A/N; A big thank you to my Alpha/ Beta for all of your help and my Ravenclaw friend for all of your input. This is a dark story with lots of adult situations. Multiple tags that reveal the story are against my religion.
Whisky Tango
Whiskey Tango, from the top
I will blow your mind, I just can't stop
Burn a candle in my name
You can bury me with all my shame
By; Jack Savoretti
Chapter one
Crashing waves, with a biting wind off the ocean brought Antonin back to the belly of the beast. Once again, the mattress in his nice warm flat turned to frozen granite, howling winds changed to screams of souls he alone tortured. They lurked in the shadows, taunting him with hollow stares. Forced to relive each murder. Each one chipped away at his soul. He felt the darkness threading itself through what was left of him, creeping up from the cold floor. With nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, Antonin faced each ghost, killing them over and over.
Bolting upright, sheets tangled around his legs, body in a cold sweat. His heart pounding in his chest. Chilled to the bone. His hand went to the nightstand grasping for his wand. Sighing with relief as he gripped the wood exactly where he left it. Minutes ticked by while he sat in the dark, clutching his wand. Slowing his breathing returned to normal as he waited for his heart to stop pounding in his chest. Whispering Lumos, he turned on the lights, all of them. Swung his legs to the side of the bed, he needed a drink.
The bottle of whiskey lay empty on its side on the nightstand, toppling to the floor as he reached for the half-smoked cigarette from the tray, fingers still shaking. Another icy blast of wind blew through the open window, bringing the dregs of the nightmare with its revolving door of madness. He could almost smell the rotting stench of death from the Dementors. Half wondering if he had gone crazy, his mind trapped in a loop. He approached the window feeling the darkness reach out, tendrils beckoning. All too easy to slip back into the abyss…
He promised himself that it wouldn't happen again, he'd never let it take over, not like before. If he let the darkness in again, there would no going back. He stood at the open window blowing smoke rings into the night. The whiskey didn't stave off the dreams as it did initially, now it seemed to be making things worse. He'd fucked up the first half of his adult life by tying himself to a madman. They all had. Now there was a chance he could do something meaningful, maybe even right a few wrongs.
He left the windows open before passing out last night, anxiety paired with whiskey made him hot. This also explained the lack of clothing. He ran a hand through his dark hair, damp and sticking to his neck. A hot shower won out over the drink, he caught his reflection in the mirror, pausing. He was getting too old for this shit. At forty-five, Antonin was still on the young end for a wizard, but twenty years in Azkaban had a way of aging a man. His beard felt a bit long, he couldn't remember the last time he'd even trimmed it, five or six days, maybe a week or more. Tomorrow he would clean up his beard. Tonight, a shower would suffice. He turned the hot water tap on, adding just enough cold to keep him from being scalded. Steam rose as Antonin stepped under the stream. Hot water untying the knots in the muscles on his back, warmth slowly seeping into his bones bringing him back from that desolate rock. Emerging only when the water cooled. His hands still trembling as he pulled on a soft green jumper with his favorite pair of loose flannel bottoms. He hated that his hands shook. He needed to stop drinking so bloody much.
The clock on the wall showed three in the morning. Antonin sat at the corner table. Soft blue light filled the kitchen of the little flat. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves pouring himself another glass of whiskey. Another smoke, maybe he could get a bit more sleep.
He needed to move, preferably to the south of Italy or maybe the States, somewhere warm and where no one knew his name. But that was just a dream, he was on probation, for a very long time. He didn't have to be in Blyth on the cold North Coast. This was just the last place anyone would expect him to be. In a muggle flat above a book shop. It was quiet, people left him alone.
The entrance at the side enabled him to come and go as he pleased, apparating easily from the alley.
Curtains above the sink billowed, as the patter of raindrops in the gutter drew him out of his head. He needed to close the windows before he froze to death. Although freezing to death would be a blessing. An end to the numbness that already threatened to drown him. One month of freedom, and what had he accomplished? Besides being drunk, while letting the nightmares consume him, nothing.
Last week his WPS officer mentioned he would need to see a mind healer. Wasn't that a load of Abraxan shite. He wasn't crazy, they tested him before they let him out. The appointment was set for tomorrow. Although he originally planned on blowing it off. At least for another week or two.
