Hello, so this started as not a story. It's the story of Feliks Dolohov's life. It started as the beginning of #26, but then I was going too in depth, so I planned to just make it like a background for me to refer to while writing the next story. But then it kept going and I realized I could totally just post it like this. So… I am.
I was also talking to Padfootl0ve last night (realizing that this will likely not be posted for a while oops) ((edit: it has in fact been a long time since I wrote this note)) and decided I wanted to write backgrounds for some random Alexia characters. We're thinking Croaker is next!
Enjoy!
Alexia
When Feliks Dolohov was born, his grandfather Konstantin was still Lord Dolohov. Admittedly, he was getting up in his years. He'd waited until he was on his death bed to name his heir. He'd had twin sons, Anatoly and Mischa. The brothers had been pushed to compete, to prove themselves more worthy than the other.
In the end, Mischa had been named Lord Dolohov. It had been the end of the twins' competitive streak, and they'd begun working together. Konstantin had stressed to them how important it was that they get along - their family was entering a crisis, after all. No girls were being born, and they would die out if that didn't change soon. A curse had been placed on the family, Konstantin had said. One that would only be broken by betraying the core ideals of their family and finding new blood.
When Feliks was thirteen-years-old, his cousin, Antonin, had been born. At that time, both families moved into the Dolohov family home together. Mischa asked Anatoly to help him manage the House - Anatoly had always been the more personable type while Mischa was, according to their father, far too focused on business. Bringing in new - but pure, of course - blood was Anatoly's job. He was to find a wife for Feliks and Antonin both, and perhaps marry again himself and try to produce a daughter.
Feliks had assisted with Antonin's lessons. He'd stayed there, helping to raise Antonin, until he turned seventeen. It was then that he moved out and to London to mingle with the British witches and wizards more. While he was there, he met a young muggle girl named Celia. She worked as a maid at the hotel he stayed at. Over months, they spoke more and more, and he found himself falling in love with Celia. He kept it a secret from his family and, after a few years, the two eloped.
They had four and a half years of happiness together. He shared magic with her and took her around the world, abandoning his duties to keep her existence a secret.
Celia, not understanding of the hatred of muggles in his family, wrote Mischa without telling Feliks. Exactly a week later, Feliks came home from drinks with a friend to find Mischa sitting on the couch with Celia.
His father had waited for him to return home to kill Celia in front of him by slitting her throat. She bled out in Feliks's arms as he tried, fruitlessly, to keep her alive.
Mischa had dragged Feliks home with him and ordered him to find a wife to marry - a pureblood one. Feliks cut himself off and went through the rhythoms. To everyone around him, from the outside, he looked, sounded, and acted like the perfect pureblood.
But anger and hatred boiled inside.
When Mischa was killed in London during a Death Eater attack, Lordship of the Dolohov House went to his brother, Anatoly. Feliks' hatred for his family grew - he'd done everything they wanted when he came home. He'd been the perfect heir.
And then, as Antonin got older, he watched him be molded into a carbon copy of Feliks.
That was, until Alexia Potter showed up.
Feliks only knew of her existence because Antonin had been greeted home on Christmas in 1974 with a slap across the face. Anatoly had screamed at him to stop trying to kill Potter - instead, he was to get close to her. Gain her trust, make her fall in love with him. She was family, after all, even if they weren't sure how.
At first, it didn't seem like it was working. When Alexia had nearly killed Antonin at the Prewett twins' apartment, Anatoly had reluctantly made contracts with Alexia for every other eligible male in the family - especially Feliks.
Things seemed to be going downhill for Antonin starting at his graduation. He hadn't aided Anatoly in actually meeting Alexia. In fact, he seemed to have warned her off of him. Antonin had been chewed out for that as well, and punished with a couple of curses. Feliks had listened in as Antonin had explained that Alexia was hyper-vigilant and was likely to react violently to Anatoly if she felt the need to. She trusted him, Antonin had said. It was best if he worked alone, he'd said.
