A/N: Hi all, thanks for returning to see what happens next. These next maybe two-ish chapters or so will be a little rough on Dahlia.

I'm not into writing extremely graphic or violent things when it comes to the Harry Potter fandom, at least. I try to match the tone of the later books 5-7 as much as possible, so I've kept Dolohov's brutality towards Snape's Healer to a sort of minimum, but my perception of what is 'mildly' violent in how I think a Death Eater would behave may be different from yours, so…just…I don't know, let's get to it then?

Here's the next chapter, and I hope you enjoy it!

DAHLIA fought against the urge to cower away from the hulking brute of a former Death Eater that now stood in front of her. She could not see him, but she felt his presence. She had attempted to put on her usual mask of cold indifference, to appear stoic in front of the likes of Antonin Dolohov prior towards the bastard blindfolding her eyes, but she did not feel stoic or cold, or even brave.

In her heart, she felt a horrible cold, debilitating fear wash over her, knowing that Dolohov was apt to deliver on his threat. There was nothing that could stop him from carrying it out, after all.

Dahlia was all but powerless, unarmed, and utterly alone. Antonin had taken her wand from her. No one knew she was even out here, that she knew of. Severus hadn't even likely noticed that she was missing, and Minerva had Disapparated intending to head back to her office up at Hogwarts. No one could come to her aid if they couldn't find her or didn't know where to look.

The flustered and utterly terrified Healer somehow managed to soak through the blindfold with her tears, and she was entirely too afraid to be disgusted with her conduct that would have earned her a broken nose from Father if the man could see her current behavior.

She had always pledged that she would never act the way she was doing right now in such a situation. She was a Hawthorne.

She would be proud, brave, strong, and smart enough to finagle her way out of anything.

Yet, she found herself blindfolded by a second man who had been waiting for her and Dolohov once Antonin had taken her into the woods, and now that she couldn't see where she was being taken, it only added to her confusion. She was cold and stuck to the bone with this horrible, debilitating fear that she used to get when only ever around her father.

It was raw, cold, lonely terror, and Dahlia couldn't even begin to start thinking straight. She yanked hard at her bindings that Dolohov or one of the wizards under him had conjured and wound tightly around her wrists, but they only cut into the skin of her wrists and more tears came to the edges of her eyes.

She wanted to call for someone, anyone to help her, were that she could summon enough of her inner magic that she could pull off the rare feat of sending a nonverbal Patronus, she would, but she did not want Dolohov to come back.

She'd heard the wizard leave the room, wherever he had brought her, though she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her belly she knew just where she was.

The Riddle House.

It was a lonely house on top of a hill, decrepit and very nearly tumbledown, with lichen growing on its mildewy walls and pillars, looking abandoned now for years.

The perfect hideout for a man like Antonin Dolohov. He could do whatever he wished to her and assuming he had been intelligent enough to throw up a Silencing Charm around the perimeter of the property, no one would hear her if she tried to scream for someone to help.

She waited with gritted teeth and continued in her vain attempts to try to free herself. Assault and murder were not things she had any intention of hastening.

Instead, Dahlia pulled hard on her bindings in an attempt to breakthrough. She felt a warm trickle of sticky blood run down her wrists and seeping into the black lace fabric of the sleeves of her black mourning dress as she sliced into the soft skin of her wrists. The cuts on her palm seemed to have stopped bleeding and the fresh blood dripped over the crusty blood from a few minutes ago.

She tensed when she heard the creaking of a floorboard and she, after an initial pause, began yanking hard, but it was already too late. She heard the door fly open, slamming into the wall at the side with a loud bang.

Dahlia spluttered and nearly jumped out of her skin at the loud disturbance, yanking harder and harder, sure any moment whoever had entered the room was about to kill her.

Heavy footsteps thudded towards her, and she yelped in fright as she felt a pair of strong hands close around her bleeding wrists. The hands held her firm, and she stopped struggling. Still, Dahlia's body trembled violently, and she felt her lip begin to quiver.

