The Waves of Time and Death

21st of September 

The screams of Muggles did something to him. A desire for violence, a power-like feeling that coursed through his body when he saw the light leaving someone's eyes.

The bright green light of Avada Kedavra was the most beautiful colour in the world, he was sure of that. How could any other spell be necessary, when the Killing Curse was so effective, so powerful?

He looked around and saw several houses on fire. A mad-like smile came to adorn his face, and a maniacal laugh left his lips. One Death Eater to his right was torturing a Muggle man with the Cruciatus Curse. 

What a scene... Chaos and virulence. The sound of screams and pleas for mercy was his favourite music. The smell of burning flesh and the blood splashed everywhere was his most cherished scent and sight.

He turned to a Muggle who was cowering in front of him. The man was as big as a pig, as pitiful as any pathetic Muggle he had ever seen. “Disgusting,” he spat at the man. “Such a waste of life, all of you.”

The Crucio he sent towards the man resulted in the most beautiful scream he'd heard that night. He was sure the Muggle wouldn't be able to say a word after he lifted the spell. A smirk came to his face.

He stopped the Cruciatus Curse and the Muggle sighed in relief. Antonin's eyes were wide and wild-looking. A curse left his wand and a purple flame struck the Muggle's left leg. The scream that came with it sent a shiver through him. What a delicious sight, he thought.

Sounds of Apparition cut off his leisure time. He huffed and turned in the direction of the sounds. Five Aurors, three houses away. He gripped his wand and put on his mask.

The fight between the Aurors and two Death Eaters started instantly. Everything was happening like in every battle Antonin saw in the past. Everything was going like it usually did, until the beautiful green light left one of the Auror's wands and hit a Death Eater who was trying to curse the men. And there goes Frederick, he thought, gritting his teeth.

“In the past, these animals would never dare to throw and Unforgivable,” Dolohov muttered. “But look at them now. As deadly as us, as deadly as me.”

He pointed his wand at one of the Aurors and sent a curse that would make the man's skin peel off, but the damned man put up a shield and blocked the spell. Another Death Eater fell to the Killing Curse coming from a blonde Auror. 

The Dark Lord will not like this, thought Antonin. His men falling dead like flies by the wands of blood-traitors and mudbloobs.

The Killing Curse left Antonin's wand, aiming towards a shorter wizard. His eyes went wide with rage as he saw the man conjure a rock to shield himself. The Avada Kedrava hit the rock and it exploded into dust and fragments. 

Before he could cast another curse, a spell hit his left shoulder, making him hiss. He could feel the skin where the spell hit burning as if bathed in acid. Antonin turned around to look at who had hit him with the spell. Men who were clearly not Aurors had arrived. The Order of the Phoenix, Antonin realised.

He was so focused on killing the Aurors that he failed to hear the new Apparition sounds. Nine Order members were there now. They were scattered, fighting the Death Eaters who were still with Muggles under their wands. Apparently, as soon as the Order had arrived, most Death Eaters had fled. Only a few were left, including him. Two members of the Order were stood to his left and the short Auror cornered him by his right. He was trapped.

Trying to point his wand at one of the men of the Order left his other side vulnerable, which the Auror took advantage of, sending a curse that broke the bones on his left foot. He dared not to scream, even if he wanted to do it more than anything. Antonin would not give these pigs his delectable screams. Putting up a shield, he put his weight on his good leg. 

Putting up a shield, he began to think of ways to escape. No doubt he would be hit if he tried to Apparate now. Before he could think of an escape, one of the man to his right sent a spell at him, which crashed his shield and hit him. The spell left Antonin dizzy and nauseous. His shield had not been strong enough; He was not focused enough. The jinx had crashed his shield and hit him too easily. “Is this the best you can do?” He asked while barking a laugh, taunting the men.

The men didn't answer, but the Auror sent a curse at Antonin that made him vomit blood. He was disoriented now, the sounds around him became muffled and he only had time to grip his wand and Apparate when he saw the red light of Stupefy coming from the ginger's wand.

He was in no condition to Apparate, of course. However, he would never let himself be captured by those Muggle lovers. He'd rather die.

As soon as his body hit the ground outside of the wards of his small house, he felt more blood coming from him. He had splinched. Fuck, was all he could muster to think. The pain in his chest from the splinching was incapacitating. He tried to lift himself and walk towards the house, but attempts were futile.

Antonin felt his eyes starting to close when he saw the figure coming towards him. The man, or boy, was tall and with long black hair. Those features and the devilish smile on the man's face were the last things he saw before blacking out.

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His head was pounding like never before. The pain in his body was subdued but most of it was still there. Trying to open up his eyes made him hiss from the light, forcing him to shut them again. It's morning already, he thought.

