Chapter Ten

Izar dipped his head toward his textbook, not meeting any of the curious eyes. It was difficult to come to terms with being… noticed. The only time Izar had ever been noticed was in his younger years at the Muggle orphanage. And the attention he got then was less than positive. He would always be teased and bullied because Louis had targeted him as his own personal toy. The Muggle had all but made Izar's life a living hell. And the other kids seemed to gain courage enough to follow in Louis' footsteps, simply because Izar was always small for his age.

However, the attention he was getting now was of a different kind.

The students had never heard of him. They were curious. Even more so when the word spread that he was underage to compete. The rumors were outrageous, as was the undying gossip and giggles.

Izar even had to skip breakfast because he didn't want anything to do with the gossip. His stomach was completely empty and he realized he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday at lunch. Izar didn't know when he would be able to eat his next meal. The thought of going to lunch in the crowded Great Hall set his stomach in a sea of anxiety.

After he had met the group yesterday in the Trophy Room, he had made his way to the Ravenclaw Common Room. On his arrival, there were countless of Ravenclaws waiting up for him, eager to find out how he'd gotten past the age restriction line. Without a word, Izar had swept right past them and closed himself in his bed, curtains drawn for the rest of the night.

He didn't know who put his name in the Goblet. And he also knew that it was impossible to track down who did. He already had enough on his plate this term; he didn't have any time to figure out who targeted him.

Who would have thought he would be a nobody and then turn into a somebody in the time span of a few hours?

Izar was currently sitting in the DADA classroom, waiting for Professor Black to enter. The rest of the students were buzzing about the Tournament, throwing glances across the room as if he'd jump up and join them. Unlikely. If anything, he'd rather chuck his book at them than hear any more of their wild assumptions.

Izar snorted, burying his face into the textbook as he caught sight of Sirius Black gliding into the room. The man had his shoulders swept back and his chest inflated in front of him. It looked as if the man had cast an inflatable spell to his torso before he came into class.

"Good morning class," Sirius started a bit darkly.

Situating his book so Izar could watch Sirius comfortably and still appear reading, he allowed his eyes to wash the length of Sirius' body. Because he was closer in class than he was in the Great Hall, Izar noted the mischievous lines around Sirius' face. But more disturbingly, the man's good humor lines seemed to have dulled over time. It was almost if Sirius was once a young man full of humor and radiance and then something came along to turn his ways around.

The older man seemed to have a bit of shadow to him, a similar shadow Lily Potter carried.

Izar shook himself, not willing to think on his mother. But then again, this was his uncle standing not even ten feet from him; an uncle that didn't even know his only nephew existed.

Sirius walked behind his desk, looking down on at a roll of parchment. "I will call your names, please state that you are present," his black feathered quill dipped in his inkwell before he started roll call.

Interestingly, Sirius Black seemed to have a bit of a… alternative personality disorder. The man all but jumped excitedly as he recognized a student's surname. He then started questioning the student in question about their parents or relatives. Izar observed as Anna Beth Tully, a sixth year Hufflepuff, blushed and replied to Sirius' eager questions. Apparently, after a bit more digging, Sirius claimed he had gone to school with both her mother and father.

Izar raised an eyebrow, watching Sirius closely. The man's personality was hard to judge. There was a child within Sirius, but there was also a dark, brooding adult, an adult that saw a lot and experienced a bit of pain. And then there were also the conflicting personalities of a gentle and caring adult and a mischievous child who could, in all actuality, be a little bastard with a cruel streak.

It was just Izar's perception. He usually judged characters correctly, and Sirius, so far, was the most troubling.

Of course, there could be the excuse of the Black line. The Blacks interbred quite frequently. Their incest bonding could have affected Sirius Black more than the man let on.

"Izar Harrison," Sirius' voice was dim, a large difference from his previous tone.

