QLFC Season 11 Round 3: Please believe me, I'm a good boy
Main Prompt: God of Fire- Atar. Someone giving comfort.
Mods have confirmed and accepted that it is acceptable if the person fails to comfort despite all the attempts.
Additional prompt:
1. [Setting] Starry night,
2. [Object] golden chalice
Word count: 2400 words.
Beta reader: Thank you, Zoomster!
A/N: Atar, the God of Fire, is the Zoroastrian hypostasis of holy fire. Within this theology, fire is believed to signify divine presence and power. It is also believed to bring illumination, purification, and transformation to the world.
Warning: Character death. Death by burning. Self-guilt, self-loathing (ie calling yourself a monster.)
Dolohov had snuck out of the castle past curfew to sit alone by the Great Lake. The stars above shone brightly with the moon in the sky, and he could not help but feel jealous of the moon's luck. He wished he had someone with him instead of the creepy and long shadows and the great beasts of death. He did not want to be alone with only the ghastly winged-horses and his terrified mind to keep him company… but he felt terribly alone. He sobbed in his hands as guilt, fear, and shame enveloped him as he remembered the horrors that had recently occurred.
Dolohov could not bear to face the sneering and glares from his peers and the disappointed looks from his professors. He had been accused, maligned, and shamed for a crime he had not intended. It had been an accident!
He had seen the Gryffindor first-year wizard tangled in the Devil's Snare. He had tried to save Aaron! He had used a fire spell to chase the humongous plant away. He had not intended to burn the boy alive as well. He had been desperate, but nothing could have prepared him for the fear and mortification he felt.
When he saw his raging flames illuminate the night sky fiercely and swiftly spread its destructive force across the castle, Dolohov had been deathly terrified of his own magic. His attempts to douse it with Aguamenti were terrifyingly pathetic. His flames simply burnt the water before it could do anything. The great inferno consumed everything in its path until Dumbledore and some of the strongest professors contained and snuffed out his cataclysmic flames.
How was he supposed to know his desperation to save Aaron would make his spell so much stronger and uncontrollable? He tried to be good. He tried to be righteous. He tried so hard to be the best he could be; so, why was he shamed? Why should he be punished for his goodwill? Why was his kindness being punished? He had done as the professors had taught him. He had tried to be upstanding and honorable; so, why was everyone chasing him for a crime he did not intend? Aaron's death was collateral. It was never meant to be that way!
"How intriguing that you can see them."
Dolohov froze and slowly turned around to see a tall man approaching him. "Huh? Who are you?" he asked slowly and warily.
"You may call me Tom. You have seen death and survived it, haven't you?" the tall man chuckled.
"I…" Dolohov sighed heavily as he wiped his tears away helplessly. He was a murderer. He did not deserve to be amongst others. What if he lost control of his magic and murdered again? "Please just leave me alone."
"Why is a child like you crying alone?" Tom asked gently as he took a seat beside Dolohov on the grass.
"Because I… I'm a bad boy," Dolohov admitted bitterly, glaring hatefully at his palms. "I'm the worst boy in the world."
Tom laughed heartily as if Dolohov had amused him greatly. "A child who shares his biscuits with these thestrals cannot possibly be that bad, can he?" he asked curiously, raising an eyebrow in amusement.
"I'm not lying! I'm a murderer!" Dolohov insisted fiercely and sincerely.
Tom kept quiet as he stared at the earnest grey eyes. Those eyes were too innocent, and too honest. A pure-hearted boy who looked too naive and probably wore his heart on his sleeve. Usually, Tom did not like these fools but… this boy was special. Too special to be ignored. "A child with your eyes cannot be capable of killing," Tom disagreed kindly. "Your eyes are too pure and too kind-"
"I burnt the boy alive!" Dolohov blurted, tears streaming down his cheeks again. He hated that he was behaving like a helpless crybaby. He had been crying since he saw his violent flames sweep through the entire ten-floor tower of the castle's greenhouses. Not a single plant had survived the devastation.
