A/N: As the Death Eaters Avery and Mulciber have no canon first names, I've given Avery the first name Alton and Mulciber the first name Michael. According to canon, Mulciber went to Azkaban after the first war, while Avery did not.

…

Mulciber was the only person Avery knew who could pass through a 16 year Azkaban sentence looking as young as he had the day he was arrested. Unlike the other Death Eaters who had been arrested at the end of the First War-whose postures had become wracked and stooped with the burden of a thousand horrid memories, whose faces had melted into wrinkled, gaunt masses-Mulciber's footsteps had remained naively energetic, and his face had retained its fresh, youthful air. There were, of course, a few other factors that caused Mulciber to appear exceptionally young, one of which was his uncanny ability to perfectly imitate a spoiled four-year old's whining cry.

"Aaaaaallllton, I'm huuuungryyyy."

Avery sighed, repositioning himself against the wall of the cave that was serving as their current hideout, before replying, "We ate yesterday."

"Exactly. Yesterday." Mulciber, who had been lying against the cave's moist stone floor and staring up at the mossy ceiling, scrambled into a sitting position to regard the other man. "D'you not see anything wrong with that?"

"Given that we're wanted criminals, it's probably the best we can do."

"Where's your Slytherin ambition?" Mulciber smirked, lazily stretching his arms in the air before lying back down. "I nominate you to get food."

"Me? I got food last time," Avery stated with a mildly exasperated tone.

"What about that squirrel I caught this morning, eh?" He waggled his eyebrows and gave a hopeful grin. "That's got to count for something."

"Michael. You burnt it to crisp trying to cook it."

"You know what they say about charcoal being…filled with…nutrients…or something. So you see, I was just looking out for our health." Mulciber confidently finished, before shifting his weight again, so that he was now lying on his stomach with his face propped in his hands. "Come on, pleeeaaase can you get food?"

For a moment Avery determinedly looked over Mulciber's head, but even out of the periphery of his vision he could see Mulciber's wide, hopeful eyes and feel a melting softness somewhere behind his ribcage. "Fine, I'll get food." Mulciber's face split into a toothy grin. "Tomorrow, when it's light out." Mulciber frowned.

"Y'know, I still don't get why you don't just ask Snape if we can live at his house. It's not like he's using it what with being a Hogwarts professor and all, and then we'd have food and a kitchen and beds and an actual roof over our heads."

"Pettigrew's living there."

"So? We could kick him out. He's certainly not friends with Severus, not like we are."

Avery sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. If anyone in the Department of Mysteries had wanted to learn how to freeze time—perhaps Rookwood, if he hadn't joined the Death Eaters in the first place—all they would have to do is study Mulciber and his sixteen year-long stay in Azkaban. The man—boy, really—seemed to have emerged without any sense that time had passed since the beginning of his sentence.

"Severus and I haven't talked in years," Avery wearily explained. "Hogwarts was a long time ago and when you're sharing all of your classes with someone, and living with them, and fighting in Death Eater battles with them, you think you're good friends. Once all of those things disappear, though, sometimes you realize you never had that much tying you together in the first place."

Mulciber, the 19-year old boy in his thirties, was regarding him with only a semi-comprehending look. "I s'pose. But we'll always be friends." He leaned back again and continued to idly gaze up at the moss-covered rocks, while Avery silently regarded his delicate, quiet face. "Would've been nice if we could've had a Christmas feast or something."

"It's—" Avery abruptly cut himself off to quickly perform a bit of mental arithmetic. "You're right; it is Christmas."

"It could be your Christmas gift to me!" Mulciber energetically sat up straight again, his eyes shining.

"I—well—" Merlin, Mulciber could look downright adorable when he tried, and Avery was certain Mulciber was trying right now. "Oh, alright," he relented, immediately feeling more cheerful. "But then you have to give me a Christmas gift, too."

"Name it."

"Anything? You promise?" Avery asked, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"Anything."

"You have to come with me to get the food."

"I—aw, dammit." Avery's grin widened even further. If he was going to spend time going into the city to get food, after all, he figured it'd be more enjoyable to spend that time with Mulciber. "If I have to venture out into the snow and the cold, can we at least go see a Christmas Market while we're at it?" Mulciber added.

Avery shrugged. "Sure. I was planning to go to Prague to get food, since it's only a few kilometers from us. There's a Christmas Market in the Old Town Square we can go see. It's been there for a while, though, so you've probably already seen it whenever you've gone into town to get food." Mulciber began whistling innocently. "You have gone into town to get food in the past month, haven't you?"

Mulciber energetically threw an arm around Avery's shoulder. "Hey! Check out those stars! Can't see stars like that in London, can we?"

"You haven't gotten food for us in a month?" Avery exclaimed at the evasion.