Charcoal-green eyes focused sharply on the man's turned face. Sirius wouldn't look up from the parchment like he did every other student. Instead, Izar noticed his fingers tightening at the side of the desk and the stubborn clench in the jaw line. Oh, the man wanted, almost needed to look at Izar. The Ravenclaw could see how badly Sirius wanted to fixate his stare on Izar.

"Here, Professor Black," Izar drawled, smirking.

Sirius breathed heavily, giving in and looking at Izar from the corner of his eye.

By Sirius' actions, Izar knew the man had a hunch of his parentage. In fact, the man all but appeared to have seen a ghost. His lips were tense, turning white around the mouth. The charcoal eyes of his were dilated and narrowed.

Nostrils flaring, Sirius turned back to his desk, staring blankly at the parchment before continuing the roll call. Izar looked away, swiftly noting Granger's observance. He flashed her a cool look before turning back to his book. She was an annoying Mudblood who stuck her nose into other people's business too often. He had watched her from afar throughout the years. She didn't have many friends, if any at all. Like Izar, she preferred books to socializing, but she also preferred the spotlight whereas Izar preferred the shadows.

"I've glanced over the coursework of your previous professors," Sirius walked back around his desk, leaning on the piece of furniture. "While they have all covered the material adequately, there is one area you will all need work on. It's an area; I believe, as an Auror, is very important for any witch and wizard."

Izar shut his book, interested to hear what the man would say.

"Dueling."

Izar glowered, his mood dimming. Dueling wasn't his strong point. He had never participated in a duel before. Well, that was a lie. He had once, and it had turned out horribly. Whereas Izar could ace any verbal, written, or hands on exam, he always had trouble competing with dueling. He was too analytical to think on his feet. When it was time for him to cast a spell, his mind gave him a long list of possibilities and Izar had to go through each one and recite the affects of each curse and hex. It was ridiculous. And as a result, dueling was something Izar tried his best to avoid.

"We will be doing mostly hands on work in this class. To prepare you, I'd like for you to read the first two chapter of your textbook. In there, you will find the formal etiquette and traditions one needs to abide with in formal dueling. There will be a five foot essay due next class period."

Groans were heard throughout the class, at least on the Hufflepuff side. Sirius grinned, chuckling. "I'm just kidding," his chuckle died down when the Ravenclaws blinked dully at him. The man cleared his throat. "There will be no homework assigned. But I expect you all to read. You may do the reading for the rest of the class period in the library. Or you can just save it all until the last moment like I used to." The Auror moved down the aisle of students, heading towards the exit. "Dismissed."

He was out the door before any student had the chance to stand up.

The class remained seated, whispering amongst each other of the odd proceedings. There was hardly a time a professor let out a class early, almost an hour early, and left before the students.

Izar thought it rather amusing. He had driven the older wizard away. Hopefully Izar would see a bit more balls from his uncle later on in the semester. While it was satisfying watching Sirius shift uncomfortably, it was also nice to see some family resemblance when it came to character.

"Are you related to Professor Black?" It was Granger. She leaned over his desk to whisper it to him.

Izar found himself first distracted by her two large front teeth, then her obnoxious inquisitive look about her. "We both have dark hair, a pale complexion, and a penis. If you think that is all that is required to be related to Professor Black, I'm afraid you have more than half of Hogwarts to interrogate. However, I'm sure they will be more eager to speak with you." Izar packed his things, ignoring Granger's flush on her cheeks. She was probably all ruffled because he had dared to speak the word 'penis' around a female.

Before he could leave, she stopped him again.

"Izar," she said breathlessly. "I've noticed you skipping meals… its not good for a growing boy to skip meals. Especially if said boy is declared the Hogwarts Champion." Before Izar could let loose the acidic comment on his tongue, she continued. Leaning closer, she looked around and lowered her voice. "Right beneath the Great Hall, there is a portrait of a bowl of fruit. Tickle the pear and you will find yourself presently surprised."

