Victory

The tears of a few have watered the hatred of many

Mother Dearest

nigerutmea anima

Strange, in a world so dominated by violent consequences, that the wizarding world had no form of capital punishment. Harry Potter had changed that. Antonin Dolohov was ascending the platform of execution to meet his end, accompanied by a symphony of hisses and curses. The infamous wizard's death was eagerly awaited, and thousands had turned up to take malicious pleasure in the macabre event.

Dolohov had no thoughts of repentance in his mind as he eyed the crowd. Nor did he think of his Master or the long war. No, he was laughing a grim cackle at the fact that, after all his crimes, he was condemned because of a few tears.

He thought back to the final battle. An ashen silence had fallen after the boy had come back from the dead. And then Rodolphus had found his wife and broken the hush with a keen wail of loss. It had echoed through the grounds like the howl of an animal.

Dolohov had been watching Harry Potter. The boy had expressive eyes; a Muggle weakness. And when he had returned from the other side, they held compassion and a value for life. They had only changed with Rudolphus's cries.

It was not Rudolphus alone. Young Melissa Selwyn had found her father's corpse, and her pitiful sobs rang through the Southern corridor. Some other child wept over a relative too insignificant for Dolohov to remember; his allegiance delineated only by the marks on his arm.

It was then that the true rage had swelled up among the victors of the battle, rage that would have won them the war so much quicker had it been on their side from the beginning. But they never felt it, because until that moment none of them really knew how to hate.

Hatred had sprung up like a weed in that moment, watered by the tears of those who should not be allowed to love and grieve. These monsters had no right to be human, to feel loss and sorrow and mourning. Because that would mean that the friends of Harry Potter had taken human life and would have to bear that shame for eternity. So the dead enemy could not really be human, and that pretence had lasted until it was shattered by Rodolphus, lamenting a woman who had been so vibrantly alive that she could only have been human.

Such memories had to be erased, and that was the true reason why Dolohov faced death today at the command of Harry Potter the merciful, who had saved a condemned beast and let his parents' betrayer walk free. To wipe free the dishonour of those who had murdered mothers and fathers and friends; to allow the Boy who Lived to believe that he still valued life.

The Dark Lord might be dead, but his teachings survived in the glittering, vindictive eyes of his enemies. In his death he had broken them, planted malice securely in their hearts. He had won.

Antonin Dolohov died with a smile of triumph.