CASSIUS TIBERIUS MULCIBER.
17. Slytherin. Pureblood.
He has a mask which makes him beautiful in the way that Lucifer is beautiful - deception personified. He is the devil, after all, that red-horned contemptuous creature, controlled by his whirlwind of emotions.
She glances up to see who is there and feels her stomach drop once again. Of course he was there. It would have been a good turn of events if she had run into someone like him. And apparently, she was not getting any of those. “Some, yeah.” She muttered. “Also have false accusations written everywhere…”
There’s a certain satisfaction to seeing innocence tainted, and there’s a look in Emmeline Vance’s eyes that speaks of scarring horrors. A little chuckle, morbidly puerile, escapes his lips, and Cassius presses his knuckles against his mouth as he studies her as she speaks. “What kind of accusations? The ‘you ate my blueberry crumble!’ kind that little boys tell their mums?” A moment of personal spite slips into the question, but quickly fades into that same falsely lulling tone. “You seem frazzled, Emmeline. Maybe you should have a seat.” He glances down at the place besides him, lit by moonlight, suggestive. “Don’t worry.” Such a nice little chirp. “I won’t bite.”
She has never run out of anywhere so fast in her life. The fact that she is supposed to be under surveillance is forgotten entirely as she runs from her dorm, from the tower, runs until she finds herself in an empty corridor and falls to the floor, leaning up against the wall, breathing quickly.
Don’t cry. Don’t break. Don’t le yourself be that w e a k.
“I can’t – I can’t go back there…”
"Go back where, darling?” He had been leaning against a windowsill, anticipating someone to come along. Lucky, lucky, he’d caught the school’s most wanted raven. Voice light, but eyes glinting with sinister intent. “Your dorm? But don’t you have treats there?”
There was something of a warning inside her mind, through the spider web of confusion and fear, she was acutely aware that she ought to glance at her Slytherin housemates, the most cunning of folk & search for their guilt. Her t r a i t o r thoughts span, a multitude of scenarios forming before her very eyes as she walked towards the common room. Each step looked gentle, but she felt as though she were moving sluggishly down to the dungeons. Scarlet had stained her eyes, a deep shiver in her bones, which rattled in the place where her dead heart was. No, don’t be stupid. You’ve had a bad weekend, but you are a Black & Black’s don’t feel remorse for muggleborns.
Laughed filled her ears, sickening chuckles which turned her already churning stomach. How was she supposed to stomach the delight of Cassius Mulciber? She was certain that his laugher would spur on her madness. Andromeda could not stop herself from staring at him, teeth capturing her cheek as she bit down painfully so - staunching her desire to utter words of anger and discontent. It was impertinent. So much had happened last night, yet he found room to laugh.
Venom licked her words, a serpentine smile tilting the buds of her lips, “You might want to be careful, someone might hear you laughing & might take it the wrong way.” Her eyes darkened, chocolate turning to black as anger boiled inside of her, “And I am not some house elf that you can order around.”
His gaze moves in a predatory fashion up the length of Andromeda’s robes, mind instantly making comparisons against the forms of her sisters — little, dovelike Narcissa; fierce, dark Bellatrix. Besides them, this middle child was merely a shadow, not particularly outstanding, not to him at least. But now, she quite stands out, and he doesn’t know whether to laud her for her boldness or to sneer at her defiance.
“Wrong way? What, am I not allowed to be happy when the mudbloods aren’t?” After considering the meaning behind her words, he decides to go with the latter. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but I’m not particularly invested in what they say. Or think. Or feel.” A spurt of laughter returns to him and he ducks his head to indulge it, voice becoming that of a wondrous child. He doesn’t mind her presence so much in a sudden change. “But really, really — wasn’t last night grand?”
She had been on her way to the Ravenclaw Common Room with some of Emmeline’s favorite treats from the Kitchens. Her dear friend had understandably not felt much like spending time outside the Common Room. This meant that any of their usual trips to the Kitchens or the Library were out of the question. Because of that, Octavia decided to take it upon herself to bring the warmth of the Kitchens to her friend instead. She had hoped that it would even cheer her up. Although Octavia was honestly doubful if anythig much could do that at the moment.
She was distracted from her task, however, by the sound of unmistakeable maniacal laughter. Out of curiousity, she turned her head to face whatever source that it came from. She’d only meant for her gaze to linger for a moment– just long enough for her to figure out where it came from. Unfortunately, her gaze lingered just a moment too long making it seem as if she was staring. She wasn’t taken aback at all by the irritance in his tone. With a shrug of her shoulders, she simply offered him a grim smile before speaking.