It was if she were rehearsing a riddle. She even offered him a mystifying smile before leaving the classroom.

Izar stood stiffly, wondering if he should brush her germs off his robes or follow her advice.

He did both.

Death of Today

Izar,

It pains me to write to you so informally, so surreptitiously, when all I want to do is speak to you unreservedly. But I need to see you, face to face. I know you are smart enough not to trust a meager letter, so I will agree to meet you halfway in order to put your uncertainty at ease.

We can meet in a public place, preferably at the Hogs Head. You have a Hogsmeade trip next weekend, is that correct? All you need to do is enter the Hogs Head. I will approach you personally. You have nothing to be suspicious of. I will do you no harm, never.

Desperately awaiting your arrival at the Hogs Head,

R.

Izar clutched the torn and worn piece of paper, grimacing at the stone wall across from him. He had received it a few days ago; in fact, he received it the day of Sirius Black's first class. A good week had gone by since then and this weekends' Hogsmeade trip was already here. Tomorrow would be the day of their Hogsmeade trip. Izar had his suspicions of who had sent this letter. And he was far from pleased. Regulus Arcturus Black, the 'proclaimed' dead wizard who betrayed Lord Voldemort.

So, why was Regulus contacting Izar now?

He knew why.

Because both his name and photograph were in the papers not too long ago. He was declared 'noticeable' now by the population of Hogwarts, and no doubt, by the public eye. Regulus must have taken notice and felt the need to contact Izar, his bastard son. Did the man want to get on good terms now that Izar would bring fame to the family name? After all, Izar could never be a respectful Black because his mother was a Mudblood witch. Or did he think Izar could somehow help him get out of Voldemort's fury of betraying him?

He lifted his lip, clenching his teeth together in distaste. He would like nothing better than to stand Regulus up. But his curiosity was at its highest. He had to quench his interest. But no matter what happened, Izar refused to accept Regulus.

"Izar!"

Izar pocketed the letter, keeping still when he felt Daphne make her way down the corridor. For a good week, Izar had been able to stay in the shadows, distancing himself from all the attention. Thanks to Granger, he had found the kitchens and had not starved. He would have been dead by now, of starvation, simply because he refused to enter the Great Hall at meal times. Too many wizards wanted to befriend him and pat him on the back.

It was disquieting.

Earlier, when he had been declared, he thought it wouldn't be too bad. He had lied to himself wholly that day. He hated this attention. And he wanted nothing more than to be back in the shadows, the unknown Ravenclaw boy.

"You've been avoiding me too long, boy," the short witch complained heatedly. Her nostrils were flared, an added indicator of her resentment. "I'm not going to take it anymore, do you understand me?"

Izar glanced down, meeting her dark green gaze. "Yes ma'am," he replied impassively, used to her ridiculous demands.

Her lips twitched and her hands fell on to her hips. "I am honestly amazed at how you can disappear so easily. If you actually had someone to look after you, like me, you would give them a heart attack at your long periods of absences. The only reason I knew you were alive is because we have a few classes together. And then you just… leave as soon as we're dismissed." She sounded crestfallen, and Izar couldn't help but to grin. "You aren't at any of the meals and you aren't in the corridors after classes."

"I apologize," he replied, not really remorseful. "I'm just not enjoying the attention. I'd rather stay out of that attention."

She reached forward, looping her arm into his rather forcibly. She pulled him away from the wall and the two walked down the corridor, arm in arm. "You're going to eventually have to step out of the shadows, Izar. You are going to be a grown man soon, one that will need to interact with others, politically. I need to work on that with you, train you."

Izar withheld a snort; however, he did nothing to hide the amused smirk. "Just because I'm Hogwarts Champion, doesn't mean I'm all of a sudden a dancing politician, Daphne."

She glowered angrily. "I'm not just talking about this Tournament, Izar. You're almost going to graduate. And you'll be on your own then. You'll have a job to do. What will you do if you work in the Ministry? You must have dancing etiquette. However do you think you will keep your job position amongst the pure-blood vultures?"

