Poison Ivy [Sirius Black]

IVY AND AN OLD FRIEND

ＦＩＦＴＥＥＮ

𝕚𝕧𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕒𝕟 𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕

      NOBODY EVER FOUND THE BODY of Vanille's first husband, even with differing Selwyns coming to the manner, asking about whatever happened to Alek Mulciber. Vanille would smile, make pleasantries, and distract his friends with charming wit. It was Greggory Selwyn who always asked the most questions, the most inquiries about his 'friend'. She played the part of a grieving widow as if she was just as shocked as everyone else.

      It was the first years of the war, and Mulciber went missing just as many wizards had.

      And nobody found the body. Then again, there wasn't one to be found. Vanille had made sure of that, dragging her blade across his throat in a swift cut. There was always a possibility of spell checks to be performed, especially with his high position as a Death Eater in the Dark Lord's 'army'.

      It was the act of dragging the body that was harder than the initial killing. She had placed her hands under his armpits, watching as blood leaked over the stones underneath him. It created a trail, like the slime left behind from a snail. Vanille had been covered in it, but, then again, she hadn't been prepared. In years' time, she would look back on all the mistakes she made that day, the different ways she could have been caught. She would look back on it and wonder how she ever could have been so stupid to commit murder out of passion instead of calculation.

      Vanille had been distraught, filled with anxiety, a bubble of fear that was impossible to quell. She had been pregnant of all things.

       But nobody would ever find his body. Nobody would ever find his money.

      So, Vanille moved on to the next, and the next, and the next.

      Her son looked up at her, his eyes wide as she continued to stare back down at him. He had a dark complexion, matching her own. He had her nose, he had her cheeks, he had her brows, he had her lips, but he'd always have Mulciber's eyes. They were dark, with just the tinge of hazel with a scar just above his brow. It was done by the same curse that had made the hair never grow back. To a trained, magical eye, they could see the shape was the same as the swish of the curse that had been fired upon his face just one year and one marriage ago.