“Don’t mind me. I was on my way to the Common Room actually– so feel free to continue cackling like a hyena. Don’t let me interrupt.” She stated before she brushed his shoulder lightly as she passed him.
If he had recognized her sooner through the blur of his vision (some things were so hilarious, they simply called for a tear or two), he wouldn’t have added the last word. But as Octavia Rookwood brushed past him, Cassius’ brow furrowed and he reached out easily to grab her arm, glance flicking first to her face, and then to the platter she held in her hands.
“Who’s that for?” As he demands the answer, he’s pulling her closer so he can have a better look at the array. “You’re not bringing that to your little friend, are you?” Indignance scatters his tone. “She sits on her arse all day, metabolism is probably shit. You’ll make her fat. And slow.” With his free hand, he reached out quite clearly to take the entire batch, fingers grabbing. “Give it to me.”
send me ❤ and I will bold all that applies to your muse
I would kill for you. • I would make love to you. • I would fuck you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common. (but too bad biatch you chose the WRONG SIDE) • I want nothing to do with you. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you. • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I want children with you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically ) • I love you life family. • You are my family. • I could fall in love with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you. • I want to kiss you. • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. • I only want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. •You confuse me. • EXTRA: Your glasses are ugly. • Just like your face lol.
send me ❤ and I will bold all that applies to your muse
I would kill for you. • I would make love to you. • I would fuck you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common. • I want nothing to do with you. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you. (we will go mugglehunting even in the afterlife) • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I want children with you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically ) • I love you like family I love cake. • You are my family. • I could fall in love with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you. • I want to kiss you. • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. (As long as you don’t cough on me or spread...those germies.) • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. • I only want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. • You confuse me. • EXTRA: You are one of my 3 friends. • EXTRA EXTRA: I would conquer the world with you.
send me ❤ and I will bold all that applies to your muse
I would kill for you. • I would make love to you. • I would fuck you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common. (we share the same pure blood) • I want everynothing to do with youR death. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you. • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I want children with you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically ) • I love you life family. • You are my family. • I could fall in love with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you. • I want to kiss you. • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. • I only want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. (for intruding upon my space with your breathing) • You confuse me.
send me ❤ and I will bold all that applies to your muse
I would kill for you. • I would make love to you. • I would fuck you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common. • I want nothing to do with you. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you. • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I want children with you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically ) • I love you life family. • You are my family. • I could fall in love obsession with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. (BUT ONLY IF BELLA IS ALSO ON THAT SIDE.) • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you. • I want to kiss you. • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. • I only want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. • You confuse me.
send me ❤ and I will bold all that applies to your muse
I would kill for you. • I would make love to you. • I would fuck you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common. • I want nothing to do with you. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you. • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I want children with you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically ) • I love you life family. • You are my family. • I could fall in love with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you. • I want to SHALL kiss you. • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. You will never forget me. • I only want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. • You confuse me.
send me ❤ and I will bold all that applies to your muse
I would kill for you. • I would make love to you. • I would fuck you. • I would protect you. • I would hurt you for a selfish cause. • I wish we had more in common. • I want nothing to do with you. • I want to see you cry. • I want a future with you. • I want to destroy your future. • I do not care what you do. • I am indifferent towards you. • I want children with you. • I love you ( platonically ) • I love you ( romantically ) • I love you life family. • You are my family. • I could fall in love with you. • I would lie for you. • I would fight by your side. • I will never let you go. • I would hold you while you cried. • I would hug you. • I want to kiss you. • I would stay by your bedside if you were ill. • I want to fall asleep with you in my arms. • I want to forget you. • I will never forget you. • I only want to make you proud. • I wish I could make you happy. • You deserve nothing. • I will never forgive you. • You confuse me.
There was a twisted appeal to fragility. The precarious balance of it, a butterfly’s futile wingbeat within a heart that he could rip out of its recess and crush before the cry even surfaced from the beautiful, pink mouth which begged him to stop. Narcissa Black’s wrist doesn’t quite fit in his grasp. Too slender, too delicate, too utterly soft for the edges to meet his palm, flush. So he squeezes until she does fit, until the curves of her body align like stars against the sharp cuts of his body — stars that collide in fiery fiasco, one dying to lend the other brightness. Scarlet, like blood, or the colour of her cheeks when he smashes his lips against hers, silences those cries with a tongue shoved against her teeth. Fingers slamming between her legs, rough rough, not so much pleasure as pain, knives and batons, plunging into an abyss, eyes flicking to her visage to watch it contort in a mixture, a battle of let me go and harder, harder. When he licks the length of her body, he will snarl against the skin of her neck, her hip, the definition of a collarbone, and bite down, mark her as his own. Blue black rings, fingerprints trailing like pebbles along pale thighs. And when she is beneath him, pinned down by a weight that she cannot throw, he will call her terrible things, wondrous things, words that she will never hear from her betrothed or any other: she is being fucked by a beast. Perhaps at the end, he’ll flip her onto her back and burrow his face into the notch in her shoulder, tell her that going to hell was worth this night of heaven.
