Damian stayed until very late at the Silver Chalice, but he saw S.R. Wilkes and Primus Wilkes depart without ever catching a single glimpse of exactly who they had met with. Still, he did not miss the fact that Harold Minchum emerged from the urinal without being glimpsed entering in the first place.
A brash blackheart he might be, but not a complete idiot. It didn't take much to put two and two together to realize that it was Harold Minchum, who the two Wilkes was meeting with. This was a most intriguing proposition as Harold Minchum was a force to be reckoned inside the Ministry of Magic despite having lost the election for Minister of Magic against Eugenia Jenkins.
Leaving his payment on the pub table, Damian strolls away, before summoning the Mulciber family house elf. "Beat, where are you, you, filthy maggot?!"
A loud pop is quickly heard revealing the Mulciber family house elf. The male house elf is almost fully grown but already has missing teeth from terrible beatings. The cowardly beast has one of his bat-like ears hanging down broken like from a terrible beating that never fully healed. There are old whip scars on the back of his arms and legs, and the only reason the mangy creature wasn't dead was because of Meredith Mulciber, the lady of the manor, his mother.
Damian sneers when recalling the pathetic, emotional sentiments of his mother, who protected the creature. Perish the disgusting thought! That is why women are only useful for one thing only that was being on their backs and carrying their seed.
"Take me home," Damian roared as the clumsy creature with a shaky grip reached for his boot before apparating them away to Mulciber Citadel.
The two of them land just on the outskirts of Mulciber Citadel, but the miserable creature holds on a second too long. Disgusted, Damian sends a flying kick at the creature sending the maggot scarping across the ground to come to a halt a few feet away. "What have I told you, you miserable wretch? Don't touch me an instant more than necessary!"
"Beat is sorry, sir," the house elf painfully croaked as it hauled itself to its feet lest it in occurred another beating from his master.
Feeling generous, Damian strolls away as the house elf more than happily apparated away back to the kitchens to tend to his wounds. Hopefully, he'd have enough time before his masters summoned him again.
Bursting in through the front door, Damian saunters into the gloomy, but sumptuously decorated manor that is even worse than Fawley manor when it came to excessive ornamentation embellishments. But Mulciber Sr. preferred it in that manner in which to better showcase his power to the masses and his invited guests.
A loud painful cry causes Damian to amble over to the source which was his father's study. Opening the door, he sees his father cursing the wench that his mother on the floor. Snickering, he leans against the door to better enjoy the sight. The wench deserved it, no doubt, having angered his father again.
Finally, his father ceases to hex her upon her losing consciousness. Staring at the pathetic mess of his mother bleeding on the floor, Damian sneered in revulsion. Women are such pathetic creatures so much lesser than men. They should learn to be silent and not speak unless spoken too. That was what is truly wrong nowadays in the world. There was a point in time when a proper pureblood female wouldn't even raise her gaze to meet with the gaze of a pureblood male. And yet now even a mere whore attempted to refuse him.
It was proof that there was something very wrong in the world today. It must be the mudblood's dirty influence that had even extended to pureblood society. And Riddle had one thing right at least, the mudblood's must be done away with, and the muggles must be brought down to their knees to serve them.
The handsome figure of Mulciber Sr. sweeps his mostly still golden hair back, before turning his cold gaze towards his son. A prideful, smug look appears on his face as he says, "Well, how was your outing son?"
Damian snorts as he says, "Madam Zenarie refused me any future entries into her establishment for playing too rough with one of her whores. Can you believe that? It's a bloody whore!"
Mulciber Sr. sneers and c.o.c.kily says, "I'll have a word with Madam Zenarie and have your exclusion revoked."
Damian grins in cruel delight as he says, "But she said that Sanderson wouldn't hear it otherwise."
"Sanderson?" Mulciber Sr. scoffed out loud. "The once-powerful potentate of London has grown old, and weak. He'll not overly protest too much if I pay him a hefty fee."
"Good," Damian said as he leaned away from the doorframe. Pausing to stare at the barely breathing body of breeding mare that birthed him, he curiously asks, "So, what did SHE want?"
Mulciber Sr. grinds his teeth in anger recalling the request, before grimacing in reply, "The fool requested that I permit that squib to return, if not visit."
"What?!" Damian sputtered in shock unable to believe the sheer stupidity and audacity of that wench. "You can't possibly be considering such a thing, father!"
Mulciber Sr. roars, "Of course not!" Before turning away to stare at the flames. "However, with the new Ministry laws in place some of the old families are recalling their younger children back into the fold. The squib, Peregrine can still be of some use to us."
Damian's lips curl into a scowl as he recalls the squib creature that was his elder brother. He'd not seen the squib since he was five years old. The squib was five years older than him, before being mercifully thrown away. Yet that wench had interfered with his father's plans and scurried the miserable squib to safety!
Father had beaten the wench nearly an inch to death, but the wench had never broken and told him where she had sent the miserable squib to. Not until the squib had safely reached the age of eleven did his father lean that the wench had sent him to her childless cousins, who had happily accepted the magicless creature! Father is unable to safely rid himself of the squib. He was left with no other choice, but to finance a muggle education for the creature until it reached the age of majority!
"Not to worry, son," Mulciber Sr. said as he turned to face him. "I will only permit the squib creature to visit your mother, but I shall not acknowledge him beyond that. And besides, the squib is soft like his pathetic mother and will surely fulfill any request that I or you might make of him."
"Excellent," Damian said with a gleam of satisfaction. "Make sure that he enters and leaves the manor using the servant's entrance. We wouldn't want anyone to be getting any ideas."
Mulciber Sr. chuckles in delight at the very idea as Damian waltz's off lost in thought. The squib possessed no threat to his inheritance much less to himself. Still, he would make sure to make that clear to the squib.
Readying himself for bed, Damian can't help but gleefully chuckle at recalling the scene in his father's study. His mind then jumps to Evans Avery, who at his wedding had so purposely ignored him as if ashamed as of his actions. As if the bastard was truly better than him!
Reaching under his bed, Damian slides out a thin box and removes a thick black candle made from the fat of human bodies, a Babylon Candle. A candle said to make any curse possible and grant the darkest of wishes within reason. Tragically, the effects of the candle only worked for a day, but that was more than enough time for him. And besides, he had been saving it up for just such a special occasion.
With a vicious sadistic grin on his face, Damian begins to chant,
"Wrath, Pride, L.u.s.t, Envy, Sloth, Greed, Gluttony,
That which is forged in hatred and darkness, I ask,
Let thy powers grow, and come,
Fulfill my deepest of desires,
Go forth lurking darkness,
And let my rage bear fruition.
The thick black Babylon Candle bursts into flames all on its own, before turning into sweeping darkness and rushing away. It would fulfill its task by midnight of the next day. One way or another, but only just one.