KONSTANTIN ILYA SAVAGE
DO YOU WANT TO HEAR ABOUT THE,
DEAL THAT I'M MAKING?


»» so open your eyes, child
let’s be on our way
broken windows and ashes
are guiding the way

keep quiet no longer
we’ll sing through the day
of the lives that we’ve lost
and the lives we’ve reclaimed.

I'D MAKE A DEAL WITH GOD,
GET HIM TO SWAP OUR PLACES
----»» OOC SHIZZ .

----»» YOUR NAME:
em
----»» AGE:
15
----»» GENDER:
non-phallic
----»» CONTACT INFORMATION:
lovecraaftian
----»» HOW YOU FOUND US:
remus and lorcan
----»» DID YOU READ THE RULES:
no.
----»» ANYTHING ELSE?:
nope.
----»» RP SAMPLE:

COME ON BABY, COME ON DARLING,
LET ME STEAL THIS MOMENT
----»» BASIC INFORMATION .

----»» FULL NAME: Konstantin Ilya Savage
Konstantin – ‘constant, everlasting’, of Russian origin
Ilya – ‘strength of God’, of Russian origin
Savage – early medieval English origin, derives from Old French ‘sauvage’, meaning wild or uncontrolled. His mother’s maiden name is Pavlovich, a Belorussian patronym of ‘Pavlo’, Ukrainian of ‘Paul’, which means ‘small’ or ‘humble’ in Latin.
----»» NICKNAMES: His mother called him Ilya when he was small, but he hasn’t been called that for a decade or more.
----»» AGE: 25
----»» HOUSE: Former Ravenclaw; graduate
----»» GENDER: Male
----»» BLOOD: Half-blood—his mother was a Muggle, his father a Muggle-born wizard.
----»» ALLEGIANCE: Order of the Phoenix
----»» WAND: 13.5 inches, Ashwinder ash core
----»» SEXUALITY: Heterosexual.
----»» CANON/ORIGINAL: Canon

OH COME ON ANGEL, COME ON,
LET'S EXCHANGE THE EXPERIENCE
----»» PERSONA .

