Taking in a kid like Harry, potentially targeted by terrorists, suggests Florian's no ordinary ice cream vendor. Likely at Fudge's behest, he's protecting Harry, hinting at Ministry ties. No appearance in this fic, but a writer tackling his story would be intriguing.
Demon
The day after the beach, Harry saw Antonin Dolohov's name plastered across The Daily Prophet's front page. Zabini's mother's scandal was forgotten; now, Dolohov's brutality as a dark wizard dominated headlines.
"Death Eater… Antonin Dolohov…" Harry muttered, detached.
Dolohov, Voldemort's follower, slaughtered countless innocents—Muggles, resistance fighters, Aurors. Harry's parents weren't among them, but only by chance. They were strong, so Voldemort, not Dolohov, killed them. (Don't think about it. It's not my problem.)
Harry avoided dwelling on Death Eaters. Some Slytherin friends had Death Eater parents, and he didn't want to judge them harshly or pity them like Hermione might.
Farkas, from an ex-Auror family, sent frequent letters warning Harry. He suspected Dolohov, a high-ranking Death Eater, might target Harry, former Order members, Aurors, or turncoat Death Eaters. He advised staying indoors. (Like Hermione), Harry thought, reading on. Farkas's final note stunned:
"Found Grandpa's secret library. Dark magic books among the tomes. I'm studying them for Auror training, just in case. Come over if you want."
(Learning dark magic for self-defense? I can't stop him—I've done the same.) Harry, who'd used dark magic for protection, felt he had no right to object. Farkas, more versed in wizarding law, wouldn't cross into dangerous territory. Harry trusted his friend's judgment.
Having sworn off dark magic to grow stronger, Harry declined the offer but agreed to study Transfiguration and Charms together, promising to tackle tough problems as a team.
On Sunday, Harry trained with Sirius and Marida. Sirius's home, warded against Muggles, muffled noise. Inside, the couple staged a fierce duel—not from infidelity or madness, but to teach Harry through demonstration. His Dueling Club experience made this practical lesson ideal, Sirius reasoned.
The duel began in the living room. Harry watched through their Protego shields. Marida wore a rune-engraved wristband that glowed red in combat, its effects tied to her skill in Ancient Runes. She casually etched runes on everyday items for emergencies. Sirius, relaxed, exuded no tension, winking at Harry.
Marida seized the opening, wand flashing. (Locomotor!) Harry recognized the spell as floorboards splintered into shards hurtling at Sirius.
"Locomotor!" Marida shouted, though the silent spell was already active—voiced for Harry's benefit.
The shards moved with uncanny precision, each seemingly alive, darting from shadows, blindsides, or straight at Sirius. Some shielded Marida. Charms' essence was object manipulation, and Marida's mastery let her infuse Locomotor with autonomous and controlled motion, a feat possible only by fragmenting a single object.
(How does she control them? So precise with just a flick?) Harry marveled.
Sirius dodged effortlessly, shattering shards with Reducto. "Reducto! Take that! Sloppy aim, Marida!" he taunted, grinning.
Marida's face tightened. Her ambush from blind spots failed—Sirius's reflexes, spell speed, and accuracy were staggering. Unknown to Harry, Sirius's secret ability heightened his senses and physicality, mimicking Animagus-like prowess even in human form, letting him sense attacks from behind.
Marida, losing shards, was cornered. "Petrificus Totalus!" Sirius cast.
"Protego!" Marida countered. Her shield, unlike standard Protego, had gaps. When one part shattered, others persisted, guarding her as she prepared her next spell. (Runes?) Harry wondered.
Marida, sweating, turned her shoes into dogs that charged Sirius. He smirked, enchanting an umbrella stand's umbrellas with a sticking charm, trapping them. The duel continued, Transfiguration's chaos clear: conjured creatures disrupted the battlefield. Sirius held the edge but was stalled by Marida's Protego and Transfiguration shields. Her Expelliarmus attempts all missed.
Marida's wandwork was swift, her movements too fast for Harry, but Sirius's cunning outmatched her. She blocked his Petrificus Totalus with Protego and turned a door into a stone wall, but Sirius had already transfigured it into paper. Retreating, Marida found her shoes stuck to the floor by Sirius's unnoticed sticking charm. She raised her hands.