Evan was good with a wand – better than most in fact. He was intelligent, quick thinking, and proficient at making decisions. But there was no denying the fact that he was outmatched. Mulciber had years of cruelty and torture under his belt, and Evan had never lifted his wand with the intention of doing true harm. But the fury, raw and overwhelming, that coursed through his veins kept the fear that he should be feeling at bay. He refused to let the pain of his hand, the pain of Mulciber’s wand digging into his throat show on his face because that would be giving in and letting the younger boy win. He couldn’t have that. Mulciber had crossed the line time and time again, and Evan was tired of always having to clean up his messes.
“You did it in front of the entire school,” Evan snarled, trying to keep his voice as low as he could. He was acutely aware of all the people looking on at the spectacle, and he knew that Mulciber would face the harshest of reprimand if his words reached the wrong ears. Yes, he was absolutely irate, but he had no intention of sullying Salazar Slytherin’s reputation over Cassius Mulciber. “Your habit is bad enough behind closed doors, but in plain sight? You’ve ruined us all, Mulciber.”
With all of his strength, he braced his hands against Mulciber’s chest and shoved him backwards, buying him enough time to draw his wand as well; he refused to be unarmed, to let Mulciber always have the advantage. His instincts of self preservation were far greater than his aversion to unnecessary violence; besides, he didn’t trust Mulciber to spare him the true extent of his wrath just because they shared a common history, a common family. “I’ve warned you time and time again about your lack of discretion,” he said, wand pointed straight at Mulciber’s heart, “but never did I think you would ignore me so wholly. Think of the rest of us, Cassius. We have to clean up your mess, we have to bear the brunt of your mistakes, and that’s not fair.”
It had all been under control. He had held it in ( well, until now ) the plan had been enacted without a hitch — a few more days and it all would’ve blown over, and he could’ve notched this beneath his belt like a hidden trophy, to present to the master when the time came. It had been fine. IT HAD BEEN FINE.
“I didn’t do anything, you fucking idiot. Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Pushing against the other boy’s body with each word, Cassius began to spit out a silencing charm, but was cut off as he was shoved back with a force that he didn’t think Rosier capable of. Skidding to a stop, his mouth twisted into a snarl, eyes flicking to the onlookers and then back to his opponent, gaze shadowed. He wasn’t used to a crowd, and this one was obviously intent on damning him. Flick, flick. A small part of him which still held rationale tried and failed to weigh the consequences — maybe if he killed everyone quickly, there would be no need for the dozen memory charms. Or perhaps it would be best to just maim their tongues off? But then he’d have to cleave their hands too, they could still write. Maybe decapitation then? He only half-heard the words that Rosier was whispering with fury, and when his attention returned to the figure before him, a growl rose fast and furious in his throat at the sight of the wand, pointed at his chest. More specifically, at his heart.
“What’re you going to do, Rosier? Cast a Cruciatus Curse on me? I heard you last night, y’know.” He raises his voice, loud, loud, LOUD enough for the whole hall and half its classrooms to hear. “Thought you were all inconspicuous, yeah?” His wand is gripped so tightly that it takes every ounce of willpower to lower it. Oh, this is good. This is some Antonin shit right here. He already anticipates the congratulations that await him. “Crouton or something, you kept on whispering. I see how it is now. Now I know that you go low, mate, but I didn’t think it would be this low.” The twitters about them rise to a cry, and as onlookers back away while others poke their heads out from doorframes, Cassius feels the grin slip into his features, words thrown back in a mocking tone, the one he likes to use on victims before he makes them scream. “Think of the rest of us, Evan. We have to clean up your mess, we have to bear the brunt of your mistakes, and that’s not fair.”
Evan was on a mission. He hadn’t seen Cassius in days, and no one was more suspect than his pigheaded, trigger happy housemate. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t done this sooner, as he had let his naiveté get the better of him. Assuming that Mulciber had boundaries or any semblance of self control had been his – and everyone else’s – mistake. So, he combed the hallways, looking around every corner, behind every suit of armor for the insufferable child. Sure, he had no proof that it truly was Mulciber who had committed the crime, but the boy’s previous record spoke for him. His capacity for horrific, terrifying atrocities was unparalleled by anyone in their house, and this wouldn’t be the first time his temper got the better of him.