Then there was the required community service portion of his sentence. Something to do with muggles and magical accident repairs. He was bored after four weeks of doing nothing anyway. There had to be more than just this. He needed a distraction, needed to feel alive again. Instead of wasting away in this little flat, drunk on top of going crazy. The only difference between this and Azkaban was the whiskey with the occasional witch. Antonin stood up going to the window, he stared out into the darkness, rain hitting his face. Listening to the never-ending sound of crashing waves. If he didn't do something now to change the scenery, he would go mad. He took a deep breath of ocean air as he closed the window. He closed all the windows, lit a fire, and went back to bed.
Antonin lay back, listening to the rain, a sliver of hope flickered in his heart. Tomorrow he would make changes. He would go to the appointment. How bad could it be?
Muggle trash collectors woke him early, Antonin groaned, dragging himself out of bed. He stumbled into his kitchen. He needed his wand to start the coffee brewing, it irritated him. Something so mundane, he still needed a wand. Feeding himself proved to be an adventure all on its own. But he could manage simple things like eggs and toast, anything more he just went down the street to the pub. Not caring that it would be packed with muggles. Chuckling to himself, he downed a sober up potion before checking out his wardrobe situation.
After another hot shower, Antonin dressed, downed more coffee. Before he changed his mind or lost his nerve he grabbed a handful of floo powder calling out the probation office. Stepping out at exactly Nine o'clock, and into a stuffy office. His WPS officer sat toward the far wall behind his desk, shoving the remains of his breakfast into his mouth, "Right on time, Mr. Dolohov. I'll admit I had some doubts as to if you'd show," The fat little man raised an eyebrow at him, "I've arranged for the trip to Saint Mungos you may apparate from here if you like." He gestured for Antonin to sit, "Can I get you anything tea? Coffee?"
Antonin crossed the room pulling up a chair to the desk, "I'll take a coffee, black." He didn't want to stay long, sweat built around his collar, he wasn't used to the heat. This office felt stifling, claustrophobia clawing its way to the surface. Alcohol leached from his pores sending a wave of disgust over him. He really had lost control. That wasn't something he liked to admit, not even to himself.
"Right, Ashly bring us two coffees," He called out to his secretary, "Now, we have a bit of paperwork to go over and some details to cover." He was well organized and had Antonin's records out, sliding them in his direction, "Look over these and sign at the bottom. You have one session a week for the minimum of one year with a Ministry appointed therapist."
The fat man looked at Antonin as if he expected a protest. When he didn't get one, he continued, "Community service will be performed at Saint Mungo's as well, twelve-hour shifts three days a week. For a total of one thousand seven hundred and twenty-eight hours. One year to be exact." Silence hung heavy in the room. The little fat man started to sweat. Antonin could see it beading on the man's forehead.
"Do I make you nervous, Mr. Abbott?" Antonin kept his voice soft, trying his best to not be predatory. Being locked in a box for twenty years didn't help. Maybe that's why they mandated the counseling, "I'm sorry, Mr. Abbott, I'm not trying to scare you." Antonin chuckled, scratched his head as he leaned forward to sign the contract, "Are we keeping our weekly meeting then?" He sincerely hoped not, he hated this office. From the tacky wallpaper to the outdated shag carpet that somehow smelled of cat piss and bad curry.
"I don't think it's necessary, I'll get updates from your supervisors at Saint Mungo's. But if you ever feel that you need to speak with me, feel free to send me an owl." Abbott handed him a slip of paper with the office number written down, "It's on the fourth floor, Mr. Dolohov, and good luck."
Antonin downed his coffee and took the directions, "Thank you, Mr. Abbott," He nodded, stepping away from the desk, apparating on the turn of his heel.
Landing at the entrance of Saint Mungos. Antonin lit a cigarette while he paced nervously in front of the dilapidated building. Spotting a blackbird perched on the awning, he stopped to watch the little bird, "They think I'm crazy, I'm not. But then I'm standing out here talking to a bird, so maybe they're right," He leaned back, taking a long drag from the cigarette, "What do you think little bird? Am I mad? Have I gone as mad as a hatter?" Thinking back on a muggle book he once read, he chuckled to himself, "I'll tell you a secret little bird. All the best people are."
As much as he desperately needed a drink, he took a sip of sober-up potion instead. Nodding to the blackbird, he snuffed out the smoke before touching the red bricked-over window. This opened into the main lobby. He approached the information desk patiently waiting for the young receptionist to acknowledge him. Antonin scanned the room. Bored looking witches and wizards sparsely populated the lobby. Relaxing when he didn't recognize anyone. He tapped the counter with an anxious finger, smiling at the pink-haired witch behind the desk.
"Welcome to Saint Mungos. What are we seeing you for today, Sir?"
"Suite four twelve,"
"Go to the lift and get off on the fourth floor, take the hallway to the left, it will be the sixth door on the left-hand side."