Focusing on his other senses made him realise that there were people in the room with him, and, most importantly, he was tied up. His arms and legs were pressed together by what he imagined was a rope.

”...Easier than I imagined,” He heard from behind him. The voice belonging to a young man was all he could discern from it.

“Didn't even put up a fight,” A ‘tsk’ came at the end of the second voice's phrase. Another young man's voice, he thought.

Antonin opened his eyes slowly — adjusting to the bright light without hurry — and tried to move slightly to the left, to have a look at his kidnappers. A hiss escaped from his lips and the voices stopped. The pain in his chest flared up. The fuckers didn't even heal me, he cursed them in his mind.

“Our guest has finally awoken, dear,” The amusement in the man's tone was obvious, which only served to irate Dolohov even further.

The second man said nothing, only started to walk. Sounds of feet on the stone floor drew his attention to the runes beneath him. His eyes went wide when he saw the ritual circle all around him. Panic quickly started to build up inside him.

“I guess you're aware of your situation, Dolohov,” He looked up and saw a man standing, outside of the circle, analysing him. He was tall, with shoulder-length ginger hair, though not as orange as the Weasleys or the copper of the Prewetts. The man's features were soft but his eyes were sharp and unholy green. 

Antonin narrowed his eyes. He had seen this person before but when? “Who the fu-” He didn't have time to finish before his eyes went wide as he recognised the man before him. “Peverell,” The name left his lips with a hiss. What in Morgana's name was happening?

“Do try not to scare our visitor, Harry,” Another man walked towards Peverell and stopped beside him. When he turned, Antonin grunted.

“Black!” The yell made the pain come back again and he winced. “What the fuck do you think you're doing? When the Dark Lord get his hand on you he'll-”

“He won't do anything,” Regulus Black smirked at him when he said. That damned posh brat had that ‘bigger than thou’ expression on his face that Dolohov hated so much. It reminded him so much of his stupid and coward of a brother, Mikhail. “In fact, he'll never know what was done to you.”

A shiver went through Antonin's body. The cold tone in Black's voice was uncharacteristically frightening. He looked nothing like the small teenager who swore his allegiance to the Dark Lord at sixteen. 

“Now who is scaring who?” Peverell commented with a bored tone.

“You have to admit it's quite funny to see him like this,” Black retorted. “Not so powerful and intimidating now, Antonin?”

He could see Peverell rolling his eyes. “Anyway. We just came here to make sure you were not dead, Dolohov.”

Antonin had nothing to say to that. He only kept staring at the men, trying to figure out what they wanted from him. He would never ask, of course. He was never a man to ask things from people he saw as being beneath him. Nothing, no circumstance would change that.

“Can we go now?” Peverell asked Black.

Sighing, Regulus Black only nodded to the other man. It was clear he was disappointed about not being able to antagonise Dolohov more.

Before he could protest, the Stupefy hit him on the chest and he passed out again.

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The blade of the dagger glittered as the light touched it. 

Dawnlight engulfed the room with warmth. It was almost time. The new moon was bringing with it the perfect time for the ritual.

Owls would hoot and wolves would howl louder tonight. Magic would be more present between the stars, as the moon brought a new beginning for Regulus and Hedwyn. She also would offer a prelude to the end for Lord Voldemort.

As the two men prepared for the task ahead, Death observed and guided them in the proceedings.

Blood from a creature that lived in shadows, hair from a dead vampire and tears of a woman deceived by a loved one were the ingredients used for the potion. The potion in question was now inside a bowl, bathed in Draught of Living Death, and made of iron and bronze.

While Hedwyn meditated on the floor, he reached his magic towards the crystal ball in front of him. Regulus, on the other hand, read a book from the Peverell Library about the ritual they would perform.

Inside the crystal ball in front of Hedwyn, dark grey smoke took the form of a dagger, then the silhouette of a man with a hand to his chest and at last a faceless figure dressed in a shimmering black cloak. As Harry's magic reached for the crystal ball, the images kept repeating, again and again, but he kept his eyes closed.

In Regulus' book, the story of a man who once used a “soul-blessed blade” was told. According to the tale, in order to rid the town of a man-sized doll who was abducting small children and murdering them to feed off of their blood. The entire thing was gruesome, but the information about the ritual was essential knowledge to have.

As the sky turned dark and the stars began to twinkle, Regulus couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building up inside him. He knew that the box with the goblin-made blade was waiting for them on the table, and he couldn't wait to see what the future had in store for Hedwyn and him with this powerful weapon in their possession. With a thrill in his heart and a sense of curiosity in his soul, Regulus put down his book and made his way over to the table, eager to unlock the secrets that lay within the mysterious box.