"I yield, Sirius," she said.
"Why?" Harry asked, puzzled.
Marida smiled, pointing to her stuck feet. "Can't move."
Neither noticed Sirius's subtle spell. Her runes' effects had faded, sealing her loss. A former Dueling Club member, she conceded gracefully.
"That was amazing! How'd you make Locomotor so complex?" Harry asked, awed. Normally, a shattered object breaks a charm, but Marida's persisted.
Sirius, repairing the house, grinned. (Good, he's hooked on proper magic.) Dumbledore's Fidelius Charm protected the house, ensuring Harry's safety if Death Eaters targeted him. Limiting outings, Sirius indulged Harry's curiosity.
"It's not hard," Marida said. "Charms target objects—Expelliarmus, Wingardium Leviosa, Depulso. You focus on a specific thing. If it breaks, you think it's over, but…"
"With skill, you can shift that focus," Sirius added.
"Really?" Harry asked.
Marida grabbed a floral mug. "This cup's handle…" She levitated it with Wingardium Leviosa. "Sirius, cut it off."
"Diffindo!" Sirius severed the handle.
"What a waste," Harry muttered. The cup and handle stayed aloft.
"You can keep the spell active by recognizing it as the same object. I can fix the handle," Marida said.
"That loose?" Harry asked.
"Magic," Sirius smirked.
Harry, versed in Charm basics, found advanced applications tricky. An object's spell persistence depended on the caster's perception. "Easy if it's 'slightly broken' and fixable. Hard if it's irreparable, like Sirius's Reducto," Marida explained.
"You saw that?" Sirius asked, glancing at Marida for permission to continue. She nodded. "Duels are a clash of perceptions. Transfigure objects or destroy them beyond repair to corner opponents. Make them think they're out of options."
"Trap them?" Harry asked.
"Exactly. Protego isn't infinite. Transfigured creatures shield or disrupt. Try new tactics, Harry—I'll test them," Sirius said.
"Thanks, Sirius."
Sirius's advice clicked: advanced Transfiguration was tough but hard to counter. "Magic often wins on contact, so strike first. But opponents aim for that too," Sirius said.
"I can't outdraw some foes," Harry admitted.
"Expelliarmus or Petrificus Totalus are slow. Use Depulso to reposition, Transfiguration to create openings. Rushed opponents crumble," Sirius said.
Harry learned spells and counters from both, itching to try runes but restrained by law. He focused on third-year studies and mental practice.
While Harry enjoyed his summer, Fina returned to her quiet rural town with her parents. The trip—London sightseeing, beach flings—matured her. Home felt dull, but she eyed her bike, knowing Farkas lived nearby. (So fun. Maybe I'll visit tomorrow.)
Farkas stood out—not childish like classmates. Their friendship depended on his ability to keep her entertained. As they entered, Fina saw her parents frozen in shock.
"The light's on? Did we forget?" her father asked.
"No way. I locked up. The light wasn't on from outside…" her mother said.
Their town was peaceful, if dull—buses every two hours, roads barely paved. Fina, instinctively wary, tried the door. "Papa, Mama! It won't open!"
"Don't be silly," her father said.
"Probably a petty thief. I'll handle it!" he growled.
"Don't be reckless!" her mother snapped.
Then, a skeletal man with gleaming eyes spoke. "Early return, dear Muggles." He clutched a whiskey bottle and a 30cm wand.
Fina and her parents, stuck to the kitchen wall, watched the man. He'd opened Fina's father's birthday whiskey for her. His wand forced their legs to move, marching them to a pillar to watch him ransack their food.
Her parents recognized him: Antonin Dolohov, the escaped mass murderer from the news. His gaunt face, dead eyes, and unkempt beard marked him. He wore her father's clothes. A reckless word could doom them. Beside him stood a tall, platinum-blonde woman in a tight outfit, exuding confidence—except for her skull mask and shorter wand.
"I'm grateful," Dolohov said, biting stolen ham and gulping whiskey. "I'd forgotten human meals. Your whiskey's fine."