He wasn't planning on working in the main sector of the Ministry. Little did Daphne know that Izar already had his dream job in the bottom layers of the Ministry, the Unspeakables. He didn't plan on doing anything else. The only difference he wanted to make with his job was actually producing useful experiments to the wizarding population. Thinking about it… made Izar hope Owen, the Head of the Unspeakables, wouldn't make Izar do Time Turners again this upcoming summer.

"I don't know if I can handle more of your social circles, Daphne. The last thing I want to be discussing is Pansy Parkinson's choice in hair clip."

She flashed him a fathoming look. "We've never discussed things like that, Izar."

"Ah yes," Izar nodded. "Obviously, my lack of remembrance on the social parties is a painful reflection of the lack of interest I hold for those…things."

"You're hopeless," Daphne sniffed, pushing back her blond locks with her free hand. "Someday, I will get you to enjoy dancing. You'll be just as good as any pure-blood male."

Izar gave a hum, disinterested.

Before they could merge with a busy corridor, Daphne paused, holding Izar back with her. With her right arm still looped with Izar's, she dug through her book bag at her side. "I made something, or, designed something for the students of Hogwarts. More specifically, I designed them with you in mind."

She pulled out a deep blue armband. On the armband, beautifully calligraphy spelt out Support Izar Harrison. Before Izar could comment, the words changed again, spelling out, Support Hogwarts.

"They are meant to be worn on your forearm. The Slytherins, particularly, started the trend of wearing them on their left forearm." She gave him a meaningful look as she handed him the armband. Now that they stood in a lighter part of the corridor, Izar could see that Daphne had her own armband on, clutching her left forearm. "I thought it would be a decent idea if you have to reveal a bit of skin during one of the Tasks. You never know what could happen; you always need to be prepared."

Izar took the band, feeling a bit touched. And he never felt sentimental. "You know?" He fingered the silky armband, staring at the calligraphy.

"Of course I know," she whispered quietly. "I was there when you were Marked. Most of the Hogwarts' students where in the back, having been presented with the nickel masks, but I could spot you miles away. The Dark Lord was all but glowing as he Marked you." Her lips twitched and her eyes grew excited. "He favors you, you know. Most of the Death Eaters are envious."

Izar snorted, putting the armband in his bag. He would most definitely wear the armband underneath his robes. It would cover the Dark Mark from peering eyes. Despite the fact the Dark Lord Voldemort was not yet widely known to the world, it wasn't something to be advertising.

"I'm serious, Izar. You should be careful. Many of the students who are Death Eaters have been rather vocal about why the Dark Lord would favor a…" she trailed off, her usual cool façade slipping.

"They want to know why he favors a Mudblood?" Izar provided.

"It's wrong of them not to do their research before passing judgment," she pouted, brushing Izar's robes affectionately. "Have you ever thought they were the ones to put your name in the Goblet?"

"A jealous Slytherin that wanted me out of the way? Perhaps," Izar mused. In all actuality, that sounded rather believable. "But I'm not favored by the Dark Lord. Besides getting the silver mask first, it doesn't mean he necessarily 'favors' me."

"Whatever you say, Izar," she smoothed her hands down the front of his robes before turning. "You should be getting to the Wand Weighing ceremony. I'm sure the Norwegian Champion is feeling rather arrogant at your disappearance from human society." Her eyes narrowed. "You do know that Lukas Steinar is the son of the Norwegian Minister, don't you?"

"I'll let the topic of you knowing my schedule drop. For now." Izar averted the subject away from Lukas, simply because, no, he hadn't known Lukas was the Norwegian Minister's son. Daphne would never let Izar forget his ignorance if she knew.

"I'm expecting you to sit with me at dinner tonight," she called after him as he hurriedly swept away from the darkened corridor.

