#hadotmillicent

Winter was just coming ‘round the corner, and Walker’s face was just beaming. Dried leaves littered the streets and crunched under the many dilly-dalliers’ feet. Children would pile up the leaves just to jump into them, bubbling up in laughter before repeating the procedure. Brandishing his wand, he levitated a pile of leaves away, at the last minute, as a little boy crashed into the hard, cemented ground. He chuckled softly as an older woman approached—probably the child’s mother—as he slipped his wand back into his overcoat and scoured for another victim. 

He had always found joy in others’ misery, even as a young boy he would torture the meek house elves when he had nothing better to do. As soon as his parents would return home, they would often find house elves hexed around the house; some hanging off the chandeliers, others halfway phased into the walls and the unluckiest ones, maimed. His father wasn’t any different, albeit a lot worse. The boy would have been a chip off the old block if he wasn’t more sadistic. 

He was a shady character, walking up the street in a dark coat and fedora. Aside from the disguise that kept eyes off him, he welcomed the fear that caused the people, who spared him a wayward glace, to keep their distance from him. Upon closer inspection, a bottle of firewhiskey protruded out of this coat pocket and sloshed as he trudged up an alley to a park. He settled himself nicely on a bench and began downing the bottle’s contents. Trees swayed against the autumn winds as they were stripped of their leaves. The general area was quiet and the birds lackadaisical as the jumped around in search of worms. Contrary to popular belief, muggle sites were often quite peaceful if the stupid creatures would just keep their distance. He lost count of poor men he had hexed when they queried him about his day or advertised something.