"Shh…" Dolohov's hoarse, raspy voice rang in her pounding eardrums and one hand left her wrist so he could place a finger to her lips.

"Please, Antonin, don't," Dahlia whispered back in a cracking voice that had her swallowing hard. The hand that left her lips proceeded to stroke her cheek instead now.

Only moments later, she felt the wizard's breath on her cheek and the distinct sound of Antonin Dolohov sniffing the top of her hair.

For a moment, it reminded her of a wild dog but then the man's sniffing slowed, and he breathed in deeply and slowly, as though cherishing her scent. She held her breath as he did and felt his hot breath ghost over her face as he breathed out. A hand touched her hair, and she felt Dolohov's breath on her as he kept his face close to hers. His breath smelled almost like peppermints, and she had the ridiculous thought that a man, who did something so horrible like this, shouldn't have such nice-smelling breath.

What was he playing at? What was his endgame by taking her? What did he want with her, a Healer?

"W—why?" It was all she could ask, but before she could say anything further, one of Dolohov's hands latched itself onto her chin hard before another finger went down to press on her lips.

There was more force this time and the grip to her chin was almost painful. Dahlia fell silent again and her heart pounded so damned audibly loud in her chest, she was afraid her kidnapper could hear it for himself.

After a moment, Dolohov's hand went to her throat and her whole body went rigid and still. Even the trembling stopped. There was a gentle squeeze, and the frightened Healer took it for what it was: a warning that she stays quiet and calm. Or else. Still, despite the obvious threat, she couldn't keep her mouth shut. Not when her life was at risk right now.

And Severus's, a voice from somewhere in the back of her mind chimed a warning bell. Who would heal him if you were to die? Talk yourself out of it, do whatever you have to, stall for time, stall for some help to come to your aid, Dahl.

It was this thought that encouraged her to try to plead with the wizard.

"Please, don't do this, Antonin, please, I...I'll do whatever you want, j-just don't hurt me," she breathed, and his hand tightened.

Fat, ugly tears dripped from her eyes and down her cheek and the blindfold fell away to the dusty floor.

Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, and she found herself in a living room of some sort.

The floors were done up in hardwood, the foundation of the house covered in wooden paneling, though the house looked not to have been inhabited in years, and now, with Voldemort dead and the wizard had no other living relatives to speak of, she hoped the Ministry of Magic would order it burned.

The place reeked of Dark magic and death, a foul stench that smelled of rot and decay. She knew the smell of a bloodbath well enough. Her own childhood home back in Spinner's End was full of it.

Her nostrils flared with the smell, and her veins thrummed as she felt the icy cold chill of her inevitable demise waft over her.

The room they were in was dimly lit and her eyes struggled to adjust to the lack of adequate lighting, the only source of light in the room came from the fire blazing to life in the hearth, but as she looked around, she found her captor crouched down on the balls of his feet a few feet away from her, his broad back facing her.

She could hear him fiddling with something, but his eyes were on Antonin Dolohov's chiseled but gaunt and sunken in features.

Slowly, the Death Eater rose to his feet, and she waited, her eyes wet, nose all stuffed, head pounding, to see what he carried in his hands.

When he turned, her stomach dropped as she caught sight of the unmistakable gauze wrap in his hands, his wand resting on top of it, and she could see the glistening metal of a knife.

She looked up fearfully to his eyes, black and glowing, and Dahlia slowly shook her head no.

"Please don't," she whispered hoarsely, and he stepped closer. He raised his knife towards her, pressing the point of the cold steel to her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed as she waited for the man to cut her, to make his threats, but nothing happened.

The knife slowly left her cheek and her eyelids fluttered open again to better look at Antonin Dolohov in his eyes.

The listless look in his eyes made it difficult for Dahlia to gauge his reaction, but his lips curved upward into a tiny smile as his head tilted. Her stomach churned at the man's sickening smile and a chill ran through her so deeply that she began to violently tremble.