And work alone, he did. Feliks asked after Alexia a few times when he'd see Antonin, but he didn't need to ask anything after the Malfoy wedding. When Antonin had visited home a month after the wedding, Anatoly had congratulated him on sparking a soul bond with Alexia.
And then, at the age of nineteen, Alexia Potter had died. She'd died fighting in the war, exploding into a wall of fire at the sight of her best friend injured. It had been a story told everywhere - on the light side, on the dark side, and outside of the war. Her death had been printed in the papers - the Potter heir, dead as her brother watched.
Anatoly hadn't taken the news well. He'd spent hours cursing Antonin for not protecting her. He'd screamed all night. Despite how curious he was, Feliks had given up after a couple hours. Alexia was gone - they'd have to find someone else.
It was when Feliks was thirty-seven and Antonin was twenty-four that Anatoly had died unexpectedly. He'd died in his sleep, and his elf had found him in the morning. They'd gone to have his will read the next day, and that was when they'd found it out.
Antonin was Lord Dolohov.
Feliks had lost it. He'd done everything right since his one mistake as a young adult. He'd done everything his father had wanted, and then his uncle, and nothing? He was the perfect Lord. He was ready for it. Besides, Antonin had been caught up in the British war, but Feliks had stayed out of it, to a point. And still, Antonin had gotten the House?
It wasn't right.
Feliks had left Russia that day and gone back to England. He'd gone to Diagon Alley and picked up as many witches as he could. When he couldn't bring them home with him, he followed them. This went on for a couple of years until he realized that two of the women he was following? They were married. To each other. He hadn't known witches could do such a thing.
It was that discovery that made him snap. He wasn't sure why that was the last straw for him, but the next witch he saw, he grabbed her by her hair, pulled her into Knockturn Alley, and choked her to death.
He'd just killed the wrong witch, or he was sure he'd have gotten away with it.
Apparently, it was Violeta Karkaroff, the wife of Igor Karkaroff. The man himself had tracked down Feliks and seemed very intent on just killing him. Feliks supposed it was his own screams that had alerted his neighbors of what was happening, and Aurors had arrived. Both Igor and Feliks were arrested, and both had been sent to Azkaban.
He escaped in 1997 during the mass breakout of Azkaban. He'd fled back to his home in Russia and had been welcomed by all of the cousins. While he stayed there with them, Antonin - who had also escaped with him - went to Malfoy Manor to finish out the war.
Feliks had always thought that his cousin was far too involved in the war, and he'd never been quiet about that opinion, but especially so at the end of the second war. His hope that Antonin would die in the fight was one that was shared with more than a couple others.
And then- and then, the war had ended. Things were quiet for a while, and they weren't even sure if Antonin was alive. None of them much cared to check.
Feliks remembered walking into the family meeting that Kir had called. He'd been one of the last to get there, and he'd frozen in the door when his eyes laid on Alexia Potter. She was cursing at Kir and gripping onto daggers, standing somewhat in front of someone that looked to be a young member of the Black family.
Nikita and Silvestr had cursed Alexia, and Feliks didn't bother to stop them. He'd watched on bated breath for her blood to fall and only breathed out softly when it did. She was real - she was there. There was a chance.
But he should've expected it - Antonin showed up quickly and grabbed her. Despite his deep irritation, Feliks had noted that they must've gotten a lot closer than he'd realized, since Alexia seemed completely comfortable with Antonin.
Maybe the soul bond hadn't been sparked the way he'd assumed it had been.
So, Alexia was officially claimed by Antonin, and they'd left. Despite that, he knew he wasn't the only one making plans for her. As he'd left to make his own, he'd overheard Kastya and Nikita planning to kidnap her, punish her for Nikita being punished, and then force her to produce their heir.
That wasn't going to end well, he knew.
He'd gone directly to his vaults to dig up the contract that had been made so long ago. And it had taken far too long to find it. By the time he had, it had been weeks since Alexia had come back to the land of the living. He hadn't slept in three days when he finally unearthed the contract, but he still made his way straight to the British Ministry of Magic. Amelia Bones seemed deeply upset that his claim was valid. She'd tried to pull his records of escaping Azkaban, but too many of those records had been destroyed by Death Eaters - he thanked Merlin for that - and she'd been forced to confirm it legally.