----»» LIKES:
Hardworking people (“I’ve always had to work for what I have, so I respect anyone that’s had to do the same.”)
His faith (“Magic and God don’t really mix, but... it’s more of a comfort than anything at this point. I still pray quite frequently.”)
Conviction (“I believe very strongly in my morals and values, and in the Order’s creed.”)
Intelligence (“I simply can’t respect someone that seems unintelligent.”)
Legilimency (“One of the few things that I consider myself an expert at—and an utter necessity in my work.”)
His family, specifically his sisters and brother (“Fyodor and Marisa are good Jews that provided for my siblings and I as well as possible, and I’m still close to them—rather less so since Katarin’s death, but that’s to be expected. I’m still very close to my siblings, although those relationships have decayed slightly, as well—another necessity for the Order.”)
London (“So busy, so much to do—so easy to go undercover.”)
Cigarettes (“A comfort.”)
Dogs (“Not only are they good companions—they’re watchful, too.”)
Sunlight (“I know exactly how to use the sunlight to my advantage when I track someone.”)
Hexes (“My specialty.”)
His work (“I’m exceptionally proud of my job in the Order—the contact between the new recruits and people that want to join and the Order itself.”)
----»» DISLIKES:
Purebloods (“In general—they tend to flaunt it. Any pureblood that enters the Order is going to be met with some degree of suspicion.”)
Weak people (“They’re pointless.”)
Feeling useless (“I need something to do, all the time, or I think I’ll go insane.”)
Small towns (“Following suspects to small towns is always a challenge, and not the kind I enjoy. It’s entirely too easy to be discovered.”)
Prejudice (“I would make a good Auror, but I can’t be on the team—I’ve ‘impure blood’. Of course, that’s not the reason they give—I’m too young, according to them, but... it’s fucking ridiculous.”)
Antonin Dolohov (“The reason my Katarin is dead. He’ll get his.”)
Being accused of fanaticism (“I’m not saying it’s untrue, but I still dislike it.”)
Aberforth Dumbledore (“I don’t particularly trust him; he seems too unstable to be trusted with everything that Albus tells him.”)
Alcohol (“Anything that impairs my judgment disagrees with my values.”)
Drugs (“See above.”)
Living with other people (“After eleven years and some odd months living in a house full of people, one begins to value solitude.”)
----»» QUIRKS & HABITS:
-- He can shoot Muggle guns with unerring accuracy: his father, not a fan of using magic in front of his children, taught all of his children how to shoot when they reached the age of ten.
-- He’s adept at living like a Muggle; he lives on the outskirts of London and none of his Muggle neighbors have the faintest idea that he’s a wizard.
-- He reads for forty-five minutes exactly each day—usually Muggle accounts and treaties of war; despite what purebloods would have one think, they had good ideas quite often.
-- He always wears long sleeves.
-- He writes a letter to one of his siblings or parents every two days; they demand to know what’s going on—they know that he can’t tell him, but it’s proof that he’s alive.
-- He can’t do anything productive in a room that’s not tidy.
-- He becomes very quiet when he’s in a room with someone that either intimidates or greatly interests him.
-- He has a specific and rather odd exercise regimen that he follows every day: fifty push-ups (twenty-five on his left hand, twenty-five on his right), twenty-five sit-ups, twenty pull-ups on the bar in his kitchen archway, and a half hour’s jog with Derron—every morning.
----»» BOGGART:
”What do you think?”
“It’s alright.” Alastor’s voice was impassive; Konstantin felt something sink in his stomach—he hadn’t expected praise, of course, because Alastor simply did not praise anyone. But he hadn’t expected a cold dismissal like this, after working hard for almost a week to find somewhere for the Taylor family to stay until the Death Eaters took the heat off their oldest son. Apparently the stupid boy had shot his mouth off about his father belonging to the Order; the man wasn’t even a member—but he knew a handful of actual members, and that meant he was a risk to them.
Alastor Moody walked down the hallway, running a hand over one of the hall tables; his palm was coated with dust when he brought it back up. The house was in the squalid heart of London and somehow, miraculously, unoccupied; the street was full of Muggles—not at all where the Death Eaters would expect them. It had obviously been abandoned for a long time.
“...Boggart down the hall,” Moody said conversationally. “Go take care of it, will you? I’ll start on the charms.”
“Sure you don’t need my help?” Konstantin immediately regretted the words as Moody shot him a withering look; of course he didn’t need the help of a nineteen-year-old. He turned and headed down the hallway, quickly, his footsteps echoing loudly in the emptiness; there was only one room at the end of the hall, one that the hall itself opened into; it must have been a drawing room at one time, by the paintings and furniture. They weren’t particularly expensive; there were two knockoffs of Monet pieces—Siene Basin with Argentuil and Jardin à Sainte-Adresse—and what looked like a Cézanne—Femme au Chapeau Vert?—but no, he was in here to banish a Boggart, not admire the previous owner’s decorations.
There was only one place it could really be: there was a rather large cupboard-type-thing in the western corner, quite large enough to house a Boggart. Konstantin approached it warily; this would be his first encounter with one—he knew the incantation, of course, and the proper method of dispersing one, but he had never come face-to-thing with an actual Boggart.
And so he opened the door, and a screen of mist floated out in front of him.
“Riddikulus,” he said quietly, firmly, and nothing happened. Why didn’t anything happen? Wasn’t that the incantation?
The screen began to change, dark shapes moving; he stared, transfixed, and repeated the spell: still nothing happened.
A man was standing, another laying at his feet, more behind him—Konstantin couldn’t look away. Finally the faces formed, the pale face: Lord Voldemort, smiling, his wand held loosely by his side—there was no reason to use it any longer, because the man at his feet was dead. Himself. He was dead, defeated, at Voldemort’s feet, while the filthy scavengers behind him laughed—
”Riddikulus!”
----»» PATRONUS:
The memory that Konstantin uses to summon his Patronus—the Ukrainian wild horse, more commonly known as Przewalski’s Horse—is incredibly strong, at least to him. It’s the thought of Katarin, one of his last memories of her.
“I love you,” he whispers, standing behind her, his chin resting on the top of her head, his hands on her belly—she’s almost six months along now and her belly is bulging out, not soft but not stiff; his hands begin to move, slowly, running over the bulge. There is a long, cracked mirror on the closet door in front of them, and they stand facing it, Katarin several inches shorter than him: she smiles and he smiles in return, kissing her thick hair.
“And I love you,” Katarin whispers in return, her hands on top of his. There is a silence, and he presses his lips to her pale, elegant throat, just above the thin chain that holds the Star of David just below the hollow of her throat.
“What do you think about... Elisabet?” she whispers, smiles, closes her eyes.
“It’s beautiful,” Konstantin says honestly, and her smile widens.
“Then Elisabet it is.”
“Yes,” he says, running his hands from just below her breasts to the curve of her pregnant belly, “Elisabet it is.”
----»» DEMENTOR:
Konstantin’s Dementor is less horrifying than most would expect—it isn’t finding Katarin on the floor of their flat, isn’t the resulting interrogation by the Ministry officials, despite all of his statements that it was Antonin Dolohov in his flat, Antonin, her ex-boyfriend, Antonin, Antonin that had killed her, not him.
No, it’s much more simple than that: it’s the sound of running water, and of blood and water running off of the smooth, cool metal in his hand. He’s rinsing the blood off of Katarin’s necklace, not bothering to dry it off before he clasps it around his own throat: water runs down his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps, and he stares at himself in the mirror.
And he says a name, one word, three syllables—a simple, common name, quietly, emotionlessly.
“...Dolohov.”
----»» MIRROR OF ERISED:
Konstantin has yet to find the Mirror; in his school days, he rarely (if ever) explored—there was no chance to find it. However, if he did happen to take a look, he would see himself, standing over Antonin Dolohov’s prone form: one of his own feet is on the other man’s stomach, and Dolohov is very clearly dead—tortured, just as Katarin had been tortured. The image of Konstantin reaches up and breaks the thin chain around his neck, lets the necklace slither out of his hand to land on the corpse’s chest: his job is done.
----»» AMORTENTIA:
Amortentia is one thing that Konstantin does, in fact, have a bit of experience with: in his fifth year, he, along with two older Ravenclaws, was chosen to help Professor Slughorn make a quantity of the potion. While making it, Konstantin discovered that his own personal scent consisted of cherries, the scent of books and smoke—he figured out some time later that he was recreating the smell of his shul—and of the smell of horse feed and the old, musty smell of their stable.
----»» SECRETS:
--Konstantin occasionally thinks that there may be something wrong with him: he doesn’t think that he feels much of anything anymore. Since Katarin died, he has felt very out of touch with the rest of society—not really withdrawing, but not going out of his way to talk to anyone. He rarely feels grief, sympathy, compassion—any identifying emotions. And he thinks that, perhaps, he’s going mad.
--He deeply regrets that he isn’t closer to his siblings, but he feels that it’s been too long to strike up a relationship again.
----»» STRENGTHS:
--He speaks four languages fluently—Ukrainian as his native tongue, Russian as his second language, English as his third, and German as his fourth; he speaks Bulgarian, Polish, Turkish, Baltic Romani and Lithuanian fairly well. Languages are clearly one of his most strong areas; he learns very easily.
--He is an extremely proficient Legilimens.
--He is very proud of his job within the Order and will do anything to ensure the organization’s security.
--He is very driven.
--He’s very, very good at hiding things from people—a perk that comes from being a Legilimens.
----»» WEAKNESSES:
--He is very judgmental—if one makes a bad first impression, they probably won’t get another chance to impress him.
--He tends to be impatient with people that aren’t as intelligent as he is—this trait has followed him all through school.
--He has something of a reverse blood-purity viewpoint: he views purebloods with suspicion—aren’t they all on Voldemort’s side, after all? What do they think they’re doing in the Order?
--He is driven by revenge.
--He doesn’t form bonds or other relationships very easily.
----»» GOALS:
--Hunt down and kill Antonin Dolohov
--Recruit students for the Order and expand the Order’s ranks
--Prevent anyone untrustworthy from entering the Order
--Prove to the Auror Department that he would be a valuable asset to the team
--Prevent Viktor and Vasili from joining the war—hopefully, this will be over by the time Serji is old enough to consider it.
----»» FEARS:
--Losing a duel—and his life— to Dolohov
--Put the Order at risk
--Lose Albus’s trust
--Get one of his brothers or sisters killed in the war
--Losing the necklace
----»» OVERALL PERSONALITY:
the student
Konstantin has never been described as unintelligent, or any derivative of that particular word. While in school, he was the perfect model of a Ravenclaw student; he studied frequently (well, he uses the word ‘frequently’; others chose ‘obsessively’), spoke seldom, and went to one party his entire seven years. He received nearly perfect scores on his OWL exams and did, in fact, get full marks on his NEWTs. Somewhere in the dusty confines of the Hogwarts Trophy Room is a plaque with his name on it—a prize for what the Headmaster had called “an outstanding devotion to academics”.
Konstantin’s ‘devotion to academics’ carried on into his life after school, as well; he studies Muggle history with great interest, particularly the varied wars and skirmishes between different countries in the past. The idea that one country is fighting another at any given time seems preposterous and faintly unnerving to him; the Muggles have had many, many more wars than the Wizards have, and their wars are much more terrible and deadly than the wars of Wizards—but, after all, there are more Muggles than Wizards.
He finds solid, technical things enjoyable, and received Muggle education along with his education at Hogwarts—magic in the fall, winter and spring, basic Muggle education in the summer. Mathematics are one of his strongest points, as well as engineering; he simultaneously thinks, when presented with a new problem, something to solve, “how great that men have done this” and “how wonderful that I’m so good at it.”. He has been called conceited more than once, occasionally ‘unbearably so’, but it has never bothered him; he know that he is intelligent, and to make himself less than he truly is would be a great sin.