With a gentle flicker of his eyelids, Hedwyn stirred from his meditative state. His gaze fell upon the crystal ball in front of him, and he quickly reached for a nearby cloth to shroud it from view. As he rose to his feet, he sauntered over to the side of his beloved boyfriend, standing tall and proud by his side.

Both boys held hands while they stared at the blade. Today things would finally start to change as they went further in their quest to destroy the Dark Lord. One more step towards greatness, Death had told Hedwyn. What this greatness the entity talked about was unknown to him, but he was sure as long he had Regulus by his side, nothing could stop them.

Harry let go of Regulus' hand and picked up the box with the dagger. Regulus followed his fiancé's lead and levitated the bowl, careful to not let even a drop of it spill. Both men then began their walk to the Ritual Room, with Harry in the front and Regulus a few steps back.

Once the room came into view, the men's eyes went to the candles on the walls that lit the red-coloured room — there were twelve of them, with flames frenzied and hot. In the centre of the room, the runes had been drawn in bone-white chalk — perfect for when the moonlight touched the white runes inside the circle.

In the middle of the ritual circle, Antonin Boris Dolohov was on his knees and was held by thick ropes. The man was still unconscious due to the potent Stupefy cast on him, as well as the exhaustion the blood loss from his wounds caused. From Dolohov's left hip to his right shoulder there was a painful-looking laceration — red and bloody. Hedwyn and Regulus didn't think it was necessary to heal Dolohov completely, instead preferring to let the Death Eater incapacitated from exhaustion, to prevent him from harming them or escaping.

Regulus moved towards the wooden table where the bowl should be put on. Beside the bowl, the wooden box laid open and the blade which would bring Voldemort to his knees before Regulus and Hedwyn shone beautifully.

While Regulus admired the blade, Hedwyn took off his robe and was left only with the black attire underneath. The black long-sleeved shirt, black trousers and dragon hide boots made Harry look more imposing than ever, with little resemblance to the shy boy he was during his time at Hogwarts.

He closed his eyes and focused on the magic around him. From the magic that was always present in the Ritual Room to the atmosphere of the day of the new moon. Today, more than any other day, was the perfect day to perform the ritual. The sacrifice they would give today could only be made stronger by the magic-filled rays of candlelight and the blessing of the Moon.

When Regulus' wand made a noise, signifying the time for the ritual had arrived, Hedwyn walked to the table where the blade and potion were. Next to Regulus, careful fingers touched the object's handle as Harry picked up the goblin-wrought silver dagger, feeling its heavy weight on his hand.

Turning to the bowl filled with the potion, he watched as Regulus got his wand in hand and started to cast a charm as the light from the candles — infused with the ambient magics of the room and the new moon. With careful and precise hand movements and well-spoken words, Regulus saturated the potion with the necessary sorcery, transforming it into the solution they needed.

After his part of done, Regulus moved to the side and Hedwyn took his place in front of the bowl. Cautiously, Harry immersed the blade in the potion, stopping before the liquid could touch the handle. An odd feeling went through Hedwyn's right arm, as the blade absorbed the content of the bowl, magic so strong it almost made Harry let go of the dagger in surprise.

Regulus watched everything with a scrutinising gaze. His eyebrows lifted slightly as he saw the level of liquid inside de bowl go down a bit. He supposed it was the goblin-made dagger's doing as it incorporated the content of the potion into itself.

As he felt the magic dwindled, Hedwyn slowly lifted the blade from the bowl. When he inspected it, not even a drop of potion could be seen on the shining silver of the dagger. Nothing different could be seen, but Hedwyn knew the object had changed, transformed. The same must have happened to the Sword of Gryffindor when he killed the Basilisk. The dagger metamorphosed into something else, something new and more powerful. 

“Soulscourge will be its title,” Hedwyn professed. “A weapon for those divorced from Death's embrace and for the enemies of the Reaper of Soul's Master.”

Regulus licked his lips as he stared at Hedwyn while his boyfriend held the ritual dagger. The faint light from the candles hit Hedwyn in a way that reminded Regulus of Caravaggio's paintings. It was such a dramatic scene with his fiancé holding a glistening dagger, dressed in all black while standing still in a blood-coloured room. How beautiful and terrifying he looked.

Regulus observed Harry as his future husband took step after step, the sound of his shoes echoing in the silent room. Hedwyn moved towards Antonin Dolohov like a predator, Regulus realised. Dolohov was now nothing but a wounded deer a the mercy of a starved lion. Green eyes shone as brightly as jewellery was fixed on the tied-up and vulnerable wizard. Like this, Antonin Dolohov was nothing. His pride, his malicious smile, his quick curse-casting abilities. On the floor, unable to fight against more powerful wizards than him, Dolohov was a mere mirage of what he was just a day before. The illusion of a strong and unbeatable man he believed himself to be was quelled so easily when confronted with real power. 