But of course, somehow, Antonin got word of it. The next time he felt that magical tug in his core that signified a family meeting being called by the Lord, he knew what had happened. And, just as he expected, when he got there, he saw her standing in his arms.
Antonin hadn't killed him. That was the good news. The bad news was that he'd then threatened Feliks extensively after Alexia had gone home, and he had cursed him so badly that cousin Lev had been forced to heal Feliks before he bled out.
Feliks had a feeling Alexia didn't know about that.
After a few months, he had finally finished healing - Antonin really knew how to fuck someone up in a lasting sort of way - and he made his way back to the British Ministry of Magic to find Alexia. After nearly being seen by James Potter, he slipped down to the Department of Mysteries. Alexia was making some noise as a rather chaotic addition to the Senior Unspeakables, and he had a feeling he'd find her down there.
He had.
He'd done it quickly. It took a trap made of a few different spells and hexes to get her locked in a room, silenced, and her hands tied. He didn't plan to underestimate her. He'd heard plenty of stories while recovering about the witch and how powerful she was. She could cast silently and wandlessly, but she also cast recklessly. Blood magic mixed with light magic with no restraint. He'd even heard a rumor that her typical shield was an incredibly dangerous blood shield that got its hooks into your core through your blood while it was cast.
So when he had her, he got to work quickly. He'd taunted her and appreciated the fury in her eyes. It was as if she was trying to set him on fire without whispering a word or lifting a finger. He almost believed she could do it. Still, he'd gotten that far. He'd managed to remove his pants before some dangerous magic cracked violently through the air and tore them apart.
When Feliks got his bearings, he found himself in an entirely new place, and Alexia was gone. He cursed loudly and without restraint as he threw his arms up.
"I almost had her!" he'd said.
There weren't many people there with him. A boy that he thought might be Malfoy's son was scowling at him. He thought he saw what seemed to be one of Antonin's closest friends, Avery, but younger, but he was distracted by a door opening.
Antonin.
He'd been taken, and plans had been made. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten in another universe, but he was more than willing to take the opportunity to get what he wanted. By the time Alexia had been taken to them, the group should've been decently disoriented. But they weren't.
It didn't matter. Feliks still got Alexia, even smirking at Antonin as he took her. She'd duelled him, but he'd spoken to everyone she'd fought before that he could. He'd learned everything about her fighting style that he could, and it was how he'd managed to capture her to begin with. Using that, he won their duel and cast the fertility curse he needed.
Sitting on her, he pulled up a knife and smirked down at her. He slid the knife into her stomach slowly, painfully, as he spoke. "You shouldn't have left me. It would be much easier on you," he'd said.
Alexia claimed she was unable to have kids. He promised her he'd make her work.
He pressed the knife in again, cut her cheek, and then finally, he cut off her shirt. That was when things had gone to hell. The supposedly fool-proof wall cutting them off from everyone else was broken, and he was thrown from Alexia, stunned.
When he woke up again, he was in a house, back in Russia. He was being kept in the basement, wandless and with wards to keep him from using his magic. There was no one there but him. He spent hours trying to get out, but it didn't work. He was stuck.
He'd thought that maybe it would end there. He'd be forced to live down there for the rest of his life while Antonin lived the life Feliks was meant to have.
All because of Celia? He loathed her for the life he'd lived after she died. If she'd just been pureblood- if she hadn't been so damn stupid and written Mischa- Feliks felt hatred boil in him.
Mischa.
Celia.
Anatoly.
Antonin.
Alexia.
His entire life, everything he was supposed to have- everything he had a right to have was taken from him. Lordship. Love. Producing an heir. And now, after so long, he sat in the basement and all he wanted was revenge.
It only worsened when they began testing him. Neither Antonin nor Alexia told him why they were testing him. After so many times speaking to Alexia, she stopped coming. His meetings with Antonin - if they could even be called meetings - always ended with a hex or two from his cousin.
So, when he found the chance to escape, who could really blame him for it?
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