He mumbled a thank you as he headed to the lift. The doors opened filling rapidly with visitors, Antonin hesitated then stepped back, he couldn't do it. Too small of a space, bodies pushing against him. Anxiety poured over him. His hands began to shake, he hated when they shook. People were staring, waiting for him to get in the lift. More people behind him shoved their way in taking him with them. Blood pounded in his ears, too many people in such a small space. He couldn't breathe. They were touching him, bumping into him. He closed his eyes, counting the floors as they stopped. He fought the urge to bolt from the lift, breathe in, breathe out. Maybe they were right. He did need therapy. The lift dinged announcing his stop, Antonin bolted, shoving a healer out of the way. Just in time to vomit into a rubbish bin.
Outside the claustrophobic box of pure torture, he took a deep breath, straightening his cloak. He took a sip of the sobering potion, swishing to get rid of the taste of bile. So much for being the badass Death Eater, he just about pissed himself in a lift. He needed to pull himself together. Five minutes was all he needed. He ducked into the first door, it looked like an activity room anyway.
Patients milled about the room. Not paying much mind to the strange man in dark blue robes. Antonin slipped in and grabbed a chair near the door.
From here, he could survey the room. Breathe in and out, as he sipped at the potion in his flask. That's when he caught
sight of long dark hair and a familiar face. He thought she'd have died by now, her and her husband. No one could have survived that kind of torture.
He watched her from his table, playing with small toys, singing to herself. She looked up at him, recognition crossed her face, she came to stand in front of him, taking his hand in hers she sat next to him still humming her little tune.
Alice Longbottom looked him in the eye, taking him back to the night so long ago. A dark alley in Hogsmeade with Bella, and the Lestrange brothers and Barty Crouch Jr. A sliver of moon hung high in that November sky, cold and clear. They apparated to Hogsmeade, angry at the fall of the Dark Lord, looking for a drink and a fight.
Antonin was there, he could make no excuses, he was a full participant in her torture. Screaming is what he remembered the most, bones cracking under the curses, blood leaked from every orifice. He had grabbed her by the throat, shoving her against a wall. He could feel the concrete scraping his knuckles, he scared her so badly she'd pissed herself. "I have a baby," she whispered to him, pleading. She had begged through tears to spare her life.
What the bloody fuck was wrong with him? He'd spared her life alright, laughed in her face, and stole her mind. Caught up in the blood lust was not an excuse. Thinking back now, he couldn't even remember why they tortured the couple. It now felt so senseless. She was just an Auror, her and her husband, caught at the wrong place at the wrong time. He had only gone along for a drink. The entire incident would never have happened had they left Bella at home.
Antonin sat next to Alice quietly holding her hand, she never spoke. Instead, she hummed a song that sounded vaguely familiar, haunting. If she did recognize him, it never showed. Her warm hand in his, he found oddly comforting.
He could still hear Bella cackling, cheering them on as he sent curse after curse at her battered body.
Alice smiled at him, patted his hand, and pressed a stick of chewing gum into the palm before standing up. He watched her walked away, still humming her little song.
"She likes you."
Antonin looked over at the young woman that spoke, "Why do you say that?"
"She only gives gum to the people she likes," The young healer pointed at the gum still in his hand, "I haven't seen you around, are you, family or friend?"
"Neither, I'm sorry I have an appointment down the hall," Antonin stood up, turning for the door.
"Please feel free to visit any time," She called after him. He heard her, but had no intention of ever setting foot in the room again. It never seemed to fail. There were just too many ghosts.
The interaction left him hollow, heavy-hearted in the same way the Dementors left him. He was numb by the time he reached the door to the therapist's office. The poison of sadness leached its way into his heart, he couldn't unsee Alice. The tune she hummed stuck in his head the loneliness in her eyes the stick of gum still in his hand. It was too much. He quickly stuck the gum in a pocket in his cloak. With a shaking hand, Antonin pulled the door open. Now he really needed to pull himself together.
Soft music piped into the empty waiting room, Antonin walked to the counter. The older witch looked up from her paperwork, "Good morning Mr. Dolohov, we were all hoping to see you," She pulled a quill from the grey bun on the top of her head. She stared over her horn-rimmed glasses, "Have a seat, and Healer Jacobs will be with you." He watched her take a note, tap it with her wand, and it zoomed into the next room.
