Chapter 693 - Ruse Aftermath Ⅶ (1/2)
Not pleased by the response of his wayward son feeling more than a bit irked, Mulciber Sr. lips curled into a thin sneer. ”Damian that foolish boy involved himself far too thoroughly with the Dark Lord-.”
”What?!” Peregrine roared as he rose to his feet fast enough to knock his chair loudly onto the floor. ”You,” he pointed at his father. ”Damian would have only joined if you, Father, were a part of it, and with your permission might I add!”
”Our family has always sought out where the currents of power lie,” Mulciber Sr. scoffed, ”and you are no different might I add.”
Peregrine looks as though he is about to vehemently protest, but Mulciber Sr. speaks right over anything might have said. ”Don't lie to yourself, SON. Why else did you elect to work for Gringotts, hmm? They are one of the most powerful neutral parties in the wizarding world, and who else could provide such protection. You may have sought refuge for a time in the MUGGLE realm, but you certainly not have forgotten all the pureblood principles that I taught you.”
Peregrine opens and closes his mouth but finds that he cannot find a retort to his father's words. Grinding his teeth together, he reaches down to straighten his chair, before taking a seat again. Taking a deep shuddering breath, he finally flatly asks, ”What happened to Damian?”
”Dead at the Auror's hands,” Mulciber Sr. matter-of-factly answered. ”He died during the attack at the Damocles Belby home. I've called more than a few favors within the Ministry of the Magic to keep it silent for the time being, but the news can only be suppressed so long. I am certain it is merely a matter of time until someone leaks it to the Daily Prophet.”
Peregrine shakes with barely suppressed rage and grief. His younger brother was dead, and he'd never even gotten to say goodbye. It simply wasn't fair!
After some time, Mulciber Sr. aloofly said with a rather bored tone of voice, ”Come now, such sentiments are beneath you,”
”He was your son, you, blackguard!” Peregrine spat out in fury. ”How can you simply sit there and speak in such a tone of voice, when he was your preferred heir!”
”And he failed in completing his duties,” Mulciber Sr. sincerely retorted. ”And I have no further use for failures.”
”Of course,” Peregrine knowingly hissed. ”What would the great head of the Mulciber family know of failure!”
”Careful,” Mulciber Sr. warned through narrowed eyes, ”do not try my patience, Peregrine.”
Peregrine bites his tongue in reply lest he says something he might regret in the heat of the moment. After a moment, he composes himself enough to ask, ”When is the funeral?”
”There is no funeral,” Mulciber Sr. confidently replied. ”He was a blight to the family name, and so his ashes have been scattered to the wind.”
”He was still your son,” Peregrine roared. ”You had no right to do so!”
”I have every right,” Mulciber Sr. dangerously answered. ”I am the head of this family, and I will not have anyone challenge my authority, not even those that were begot from my seed!”
Peregrine quivers with barely suppressed rage before he catches the satisfied expression of his father. The feeling of a pail of cold-water drenches him sober. Just what did his father have to gain by angering or better yet what more did his father want of him?