The fear was sickening. It was so bad that she was sure she was going to vomit, and she sharply turned her head to the side, just in case, to avoid vomiting all over her dress and boots. She breathed slowly and deeply through her nose, forcing all the bile back down that had crept its way up into her throat as she swallowed, hard. Her throat hurt as she considered whether or not she should try to speak to her tormentor, but as Dahlia considered whether or not she should even attempt to engage Antonin Dolohov in a conversation, she struggled to decide how she would go about it.

Should she beg the man?

Should she try to talk to him, make herself more human to him? Or should she simply be quiet and take whatever she was about to get? Maybe her words would do her some good. Maybe Dolohov might take pity on her. But would a man capable of this give up and let her go? Was it not better to hold onto some dignity? Or should she try to preserve her life by whatever means were necessary?

The questions raced through her brain at an unbelievable speed and by the time Dolohov knelt directly in front of her, her lips were parting in an attempt to placate the wizard in whatever way she could, but nothing came out. He still had that damned warped little smile on his face that sent a violent shudder down her back and there was a menacing look in his eyes.

She held her breath and went stock-still as he lifted his gaze to hers and addressed her, very quietly.

"Who did you come here with, little dove? I know you didn't come to see your father's tomb alone, Hawthorne, so who is it?" he wondered with raised eyebrows and a smirk as he took one finger, rested it against the neckline of her dress, and dragged it slowly, threateningly across the witch's shaking chest.

Thank Merlin the material of her black lace dress protected her from Dolohov's nails scratching her skin, but she did not like having him so close, nor did she want Antonin touching her.

Just because he was keeping her alive right now for purposes unknown did not mean that Dahlia did not fear she would eventually be murdered, but it suggested that there were other things the wizard wished to do to her before he disposed of her body. The way he'd smelled her hair came to mind, the way he was looking at her, made it quite clear what some of his intentions might have been.

But the fact that he had gathered what seemed to be medical supplies could be a very real possibility that he needed her for a specific purpose in mind, and that if she did not comply with his demands, whatever they were, that torturing her was a very real possibility. Dahlia could only hope that if it did come to that, she'd be strong enough to hold onto her dignity when it did.

She tried to shrink down, not enough to look scared, but enough to distance herself from the man's groping hands. She offered up no verbal reply to the wizard's inquiries about who she was with.

She wasn't telling this one a damn thing, he could torture her all he wanted, and it would not be enough to get her to confess.

"Maybe…Snape, Hawthorne? I have a friend in St. Mungo's who told me you're his Healer now, would he have come along with you this morning, sweetheart?" Antonin guessed with a wicked smirk.

For a moment, Dahlia's blood went cold, but she did not allow her fear to show on her face, or at least, she sincerely hoped that she didn't. How had he been able to figure it out? Who was this so-called rat in the St. Mungo's Institution that was feeding him confidential patient information?

And Dolohov was not alone in the Riddle House, either, which made her wonder how many people he had had his disposal who now worked under him, now that the Dark Lord had been vanquished.

When he had dragged her through the woods and up the hill towards the house, she had heard other men's voices, rough and grating voices, and all of them talking about what they wanted to do to her.

Had Dolohov and his comrades noticed Severus with her all along and hadn't said? But that wouldn't make any sense, she realized, as her brows knitted together in a slight frown. Why let him remain unharmed and outside if they knew that he had accompanied her here? No.

She quickly realized that Dolohov knew just as much now as he had before. Her questioner was simply ticking off possibilities, making wild guesses as to who she was with.

Antonin Dolohov did not know Severus was here in Little Hangleton with her, though he kept on talking, looking at her staidly as he did.

"It would certainly make sense, I suppose, though I can't imagine what reason the snake would have in coming with you. He hated your father, sweetheart, didn't you know that? It doesn't make sense, unless…he came with you for an entirely different reason altogether than to spit on Hans' gravesite…" he growled. "But that's where your answers come in, Hawthorne. Tell me, dove, why are you here?"