the fighter
Albus Dumbledore was the first man to convince Konstantin that there was value in fighting, in being active, in rising up against anything that went against your person moral code. Before this, when he still had Katarin, they had both been content to let others fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters—it didn’t effect them, and they wanted nothing to do with it. Katarin had never wanted anything to do with her family and their war; Konstantin, at first, had wanted to help whatever side was against Voldemort—but Katarin’s pleading drove the idea away.
The Order is all Konstantin has, really; he has Derron—who he suspects doesn’t even particularly like him, and he has his family, to some extent, and he has the Order. That’s it; he doesn’t have friends—more like business associates than anything—and he doesn’t really have family; he’s given up on trying to find any kind of partner—he couldn’t go through Katarin again, and he doesn’t know if he could last this time.
In the beginning, Albus presented him with a difficult job and Konstantin did it well; he ascended the Order’s ranks swiftly and met little challenge. The only thing he encountered came from Aberforth Dumbledore, who commented on his age and inexperience more than once; Konstantin, however, proved himself to be extremely competent and more than willing: he is never foolish on a job, but he is clever and takes calculated risks when the need arises. He is, perhaps, a little less than honorable on some of his jobs; once or twice, on known Death Eaters, he has used a Muggle handgun, safe in the knowledge that they would have no idea what he was pointing at them until he fired—and then, of course, it was too late for them to do anything about it.
There was a good reason that Moody referred to him as ‘Dumbledore’s pet assassin’.