"Oh, how interesting! That brilliant inferno was yours? It was burning unyieldingly and powerfully as if it was the brightest beacon of life in the darkness!" Tom praised, his eyes twinkling and his lips curling into a smirk. "It's very rare that I would see anyone, much less a child, capable of casting Atar's purifying flames. So, wipe your tears, child. You have a talent that very few possess!"
"Atar? Who's that?" Dolohov asked curiously as he looked up at the older man. For once since the horrifying night began, he had momentarily overcome his guilt and sadness. He felt… appreciated. Finally, someone was not blaming him for something he accidentally caused… and Dolohov felt a little bit relieved.
"Atar is the God of Fire that the Zoroastrians worship," Tom explained calmly as he looked at Dolohov with keen eyes. "If they saw your magnificent inferno that turned the night sky so red as if flames were falling from the sky, do not doubt that they would praise you. Your will and talent to invoke the God of Fire's purifying flames is not to be sneered at. It is a divinely difficult feat. Oftentimes, the spellcaster would fail and it is believed that Atar would burn their soul for 3000 years for their audacity to attempt to invoke his flames."
"What does any of it matter? What is a God to a disbeliever? I still killed the boy!" Dolohov lamented helplessly and hopelessly. "All the Gods, everybody, will still judge me as a murderer. I still sinned! It is irrefutable. It is a fact!"
Tom stared silently at the depressed boy. Then, he looked up at the starry sky and spoke softly, "Look at the sky, the moon and stars. Can you blame the moon for rising as it does? Can you begrudge the stars for choosing to peek at you tonight or for the shadows they cast around you? Can you fault the moon and stars for their alignment?"
"No, I cannot. Those are the duties of the moon and stars. To blame them is to be illogical and foolish," Dolohov answered firmly as he looked up at the starry night.
"Yet, there are things in this world that can defy duty and logic. When fate has ordained, all must obey its divine decree regardless of duty. The stars will align as fate demands them. The stars will whisper to the stargazers and listeners just as they whispered to me about you… about our meeting and the boy's death," the man spoke wisely with a gentle smile.
"What do you mean?" Dolohov asked slowly as he tilted his head to peer up at the man.
"If you hadn't interfered, the Devil's Snare would have killed the boy through asphyxiation. Regardless of your involvement, the boy's fate was sealed. He was expected to die tonight," the man explained calmly as Dolohov struggled with the information.
"But-"
"You simply avenged the boy and sent the Devil's Snare to accompany the boy in the next life," Tom interrupted to silence Dolohov's retorts and denials. "How could anyone blame you for your goodwill or your honor? How could anyone fault you for the talents you were born with? You didn't choose your talents, did you? How could you be blamed for things that were already decided by powers far beyond yourself?"
"But, I…"
"Power is absolute, child." Tom continued quickly before Dolohov could express his doubts. "Your strength invokes jealousy and envy in others. Their jealousy begets fear and is the seedbed of exaggeration and lies. They will lie to shame and destroy you. They will grapple at straws to villainize you. Do not underestimate the viciousness of jealousy and envy that the weak hold in their hearts."
"I don't care about any of that. I don't care about power. I don't care about being liked. I just... I just want to stop crying." Dolohov whispered as he hung his head. He closed his eyes and tears began streaming down his face again. He had shed so many tears tonight that his eyes were swollen and his throat hurt, yet it was his heart that hurt the most.
"I still hear them screaming. I can still see him crying. He was begging me to save me as I burnt him alive... and the plant had been shrieking and wailing..." Dolohov confessed breathlessly and guiltily about his fears and the pain in his heart. The guilt was eating at him. He had failed to save the boy. He had caused the death of an innocent boy, and that meant he was evil. It did not matter that he tried to do good; the irrefutable fact was the boy died in his flames, and that meant he was a monster.