Dahlia shook her head, indicating she was unwilling to answer the questions posed to her. In her chest, she could feel her wildly thumping heart, seeming to pound harder and harder with each passing moment. Dahlia knew that with each additional second of silence, Antonin Dolohov was growing more impatient, and getting closer to lashing out.

She recognized the stance and tightness in his jaw, all characteristics her father would use to display right before he would lose his temper and then hit her.

Dahlia knew from experience in dealing with Father's abuse throughout the years growing up, that Antonin's whole business of gentle hands on her body wasn't going to last long.

He must have gotten the notion into his mind that treating his fragile little captive with pseudo-kindness would get her to talk, but Dahlia wasn't stupid enough to fall for it, and her kidnapper was losing patience, fast.

An involuntary gasp left the back of her throat as Dolohov's hand shot out towards her, wrapping his long, thick fingers around the column of her throat and pulling her closer.

So close, that she could feel the man's hot breath on her face. She shivered and tried not to pull a face of disgust, knowing that such a look would only goad Antonin into anger that much faster. She thought she might pass out, she realized with a sickening feeling in her stomach as spots crept into her vision. Fear was likely the only thing keeping her from allowing herself to relax enough to faint.

"Do you realize, Hawthorne, what I'm going to do to you if you refuse to give me what I want?" the Death Eater narrowed his cold, dark eyes as he pursed his lips stiffly at her. "All you've got to do is tell me who you came with, whether it was Snape or someone else, who knows you're here, sweetheart, and tell me, how good are you at healing burns, Dahlia?"

Sensing her confusion as she looked at him with furrowed brows, Dolohov smirked.

He rolled up the left sleeve of his black robes to reveal his Dark Mark permanently branded into the skin of his left forearm. Dahlia stared at it for a good long moment and then flicked her eyes back up towards Antonin's lined face. Dread seeped into her stomach as she realized what Dolohov intended to do.

He was going to try to burn his Dark Mark off to avoid capture by the Aurors when questioned.

"It won't work, Dolohov, that mark is a cursed wound. It will never come off, not even if you burn it or cut it off, and nothing I could do for you would heal that, you should know that. Your master was smart enough to cover all of his bases, wasn't he, Antonin? I can't help you," Dahlia whispered softly, her voice meek and little more than a scared rasp.

She was honestly amazed she could even summon enough strength on her throat to manage an answer, with how terrified she was and how badly she shook.

She watched, horrified, as Dolohov's face drained of what little color was left in his complexion, to begin with, and he proceeded to put his hand against Dahlia's cheek in a false gesture of gentleness.

"There's no use keeping secrets from me, Red," he whisper-hissed his words through gritted teeth. "You lie. Tell me the truth and don't think of lying to me, dove. You're a Healer of considerable skill, sweetheart. You managed to save Snape's life from the Dark Lord's snake, so why not this?"

Dahlia squeezed her eyes shut and shrunk away, cowering in the corner, and pressing her back as far into the wall as she could manage. She did not care for the wizard's faux gentleness at all.

She was not this man's pet. She was not a child who would do anything for this man, and she was not about to reveal the fact that she had come here with Snape. She would not give up Snape to his enemy due to a gentle hand on her face, much less a gentle hand that was at the same time rough, threatening, and calloused with blisters, a hand she didn't welcome anywhere near her.

At least, if Dolohov got it in his mind to strike her or shove her, it was quick, his meaning clear. But having the man's hands linger on her face for so long, and with a sense of such confusing gentleness scared Dahlia, more than she cared to admit. It was much more intimate and much harder for her to make any sense of than a slap to the face or a harsh shove, or even the Cruciatus Curse.

But Dolohov pulled her closer, grabbing the witch's chin in his huge hand and forcing Dahlia to look into his eyes by squeezing hard.