Izar didn't have the heart to tell her he wouldn't be attending dinner tonight. He would avoid the public eye as long as possible.

He glanced at the old pocket watch he stole from one of the Muggle children at the orphanage and cursed. He was a bit late. But he was only a few paces away from the classroom that the ceremony was taking place at. Still, if Tom Riddle would be there, Izar was sure the man would chew his ear off later. His Dark Mark had been burning lately, as if the man was displeased with Izar. No matter how much Izar thought on it, he couldn't remember doing anything that would upset the Dark Lord.

Finally reaching the classroom, Izar opened the door, blinking at how small the room was.

Most the desks were pushed to the sides of the room, creating a bit of space in the middle. A few desks were pushed together, with six chairs behind them. Six chairs for the judges. All of them were present, their eyes turned to Izar as he entered.

The Ravenclaw quietly shut the door behind him, eyeing the two Champions and Rita Skeeter and her photographer, Bozo. But more importantly, Izar kept his attention on the silver haired man in the corner. Ollivander.

"Mr. Harrison," Dumbledore stood up, a warm smile on his face as he ushered Izar deeper into the room. The man was wearing a set of mauve robes with small crescent moons on them. Izar found himself rather amused by the old man.

"Headmaster," Izar greeted lazily, his eyes watching as one of the moons on Dumbledore's robes grew arms and waved. "I like your robes, very ingenious."

The man all but beamed, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Thank you, my boy." The Headmaster paused before leaning down to murmur in Izar's ear. "If you'd like, I can give you the name of my tailor."

Izar's Dark Mark burned rather fiercely, but he remained neutral in the eyes of Dumbledore. "Perhaps later, Headmaster," Izar conceded as he glanced at the Dark Lord beyond Dumbledore. Tom Riddle wasn't looking at Izar; only, he had his attention on a few papers before him.

"Now that we are all present," Dumbledore continued after ushering Izar to a seat before the judges. Izar sat stiffly next to Lukas, ignoring the boy's observance. "I'd like you all to meet the judges this year. For Hogwarts, we have both myself and Mr. Tom Riddle, the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. Regrettably, Cornelius Fudge won't be able to take his place as a Tournament judge. He has many projects to take care at the Ministry."

Izar withheld an ironic laugh at that. He was sure Fudge had been manipulated by the Dark Lord to step aside as a judge and allow his Undersecretary to perform the act instead.

Riddle nodded at the Champions, his eyes dancing briefly over Izar before turning away nonchalantly. The Dark Lord was upset about something. And Izar was utterly clueless to what it could be. He had his suspicions, but there was no way his uncertainties could be confirmed.

"For Durmstrang, we have Headmaster Karkaroff and Minister Bjørn Steinar."

Bjørn Steinar looked very similar to his son. They both pulled off a cool nonchalance and an air of importance. Bjørn had brown hair, instead of Lukas' black, and he also shared his son's piercing blue eyes. He wasn't as attractive as his son; instead, it was his charisma that made him noticeable. Izar didn't like him. Perhaps it was because he didn't care for Lukas, but no matter what it was; Izar wasn't going to put his trust in the Norwegian Minister.

"And lastly, for Beauxbatons, we have Headmistress Maxime and Minister Serge Roux."

The two French individuals looked rather amusing sitting together. While Maxime was incredibly tall and rather large, Minister Roux was a smaller man, both in height and weight. He wore heavy glasses and his long grey hair was tied at the nape of his neck. He looked bored sitting at the table, and he didn't offer the students a nod like the others had. Instead, he looked at Dumbledore, silently asking when this would all be over.

Izar took a liking to him.

"Rita Skeeter has been assigned to cover the Tournament this year. She will be overseeing the Weighing of the Wands."