"But it's always so cold out and I hate the cold and, besides, you're so much better at it than I am, Alton," Mulciber whined. "I can't figure out those Muggle markets we steal food from and I always end up pilfering boxes of salt or something inedible like that." The man did have a point, Avery supposed. The numerous boxes of salt and flour that Mulciber had accidentally stolen were still resting in the back of their cave.

By the time they arrived at Old Town Square, Mulciber, making various proclamations about how he hated the cold, had managed to commandeer two of the three coats Avery was wearing. "You know, there are these things called heating charms, Michael—"

"Don't like them," came his words, muffled behind the coats' collars. "They always make my wrists too warm." Upon reaching the square, Mulciber stopped mid-step, gazing at the strings of glittering yellow lights draped across the small, red-roofed stands of the Christmas Market.

It was on the tip of Avery's tongue to remind him that they shouldn't spend too long standing still in any one place—they were wanted criminals, after all—but then he noticed the corners of Mulciber's eyes crinkling into a smile, and he decided to hold his tongue for just a few seconds longer.

"Michael…" he gently started.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. No staying in one place too long." He turned towards Avery, and the corners of his eyes crinkled again, ever so slightly. "So where's the best Muggle market to rob?"

The golden lights from the square were reflecting off of Mulciber's dark eyes, and for a second Avery forgot his next sentence. Tearing his gaze away, he finally jerked his head towards one side of the square. "There's one pretty close by we can go to, bordering the Vltava River."

They slunk away from the brightly lit square, twisting their way through the winding streets that led away from the Old Town. They were on a particularly vacant street when Mulciber casually leaned closer, and imperceptibly breathed in Avery's ear, "Don't look now, but someone's following us."

Avery felt as though ice was crawling across his torso. Of all his excursions into the city, he had so far managed to avoid anyone that recognized him as an escaped criminal, but it seemed that lucky streak had just come to an abrupt end. Apparate away quickly, Avery decided. Erase any trails and move to another city, no, another country. That would be the best way to avoid imprisonment, by far the safest, most rational—

"Incendio!" Avery jumped at Mulciber's suddenly bellowed word, and turned in time to see him sending a swath of fire towards a single cloaked figure.

A bright blue curve expanded from the figure and immediately extinguished the fire.

"Michael!" Avery hissed warningly, grabbing the other man's arm in an attempt to pull him away from the duel.

Mulciber turned towards Avery and grinned in response, "Come on, just a bit of fun." A second later, Mulciber had fallen to his knees and begun coughing, clutching his chest.

"Michael!" Avery exclaimed again and, scolding himself for distracting Mulciber from the duel, firmly grabbed his shoulder in preparation to side-along apparate.

"No, wait!" The cloaked figure called, and Avery hesitated for a second. The voice seemed familiar, and when the man approached closer, he recognized it as Lucius Malfoy.

"Malfoy! What did you do to Michael?"

"It's not lethal; I just wanted to distract you from apparating away. It'll wear off in a few minutes," Lucius explained in a light voice. Mulciber responded with a choice hand gesture and another bout of coughing, and Lucius glanced at him again. "Should I ask why you're wearing Avery's coats, Mulciber?"

"Cold," Mulciber coughed.

"I see. You know, there are these things called heating charms—"

Mulciber repeated the choice hand gesture, and Avery directed his next words to Malfoy with an annoyed frown. "What exactly is so important that you couldn't wait until the next Death Eater meeting to talk with us?"

"I'm looking for Nott, and Carrow said you two might know where he is."

"Nott—Dolohov—with—us," Mulciber wheezingly coughed.

"Nott's with you?" Lucius excitedly exclaimed. "Where? Tell me where!"

"Nott and Dolohov were staying with us," Avery added in. "But about a month ago Nott and Dolohov split off from us. Nott said something about having family in the British Isles, so I think he wanted to be closer to home."

Lucius groaned and began rubbing his temples. "Any idea where?"

Avery heaved Mulciber, who had nearly stopped coughing, into a standing position and brushed the snow off of his shoulders. "I think—Bristol? Bristol sounds right."

Lucius gave an annoyed exhalation. More long-distance apparation. "Fine. Thank you." With a crack, he had disapparated.

Mulciber turned towards Avery. "Food? Finally?"

"Yes, let's go find ourselves a Christmas feast," Avery smiled.

…

A/N: I don't believe I've said this before, but I thought I should mention that the characterizations I have of the various Death Eaters in this story are intended to be realistic. That is, I visualize there being a fair amount of variety among their personalities, where some would be more laid-back (e.g. Gibbon and Rowle) than others (e.g. Yaxley and Selwyn). In this one-shot specifically, Mulciber is rather immature because he was sent to Azkaban when he was 19, which stunted his maturation.

That being said, I'd be curious to hear your opinions on my characterization of Avery and Mulciber :)