"You lie," he growled. "I know you can mend it. If you don't do this for me, then maybe I won't be tempted to get my knife and ruin your pretty little face, witch. It would truly be such a shame to waste beauty such as yours…a beautiful little witch like you, reduced to the slag that we all knew your daddy saw you as."

Dahlia felt her bottom lip quiver. How in the bloody hell was she going to manage to get out of this one? She realized she likely wasn't. She could not betray Severus and reveal that he was with her.

In the wizard's weakened state, physically at least, he was in no right state to be dueling however many Death Eaters were here in the Riddle House alongside Antonin. She'd heard at least four other voices during the walk up to the house. Without her wand, she couldn't defend herself or escape this wretched place, and she doubted she'd get past all five of the men on her own.

In all her life, she never dreamed that this was likely how she was going to die.

"You're trying my patience, Red," Dolohov growled, reaching up a tender hand to brush a lock of her dark auburn hair away from her face. "And I've not got much of it left, Luv. You should learn your words, witch. Won't, not can't, because if you won't, then I will, and if I will, then you're not going to like what happens to you if you force my hand in this…"

She breathed in a steadying breath and shook her head. "I—I'm not lying!" Dahlia gasped out. "I—I can't mend it for you if you hurt yourself, and I—I'm telling you, it won't come off!" she cried, keeping her eyes tightly shut as she continued to tremble in the man's grasp.

"Fine," she heard Antonin growl in a heavy breath. Dahlia blinked, certain she had misheard, as she stared up at him for a moment as the tall Death Eater rose to his full height.

Was that it? Was this interrogation of his over? Was he going to kill her and leave her body here for Snape or someone else to find?

Dahlia would have scooted backward if she weren't already pressed up against the furthermost corner of the room. She briefly entertained the idea of making a run for the door, but she knew even if she could manage to outrun Dolohov and get to a safe place to Disapparate, there were four more outside.

No. There was no way out of this for her. Dahlia gasped as, without any warning, a heavy hand slammed down against the side of her head, knocking her completely to the floor. The witch brought her hand up to her head as she scrambled as far back away from the wizard as she could, crawling until she was as far away from the former Death Eater as the cramped sitting room allowed Dahlia to be.

Before Dahlia could think over her next course of action and what she might be able to do to get out of this situation, she felt herself being roughly dragged up off the dusty floor.

Dolohov took no care this time in being gentle with Severus Snape's Healer as his hand shot around her left wrist, her dominant wand hand, and squeezed, hard enough to break it.

As she was hauled to her feet, a scream of pain left her lips as she swore she felt her shoulder pop out of its socket just then, hearing a sickening popping sound to accompany it, followed by a white-hot flaring jolt of agony that shot down her entire arm as Dolohov yanked her upward.

The scream of agony that was ripped from her lips before she could bite down on her tongue to stop it from escaping flooded the small room with sound.

"You'll get worse than that, witch, if you don't open your eyes. Open your eyes, Hawthorne. I want to see your fear as you look at me and tell me you'll obey. Open them, now, or I break your other arm and then I start cutting fingers," Dolohov ordered, his voice dangerously low and quiet as he squeezed onto Dahlia's now injured left arm even harder.

She cried out a pained whimper and forced herself to open her eyes as she instinctively tried to tug her injured arm out of his grasp, which only caused the throbbing pain to burn. She felt tears stinging her eyes but refused to let a man like Dolohov have the immense satisfaction of seeing her tears fall. Trembling from the pain and desperately trying to keep herself composed, she lifted her gaze to his.

Dolohov flashed her a disarmingly white smile that she supposed was meant to charm her, as her tear-filled eyes met her kidnapper's dark eyes.

"I—I can't help you, Dolohov, I'm sorry! I told you, the only way you're getting the Mark off your arm is if you cut your arm off, and I don't think you want that!" Dahlia very nearly screamed it at him, desperate to make him understand that was the only way the Dark Mark would come off.

