Hi, so here is the final chapter!
Thank you all so much for your reviews and for reading this story. This was a nice little trip to the 'Other Side' of Harry Potter and allowed me to work with the Death Eaters which was and is always fun. Despite it all i cannot help but be a bit sympathetic to my characters so i have given Dolohov and Nataylia something of a 'King's Cross' moment that Harry has and i will leave it up to you to decide where the train ends up.
I will return to the Greengrass family at some point down the line but for now this story is completed.
Some changes in cannon probably so be warned.
Disclaimer-Nothing is mine.
Please Read and Review and stay safe.
Face-To-Faceless
Chapter 7-It's Been One Hell Of A Ride.
As the Second Wizarding World War comes to an end Antonin Dolohov rises high and then falls low with all of the Death Eaters. When the battle commences he knows one thing told by him a long time ago by the love of his life. Never be taken alive. Final Chapter.
Anything post Azkaban was easy.
In such a way death was also easy.
Indeed though he would not say so aloud.
He would say so to Her. Indeed he would say anything to Her.
Nataylia.
She had become the world to him in the months after Azkaban. She had become the very essence that had kept him going, the dark arrogant look, the smile, the half grin that at fifteen had promised so much.
The world had changed almost. They had flied high before, they had thought themselves utterly immortal, free of the very idea of death and then there had been nothing between them and the end that they had wanted.
And now they were flying free and clear above the rules.
They took the Ministry with ease.
It had seemed simple, such an impossible thing of the past when he had killed both the Prewitt brothers and they had come away with the world at their fingertips, it had been impossible when Nat—when she had died in his arms and then they had done it.
He had closed his eyes and thought about what his wife would have made of that and had resisted the urge to giggle in the Dark Lord's presence.
He had taken to living back in the flat that had once been golden. Of course it was still golden, it was still lit with a warm fire and the furnishings clean and the sheets clean and warm. He had not yet gone to the Greengrass crypt. He had not yet gone to see his wife. He knew she did not blame him, but she understood that he was not prepared to walk into Cyrus's back garden and pay homage. If he was lucky they would be buried together, if there was a possibility of forgiveness (and if there was he had severe doubts) then Antonin would see her in the next life if such a thing existed.
He had not gone to see the family either. He had kept that promise. Indeed he had kept many to a man he had never really liked but whom had loved Nataylia. So much Antonin thought, so much that he did for her.
He slept in the bed as she had that last night and though he knew the scent of her had long ago faded from the pillows he could not help but breathe in deep and try and imagine something that he had long ago forgotten.
It was amazing at how that worked. How he could remember the look in her eye as she was about to kill someone but not how she fucking smelt like when she got out of the bath. How he could remember how she loved black pudding but hated tomatoes with her breakfast but could not remember the sound of her laughter. How he could remember the way she would whimper his name as she came around him but not how she would reach for him even in his sleep. So much of his marriage had been like a dream it was hard to remember that It had once been his life, the best part of his life, indeed the only part of his life that was worth remembering.
He had wanted nothing more to do than to burn the world some days and others he wanted to crawl into bed and sleep the world away. Not that he could sleep. That was the fun part about Azkaban, you couldn't come out of it and ever sleep again. The dreams, the nightmares, the visions, they were a part of you as much as the cold was. And that was another thing that had never gone away as the months had progressed and the weather in England had gotten warmer and then colder.
There was sense in the air that—at least for him—it was coming to an end.
It came to him one morning as he looked at himself in them mirror. He was shaking under the covers, it had he knew been a bad morning, a bad night, and all the signs of a bad day. Antonin knew what was coming, he was an addict and his drug of choice had been dead for fourteen years, the war he had given so much for was nearly over one way or another and he was ready to join the woman he had promised the world too. Living here in the flat that he used to share with her seemed like an empty echo of what could have been, what should have been, the choices he should have made.
They took the Ministry, they took Hogwarts, they took the press and the bank and the country. They did it smoothly as if they had simply picked up where they had left off the first time. They killed Dumbledore the man who had despite everything given his wife some dignity in her final moments, who had been killed by Snape which was just irritating (Snape of all people considered the hero?). Harry Potter was just a boy, an untried, untested boy and he was up against magic the likes of which even Antonin did not know the depths of, the Order of the Phoenix was finished and even if it had not been their best fighters, the Prewitt's, Potter, Evans, Black, McKinnon, Moody…they were all gone as well.
