Ostensibly, this wasn’t a Death Eater mission. Regardless of any potential usefulness to the Dark Lord, all that really meant was that Nic didn’t wear his mask. He covered his face, of course- he wasn’t a moron- but it was a simple black cloth mask pulled up over his nose, blending with the rest of the completely black ensemble. 

He traipsed through the darkness of the museum exhibit, plucking things here and there he found interesting, knocking over display stands, setting things on fire, while the others did whatever they considered to be their fair share of work. He’d expected that all resistance and wards had already been taken care of, so he was completely surprised to simply walk in on Caleb Goldstein, of all people. Hearing the artist had spent a wakeful night in a cell because he’d been too stupid to avoid Nic’s machinations had been highly amusing, but Nic honestly hadn’t thought much of him since. 

“Incarcerous,” he snapped, wand aimed at Caleb before the other could react.