What he wanted to know was why, but he knew, with every fiber of his being, that Mulciber’s answer would never be satisfactory. Once, passing through muggle London, he had caught sight of a headline on a discarded newspaper that captured his attention: “Family of four arrested for hunting tourists as sport.” He’d picked up the paper, flipping through to the article, and read it from top to bottom. The Cromwell family, of Northern England, ran a small farm in an even smaller town, and for one month of the year, they would go after anyone driving through the area, isolating them in the fields, hunting them down like animals, and then serving them to the rest of the townsfolk as food. In the clipping, it said that when asked why they committed such horrific crimes, the Cromwell patriarch had said that it was because they liked it.
Whenever Evan saw Mulciber, he was forcibly reminded of the article, of the disgusting, maddening side of human nature. It was what he thought of now as he rounded the corner and saw Mulciber leaning against a wall, cackling to himself. The noise sent him over the edge, the grating, jarring nature of it, and before he knew what was happening, he rounded on Mulciber, his fist striking the other boy squarely in the nose.
Pain laced through his hand, white and hot, and, through gritted teeth, he hissed, “What the fuck were you thinking?”
There was the split second where he registered the look of pure fury in Evan’s ordinarily tranquil features, and then before his fingers could even think to wrap about his wand, there it was, a fist transversing time and space, smacking against his features, sending a sharp pain up his nose. There was a moment where he stood shock-still, and then, gingerly, like a child, Cassius lifted a hand to the blood gushing out of his nostrils, brought his fingers away, registered the rich crimson that covered them. In a voice an octave lower and a world away from the laughter of a moment ago, he spoke in disbelief, almost unsure of what had occurred. “You just hit me.”
And then the moment passes, his eyes narrow, and he is advancing on the other boy, wand clutched in bloody digits, black length outstretched before him. He’s vaguely aware of the screams and shocked cries of those around him, Get McGonagall! they call to one another, fucking insects fleeing in the sight of confrontation. No, the insignificance of them blur, become mere undertones to the buzzing that rises in his ears, the red that dances over his vision, the heat that rises to his gaze, to his cheeks, teeth bared as he tastes copper. “I’ll fuck you up, Rosier. You fucking bloody son of bitch.”
He shoves Evan back, slamming him against the wall, lifting his wand to the underside of his chin, sticking the hard point of it into the flesh there. “What the fuck am I thinking? I was laughing, you fucking prick — somethin’ wrong with that?” A chuckle that gurgles out from his throat, uncontrolled. “You might be a sad fuck clinging to your bitch of a girlfriend all day,” He digs the tip in further, shoving his face in close enough to see the specks of colour in Evan’s pupils as his voice falls into something terrible, the croak of a man convicted beyond reasoning, a fervor trembling in it. “But not all of us are fucking pacifists. What, you think they’re equal to us? You wanna fight me for a pair of stupid mudbloods?”
He had tried, he really had. He swore it on Salazar’s ever-beating memory that he had held it in as long as he could. But you see, hysteria was a certain kind of chaos, entropy, and it only grew when suppressed, until it burst open like a kitten’s heart when blood had been forcefully squeezed into it’s confines. Scarlet everywhere, a mess that could’ve been contained had the purpose been fulfilled earlier — the like. Cassius had feigned apathy well enough last night, at the sight of those hideous little worms splayed out over the mahogany surface in what he considered perfect harmony, ugliness made beautiful by the emblem they had bled to create. A fist stuffed into his mouth, a mate at his back with Silencing Charm ready should he lose control, the smirk hidden in his cloaks as he turned with the rest of the Slytherins as they were herded back to the dungeons, as if they were sheep, not wolves.
He had tried, he really had. Control was one of his fortes — ah, but self-control was another matter entirely. So as he turned past the Divination classroom where a whole slew of beasties were intently staring into teacups, in their free time no less, he couldn’t help it. A smile broke his features, and then it was a grin, and then he was against the wall, laughing his arse off, wildly, hysterically, beating one hand against the stone as hyena-esque shaking enveloped him. They were fucking trying to see who the fucking culprit was. With fucking tea.
As a presence appeared in his peripheral vision, Cassius turned, albeit with difficulty, and between lingering chuckles, did what he did best. Threaten. “What’re you looking at?” His smirk dropped, abrupt. “Scat.”
