembled but didn't say a word.

He immediately summoned the strength to leave. Antonin did not look back.

The Carrow siblings were torturing them again.

Antonin could hear their screams as it carried up the deserted halls of the school. He was making his rounds when he heard them. Desperate calls that punctured the dead air. He stopped to listen. There wasn't a time when he didn't hear them. Their shouts for clemency was the only thing that kept him sane. As sadistic as it was, Antonin found peace knowing that their screams weren't his own. He didn't toss around as much at night thanks to them.

He listened for a moment before continuing on his way down the corridor.

"You look unwell, Dolohov," Rodolphus said with a sly grin. He'd also come to put in his report. Antonin knew he'd just came from helping the Carrows and that he was only putting up a front. He enjoyed the screams; his need to hear them was unlike his own. Their pain masked his inner turmoil, making Antonin's task easier. He wasn't like his fellow Death Eaters; he was able to feel pain, to experience extreme loss. Did it make him less human that he was a part of something so vile? He couldn't say; though, he knew he was different in many aspect. Antonin had to wear more than one mask when dealing with them, something he'd mastered over the course of his life.

"Will you be well enough to accompany us on our raid tomorrow night?"

"Is the state of my health that much a concern to you?" Antonin asked.

Rodolphus only chuckled. They continued on, passing the sleeping portraits in their mission to put in their reports. As they walked, the student's screams continued to carry through the corridors. Antonin shuddered casually at the sound; his companion did not seem to be affected by the noise.

"No, I just believe you can use some rest, is all," he told him as they walked. "I hear you at night. If I wasn't the wiser, I would say you're the one being tortured and not these disgusting little monsters."

"You listen to me?" Antonin stopped, turned, and looked at him.

"It isn't the easiest to ignore, my friend," Rodolphus confessed, stopping to appraise him. His eyes rolled over his form. When he met his gaze again, Antonin could almost read the scrutiny. It was as if he was silently pointing out the demoralizing shadow about him, the tortured look and rawness in his gaze. If Rodolphus was wise, he would let the topic go, but he didn't. "There are whispers that you're wavering."

"Need I ask where you heard these rumors?"

"Are they true?"

Throwing all secrets to the wind, the two men stared at each other.

Rodolphus spoke of a very sensitive subject, something he'd been fighting with for months. It stole his sense of security, kept him up at night. Whatever sleep he was able to procure was not safe from the ravenous wrath of his nightmares. It was like something deity was visiting him in his dreams, planting the seeds of guilt deep within him and watching it sprout, little by little. Routinely, he woke up to bloodied hands. No amount of water could wash away sin. Antonin was aware of the costs; but, Rodolphus was in no position to ask questions, and if he did it had to be structured perfectly. He had to take precaution with anyone he tried to speak to, even Rodolphus. However, he knew that he was more than willing to aid him in his journey. He was a loyal and trustworthy man that he'd become attached to during their years at Hogwarts, which only fortified his need to conceal himself. He would not be a confidant if Antonin did not feel the same way. With years of alliance came some level of respect and acknowledgement from one another.

"Antonin," Rodolphus hissed. "I asked you a question! Now, answer."

Antonin looked at him with desolate eyes. "I cannot tell you."

"So, the rumors are true?"

"Only if you believe they are, Lestrange." He did not meet his gaze. Instead, he hastened his pace. He needed to escape. "If you do not wish to associate with me, then I understand. Confirm the rumors if you must. Otherwise, let my silence be your answer."

Before he could escape, Rodolphus grabbed him by the shoulder and slammed his frail body against the wall. Pain shot through him.

Rodolphus glowered at him."You do not know what you are doing, Antonin." He eyed him with all the loath and abhorrence only he could give to another individual. He never understood Rodolphus' irrational hatred for filth. For the longest time, Antonin was a loyal companion of the Dark Lord. "You were governed not to interfere in things that did not concern you, and look at what you are doing, you are interfering. Drop this foolish nonsense."