"And hopefully some photos," Rita announced eagerly, winking rather suggestively toward Izar. "The camera is picky about who it loves, and it is rather favorable on one of the young Champions." Eyes turned to Izar and he remained sitting forward, almost bored, and taking a leaf from Roux's book. He would be damned if he allowed Rita near him with her camera.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, motioning for Ollivander to come forth. "Anything for you, Rita," Dumbledore agreed airily, placing his hand on the eerie looking Ollivander. "And may I present you all with the expert in wand making, Mr. Ollivander? He will be seeing to your wands today to make sure they are working properly for the Tournament." Blue eyes landed on the redheaded Beauxbatons Champion. "Mr. Beaumont, why don't you go first?"

Izar watched the proceedings in inquisitiveness. Ollivander seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to wands. He was able to tell the length, the wood, and the core even if he hadn't been the one to craft the wand itself. It was intriguing and Izar felt a bit of hope with his problems. Ollivander must know what Tom Riddle's wand is. After all, Izar was sure Riddle got his wand at Ollivanders when he was a young boy.

Cyprien Beaumont had a Veela hair core and Lukas Steinar, the Durmstrang Champion, had a Dragon heartstring core. It suited the Durmstrang Champion quite well, actually.

Izar shared a heated look with Lukas as the boy sat back down.

"Izar," Dumbledore motioned forward, his eyebrows heightened in interest.

Rising from his chair, Izar approached Ollivander, vividly remembering his first encounter with the man at the age of eleven. "Ah, Mr. Harrison," Ollivander seemed a bit more enthusiastic as he reached for Izar's wand. "I remember this particular wand very well. An eleven inch Indian rosewood, a hair of a rather stubborn and prideful Thestral." Izar refused to react when he felt Riddle's mocking eyes on him.

Ollivander's silver eyes studied Izar, a small smile spreading across the older man's lips. "I will say the same thing I said to you five years ago, Mr. Harrison. Your wand is remarkably unyielding and destined for very great things."

The wand maker flicked Izar's wand, sending wine spitting from the top.

Dumbledore clapped merrily, thanking Ollivander. Before Izar could comprehend, everyone stood up and starting moving just as Ollivander was out the door. For being an older man, the wand maker could move fast. Rita was gathering everyone around for a photograph and Izar quickly slipped in the background before traveling out the door.

"Just where did that boy go?" Rita's voice followed Izar's heels as he hurriedly climbed the bit of stairs.

"Mr. Ollivander!" Izar yelled after the wand maker. The silver haired man paused, turning and eyeing Izar with curiosity as the Ravenclaw came to a stop before him. "Please, this may sound odd, but I was curious to know if you remembered every wand you ever sold?"

"Of course, my boy," Ollivander smiled mysteriously. "Every wand is ingrained in my mind. I always spend quality time with each wand before I sell it."

Izar wished he could have been talking to Ollivander under different circumstances. The man was fascinating and probably knew a great deal about wand cores. Perhaps Izar could discuss this situation in more depth if he found himself stuck on the Dark Mark. "Could you, perhaps, recall Tom Marvolo Riddle's wand core? I'm curious to know if his wand core is as talented as his character."

Ollivander's face darkened and his smile was forced. "I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison, but I'm afraid Mr. Riddle has asked for my word of confidentiality regarding his wand." The man frowned. "Odd, he just asked me to keep it private today, just before the ceremony started."

Izar turned cold.

Voldemort couldn't possibly know Izar was searching for his wand core, could he?

"I… thanks anyway, Mr. Ollivander," Izar spoke without really hearing himself.

He turned, wondering where to go from here.

"Izar," a voice rang from the top of the stairs.

Feeling his pulse begin to rise, charcoal-green eyes slowly looked up, locking eyes with sparkling charmed brown. Voldemort's lips were twitching as motioned Izar forward with a beckoning finger. "Come back inside, we must take one photo together, you, Headmaster Dumbledore, and I."

Feeling rather defeated at the moment, Izar gradually walked up the stairs. As his fingers brushed the wrinkled parchment in his pocket, he grew even more disheartened.

Things had to look up eventually.

Didn't they?