Of course, Mulciber wants to turn every single menial thing into some sort of competition. Of course. Evan can drink with the best of them, but even he knows that he’s no match for Cassius. However, he’s just drunk enough to want to wipe the self satisfied smirk off the other boy’s face.
“I’m listening,” he says, eyebrows raising. “What sort of competition?”
A jeer goes up behind him, and it mirrors the smirk manifesting upon his features. He and Evan were far from chummy enough to know the other’s drinking habits implicitly, but the Russian blood in him had demanded that he master and excel at such a task from an early age. Hard liquor ran in his veins, turned them to fire. A moment to think, and then his eyes gleam.
“My mates back ‘ere call something out — we transfigure it, yeah? You any good? Don’t answer, it doesn’t fucking matter. Whoever does the worse job of it drinks.” A pause. “And the one who gives up, or I don’t know, dies first has to...” He laughs now, an ugly laugh fed on a twisted sense of humour. “Endure any spell the other subjects them to.” There were three flitting about his mind, and it was in his gaze, this premonition. “It’ll be fun.”
28 November, 1975
The Business with M.M. aka The Silence of the Lambs
CW: violence, blood, general terror // FT: Mary MacDonald
There was something deeply satisfying to bathing in darkness, rolling in the unknown, emerging victorious when all shadows wept. The boy was a creature who had a heart twisted by the semblance of those specters. They had crept into his chest when he was young, vulnerable, impressionable ; and as they pressed brands to his skin and burned lessons and morals into his mind, he had morphed into something vicious: to counter the flame, he had become an inferno.
And so it was when Cassius Mulciber stalked through those empty halls, steps silent and form unintelligible but for the soft clouds of mist that emitted in the chill of the air. His hand was clutched in one hand, fingers already finding familiarity in it’s grooves despite it having been passed down to him only this past summer. Cloaks sweep about him, he is Death’s phantom lover, ready to bring Her another sacrafice.
“Come out, come out, darling.” It’s a soft coo that echoes through the loneliness, flying up to the windows, which steal his voice away...but not the harsh laugh that follows.
“Oh come on, Macdonald,” it’s a scoff now, he straightens up and begins to pace back and forth, back and forth, face hidden in obscurity, venom lacing every poisonous word that he spits from between serpentine teeth. “Let’s not play games. You’re cornered, you know. I’ve got you already. Now let’s make it quick, yeah? I’m sure that we’d both like to get to bed at a reasonable time.”
Silence.
He’s growing impatient. Too much of a fuss and some prefect on patrol could catch him...though it would be a nice challenge to try taking on one of those pretentious pricks for one. Test out the memory wipe charm he had mastered this summer with the houseelves, making them forget his father’s pipes, and watching as they were punished for their lack of obediance from the alcove above the second flight of stairs.
Silence.
“Maryyyyyyy.” Her time has past, now the clock is his to warp: she didn’t listen nicely and come out when beckoned, so he would drag the filthy mudblood out of her hovel and teach her what FEAR was made of. “Tick tock. Time’s run out. We’re playing hide and seek, it seems. Are you ready?”
Silence.
With a snort, he stalks up to the three classroom doors, which are all utterly dark. She can only be in one of them — he heard the slam the door as he turned round the corner. Now the question is: which one? Such a precarious game, this risk and reward. Choose wisely. It’s Darius’ voice, deep, chastising his son with his wand brandished like a whip above his head, ready to lash down if the boy made the wrong decision.
He’s learnt too much from pain to forget those lessons.
“Alohomora.”
“Alohomora.”
“Alohomora”. Click.
Three murmurs, and the last door of the row unlocks. Aha.
A quick motion: Enter, shut the door softly behind him, Silencio. They are isolated, and in the hall there will be nothing but s i l e n c e .
It’s easy to find her. He knows what vermin like to do: they hide in the smallest, darkest corner they can find, stuffing themselves beneath desks, behind parchment, hiding their face in their knees.
She’s in the far corner, books piled over her body, as if he would fall for such a novice trick. Clearly, she’s never felt a pureblood, a superior’s wrath, and when he steps lightly towards that corner (oh, what a mistake, to choose a place that even moonlight evades), a grin spreads itself across his vision.
“Boo.”
He lifts the book obscuring her face, and before the scream is even faded, the terror of it ringing between them, his fingers are already closing in about her collar, dragging her out, knuckles tangled in that dark dark hair —
...
When he emerges, there is blood beneath his fingernails, and he places those scarlet digits into his mouth, he tastes the tainted nature of it, this hideous creation and her lifeforce, ebbing at his doing. The door clicks shut behind him. He doesn’t worry about the silence. Tonight, it’s his friend.