Fina's mother stayed silent, terrified. Her father, furious, tried negotiating. "Why our house? What's your goal? Money?"
"No money. Needed a hideout. Your empty house was convenient. Just chance," Dolohov said, twirling his wand. The masked woman stood still.
"We won't report you. Take all our money—please let us go," her father begged, knowing it was futile.
The woman laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. Fina glared.
"No need for your money. You'll be test subjects—for her," Dolohov said, eyeing the woman.
"Show me your skill," he told her.
"Specifically?" she asked.
"The three Unforgivables."
Fina's family felt his chilling aura shift. Her mother stared at the woman's wand, trembling.
"Easy, Antonin," the woman said, unfazed. She strode to Fina, freeing her with a wand flick.
"Bad luck. Curse being born a Muggle," Dolohov sneered, mockingly crossing himself.
Fina, uncomprehending, lunged at the woman, fixated on her wand.
"Stop, Fina!" her father shouted.
"Crucio!" the woman cast.
Fina collapsed, writhing in agony. "Kyaaa!" Her parents' screams echoed.
"Help…!" Fina begged.
No one—parents, the masked woman, or Dolohov—answered. Her plea for rescue went unheard.
"Imperio," the woman cast.
Fina's pain vanished, her mind hazy, thoughts dulled. "Come here," the woman ordered.
(I have to go!) Fina obeyed, striding forward. The woman summoned a kitchen knife—Fina's mother's favorite—and handed it to her. Fina's pupils dilated, drool dripping. She wasn't herself.
"Stab that trash. Full force. I'll reward you with magic," the woman purred sadistically.
"Yes, sister," Fina replied, feeling no resistance. Killing her parents meant nothing compared to the woman's promised pleasure or avoiding her pain.
"Good girl," the woman cooed.
"Stop, Fina!" her father cried.
"No! Fina!" her mother screamed.
Fina advanced, knife in hand, toward her father. The woman smirked, reveling in Fina's obedience. (Killing her parents with her mother's cherished knife… sublime.)
As Fina raised the blade, her mother screamed, "Fina, stop! Run!"
"Avada Kedavra," a gruff voice intoned.
A green flash hit Fina. She flew back, lifeless, blood pooling from her head.
"Fina!" her parents wailed, unanswered.
The woman glared at Dolohov, her fun ruined. "I told you to show your skill," he said, unfazed, pointing at her parents. "Is that all?"
Provoked, she turned to Fina's mother. "Avada Kedavra." A larger green flash struck, and the mother died, clutching Fina.
"Demon…" Fina's father muttered, denying reality.
"Avada Kedavra," the woman cast again, killing him.
"Nice work, missy. Now, garbage disposal. Evanesco," Dolohov said lightly, vanishing the bodies as if they never existed.
"Unsatisfied with my skill?" the woman asked.
"No, you're worthy of his service. You'll earn a name when he rises. Who taught you?" Dolohov asked.
"No teacher. I mastered magic my way," she said.
"Rare talent in my day," Dolohov replied, impressed but calculating. He set the whiskey down. "We'll work for his return. What's your name?"
"Call me Fina, Antonin," she said, smirking evilly under her mask.
Dolohov, a survivor of dark wizardry, had seen talents like her fall to ruin. He'd used young witches as bait or pawns. Her mastery of the Unforgivables without fatigue impressed him, but her openness—revealing her full power—betrayed inexperience. Her oversized Avada Kedavra, unnecessary for Muggles, screamed a need for validation.
(Never lost. Thinks she's the hunter,) Dolohov mused, sipping whiskey. (She'll crash when she's hunted. That's her end.)
He didn't care for her fate but refused to be dragged down. As "Fina" Disapparated, he thought, (Stealing a Muggle's name? Childish. Who's the pure-blood pulling her strings?)
A seasoned Death Eater, Dolohov avoided factional traps that jailed him before. Clutching his wand, he planned his escape.
Dark magic needs black intent or vile ideology. Society doesn't want it. Everyone lectured Harry on its dangers, but they assumed his friends were safe and ignored the signs…
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