the faith
The Savage family has been faithful Jews for longer than anyone can remember or trace back: Konstantin’s great-great paternal grandmother is still alive, somewhere around a hundred and two—and she remains a faithful Orthodox Jew, even in old age’s many indignities. Konstantin was raised to respect his elders and praise God, thank God, seek God—and, most of all, worship God. For quite some time, he was devout—up until the end of seventh year. He still observes Shabbat and goes to temple—but British and Scottish shuls are nothing like Ukrainian shuls, where they weren’t common as businesses and where temples and Shabbat were still as revered as a rabbi.
Konstantin remains an observant Jew, despite going against one of his religion’s core beliefs—he murders for a living, on Dumbledore’s orders, but he’s able to justify it for himself. He observes the laws of kashrut, and the laws of Shabbat; Dumbledore knows that he cannot assign any sort of job to Konstantin on a Thursday or Friday—well, he could, but he knows that it won’t be done; Konstantin is strict in his observation of Shabbat.

UNAWARE, I'M TEARING YOU ASUNDER,
THERE IS THUNDER IN OUR HEARTS
----»» APPEARANCES .

----»» PLAY-BY:
Adrien Brody
----»» DISTINGUISHING FEATURES:
A Star of David on a thin chain around his neck; he usually keeps it under his shirt.
----»» VOICE:
Tenor
----»» BODY TYPE:
The Savage family has always had a strain of thinness—their arms tend to appear too long for their torsos, too little skin to stretch over their bones. Konstantin is no exception; at six feet, one inch, he weighs a hundred and sixteen pounds.
----»» APPEARANCE:
Konstantin has never really been referred to as a particularly handsome man—not for any real reason, though; there is no horrible defect in a limb, nothing terribly wrong with his face—there’s something off, just a little.
His parents, by all accounts, look like standard Jews and even more standard Ukrainians; they are dark-haired, as are all of their children—in fact, their children inherited most of their parents’ features—dark hair, dark eyes, sallow, pale skin, a nearly-beaky, prominent nose. Konstantin and his brother Vasili in particular are more like their mother in appearance, having her sharp features: the intelligent face that looks out of place even now in a country like Ukraine. Konstantin has her sharp, bold cheekbones, her thin mouth, her dark, glossy hair. It may be his eyes that are off-putting—not his father’s, God bless him, with deep gray eyes, hardened from work and thirty years’ effort of raising and feeding a family; nor his mother’s, dark, handsome brown, warm and open, always watching. Konstantin’s eyes are different: they may be gray, deep, intense gray—or maybe brown—or perhaps simply black. They aren’t insightful, not warm or anything else eyes are supposed to be—certainly not “windows”. His eyes are alert, always watching and observing, but closed off—he has no desire to showcase his emotions through his eyes, as some people seem to strive to do.
His body type is derived from his parents, as well. He doesn’t know how much he actually weighs—he isn’t concerned with such things, usually—but it should be somewhere around a hundred and twenty pounds. If he could dock a few inches from his frame, he would be well-proportioned; however, at six feet, one inch, he seems stretched out, bones sticking out in places they usually wouldn’t—his ribs aren’t prominent but one could see them if they looked closely, as well as his collarbones and the bones of his wrists and ankles. He eats as frequently as work permits, and tries to eat well; he also exercises as often as possible, resulting in a nice bit of muscle at his biceps and the hint of definition in his stomach and chest. He has no tattoos or anything else that would desecrate his body: he is an Orthodox Jew, and his religion prohibits such things.
His hair grows very quickly, much to his annoyance; if he had his way, his hair would never grow and always stay short—but he’s really just stopped trying, at this point. He trims it himself, leaving it shaggy; he has to shave every morning, always being careful to avoid his sideburns—he likes them, no other reason. Vasili and his father both have full beards, but Konstantin is of the opinion that he would look like an Afghan hound if he grew more than an inch of facial hair.
He favors dark colors and simple clothes; part of his job is being able to fade into the background, and he usually does it well. He enjoys Muggle clothing over wizarding robes, of course (who doesn’t?), but usually retains some kind of formality in his clothing—he usually wears slacks or corduroys for trousers and a button-up shirt over a tee-shirt; if he’s not on a job, he favors boldly colored button-up shirts, usually in a dark cobalt blue or deep red, over white or gray tee-shirts. He doesn’t like to stick out in a crowd, though, unsurprisingly—to anyone that doesn’t know him, he does, in all aspects.
But, of course, if it’s vital to the Order, he’ll do anything.
----»» FEELINGS ON THEIR APPEARANCE:
Konstantin supposes that he’s decent-looking; after all, people don’t avert their eyes from him when they pass. He was good enough for Katarin—and her standards, by all rights, should have been fairly high, so that was a bit of a confidence-booster. He looks like his father, and his father, at forty-two, is a handsome man—so he hopes, at least, that he’s decently set for aging.

