Ruse Aftermath Ⅶ

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?

Peregrine racks his mind as his eyes flash in grave thought. Why was his father here? His heir was dead. And if so, what then did his father need? A new heir, but Peregrine was a squib, and his father could not divorce his wife nor kill her, (merely beat her an inch from death). Then how could his father acquire a suitable heir?

Peregrine's eyes widen in understanding and shock. Raising his trouble gaze to that of his father, he flatly says, "You are here to reclaim me as your heir with Damian dead and disgraced."

"Good, you still remember how to think," Mulciber Sr. approvingly murmured with thinly veiled pride. "Go on."

"However, I am far from being a suitable heir," Peregrine said as Mulciber Sr. nodded his head in confirmation. "Then that can only mean one thing, you will create a suitable heir for the Mulciber family. However, you cannot marry nor divorce mother, therefore the heir must come from me."

"All the above are correct," Mulciber Sr. said with a cool grin. "Excellent, I feared your time in the muggle realm had debilitated your senses, but it appears the goblins did a good job of sharpening them again. Albeitedly, it is still a bit weak."

Mulciber Sr. paused and gazed at him with a stern expression. "Son, you let yourself become far too easily riled and your enemies will make use of that. Do not disappoint me again."

Peregrine's first instinct is to shout at his father that he is not his son. However, he remembers himself and after a brief lapse of silence, he finally says, "So why else have you come this day? Surely it is not with some ludicrous request that I wed, a pureblood heiress, or is that it?"

"That is exactly it," Mulciber Sr. truthfully answered. "I have arranged for a meeting to occur with the largest and most numerous of Greengrass branches led by the matriarch and Veela, Ethel Greengrass."

Mulciber Sr. pursed his lips for a moment in displeasure. "I do not wish to intertwine our blood with that of a bloodline that carries the blood of a CREATURE, but the females of this particular bloodline are extraordinarily fertile. That and females of that line that go onto even wed SQUIBS, their children are still born with magic. Should you wed a female of that line, none of your children will be born with your blight, Peregrine."

Peregrine's toes curl harshly within his boot, but he manages to ensure that no visible reaction appeared on his face. "You presume far too much father," he fiercely said. "You presume that I wish to be your heir and that I desire to marry. However, I desire neither of these things, so I wish you good luck in your continued search."

Peregrine moves to rise to his feet, when Mulciber Sr. barks, "Wait," Peregrine paused and glanced at his father.

A rare gleam of approval appears within Mulciber Sr.'s eyes. "In exchange for your obedience, I will permit your mother to reside with you until her death and I shall move to one of the various other Mulciber properties for the entire duration of your marriage."

Peregrine's eyes widen and narrow at his father's frightening proposition. If he agreed, he would be forced to wed, something which he had promised himself to never do. But, if he obeyed, he could finally save his mother. The second his heart faltered; he knew that he would select.

"Very well," Peregrine steadfastly said. "But it will be done on my terms, father."

"Mm, we shall see," Mulciber Sr. conceded without promising anything.

Whirling away, Peregrine darted away from his father and that which he had promised. It was rather ironic, really. In the muggle world, he had often heard them say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. He had not understood at that time until now. For the Devil always sweetens the deal with honey poisoned words until it is far too late, and we have already fallen into his grasp.