As the winter turned to summer again Antonin felt his mood going increasingly blacker. Soon they would take the Potter boy down, soon they would be victorious and then he wondered if perhaps he might lie down and go to sleep and this time not wake up. It was a heady feeling, he felt like he had to do enough, just enough to see the vision his wife had given her life for, to see it through and then he would lie down and join her.
He could not think of her name. Not now. Not until the end.
And perhaps it was the best he thought one night after too much firewhiskey and too little death to preoccupy his dark thoughts.
It was after all a young man's game now.
But he was still the best dueller in the Death Eaters (though he knew Bellatrix would protest against that conviction with ease) he was still a wizard with prestigious skill and no conscious, in fact whatever he had, had before Azkaban (and even he could admit that, that was not much) had gone during those years he had scrabbled around in the cold dark mud and he had been in this fight long enough to know that even if he wanted to, one could not ignore the Dark Lord's call.
It came, as he had suspected within the year they had achieved all that they had ever dared dream off. It was a hot day, Bellatrix and her family had fallen from grace, Lucious did not even have a wand and he had been half listening to the wireless the photo of that dark and glamourous girl all he could focus on when the song abruptly ended and the newscaster with slight awe in his tone announced that Harry Potter had broken into Gringotts and escaped on the back of a dragon.
For a split second Antonin laughed, it was such a foreign movement but he thought of what Nataylia would have made of that and even for the smallest of heartbeats what James Potter would have made of that and found he was laughing enough so that his ribs ached and he could not tell you why.
Perhaps they were right, perhaps he was going mad. Azkaban had done worse to a man after all. He had seen it.
He felt the mark flare three hours or so later and he looked down pulled out of his thoughts, his hazy thoughts still with his wife. Surely Potter had not been stupid enough to get caught again? But then who would—? They had been told it was for Potter and Potter alone. The aftermath of the Malfoy incident had been enough to deter even the hardened of Death Eaters against calling the Dark Lord for anything trivial.
He did not look back at the apartment that he had lived in when he went to Hogwarts but he did extinguish the fire, the lights, all of it. If he did not come back then he supposed Cyrus could deal with it or knowing Nataylia and her flare for the dramatics and her magical prowess there was a very good chance if he died tonight the flat would spontaneously combust.
He got to Hogwarts to see the crowds gathered at the gates and knew that for his master the final puzzle pieces were slotting into place. It seemed obvious enough, take back the castle, take the school, kill Potter and if they got some kids in the way then that was that.
Once Antonin supposed something like that might have bothered him even just a little. But it did not, nothing seemed to bother him anymore. Besides. There was nobody in that castle that he cared about.
Getting in was easy. His first duel was (ironically perhaps) the last of that damn gang, Lupin. Potter's friend, the werewolf and the man who had killed his wife. It had given him something to cling to as they duelled. The rage. It had been the first time he had allowed himself to think of that endless moment where she had fallen backwards surprise still etched upon her face and his life as he had known it had lost all meaning.
Lupin was a good fighter, he had always been Antonin mused but Lupin had gotten soft during the peace while Antonin had only gotten sharper. It was a hard duel and on more than one occasion he was not entirely sure he would survive it but finally with a the same twisted smile he knew was etched upon his face as had been on Nataylia's as she had watched him take down the Prewitt brothers with a twirl of his wand the last of the Marauder's was dead and his wife had finally, finally been avenged.
It did not fill him with satisfaction, indeed it felt like a crossing point. It had been the one thing that had left him feeling unfinished, the one thing standing between him and the end. For this, the battle of Hogwarts was the end for him, they would either win this or they wouldn't. There was no middle ground.
And he was tired. Antonin was tired. He flung two curses at someone and saw them fall but he didn't know who they were or if they were friend or foe. He thought as he climbed the stairs towards the Great Hall, that it didn't matter, he was ready to lie down and be with his wife, ready to give his life in the service of the Dark Lord. He had been ready before of course but now post Azkaban there was a touch of calculation behind it and a hell of a lot of desire. He had no desire to live, just kill, kill, kill.
And then it happened.
