Out on the cobbled street, Damian Mulciber rises to his feet and points his wand at the red-painted door of the cursed establishment, before slowing thinking better of it as he hears that old whore's voice in his head, "Your father is not foolish to dare to cross the Potentate of London. You would do very well to remember this lesson, Mr. Mulciber, and it is that there are existences in this world that your father means less than nothing too."
"B*tch," Damian murderously growled, before whirling away. He didn't care what the wench said, he'd see to it that his vengeance came into effect. But he couldn't ask his father, nor much less use his own two hands, he'd need a third party to act on his behalf. Still, that was easier said than done because if what the old wench had said was true than asking the usual intermediaries would be like delivering himself gift-wrapped into the hands of Sanderson.
Striding away with still of a bit of rage in his gaze, Damian made his way down the various streets to a pub commonly frequented by purebloods, the Silver Chalice. The Silver Chalice is a slightly more of a posh pub than most pubs are as it is sparkling clean and there are waiters to serve drinks and the pub snacks. But other than that, the Silver Chalice had the ambiance of a drinking pub.
Making his way to an empty seat in the corner, Damian slides into his seat as a waiter instantly approaches and asks, "What will you be having, sir?"
"Firewhiskey," Damian snapped impatiently as the waiter left straight away with the order. The servant better return to quickly with his drink!
A few minutes later the waiter returns with a silver chalice filled to the brim with firewhiskey. One of the reasons that the pub was called the Silver Chalice was because all of the drinks were poured into silver chalices. That and the fact that silver chalices darkened whenever there was poison interjected into a drink ensuring the pub's reputation and the client's safety.
Without even thanking the server, Damian gulps down a third of the drink, before setting the chalice down. Licking his lips, he reaches for the small bowl of salted snacks that had been placed by the waiter. Grabbing a handful, he pops a single snack at a time into his mouth as he lazily studies the pub.
There were more than a few recognizable figures chatting with old friends or acquaintances seated at the bar at various booths throughout the entire pub. There wasn't much smoking going on with the exception of a few tobacco pipes here and there. It was a rather relaxing atmosphere that wasn't typically associated with the establishment of a pub.
Damian is nursing his drink when he catches the eye of two semi-hooded figures. Nodding his head at them for them to join him, the two figures after a moment make their way over to his booth. "Have a seat, gentlemen," Damian murmured with a tilt of his chin towards them in added emphasis until the two wizards sat down.
Studying the two figures before him, Damian lowers his voice to a low murmur as he says, "An emerald acromantula silk cloak, I would recognize that cloak anywhere, S.R."
The two wizards stiffen for just a second as the cool voice of S.R. Wilkes on the right says, "Well, how very interesting of you to notice, Damian. Yet why are you here slumming in a pub instead of Durmstrang? Though a little bird did tell me that even Durmstrang had tossed you onto the street for daring to rough up a pureblood girl. My, my, standards are simply falling everywhere."
Damian clenches his drink hard enough to leave a soft dent in the silver chalice, before forcefully releasing his drink. "You're right, I was careless," Damian said trying to feign a certain aloofness about the sensitive subject. "But still, I'd rather not be like Evans Avery, who's suddenly found himself shackled into marriage with a child to be born in a matter of two weeks if not days."
"Well, I suppose there are always worse fates to be had," S.R. Wilkes murmured pensively, before gesturing towards the figure at his side. "I don't believe that you've ever made the acquaintance of my dear uncle, Primus Wilkes, Damian."
Damian's eyes narrowed, before a cold smile appears on his handsome face had charmed hundreds of foolish girls. "Indeed, I have heard of him," Damian slowly said. "I believe he was a close friend of my father, and that of Evans Avery." He tactfully did not mention that of Rosier's as well. It was a sensitive subject back at home.
"Yes, we were very, very close once," an icy almost malevolent voice said as Primus Wilkes tilted his hood enough to barely reveal his features in the gloomy lighting. His dark wry hair has traces of silver matched with pale, cruel attractive features that are unable to hide the viciousness found therein. There is a dark, twisted grin on his face, but in the depths of his light-colored eyes there exists an unmistakable fervent madness to them.
Damian is barely able to keep himself from shivering at the crazed gaze of Primus Wilkes. He suddenly recalled his father once while drinking with Avery said, "Aye, there was always one bastard that terrified us above all with his zealous, it was Wilkes. Unlike his older brother, Primus Wilkes was off somehow. I can't even put my finger on it now, but it was like he was born crooked from the very start."
Perhaps there was some truth to his father's words, after all, Damian silently concluded to himself. Refusing to lose his cool, Damian smirks and says, "Well, I can't say that I've heard my father speak very much on the subject. That being said, what are you doing here, S.R.? You're a wanted man after all."
"Is that a threat?" S.R. Wilkes voice coldly asked.
"No, just merely an observation," Damian murmured with satisfaction at having gained the upper hand. "And you still haven't answered my question."
"And I don't intend too," S.R. Wilkes pointedly said. "We've never been close friends even while at back at Hogwarts, and much less now."
"Touch," Damian said with a nonchalant shrug. "Still, I would suggest that you find your target soon enough, I fear that several of the patrons are getting rather curious as towards your business."
"You are right," S.R. muttered in agreement, "tragically, I am still awaiting the presence of another."
"Is it anyone that I know?" Damian further prodded.
"Perhaps," S.R. replied with a glint of a cold smile. "But why the curiosity, Mulciber?"
Damian's handsome face distorts with barely suppressed rage. "I am not one to be trifled with," Damian hissed. "And I will have my revenge."
"Interesting," Primus purred with interest. "I do so love a cold-blooded act of revenge," with a bloodthirsty expression on his face. "Who exactly is the object of your bloodthirsty sentiments?"
"One Rowan Prince," Damian spat out. "And the other within my reach, for the time being, the establishment of Madam Zenarie."
Primus lets out a pleased chuckle as he says, "One belonging to the Prince family and the other a Madam protected by the very Potentate of London, you, sure know how to pick them well, child." Pausing he leans closer and flashes a wolfish, hungry smile. "I love it!"
Damian feels a trickle of cold sweat running down his spine in aversion. There was just something off about the wizard before. However, he maintained his cool faade as he swiftly answered, "I know, but it is rather difficult to get to either of them."
"Technically only one," S.R. rather pensively declared. "You were never expulsed from Hogwarts, and your father only elected to have you removed for the time being. With your father's influence, it should be no small feat to enroll you back at Hogwarts, and even the Headmaster would be unable to protest."
"You forget Malfoy," Damian callously snapped back. "He is the chairman now and influence or no, Father won't be able to easily move him especially with circ.u.mstances surrounding my third-year departure."
"Then you cheat," Primus cunningly interjected. "A transfer student with a new identity."
"I thought Hogwarts prevents such a thing," Damian said through narrowed eyes.
"Not polyjuice," Primus said with a great deal of satisfaction, before asking, "So, what will you do now?"
"I am sorely tempted to return," Damian admitted out loud. "But my father won't allow such a thing, and I can't very well lie to him regarding my disappearance. Now can I? And though rash I may be, I am not a complete fool, Mr. Wilkes."
Primus shrugs innocently as if now bored by the conversation topic. Rising to his feet, he says, "It would appear that our guest has arrived, we really must be going. Until next time, Mulciber."
Damian does not reply any further as S.R. Wilkes nods his head at him, while the two men make their way further down the pub and disappear into a dark corner booth. He wasn't a complete fool; he knew that the two Wilkes men were trying to use him as a cat's paw for him to chase the mice out. And once he did, he'd be the only one to stand to lose.
Still, it was rather interesting that the Dark Lord was so very interested in the Prince family along with that annoying chit and her brother. Not that he would join the cause, but it might prove to be worthwhile to work together in a joint endeavor upon occasion. There might be some merit there to be found. And worse alliances with less in common had been forged, and they, in fact, did share a common hatred for the Prince Family.