Unfortunate Encounters || Mulciber & MacDonald
Mulciber was in a mood. It had been weeks since heâd been home, and he was still on edge. He prowled the corridors looking for something or someone to distract him. There was only one thing for it when he got like this. It became a single-minded kind of blood lust; he wouldnât be able to sleep or think until he satisfied it.
He rolled his eyes as he passed a pair of giggling Slytherin fifth years. He often wished some of the members of his esteemed house were of lesser blood, so he could feasibly teach them a lesson; they were so bloody annoying. Most of them, in their naivete, had no idea of the legacy they had been born into. He smirked darkly, for they would know soon enough.
After rounding a corner, Mulciber paused at the sight of a blonde-headed girl entering the kitchens. A devilish look overtook his features; he almost couldnât believe his luck. Mary MacDonald, one of the little entitled Gryffindor mudbloods entered the kitchens, alone, right before his eyes. He could not have dreamt of a better treat. He had picked the lion out at the beginning of the year, but other than a single instance in September heâd had no opportunity to do more than vague threats. They all thought they could come into this world, with no cost, blind to the war and pain they caused. They had to learn everything has a price and if he must be the one to teach them, so be it. Something about this mudblood, her overwhelming happiness perhaps, had made her the object of his seventh year. This was what he needed. He leaned against the wall in the shadow of a suit of armor, prepared to wait until she left the kitchens. He saw no need to follow her in; he wasnât interested in a cup of tea.Â
His smirk got wider as she finally returned, and he slowly crept out from his spot. Watching as she practically spun in circles to find the source of the noise. He chuckled, but it wasnât a joyful sound. âI cannot say I have ever been mistaken for Peeves before. I suppose there is a first for everything.â He shook his head as he finally stepped out of the shadows, noting the quickening of her breath. âIt certainly has been a while Miss MacDonald. I trust you have been well.â He started working his way closer and twirling his wand between his fingers as he went. He shot a stinging hex at her as he moved forward, just for a first taste.
His pleasantries weren't fooling Mary, and although her gaze caught onto the wand he was idly holding, she didn't do much more than narrow her gaze at the menacing figure before her. She wasn't like the other girls in her year, she didn't have natural reflexes that pushed her to escape or defend herself in dangerous situations. She didn't have the sharp tongue and bravado of the most of her house that would come up with a quick and effective insults to retort. (Surely something like how he was truly ghastly like a poltergeist, being it was a wonder no one had mistaken him as peeves before.)
It almost filled her with dread as she realized her muscles were tense head to toe, as if she had been hit with a body binding curse. Her mug of tea was near scalding to the the touch, but even so she was unable to simply loosen her grip on it. This was the work of no spell though: This was just the paralysis of true, unexpected fear. It wasn't quite terror though. She had dealt with the increasing taunts and attacks of entitled Slytherins all year long that she had learned they usually would let her be on her way after a few insults, maybe an empty threat or two. She tried to hang onto this small consolation.
However, a flash of light from his wand quickly reminded her that Mulciber wasn't like other Slytherins. There had been one encounter before that started like this, back in September, and it hadn't ended exactly well for Mary. He acted on his words, and didn't hesitate with the concern of a student afraid of being caught by authorities. That was what made him more destructive than others.
The blonde sucked in a harsh breath through her teeth as the burning sting of his hex caught her arm. Her grasp of her tea gave way completely, and the sound of porcelain shattering on the stone floor shook Mary out of her rigid state. She side stepped away from the liquid pooling on the floor while attempting to subtle move in the direction of her exit. Her hands searching for her wand futilely. She never had reason to bring her it too Quidditch practice, and tonight had been no different. "Just let me be, Mulciber," she requested , clutching her arm where his spell had scorched her.