He was just finishing his latest kill when the door to the left blasted open and out came a woman, she had to have been sixteen or so and in her uniform, her green tie was loose and her skirt was half up her legs, her tights ripped and still wearing her high heels. She was bleeding from the back of her hand the robes and jumper discarded her dark hair wild around her face and then she turned and from the look on her face it was clear that they were alone. Actually if the Dark Lord himself had just proclaimed victory Antonin wouldn't have been able to notice. He was too busy staring at her.
He was certainly too busy to care about the limp and ashen Draco Malfoy who was leaning on her shoulder looking older than he had ever looked before. Certainly he did not notice that, he could not notice anything other than her.
For finally his mind had snapped but instead had done him a favour. Because in front of him was the sixteen year old version of his wife right down to the manic look in her eye that was faded with every passing second.
But the reality slips in past the delusion eventually and time as always was a cruel mistress. It was not his wife, Antonin realised with another pang in the heart that seemed to force him to lower his wand. It was never his wife.
It took him a second to realise that the only conceivable way that this was happening was that this girl was Cyrus's daughter, Nat's niece and he felt a flicker of annoyance as he took in the obvious differences. The fear for a start—Nat had never looked at him with fear in her eyes—and the shades of difference in the hair and the eyes and the fact that she was with a certain traitor to the cause if not worse. He knew that he should kill her for he suspected that this Greengrass girl was not on the same side Antonin's Greengrass girl had been but his eyes flickered to Draco Malfoy who was watching him before his eyes flickered to the Greengrass girl. There was something in his eyes as he looked at her that Antonin remembered feeling a long time ago as if the concept of feeling was something he had forgotten about.
"Look at me" he said finally and she snapped her gaze to him. He allowed himself ten seconds to look at the brown eyes and then nodded.
"You have your Aunt's eyes" was all he said and then before he could do something stupid, before he could do something dangerous he twisted and turned in mid air and landed far away and within seconds was back to killing and slaughtering his enemies, Nataylia's enemies, the Dark Lord's enemies as if nothing had happened.
They retreated and waited and Antonin spent the time waiting for Potter sitting in the forest with his back against a tree. The Death Eaters around them were hushed, the Dark Lord silent. Nobody said it but they all knew that they had sustained heavier casualties than they had been expecting.
Antonin didn't care though, he sat back and allowed his mind to drift to that Greengrass girl, Draco Malfoy, and his own Greengrass girl. He thought about what kind of Aunt Nataylia would be and then he felt the bizarre urge to laugh—a riot no doubt. Cyrus would have had a fit over it.
And Draco Malfoy, huh. Nataylia would have an opinion about that as well.
There was some shifting in the trees and he stiffened out of instinct. He had not expected the boy to come if he was being honest with himself. He had half expected self preservation to kick in as it had done for so many men and woman of better blood and better birth who were older than he.
It was as he was staring his eyes straining in the darkness (even after all those years in a dark cell) he saw Harry Potter for the first time. He walked as if he was unafraid but Antonin knew that more than likely he was terrified. The young were always reckless until confronted with the knowledge of their mortality. He did not look special or all powerful he looked like a boy. Antonin felt a hunger gnaw at his stomach. Soon it would all be over and the cause for which he had lost so much would soon be victorious. He could almost see Nataylia's smile as if his mind, was saving her full brilliance for this last shattering moment before he lost it completely.
The boy moved his mouth, the Dark Lord raised his wand there was a flash of blindly green light and to his horror the Dark Lord was thrown backwards as was the boy and then with a shattering, shivering silence the entire forest went still.
Bellatrix went to their master, Narcissa went to the boy and then as they cheered and celebrated Antonin thought that tonight was the night that he could be reunited with his wife on the eve of their victory.
Naturally it all went to shit.
At Hogwarts they faced a crowd that did not fall, Neville Longbottom the son of the two auror's that had made Bellatrix infamed (and while Antonin was a violent man even he had thought that was going a tad too far) stood his ground but Antonin was not listening, he was looking.
He saw her again, the Greengrass girl holding hands with another girl who had to be her elder sister, the difference between the two of them was apparent. The elder one clearly took after her mother, the younger one was a copy of her aunt, of her father, of that dark arrogant arresting look.
There was another long pause as the Dark Lord began to speak and then screaming, Antonin pulled his head back to the fight with effort long enough to see the great snake rear backwards and then fall to the floor it's head cut off, it's power useless and to hear the Dark Lord's scream of rage.