She felt and heard in her trembling voice that she was on the brink of tears and mass hysteria, but she could not allow herself to feel it. The men under Dolohov's command had laughed at her already without seeing her cry.

The mere fact that she was smaller than them all in terms of stature and height, and a relatively easy target for them seemed to amuse the group of wizards to no possible end.

If Dahlia lost her composure now in front of Antonin, then his men's laughter would be utterly humiliating. She was not about to give them that satisfaction if she could at all help it.

"I—I can't," she whimpered, sticking out her bottom lip in a slight pout as she bit down on it. "I…" she began, and he turned his head to look at her face again but Antonin only stared.

When he fumbled with the knife he held in his hands and raised it to her, she once again felt unexplainable terror seize her entire body.

"No…no, no, no, please," she begged as he ignored her pleas for mercy and raised the weapon. She continued to splutter until the flat side of the silver blade was gently placed to her lips. She fell silent but trembled even more violently now. "You don't have to do this," she blurted out, realizing just how bloody stupid her words were once she said them.

Of course, Dolohov didn't have to do this to her. He wanted to.

He seemed to emphasize this by bringing the knife lower, grazing it over her throat and sliding the blade in between her breasts, and letting the cold weapon linger.

"Behave, dove, and I let you live, Hawthorne. Consider this your father's debt repaid in full," Dolohov snarled as he pulled Dahlia harshly upwards, hurting both her shoulder and her wrist in one fluid motion before she even fully realized what was happening to her.

She somehow managed to hold her tears in, by a miracle of Merlin himself, but couldn't help but cry out in pain at the man's harsh treatment of her already dislocated shoulder. Her wrist and shoulder utterly throbbed. Her whole left arm did now that she thought about it.

The pain radiated through the limb with such intensity that she could hardly think and could scarcely place exactly where the pain even originated from.

"You don't need to hold back your tears from me, sweetheart. I'd love to see them," Antonin sighed contentedly. "But it's only further proof to me that I know you didn't come here alone. You're a Healer, not an Auror or a fighter. Can't even handle a little bit of pain when it's inflicted on you."

Now, Dahlia was eye-level with her captor again, but not because her tormentor was stooping down to match her shorter height, but because she was held several feet off the ground and slammed against the wall, with the man's hand-wound around her throat like poison ivy snaked its way around an old pillar. She grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut, focusing all her efforts on keeping from crying.

A part of her wished that if he intended to snap her neck as her punishment for refusing to help him, then Dolohov would just do it and get it over with. Anything to spare her this further humiliation.

"One more chance, sweetheart," the Death Eater growled, baring his teeth at her, the edges of his lips curling up to reveal his pink gums. "Before I start hurting you, Hawthorne. I'd rather not. Do I look like the sort of man who'd raise his hand against a woman if given no other choice, little dove, hmm?" Antonin scoffed, rhetorically, gesturing to himself with a slight jerk of his hand and a smirk as he glared at her with raised eyebrows, as though daring her to comment. "Help. Me, and then you're going to tell me and my boys who you're here with, or I cut your pretty little fingers, one by one, witch."

But she kept her lips clamped tightly shut though inwardly, she felt herself start to panic.

She was already in quite enough pain as it was, and certainly didn't think she was ready to endure whatever Dolohov had in mind for her. She blinked as she stared at the man in front of her as she was set down and lowered back on solid ground, but he didn't relinquish his iron hold of her throat.

She was starting to see spots in her vision and her chest felt hot and cold all at once, and she felt something warm and sticky trickling down above her right eyebrow.

Dahlia didn't even need to wipe it off to confirm it was blood.

There was a cut on her browbone that would likely scar. She was utterly terrified and wasn't sure how much longer she could take much more of this before she fainted. She kept her eyes screwed tightly shut. What in the hell was she supposed to do without her wand?