A pathetic sight, Hedwyn thought with disgust. The man who took such pride in his killings of those he deemed less than himself was now only a pig to be sacrificed. 

Turning his head and looking at Regulus, a quick nod was everything the other needed to raise his wand and send an Enervate at Dolohov. The man woke up with a panicked expression on his face. He turned his head left and right, as if trying to remember where he was. The widening of his eyes was the only indication of him remembering what happened to him. However, Antonin was given no time to react as Regulus started to call for the dark Deity.

“Death,” He started with a low voice. “We beseech Thee to become Nemesis to Antonin Boris Dolohov. Please, O Lord of Hades, welcome Thine oblation.”

The air in the room became heavy and cold. All three men could feel the sudden presence of the deity in the room with them. While Hedwyn and Regulus remained calm, having already been under Death's presence, Dolohov started to panic even more. His skin was pale and his eyes wide with fear. The Death Eater tried to scream but no sound left his lips. It was as if the words had been stolen from his throat.

Ignorant to the scared man, Regulus kept speaking. “May this soul, O Great Guardian, Lord of The Underworld, bless your Master's dagger — Soulscourge, Death's Blade.”

The runes around Dolohov started to glow in blinding white light. Antonin felt an ache deep inside his chest as if something inside him was trying to leave his body. The pain turned agonising as Dolohov tried, unsuccessfully, to free himself from the ropes. Tears rolled down his face as he felt like molten iron was flowing inside his chest.

“O, companion of mine, may this blade be my enemies Annihilator,” Hedwyn said as he entered the circle and walked closer to Dolohov. “Soulscourge, Harvester of Souls, Dēaþblæd.”

With a quick movement, before Dolohov could look past his pain and comprehend what was happening, Hedwyn Peverell stabbed him in the heart. The man instantly stopped writhing as the dagger pierced through his heart.

A guttural scream came from Dolohov, making Regulus flinch slightly and Hedwyn almost lost his grip on the dagger's handle. Dolohov's skin started to turn white, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Then the flesh around the stab wound became black and withering started to spread around the man's body. It was a horrific sight and Harry wondered for a moment if something had gone wrong with the ritual as the body in front of him began to resemble more a Dementor than a man.

However, with his hand still on the handle, Hedwyn could feel the magic starting to go to the blade. The pulsation sensation remained for a while, so strong it moved through his arm — a feeling of exhilaration and coldness ran in his veins. The feeling continued for a few moments more, until the body of Antonin Dolohov fell backwards, forcing Hedwyn to hold the dagger tight. When the darkened shell of what once was Antonin Dolohov hit the floor, the dagger came out completely out of the body and was free again in Hedwyn's hand.

Hedwyn's eyes were wide as he watched the dagger. A pale blue light coursed through the blade, a small sphere that felt oddly alive.

“His soul...” Regulus whispered behind Harry, startling his fiancé. But when Hedwyn's eyes went back to the blade, he nodded.

“It is,” He gulped as he said. Not knowing how he felt or what to do, Harry only continued to hold the dagger.

“Wait. Does it make it a Horcrux?” Regulus asked, alarmed. In Harry's mind, Death laughed softly at the suggestion.

‘No, it doesn't. No offering to me could be made into such a disgraceful thing,’ Death's voice said in Harry's mind before the man could start panicking with his boyfriend.

“N-No, it isn't a Horcrux. Offering the soul to Death, somehow, made it impossible for it to become a Horcrux.”

“How curious,” mused Regulus. “Maybe it is because the soul hasn't been divided also. The breaking of the soul is what makes a Horcrux, after all, and this one seems whole.”

Hedwyn only had the strength to nod a him. The ritual had drained him and now he only wanted to lie down. It was clear from Regulus' expression that the man wanted the same thing. Harry then, with a wave of his hand, he banished Dolohov's body. The lord then walked to the box and put the dagger inside it.

“Come on, darling. Let's rest,” He said while offering his hand to Regulus.”

His fiancé wasted no time before walking up to him and clasping their hands together. “Please. I need it more than anything,” Was all Regulus said as Hedwyn guided him to their bedroom.

That night both men slept soundly, despite the act they had just committed. Antonin Boris Dolohov was no more, and Lord Voldemort's demised was now more possible than ever. Weirdly enough, those two facts brought immense peacefulness to the couple. 

Though they would not forget what they did tonight, the men were less concerned with the morality of their actions and more interested in how their plans were going. Tonight was Dolohov, but in a few weeks, Tom Marvolo Riddle would be the one to wither by their blade.