YOU DON'T WANT TO HURT ME,
SEE HOW DEEP THE BULLET LIES
----»» BURIED IN THE PAST .

----»» NATIONALITY:
Ukrainian
----»» BIRTHPLACE:
Kiev, Ukraine
----»» PARENTS:
Fyodor and Marisa Savage
----»» SIBLINGS:
Eldest to youngest: Stasia (22), Natascha (19), Viktor (17), Vasili (15), Serji (12), Zinaida (8), Mikhail (7), Nikolai (6)
----»» OTHER FAMILY:
Katarin Romano, ex-fiancée (deceased); Elisabet, unborn daughter (deceased)
----»» PETS:
Derron, a Doberman-Pinscher
----»» FULL HISTORY:
Konstantin was born the eldest of eight children on May third, 1953, to Fyodor and Marisa Savage. Two years later, Stasia was born, followed by Natascha, in 1955 and 1957.
All of the Savage children, up until Serji in 1966, were born in Kiev, Ukraine; the family moved to a village in rural Ukraine called Nievam when Konstantin was twelve. They left behind family, friends, the beit k’nesset, the shul; the other children didn’t understand, still too young, still children. But, even at the age of twelve, Konstantin knew things that most would not expect; he knew, for instance, why his parents had refused to send him to Durmstrang when the attendance officer had come knocking—the school was famous for its study of the Dark Arts, even then. And so Fyodor and Marisa had sent their oldest child, their only school-age child, to Hogwarts to be educated in the ways of magic, far from the dark ways of the Durmstrang inhabitants.
Konstantin was sorted into Ravenclaw, to his own private delight; the House of Scholars, he called it, adopting the moniker from his father—and, for seven years, he was nothing if not a scholar. He was a quiet and attentive student, and singled out for few things but his intelligence. He would have been surprised if someone had told him that some of his teachers still remembered him; he never acted out like the other students in his years. He was made prefect in his fifth and sixth years, but not Head Boy.
It was during his duties as a prefect that he met the woman that would change the course of his life forever. If he had never been assigned that prefect round, Katarin Romano may have simply remained a face in the hall, a slender body on the arm of Antonin Dolohov, a fellow prefect at best.
But no; because of that single fateful round, Konstantin met Katarin and his mind was fixated on having her, being with her, Dolohov be damned. Dolohov graduated the year before Konstantin and Katarin’s class did, and Konstantin set about privately courting her: she was an esteemed Slytherin girl, and it wouldn’t do for either of them to be seen in each other’s company—not that she deigned to give him the time of day for half of their seventh year. But finally she returned his respectful flirtations, and they struck up a relationship: she ended the relationship with Dolohov the same night she sent her first letter to Konstantin. They graduated in the summer of 1971 after a year of private bliss; Katarin would have lost many friends, had their relationship been anything close to public. She had been, while dating Antonin, a respectable pureblood girl, sure to be married right out of school, sure to populate the world with more good pureblood children that would follow the footsteps of their parents.
Konstantin turned her idea around: they were not engaged until late 1971; her parents disowned her upon receiving the news of her new beau—from the Dolohov family, no less. They got a small flat in South Central London together, Konstantin undergoing Auror training at the steep price of twenty-two Galleons a month—for insurance and materials and other such things. In the summer of 1972, after his training was all but complete, he was told that the Ministry didn’t find him to be ‘Auror material’. He demanded to know what ‘Auror material’ was and received no answer; he asked if they meant ‘pureblood’ and received no answer. He took off his Ministry robes, let them drop in a heap on the floor, and walked out.
Katarin realized that she was pregnant about a week later: Konstantin, working odd jobs, panicked—but quickly warmed up to the idea of fatherhood, not knowing, of course, that his own father had gone through the same thing the first time. Katarin held a fairly steady job as a freelance reporter for Witch Weekly and other such trash; she managed to convince him that her earnings would keep them all fairly well. Konstantin worried, of course, but that, he thought, was what fathers—and husbands—did.