She couldn't exactly talk her way out of this, as Dolohov's patience was worn down thin, and he seemed past the point of being able to be reasoned with. No, this man was smarter than most and much crueler than any other Death Eater she had met under the Dark Lord's command, save for perhaps, her father.

"Are you foolish, Hawthorne? You seem an intelligent young witch, I'd hate to consider you otherwise, Dahlia," Antonin scowled as he moved his arm off her throat and let the stricken witch use the wall as a brace for her back to slide to the floor. "Do you want to suffer slowly before I kill you? Is that it, dove?"

"I—I can't help you, I already told you why!" Dahlia felt herself shudder with angst and fear as the words left her lips, feeling as small as a child whenever she had done something wrong in Father's eyes.

How Dolohov's eyes had turned cold, however, made her chest tighten.

"Then you leave me no choice, sweetheart."

With it, her skin jumped as he pointed his wand towards the door that led to the hallway and down the stairs to the main level of the house, and she heard the heavy thud of the old oaken door, which only made her skin paler.

A vent of adrenaline flooded through her body and pushed Dahlia towards that exit as she bolted for it, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her arm, but in a second, she felt the crack of Antonin's hand against her cheek. She fell onto the floor with a pained cry, her hand resting on her now reddened jaw.

The pain came rushing instantly after. Before Dahlia could crawl away, he was already hovering over her, grabbing her by the arm and flipping her onto her stomach, and pressing against her, the pressure greater on her hips. Dahlia squirmed violently, horror burning in her eyes as Antonin Dolohov reached to lock both her hands in submission. Hot tears dripped from her eyes yet again.

"The less you fight me, the quicker this will be." Dolohov pressed his weight further down against her and numbness took over her body.

She sniffled and nearly suffocated, hearing Dolohov fumbling between the folds of her dress and the clambering of his belt. When all this was over, she would be known as the last surviving Hawthorne who was claimed in the Riddle House by Death Eater Antonin Dolohov before she would slit her wrists.

When Dahlia screwed her eyes shut at the mercy of time, she did not perceive any darkness.

There was, instead, the figure of Severus Snape behind her closed lids, standing in front of some open space she did not recognize, with freshly fallen snow.

He was looking between the parapets of some tower, perhaps this was a part of Hogwarts she had yet to experience for herself as wisps of white powdered the man's raven hair and shoulders.

Slowly, the tall wizard turned towards her, offering his outstretched hand, that small little wry half-smirk that she supposed was as close to a smile as the man could come, spreading across his face so warm she thought it could thaw thickened ice and chase away the dark storm clouds of her life.

And suddenly, Dahlia felt alive again. Alive at the gush of air that flooded into her burning lungs and a kneejerk reaction that made her nab a bronze candleholder resting on the surface of a nearby small wooden table and she swiped it across Antonin Dolohov's jaw. The man crashed onto the floor and Dahlia could hear him writhe angrily as blood oozed from his wounded scalp. Before the man's savage groaning could turn to vicious snarls and growls, Dahlia scrambled to the door, snatching her wand off the top of the mantlepiece in the process, and fleeing out into the open and dark corridor.

Just get to the front door, she told herself. Get outside and run. Run like you're on fire, Hawthorne. Don't stop for anything.

She held her wand clumsily in her right hand, raised by her face and ready to aim a hex if need be if she encountered any of the others. She began running down the stairs and for the front door, her wand still in her hand. She groped for the doorknob, not even thinking if one of the other Death Eaters might have cursed it in a way that would hurt her if she touched it, it wouldn't have mattered. One way or another, Dahlia was going to open the door, damn it.

And she did. And she almost made it, too.

Dahlia reached out, ready to plant a foot onto the un-tended dead yellow and brown grass of the front yard when she felt a cold, plastic-feeling hand on her elbow yank her backward. She yelped as she was pulled backward and went flying into the floor. The front door of the Riddle House was slammed shut and she heard the sound of the locking mechanisms engaging. Pain shot through her limbs from the fall, and she felt the warmth of blood trickle down her brow yet again a second time.