He was nauseated, anxiety pecked at the back of his brain, threatening to take over, pacing the room wasn't helping. The receptionist's lips were moving, but the sound in the room muted. He knew he looked confused, rattled, a wizard on the edge of madness. With his sanity already being brought to question. He picked a chair and sat, "I beg your pardon madame… I didn't hear…"
"That alright dear, I asked if I could get you a tea?" She had a kind smile reminiscent of his grandmother.
"Yes, please. Tea would nice, thank you."Tea would calm his nerves get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. He took the levitated cup, sipping at the hot liquid. It did help, although he would have preferred a whisky.
"Mr. Dolohov."
Antonin looked up at the sound of his name, "Healer Jacobs," A petite witch stood in the doorway. Her robes, a dark green, sandy blond hair touched her shoulders, with a smile that reached all the way to her bright green eyes. Not what he expected a mind healer to look like. But then he had no reference to go by. She looked so young.
"Please call me Patricia, come in….please."
Antonin stood, fidgeting with his cloak, "Antonin then... Patricia, it's nice to meet you. I think I'm not sure how this is supposed to go." He was off-balance with uncertainty, sober for the first time in almost a month, treading in unknown territory. His stance shifted, fighting down the fight or flight reaction that threatened to bubble to the surface.
Healer Jacobs held open the door to her office, "Come inside, have a seat, and another cup of tea. I just want to talk."
Hesitantly he moved into her office, again not what he expected. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking London, with a view of the river. He chose the overstuffed sofa, letting her refill his cup.
Patricia sat across from him in a simple but comfortable looking chair, her own tea in hand, "Tell me, Antonin. What is it you would like from these meetings?"
"I'm mandated by the Ministry to be here" He snorted, it was defensive, and he knew it.
"I know that it's mandated Antonin, but now that you're here, what is it that you want?"
"What do I want?" He wanted to go home and have a drink is what he wanted, "You want the truth? I want some potions. I need something to sleep."
She was shaken at his bold statement, "I think we need a few more meetings before we talk about potions, Antonin." She closed his file that lay in her lap and crossed her legs.
"Look, do you want me to be honest here?" He was getting angry, a waste of his time.
"Yes, I want you to be honest."
"I have panic attacks, I freaked out in the lift, and I puked in a trash bin on the way in here… I go days with no sleep until I drink myself into a bloody fucking coma. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think I needed it." He was over this meeting, with no way out, it was mandated. Going back to Azkaban, not an option. He took a deep breath and settled back into the sofa and sipping at his tea until his anger ebbed.
"Alright, so let's talk. Tell me how you're adjusting."
"Adjusting to what?" And the snark crept back.
"Adjusting to your new life? Antonin, adjusting to your freedom. You've spent half your life in Azkaban, enduring what I imagine to be horrific conditions."
"What you imagine wouldn't come close to the shite I've endured little girl," Anger bubbled over, "You think you know me and what I've been through?"
"No, Antonin, I would never presume," She let him flare, keeping her calm demeanor. Her voice lowering as his rose, "Are you adjusting?"
"If you call adjusting, drinking myself to sleep every night to stop the nightmares adjusting. Well, then, I guess I am." Antonin's hand trembled, and he quickly set the cup down in an attempt to hide it then changed his mind. She wanted honesty he would give her honest, "They never use to do this," He held his trembling hand out for her to see, still angry, "Does this look like I'm adjusting?" He was breathing hard, and on edge, venom tinged his words, "Tell me Patricia have you ever sat at a table with mass murders, crazy mass murders? Witches and Wizards that kill and torture with zero remorse. Have you? Because I have and I'm going to tell you, Patricia. Even though my heart raced, my hands, steady. So, I'm going to ask you Patricia does this look like I'm adjusting well. What do you think?"
"I can give you a potion to help with the anxiety and to sleep." She pointed her wand at the desk in the corner. Her quill hovered, waiting for the dictation to begin, "How often do you drink?" She stared, waiting for his answer, the quill scratching out his prescriptions.
"Since leaving Azkaban, every day, all day up until this morning," He was on a roll with the honesty why stop now, "You know I used to sit at his right-side Patricia. I was one of his most devoted soldiers. I loved him as much as I hated him." Antonin leaned back, balancing the teacup on a crossed knee, "The things I did I will never be forgiven for, I live with those decisions every day. I just need something to take the edge off, to help me get through the day without having to be completely pissed."
"You have community service here at the hospital, I understand." Patricia levitated the prescriptions into an open hand, looked them over, before she handed them to him, "These should help. I'll start you on these three. One is for anxiety, this one for the sleep, and this last one is for detox from alcohol." She leaned forward, placing a hand on his leg, "The Apothecary downstairs will fill these. Now, we'll meet again on Friday before you start your shift."