Of course, he was right. he was always right. How irresponsible of him to even consider going against the Dark Lord. Antonin was not as sick and twisted as Rodolphus, but he knew that his friend had his own deceptive ways of gathering information. Just as long as it leaned in his favor, he did not care about the costs. However, what he was doing involved them all. They were so precious to him that he would do just about anything to keep them out of harm's way. If that meant lowering himself to a dishonorable level, then he would do it. Rodolphus may be a cold, heartless man, but he sympathized with him even if his Pureblood instincts to conceal his emotions did not allow him to express it. Rodolphus, too, felt a strained connection and wariness that Antonin felt earlier that evening. A subtle, but noticeable ring in an otherwise calm riverine.

But, there was always the doubt, the incredible pull of suffering. His mark, which rested underneath his sleeve, pulsed.

Antonin drew his attention to the decrepit paintings in the corridor. The vibrant canvas of flourishing fields of orchids and lilies had started to lose its lustful appeal. Even the scenic view of a calm and peaceful ocean taken during the school's more extravagant trips had suddenly turned into a raging storm of dark blue waters and bright lightening. He narrowed when a particularly loud clap of thunder hit the edge of the waters, spraying sand all over the small frame. Water jetted out in small bursts, though, nothing could compare to the disaster within the tiny frame.

"Do you believe it is that easy," Antonin barked loudly, not only startling him but Rodolphus as well. He'd grown tired with his charade; it was time to put a stop this all his debauchery. "Stop expecting loyalty from a person who can't even give you honesty!"

"All I want is the truth!"

"The truth," he asked. Antonin's lip curled sinisterly at the corners as he tore open his sleeve, revealing his Dark Mark. Rodolphus did not recoile at the sight of the angry lines circling the large tattoo, or at the fact that the lines engraved into his skin was freshly drawn. Antonin waited endlessly for his friend to speak, to connect it all together. When he did not, he let out a frustrated hiss and whispered," This is not me, Rodolphus. This… this mark is not who I am. And, the worst part of it is that it knows. It knows I am not like you. For years I had to conceal that fact."

With the last of his remaining strength, Antonin threw Rodolphus off him and continued down the darkened hall, knowing that his companion was hot on his trail. Anger boiled within him. Growling, he clawed at his sleeve, wanting nothing more to be rid of the damned thing once and for all. A simple spell was applied to the marbling skin. Within second the sliced skin had sewn itself shut, leaving behind relatively no traces of every being damaged. All was left was to administer the last remaining potions and apply ointment to the more severe incisions. Nothing could ever atone for his mistake, for his treason. Hell, Antonin was quite certain that nothing ever could redeem him from all the evil he'd committed over the years, but he had to try.

"What has befallen you?" Rodolphus finally spoke as he followed him. There was a harsh edge to his voice, as if he did not believe what he was being told. The fool was doing everything to figure out what had gotten to him and Antonin would be damned if he discovered the truth.

He shook his head,"Nothing that can be salvaged," he told him. Rodolphus knew of the torturous nights when he tended to the wounds littering his torso, wounds that he inflicted upon himself in a lost cause to rid himself of the mounting guilt that he'd killed so many innocent people. This war was not just a physical experiment; it was a mental exercise, and Antonin had failed a long time ago. Rodolphus had done an excellent job defending him, but it was time to be real; it was time to be free. "I shall see you on the other side, my loyal friend."

Rodolphus only nodded. He stepped away from the way, sending one last lingering look toward him before walking away.

Antonin let out an indebted sigh before flicking his gaze towards Rodolphus just as he turned a sharp corner. Just as he closed his eyes in relief, he felt a startling presence that meant he was not alone.

"Somehow, I knew you would come here… in the end," her voice was like a spell floating delicately in the wind. On these occasions, Antonin would not have cared. He knew that the ailments of war had gotten to him; years of bloodshed, raids, and so much more had diminished his fragile mind. When the apparition first appeared as he patrolled the quiet halls of Hogwarts, he'd deemed it a figment of his imagination. It was nothing more than uncontrollable, raging guilt which had manifested within him for some strange reason over the course of the last few months. He lived with this belief, holding onto it like a lifeline.

That is, until she appeared again. This time, more vibrant and demanding than ever. Dressed in white robes, adorned with sparkling jewels and rhinestones, the apparition looked so incredibly ethereal that he couldn't tear his eyes away from her even if he tried.