And then they were fighting. They were pushed backwards into the castle and he killed and slashed and brutalised his way forwards as they were hemmed in from all sides. He ducked and dove and smelt blood and death and shit and laughed and laughed as his sanity finally left him. After all what did it matter? The one person who would have been glorious in this battle was not here to enjoy it's full effects.
He cleared his way of the dueller he had killed some unknown no doubt and turned to see the dark haired girl laughing manically as she waved her wand and Watkins went flying through the window. He moved towards her to engage, it was rather fitting really but a curse blocked his way and he turned snarling to see Fillius Flitwick standing there tall despite his stature his face burning with fury.
Despite it all he was intrigued, he had been taught by the Charms master, had seen first hand the magical prowess that he had which was not inconsiderable.
It was a hard duel and he let go of the girl because it required all of his concentration. It was not about living it was about being victorious and he ducked and weaved and sent curses back feeling like he was gaining and losing the upper hand in a mere matter of seconds at the constant and never ending back and forth.
He turned and ducked again but a curse caught him in the arm and he bit back the pain. Again their was that manic laugh and he turned again seeing…seeing…he caught one look of dark hair dancing around and then he turned, Flitwick curse caught him square in the chest and he screamed at the pain that hit him his wand flying out of his hand, Flitwick opened his mouth again there was a rush of green light and then…and then…
And then it was over.
Antonin opened his eyes. He felt like he knew where this place was and it was not his flat, nor his cell, nor his parents house but rather the corridor of the Hogwarts express. Everything seemed different, grey, muted and silent and yet the air felt alive with a magic he had never felt before.
He stood up and nearly screamed as he caught sight of himself in the polished glass. He was no longer the old, tired looking Death Eater with death as his pander and his companion but rather the glamorous sixteen year old he had once been the day he had taken up a dare and his life had changed forever.
Strange. He had never believed in an afterlife before but if this was what this was then he had never expected him to be stood here, young, mark less but yet burdened with the knowledge of what had happened.
He turned and stopped his hands ghosting across the door handle. He knew this compartment, it had been Antonin Dolohov's beginning and his end. He would go down in history as a Death Eater, nobody would know or remember or even care that he had been a passionate man in love with a passionate woman. That he had been independent as well as loyal, that he had loved as well as killed.
Well he supposed his father would be happy. The name would always live on.
He opened the compartment.
He did not have to hold his breath.
She was there. She was always there.
She still took his breath away of course, Nataylia was the sixteen year old she had been when she had told him she had been courted for the Dark Lord, that she had been chosen and that she was choosing to remain free. Her hair was loose and dark, her face unmarked and unblemished and her eyes sparkling with that look, that dark arrogant look that she had saved just for him and he gripped onto what was left of the Dolohov's pride and refused to crumble to his knees and sob like a baby at the sight of her.
She looked at him and grinned standing up, her hand fit his like it always did and he marvelled at the touch.
"You're here?" he asked, Merlin knows he would not put anything past the Dementors and their powers. He had seen enough visions of his wife during his incarceration.
"Yes. Wherever here is" she said and he nearly did fold in two at the sound of her voice.
"Is it hell?"
"Oh really" she said with an eyeroll. "I don't think so, perhaps there is such a thing, perhaps we will have to pay for our mistakes but I don't mind, were together"
"Yes" Antonin said grasping onto the simple truth. "Whatever it is we can do it together, nobody will ever separate us again"
She grinned slow and long at him and she folded like she always did in his arms.
"It's been one hell of a ride Dolohov" she said repeating her words to him that had haunted him every day for the last fifteen or so years.
"Yes" he said even as the train began to lurch to places unknown. Because her words were right, they had been as right as they were now as they had been when she had died and he had been dragged away from her willing her even then to wake up and cause misery to their enemies.
One day history would forget about them.
He couldn't bring it in him to care. Actually he couldn't bring it in him to stop grinning.
"It's been one hell of a ride Greengrass"
And then he kissed her, and they carried on standing there as the train took them onwards, to places unknown.
And there you go, for those of you wondering the girl who looked like Nataylia was her niece Astoria who eventually ends up with Draco. She is mentioned in my other story 'Beat Your Heart Out' and will be in other upcoming stories as well as her family (see note above)
And finally a massive thank you to all of you for your kind words and for reading this story, i hope you have enjoyed it just as much as i have enjoyed writing it and again a big thanks to you all!