Their wedding had been planned for the fall of 1973 since he first proposed to her, and would go on as planned, Katarin decided, child or no child. She was his beautiful fiancée in the spring of 1973, April, warm and rainy, standing in front of a floor-length mirror in a brightly printed summer dress, both of her frail hands on the swollen bulge of her pregnant belly; he would always remember her that way, in that moment, and would picture his Katarin like that until the day he died. They were both excited to start their new life, their new family; they thought that their happiness would never end, no matter what.
On June fifteenth, 1973, Konstantin got a letter by owl from Gerard Shacklebolt, head of the Auror Recruitment Office: they wanted to review his qualifications—and doing so, the letter stated, would require a physical and mental examination, at twelve o’clock that afternoon. He left, kissed Katarin goodbye, and Apparated for the Ministry; when he got there, to the Auror office, he was told that no letter had been sent and that there was certainly no review scheduled. Konstantin stated, confused, that the letter had borne the Ministry symbol, had known his address, spouse, many things—and it all hit him then, and he bolted from the Ministry, Apparated onto the corner of Bank and Market, bolted up the stairs, not knowing that he could have Apparated straight into the living room because the protective spells had been broken already. When he got to the flat, his beautiful Katarin lay on the floor, her curly dark hair soaked in blood, knotted at the back of her head, her eyes closed, never opening again. She wasn’t alone: a man knelt at her side, his hand on her face—and he straightened up, blood on the knees of his trousers, and looked Konstantin in the face.
Antonin Dolohov smiled at him and Apparated out of the flat, leaving Konstantin standing there, the blood of his lover and unborn daughter soaking through his shoes.
For a week, Konstantin did not eat, barely slept, drank only vodka and the occasional glass of water. All he could think about was Katarin, his Katarin, and their child—and, more than anything else, Antonin Dolohov.
In December of 1973, Konstantin returned to his flat; he had left no lights on before he had left and felt no compulsion to turn them back on. He hadn’t locked the door; he almost welcomed death, welcomed danger, certainly welcomed intruders, be they Muggle or wizard, welcomed any chance to exercise this rage inside of him, burning his heart, brain, burning in his throat like cheap alcohol.
There was a man sitting at his table, his hands folded on his knees, his ankles crossed: he introduced himself as Albus Dumbledore, as though Konstantin in his grief would not recognize him. Konstantin of course knew who he was, but had understandably not expected to find him in his living room at eleven o’clock on a winter night.
Dumbledore gestured for Konstantin to sit and, after he had, began to speak, and Konstantin listened: he spoke at length, of the Death Eaters, of Katarin, of Voldemort, of grief, of pain, of loss, of Dolohov—and of an organization called the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore spoke of the Order’s desperate need for members—for fighters—for wizards ready to declare their allegiance and fight against Voldemort and the scum that had destroyed his family. And Dumbledore spoke of the child that could have been and never was, and asked Konstantin one question: if he knew then, when he and Katarin discussed marriage, that there were scum like that walking the Earth, wizards that would murder a young woman with child, wizards that would kill an entire family without hesitation or remorse—would he have raised a child?
The old Konstantin, Katarin’s Konstantin, died that night, in the badly-lit kitchen of their old flat. A new man was made, a man with an actual purpose.
Konstantin looked Dumbledore in the eyes and said, “Dolohov is mine.”

BE RUNNING UP THAT ROAD,
BE RUNNING UP THAT HILL
----»» okay, listen up! this application page was made by OPERATIC SKELETON , of CAUTION 2.0. Inspiration came from everywhere, lyrics from running up that hill by kate bush, which is a good song so i suggest you listen. this is my first ever template, so be nice... feel free to tweak things, but leave the credits on, else i shall have pete wentz and his band of rebellions hunt after you and kill you in your sleep.

1. Do you know what I love, Em? How he's religious. That's unique. I've never seen an application with that before.
2.

The plausibility of that makes it all the more hilarious. xD
3. Antonin, Konstantin, and Katarin. Epic.
4. Awesome dementor. Your writing style is so smooth – and the imagery is phenomenal.
5. The history was in-depth, too. Seriously. Amazing job.
6. I wish today was Friday so I could finish up Antonin. e . e

ACCEPTED!

You may post in the plot pages and begin role playing with Konstantin!