Mulciber Citadel

The day was warm, but on the outskirts of Mulciber Citadel stood a young golden-haired man with handsome features staring quietly at his childhood home. Peregrine Mulciber did not have many fond nor warm memories of his childhood home. But he had still had them once, before his father learned that he was a squib, and before his younger brother, Damian had become twisted under his father's hand.

Peregrine grimly stares at the grand Mulciber Citadel, before making his way up the path. Even now, despite having been thrown out by his father, and all but disinherited but in name, Peregrine was still permitted home. He had not returned since he was ten years old, when his mother whisked had him away in the dead of night to safety to keep him away from his father. And he was under no mistaken impression, because he knew for a fact that his father would have killed him for his existence of being that of a squib and his father would not have felt a single shred of remorse afterward.

Frankly, Peregrine would have gladly never returned to Mulciber Citadel, but a recent university graduate, he had found himself unemployed. And then, he had heard from his aunt and uncle that Gringotts was hiring squibs as was the Ministry of Magic and other positions. For certain, he had thought he would be assigned to the new Gringotts division, Gringotts Incorporated. But to his own shock and that of the goblins, he passed the examinations for Gringotts with flying colors. He was one of the few non-goblin accountants and was the only squib accountant at present being employed at Gringotts.

Making more than an enough money, Peregrine's thoughts had returned to his mother. He knew how much his mother suffered at the hands of his father, but she would never leave him of out of fear. But maybe, now that he had his own earnings, his mother would be willing to leave Mulciber Citadel.

Raising his right hand, Peregrine hesitates for a moment, before using the doorknocker that was a silver snake with emerald eyes biting its own tail. Peregrine knocks thrice and waits to see if there is a response. Not hearing a sound, he raises his fist to knock, when the door swings open to reveal an old, familiar face

Peregrine's face tightens with worry and rage at seeing the Mulciber family house elf, Beat. The house elf that was nearly the same age as he has a round swollen nose, missing teeth, and a broken bat like ear that hangs down. There are old and new whip scars on his arms and legs and is badly bruised from a recent beating.

"Bee-bee?" Peregrine whispered in concern and utterly aghast at seeing his childhood companion so savagely beaten.

"Per-per?" The house elf whispered in disbelief, before flinching and crouching down as if in fear. "Sorry, Master! Beat did not mean to be rude!"

Peregrine's face hardens resembling far too much that of his father's, but unlike his father's face, there is genuine concern and kindness visible in Peregrine's eyes. "It's alright, Bee-bee," Peregrine said as he gently patted the top of his childhood playmate's head. Beat flinches at the gentle touch of the first young master that was once his friend.

Peregrine quickly withdraws his hand with anger and sadness in his gaze. "It's alright, Bee-bee, I understand." Clearing his throat of emotion, he says, "I'm here to see my mother, Bee-bee, will you take me to her?"

Beat anxiously shuffles on his feet as he glances around frantically, before whispering, "The Madam is lying in bed, she was hurt by the Master again."

Controlling his emotions and not wanting to frighten the house elf even more, Peregrine carefully replies, "That is fine, Bee-bee. I've only come to see mother."

Beat shivers and says with worry, "Beat is worried! The second young master is home, the first young master should depart!"

Peregrine's eyes narrow, but he nods his head in understanding. But before Beat can think of a response, Peregrine brushes past the house elf with an apologetic glance. "Is my mother still in her old quarters?" Peregrine asked over his shoulder as the house elf frantically, but quietly shut the door, and ran after him.

Grabbing his ears in panic, Beat says, "Yes, but first young master, please stop! Beat does not wish for the first young master to be hurt!"

"I will be fine, Bee-bee," Peregrine confidently replied. "I am no longer a defenseless child and nor do I lack connections for which to protect myself. Damian is more than welcome to try."

Beat does not appear to be convinced by such a statement. The house elf hurriedly follows as Peregrine slows down as he recognizes the painful, but nostalgic sights of his childhood. There was the swirling sleek banister that he had loved to slide down as a child, when his mother was not around. The same swirling banister that he had later taught his little brother to slide down and for a while their bright laughter filled Mulciber Citadel.

A bittersweet smile appears on Peregrine's face as he recalls his five-year-old self being so excited to receive his new baby brother. His mother had often played with him when he was young, and his father was away. And for a moment, there he even thought his father would change. But it was merely the naïve sentiments of a child, and his father's kindness did not last. It never had.

Peregrine closes his eyes for a moment to hide his pain. His father was a pureblood wizard, and that was a complicated identity to have. Despite hating his father with all his heart for beating his mother, a part of Peregrine still cared for him. And perhaps that was the part of himself that still hurt him the most and hated most of all.

That childish portion of Peregrine's heart still clung to the memories of a father, who had shown him his first magic spell. The same man who had taken him flying on a magic carpet. And that same man, who had once been so immensely proud of his firstborn son.

The boundaries between love and hatred are sometimes much closer than they initially appear and are in fact at time mere centimeters apart. And Peregrine was no exception, but he sincerely wished that he were. It would be some much easier if he truly and wholly could hate his father with all his heart. But the human heart is not such a simple organism.

And much like the childhood riddle of his youth, "If wishes were horses, Beggars would ride: If turnips were watches, I would wear one at my side. And if if's and an's were pots and pans; The tinker would never work!" Because wishes could very well fill the whole sky like bright, glistening stars in the night, but they would forever remain just out of our reach.