"I tried to cast Aguamenti! I really tried… but the flames will not be contained. I... I didn't mean to… I really didn't mean to kill anyone!" Dolohov pleaded for Tom to believe him as he grabbed onto Tom's sleeves desperately. "Please help me. Please, I'm a good boy. Please, I'm not a monster. Please kill me before I become one. Please help me! I don't want to be a monster!"
"Oh, you poor, unfortunate soul. Blessed with immense talents and strength, only to be shamed and chastised," Tom sighed mockingly as he summoned a golden chalice into his hand. He offered it to Dolohov. "If you truly desire to forget and be rid of tonight, I can help you. You need only to drink from this chalice."
Dolohov looked at the chalice warily and then turned to Tom for confirmation. His tears falling unashamedly into the cup. "I… I'll never remember tonight? No more screaming, and no more death? No more flames and no more… guilt?" he asked softly as he held the goblet carefully in his small hands.
Tom nodded firmly as he watched Dolohov keenly. "You will be forbidden to remember everything that happened today, especially tonight. It will be as if today never happened. A void day in your life."
Dolohov stared at the clear liquid inside the cup as he tightened his grip on it. He wanted to forget the death and the flames. He wanted to stop hurting and crying. He wanted people to stop looking at him as if he were a monster. He was a good boy!
So many desires. So much desperation.
Dolohov swallowed and choked on the burning liquid. Immediately, he winced and grimaced as a sharp, unbearable pain pounded relentlessly in his head. The golden cup fell out of his hands as he collapsed into Tom's waiting arms.
Tom smiled down at the unconscious child in his arms. "A child with your talents should not be restricted. Your powers are too great to be reined in by fools," he crooned as he stroked Dolohov's hair. "Seek me again, Antonin Dolohov. Your place is meant to be by my side. You will cleanse this country for me with your divinely destructive purifying flames of Atar."
When Dolohov finally regained consciousness a month later, he woke up confused and terribly disoriented, as if something were missing. He would never remember the Devil's Snare, the tangled boy, or the bright divine flames that raged against the night sky. In fact, he would always suffer the worst headaches every time he tried to think of that day. It was as if he had been cursed with an irrecoverable amnesia.
Needless to say, Dolohov felt victimized and indignant for being unfairly maligned by the people around him. They called him a liar, a coward, a murderer, and they threw stones at him. The scorns of society chased Dolohov out of the place he used to call home. Hogwarts was no longer a safe place for him. He could not understand why he had been viciously exiled and shamed for something he could never believe he was capable of committing. He was not a murderer! He was not a monster! He would never burn someone to death!
No one had been willing to listen to his protest and pleas of innocence. People, such as his professors from Hogwarts, who he thought believed in his morals, had been quick to distance themselves from him. Betrayed, confused, and lonely, Dolohov did not stop running as he tried to escape the bullies until he arrived at a little village between two hills.
In that village, Little Hangleton, a powerful dark wizard was waiting very patiently for Dolohov to arrive. After all, Dolohov's arrival at the Riddle House had been foretold by the stars. Why else would Tom Riddle have chosen to risk it all and sneak into Hogwarts' grounds on that fateful night? The stars had promised him a powerful wizard if he came to rescue the wizard from the deepest sorrows and acutest pain.
A young and naive wizard, who struggled with his guilt, had willingly drank from the golden chalice to wipe out a single day's memory just to silence the horrifying screams and cries, and forget the haunting fear of his own fierce magic. A desperate, innocent desire led the boy to accept a poisoned chalice. The golden chalice took a young, gifted wizard out of Hogwarts' protection and into the arms of a terrifying, rising Dark Lord. It would also set in motion the start of the deadliest magical war in Great Britain and almost completely wiped out the Prewett bloodline in the bloodiest of ways.
Ultimately, it was the poisoned chalice that saved a young, honorable Antonin Dolohov from his deathly pit of despair, and made him into the most ruthless and vengeful Death Eater who was hell-bent on getting revenge on the people who chased him out of his home and shamed him for a crime he had not committed.
Thank you for reading.