Dahlia looked up and her fear was so powerful that the witch could not even scream. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. Antonin Dolohov stood there, recovered from the blow she'd dealt him, tall, looming, powerful, and totally in black, blood dripping down the side of his temple. His dark eyes almost seemed to glow black even in the dim light of the hallway as he cocked his head to the side.

She began to scramble backward, forcing herself up onto her feet. He began looming forward and finally, Dahlia managed to stand upright, though every muscle in her body hurt. She shakily raised her wand as best she could in her right hand, clutching her injured left arm close to her breast, trying to prevent herself from jostling the broken bone too much. Her whole body began to tremble.

He tilted his head to the side, and she barely managed to make out the sight of his lips curving upward into a sick, twisted smile.

"You shouldn't have done that," he snarled.

"I—I'll kill you, Dolohov, you—you pisscloak! Let. Me. Go!" she shouted as her temper welled within her churning stomach, inherited from her father over the years, but her voice cracked and broke as she realized how precarious her situation was.

There was no way out of whatever was about to happen to her unless help came for her. He said nothing by way of response as he stepped calmly towards her, and she lashed out by sending a poorly-aimed Stunning Spell his way. Cursing herself for not being ambidextrous as she gritted her teeth, she tried again, over, and over, until he finally got close enough, she thought she could hit him.

Before she could send a well-aimed Petrificus Totalus at his chest, Dolohov grabbed her arm and twisted the appendage behind her back.

The pain of her one good arm being twisted forced her to move her body around and as her wand fell from her grasp and collided with the floor, she was shoved up against the moldy wall. Tears began to come to her eyes as she felt him push her hard up against the wall with only one strong hand.

He grabbed onto her free wrist, the one covered in blood, and brought it up above her head and pinned her against the wall, not letting her even so much as squirm to try to break free.

She tried to wrench away but he was too strong. His free hand went to squeeze the back of her neck and she felt his hips press against her. She readied herself for whatever was to come. Instead, she felt the hand leave the back of her neck and softly stroke its way through her soft red tresses.

"Shh…" he whispered. "Shhh…."

"Please," she cried through her tears, finally letting them fall despite her best efforts to quell them back and not let the man see it.

"Shh," he repeated, softer this time, and gently dragged his fingertips over her cheekbone. She felt his hand slide back to her hair and grip onto her bun. Dahlia did not have time to register the pain that engulfed her wholly as he yanked her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her throat.

In one swift movement, Antonin Dolohov shoved her head back towards the wall and her forehead slammed onto the wallpapered hard surface with a loud, sickening thud that was sure to leave one hell of a black eye later on. She saw more spots blotting her vision and a tiny little cry left her lips.

"Please," she begged, but her plea fell on his deaf ears and was ignored.

"Shh…" he said again, and her hair was yanked back again as he tugged on her bun, and her head slammed against the wall for a second time.

This time, she felt no pain and heard no thud but saw only black as she fainted.

She was not awake or cognizant enough to see the front door fly open with a loud bang that nearly caused the walls to shake, to see the intimidating figure of Severus Snape standing looming in the doorway, a look of murder in the man's narrowed dark eyes.

The group of Death Eaters under Antonin Dolohov's command who had taken her hostage were now completely and at the mercy of none other than Snape.

As Snape stalked into the hallway to meet Dolohov head-on, his former colleague was forced to look into Severus Snape's listless black eyes.

The eyes of Death itself.

Ouch. Please leave me a review if you enjoyed it, comments are like presents at Christmas! And don't forget to favorite if you're enjoying it! Let's hope Snape can kick Dolohov's ass, this is a fight I've been itching to write for a long time in one of my fics, but could never think of an appropriate scenario, as Dolohov was skilled enough in the books to kill Remus Lupin, so this should make for one hell of a fight coming up as both Dolohov and Snape are culpable duelers in their own right.