"Ahh, yes, the shift," Antonin smirked at her this time, "Where am I to go for this shift?" He stood and adjusted his cloak, handing her the empty teacup.
"Just two doors down, Antonin. As I understand, you are quite talented at curse-breaking, as well as creating. The Parole office felt you would be able to do the most good in the spell damaged department. Perhaps with your expertise, some of our patients could be cured."
Antonin laughed out loud, "You have lofty expectations from a wizard that's spent half his life locked up… My magic Patricia I'm afraid is a bit rusty,"
"It may be rusty, Antonin, but you know as well as I do that you are and always have been an extremely powerful wizard, Mr. Dolohov." She stood up and took Antonin by the hand, "We are not expecting miracles over-night. We'll go slow, let you get your feet wet… I'm on your side Antonin, we do this one day at a time."
Antonin moved to the exit, "Two doors down?"
"Ask for Mr. Moreland… I'll see you Friday," Bidding him a farewell from her office.
Antonin looked down at the slips of paper, he would fill them before he left for home. He liked Patricia, she didn't scare easily, she kept her cool when he lost his. He supposed this therapy thing might work. Besides, he had nothing left to lose. Now onward to face some of the demons from his past. How many patients were there because of him? His curses stuck, they were wicked and creative, if they didn't kill you, they sure the fuck put you in Janus Thickey's Ward. So that was their game, he thought. Penance, repairing what he destroyed.
Mr. Moreland's office sat two doors down, just as Patricia said. Antonin gave a sharp rap on the frame. The man's voice beckoned him inside.
"Good morning Mr. Dolohov," Mr. Morland stood from behind his desk. A jovial man, balding head, heavyset with well-tailored robes in the bright green of a Healer, "It is a pleasure to meet you, we are pleased to have you join us. Have a seat, dear boy, please have a seat… can I get you anything?" He motioned for Antonin to sit.
Slightly taken back by the man's friendliness. Mr. Moreland smiled, motioning again at the chair. The behavior from the older wizard threw him off-kilter.
A stack of paperwork sat before him. Mr. Moreland handed over a black quill, "We'll get all these formalities out of the way and then we can get you your uniforms and a badge before lunch,"
"Uniform? You mean I'm actually touching patients?" Now that shocked him a little more, "Not just consulting."
"For the first six months, we'll have you working with another Healer. "Antonin noticed Mr. Moreland seemed to take pleasure in this fact.
"Come along, Mr. Dolohov, I'd like to introduce you to your preceptor, and we'll all go down for lunch."
Antonin signed his name a dozen times before he could change his mind. His new boss ushered him down another hallway to little room. An elf behind the counter handed him three sets of lime green robes. A flash went off, as another elf gave him a badge. It all felt so surreal. A long time ago, this is what he was destined for, the life of a Healer. He clipped the badge on the front of his robes as he followed Mr. Morland to the hospital café. His preceptor would meet them downstairs.
Antonin kept his anxiety in check as they took the lift to the bottom floor. Biting his cheek, white-knuckling the rail on the wall. The last thing he wanted to do was vomit in front of his new boss or the twenty-five- year- old preceptor Padma Patel. She was sweet, polite and young enough to be his daughter.
The grand tour began in the waiting room of the Emergency Department. Ending in the café. Somewhere in between Antonin dropped off his prescriptions, thinking he'd be lucky if he found the place again. Lunch was simple, as his stomach still felt sour from this morning. He picked at his beans on toast, his back to the wall, listening to the conversation of his two companions.
Mr. Moreland knew his father. Of course, he would know his father. They had been co-workers. Moreland, he remembered now, co-authored one of his father's last books. It all started to make sense as the pieces fell into place. Ms. Patel, it seemed she was a huge fan of the Senior Dolohov, quoting passages from one of his books throughout lunch.
"Mr. Dolohov?" Padma smiled at him, "It was lovely to meet you, I will see you tomorrow morning at Healer Moreland's office. I'm really looking forward to working with you."
"Likewise, Ms. Patel," Her quiet demeanor along with her lack of disdain made the prospect of tomorrow less anxiety-inducing. His hands twitched, the beginning of a wicked headache pushed behind his eyes.
"Mr. Dolohov," Moreland touched his hand, "Antonin, it's been a long day, why don't you head home. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Thank you, Sir, I'll see in the morning," Antonin stood up. He made his way back through the crowded café. Thankful for his father's old friend and thinking his probation assignment may have been planned out more than he initially imagined.