He had taken a great risk by following her. Down the corridor, through twists and turns, he followed the ghostly image for more than an hour before she unknowingly led him to a deserted floor of the school. It was well past midnight, and all the students were tucked away in bed. Antonin knew it was criminally insane of him to follow her. It had been a natural thing to do when the predatory, bestial side of him was so close to surfacing. The moon did amazing, yet erotic things to him; he knew from the alignment of some deep natural sensation that the cursed demon inside him wanted to take control of him and this sparkling spectacle. Though, he fought back, the beast inside him fought harder and won. With the golden ring around his irises that could be felt like that magic that flowed like blood in his veins he searched for his target.

The apparition remained oblivious when she brought him to what appeared to be a sacred area of the castle. Antonin hesitated for only a minute, then pushed o0pen the tall wooden doors.

"I see that you followed."

She looked devastated as she crossed the threshold, entering the largely decorated room. She was so incredibly close to the truth that he was sure she felt it as well. Through his investigation during the past several weeks he had learned a great deal about his target. One, she was intelligent. Not because she her ability to remember facts. She was naturally thirsty for knowledge, but he doubted he was so entranced by her. She was magnificent. In grace, intelligence, and magic. Antonin was surprised that she hadn't figured it out. That was the thing. He didn't expect her to be so damn knowledgeable.

"You provided me with no other choice," he told her.

"There is always a choice." She smiled. "I believe you chose correctly. Now, come. I shall wash away your sins."

"I am not doing anything you ask, spirit." He growled. "I do not take orders from the dead."

"You will tonight, then." The ghost woman countered just as harshly. "Now, come."

She glided over to the large bathtub. With a wave of her hand, the faucets turned on, spurting out multi-colored water. There was something remarkable different about this establishment Antonin could feel it as he looked around, taking inventory of the large room. Magnificat windows lined the walls, each depicting a certain scene that Antonin could not quite a place a finger on. He looked around slowly in disbelief.

As she poured the correct measurements of different hued liquids and even stranger ingredients, Antonin had come up to her and expressed his deepest regrets. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Severus had taken it upon himself to acquaint himself with the assortment of healing potions that she had prepared. Her intention was not to scare him; she wanted him to see what she meant, and not become overwhelmed with distraction. She ordered him to take off his cloak and black dress shirt as to see if there were any injuries to his torso. Of course, there were, adding to the growing inquiry to the woman's industrious mind. Who had done this to him? Why on earth anyone would inflict such a brutal punishment upon a man who could easily fight back? Had he not been prepared for an attack? Was he not ready to fight? She wanted to know and the faster she healed him, the better.

"Step into the water." she told him softly. "I have watched you. Sin can be washed away, and I would like to provide you just that."

"You cannot fool me, girl." Antonin said to the apparition. He'd taken off his shirt as she asked, but there was no way he'd get into the water. "I have lived this pitiful existence for years. Even someone like yourself should know how impossible

She collected a cloth dampen with an unknown, sweet smelling liquid that hit their nostrils with voracity. Her blue eyes instantly connected with his bottomless black ones. She carefully lifted a dampened cloth to the Severus's arm. He winced, turning his head away from the pain. Evidently, he had not known his innocent act of wanting to heal his arm had be done in vain. Whatever pierced the delicate skin of his arm had been sharp and practiced. Whoever it was had sliced through a thick barrier of heavy cloth in order to maim him.

"Who is responsible for this," she asked after what seemed like a decade of silence. She stared into the cold, empty eyes of darkness. A wave of rare defenselessness washed over him as he privately viewed his innermost secrets. It was an intimate thing to do, but she needed to uncover the answers she knew he wouldn't easily disclose.

He dismissed his inquisition with a wave of his hand.

"I am," Antonin finally said. "I am a coward for trying to rid myself of this evil."

Her breath hitched in her throat; he had just begun fixing the bandages on his exposed torso when he looked to the tub once more.

"You are no coward, Antonin Dolohov." she said to him softly. She watched tentatively as he stepped into the tub. He did not wince at the pain that purifying water. He could not see it, but the waters were glowing a beautiful hue of gold and silver. The woman made no commitment to tell him; he would discover it on his own the powers of the baths. He will discover that anyone is worthy of redemption, even someone like him.