*The day had been uneventful for the most part. His cat scratched him, his father offhandedly mentioned an attack in Essex, his mother invited an old friend over for tea and compulsory bragging of Mulciber's intellect and nerve. Mrs. Mullens was her name, and he's rather certain he hexed her daughter back in third year for snickering when his voice cracked in Herbology.
Yes, mundane and perhaps disappointing. But after some light reading downstairs, Mulciber made his way up to his bedroom, ready to turn in for the night.
If there is one thing to know about Mulciber it is this: He hates surprises, he hates the unexpected. He especially hates surprises in the form of half dressed Mudbloods by the name of Lily fucking Evans—or rather, Potter— sitting on his bed.
His heart thuds in his chest and he immediately draws his wand before closing the door. He can safely say that he's never been so stunned in his life.*
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Yes, mundane and perhaps disappointing. But after some light reading downstairs, Mulciber made his way up to his bedroom, ready to turn in for the night.
If there is one thing to know about Mulciber it is this: He hates surprises, he hates the unexpected. He especially hates surprises in the form of half dressed Mudbloods by the name of Lily fucking Evans—or rather, Potter— sitting on his bed.
His heart thuds in his chest and he immediately draws his wand before closing the door. He can safely say that he's never been so stunned in his life.*
WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU—