Chapter Eleven
Hogsmeade was just like it was every time Izar went. Crowded, busy, and full of rude people. This was exactly why Izar avoided Hogsmeade trips. His hood was drawn, covering his features as he swam through the crowd toward the Hogs Head. It anyone recognized him, he would have drawn attention and there would, most likely, be a few students following him to the Hogs Head. Students or even adults.
He hissed at the large woman as she elbowed him in the stomach. "Tuck your elbows in you when you waddle, you atrocious woman!" Izar growled, earning a sharp look from the witch.
He ducked beneath the crowd and finally made it to the dusty and frayed footstep of the Hogs Head. He was here, but was he ready?
Finding his reluctance ridiculous, Izar opened the door to the Hogs Head, listening to the familiar squeak it issued. He had been at the Hogs Head a few times before, finding an odd getaway within the old pub. Yes, the customers were rather dodgy, but that was good. Most students ran away from the pub as fast as they could. No rowdy students would be in here.
Aberforth Dumbledore was standing behind the counter, his sunken eyes watching Izar as he took off his hood. Once Izar's face was revealed, Aberforth allowed a small grin to cross his usually cranky features. But Aberforth wasn't the only one pleased to see him. A man sitting next to the door cooed vulgarly, his vile eyes tracing over Izar compulsively.
"'lo, poppet," the man whispered for only Izar to hear after chuckling. Looking sideways at the man slumped over a mug of alcohol, Izar found his attention on the man's smile. His teeth were rotten and his lips were chapped, the only feature Izar could see beneath the hood.
"Hello Aberforth," Izar greeted softly, pushing past the bum and walking gracefully toward the vacant bar. He refused to look at the rest of the bars' occupants, too silly to face his father. He would let Regulus approach him, not the other way around.
Izar tried to avoid brushing his only decent cloak on the ground. The floor was so filthy; it appeared as if the pub was built upon the earth itself. With the back of his hand, he wiped off the dust and dirt from the stool before settling down.
"Izar," Aberforth grunted, his hands busy wiping down a mug that had seen better days. Izar watched the movement of the dirty rag as it swung back and forth. "I heard you got yourself a bit of glory," the man mumbled something along the lines. It was a bit difficult to hear him past the heavy beard.
"Yes," Izar drawled. "Eternal glory."
The man's bright blue eyes rivaled his older brother's as he assessed Izar. "Not too happy about the selection, I suppose?"
Izar offered the man a small grin. "What gave it away?"
Aberforth gave a grunt, taking his polished, or, semi-polished mug, and poured a bit of butterscotch colored liquid in the mug. "Why don't you have a butterbeer, on me?" The older man slid the mug across the bar top, the liquid sloshing over the lip as Izar stopped it with the palm of his hand. He stared at the vaguely dirty mug, a bit surprised. Aberforth wasn't very well known for allowing free drinks to be passed around.
"No, no, I can pay for it…" he trailed off uncertainly, his hands going to his pockets. He knew he didn't have any money on him. Hell, when did he have money on him?
"Don't be silly," Aberforth growled, taking out another dirty glass to polish it. His rag was full of holes and evidence of the past dirty mugs. Izar had to remember that Madame Promfrey could cure upset stomachs if he ever caught something from drinking out of dirty glassware. "When you win your Tournament earnings you can pay me back in threefold."
Izar leaned forward, sipping on the foam at the top. It warmed his throat and eventually his body as it went down. He knew the first sip or two would probably be the only he would enjoy. Because he felt someone approach him from behind.
Death of Today
The photographs in the paper didn't do him any justice at all.
Regulus eyed Izar beneath his hood as his hand curled around his mug. The rings on his fingers tapped the glass and he leaned forward, hungry at the sight of his son. Instead of approaching Izar right away, he decided he would study his son from afar.
He noted rather quickly that Izar looked similar to him when he was that age. Rather, Izar held a lot of Black qualities. Despite their similar appearance at the young age of fifteen, Regulus found Izar far more flawless and beautiful. While Regulus had been a bit awkward and had many flaws, Izar all but glowed.
Their hair was similar; both inky black and waves that seemed to curl at the edges. Izar had the sharp Black facial appearance, the aristocratic features with the prominent cheekbones and the delicate and sharp jaw line. A straight nose was faultlessly situated over full lips. And the eyes… even from Regulus' position, he could see the shape was all Lily's. Almond shaped eyes, with a bit of vivid green crushed inside charcoal, his color.
By no means would Regulus say his son was feminine. It would be an insult to both himself and Izar. Instead, he would label Izar as a very stunning aristocrat.
As far as Izar's petite body stature went, Regulus had once been small for his age as well. He hit a growing spurt far later than his male classmates at the old age of eighteen.
Was it selfish of Regulus to be pleased that Izar took after him more than he did Lily? No. He had every right to feel proud at that fact. Izar even had the Black family grace. And from Regulus' location, he could hear the dry, cynical tone of his son. It wasn't something Regulus would have expected from someone with Izar's attractiveness. He would have thought, at least, that Izar would have a confident, if not arrogant tone.
He was amused to note his son's tone mimicked Severus Snape quite well.
There was a lot of his son that he didn't know about. Hell, he didn't know anything about Izar. Lily must have had to raise him. But then why was his surname 'Harrison'? Why did Izar wear robes that appeared as if they were second hand? And trainers that looked rather beaten up?
He took note of Izar's robes, noting the Ravenclaw colors. At first, Regulus experienced a quick twang of disappointment that Izar wasn't a Slytherin like the rest of his family. But his disappointment vanished when he thought back of how respected Ravenclaw was, how brilliant they were. Both Lily and Regulus could have done superb in Ravenclaw. After all, they both turned out to be Unspeakables, if only for a short time on Regulus' part.
Regulus stood up abruptly when he noticed the sleazebag near the door approach Izar from behind.
It had been many years since Regulus had interacted with people in general. He just hoped he would appear a bit dynamic with his son. He didn't want to disappoint or seem as rough as he felt.
Death of Today
Izar expected Regulus to come up from behind him. He did not expect the cold and greasy hand lingering on the back of his neck and the foul smell of unwashed body to encompass him. If this was Regulus, Izar would turn his heel from the pub and never look back.
His eyes flashed as he eyed the man pushing up close beside him. Luckily, it wasn't Regulus. Unluckily, it was the man who had been by the door, the very same one who had greeted him with a perverted smile. "Back up, Gorgon, he's only a school boy," Aberforth growled, his own face twisting with aversion.
Gorgon, the distorted man, wheezed and he pressed closer to Izar. He reached forward, running a finger down Izar's impassive face. "I just wanted to see if he wanted a bit of fun, Ab. Nothing to worry your head over." Oily eyes turned to Izar, who was gazing jadedly back at the man. "What do you say, pet," Gorgon leaned forward, his tongue licking his lips. "Want a bit of a 'toss?"
Gorgon's head was taken rather brutally by a hand. Before the man could comprehend the situation, his forehead was slammed viciously on to the bar. A bit of blood splattered on Izar and the counter as Gorgon slumped to the ground, out cold. Izar caught sight of the flashy heirloom ring on his savior's hand and knew instantly that it was Regulus Black.
Izar gave a deep sigh, trying to cover up his anxiety at finally meeting the man.
He wiped a bit of blood from his sleeve, mourning the stain on his decent robe. Finally, after gathering himself, he looked up at Regulus, finding himself gazing into the haunted eyes of his father. Izar had never seen another who shared his vivid eyes, but sitting there, he finally met the man who passed the color down to him. The pale and vivid charcoal clashed eerily with Regulus.
"Well," Izar started off a bit darkly. "At least you don't smell like body odor, but a bit of grooming wouldn't hurt."
One word that really fit Regulus was rough and wayward. The man probably was an aristocrat under all that facial hair, but Izar was distracted by the distrustful way Regulus carried himself and the haunted look on his face. The goatee wasn't at all bad looking. It was short, but it clashed with Regulus' high cheekbones and refined features. And one thing Izar did learn from Daphne was that aristocrats didn't look good with facial hair.
She would probably be chasing Regulus around with a razor spell if she was here, gasping at the mere waste Regulus' good features were going through underneath the facial hair.
Regulus' grim lips gave a bit of a grin as he stroked his goatee. On his index and middle finger, a ring flashed back at Izar. "I usually don't grow a beard or allow my hair to grow long, but it disguises me a bit." His voice was unused, Izar noted. His own voice grew raspy when he didn't talk to many people for a long period of time.
"You mean people will mistake you for your brother."
It was true. Despite the fact Regulus was more of a member of the aristocracy and had a smaller chest and shoulder span, he did appear a bit like Sirius with all the hair. The hair fell to his shoulders in tight waves; the same length Sirius wore it.
Regulus abruptly took Izar's face in his hands and leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead. The man then took Izar in his arms, clutching him to his chest. "I cannot make myself shake hands with a son I have forever lost." Regulus whispered harshly in Izar's ear. "Forgive me, my child."
This was going against everything Izar had imagined. He would have thought Regulus would appear healthy and smug. He would have thought Regulus would start off with a formal handshake or nothing at all. He didn't expect to see a man who looked as if he had been on the run, or in hiding, and he certainly didn't expect his first hug to be from his long-lost father.
Izar sat there stiffly, unsure of the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Then you must forgive me for not trusting you yet," Izar murmured back, feeling Regulus slowly pull away.
Regulus' face was impassive as he ushered Izar off the stool, away from prying eyes. "You must have heard about me," Regulus started the conversation as soon as they settled at the table in the corner. Izar sat rigidly, wishing he had brought his butterbeer with him. "You didn't react as I thought you would when I called you 'son'. Lily must have told you then." Regulus' face darkened and a smile crossed his face. The smile wasn't comforting in the least, revealing another side of the man that Izar had yet to see. It was a dark, cruel side, very familiar in Bellatrix's face. "I can only imagine the lies she spread about me. I wonder why you even bothered to meet me here."
He then looked around the pub, an almost frantic look on his face when he thought Lily would spring out with Dumbledore, or perhaps, Voldemort.
Izar sat back against the chair, frowning at the roughed up table before looking back up at Regulus. The man really didn't know. Anything.
With a bitter smile, Izar leaned forward. "Lily didn't raise me. In fact, I have never talked to her." Izar lied, just a small lie. He scowled. "I was raised in a filthy Muggle orphanage."
Regulus' expression crumbled into weariness and he ran a hand down his face, in order to hide the vulnerability, or in order to give himself comfort. Charcoal eyes opened, pinning Izar with a passionate look. "Then how did you know about her? About me?" Regulus gave a sigh. "I don't understand why she did this…"
Izar ignored the last bit, glaring at the stubbed candle in the middle of the table. "I was thirteen when I brewed a heredity potion." He grinned humorlessly. "I wanted to find my Muggle parents, perhaps track down their path, see if they were still living. Imagine my surprise when I found out someone put a block on my lineage. No matter how many times I brewed that potion, I realized that either my father or mother was magical and they didn't want me to find out about them." His eyes pinned Regulus with a stare.
"I stopped caring who my parents were when I believed my father was just a pure-blood wizard who laid with a Muggle. He must have been embarrassed about his bastard son and gave him away to a Muggle orphanage after erasing my lineage. Rather ironic that it turned out that was the case."
Regulus slammed his fists on the table, easily knocking down the candle that stood between them. With a dangerous glint in his eye, Regulus leaned forward, his lips drawn into a sneer. "That is not what happened, damnit." He breathed deeply through his nose before reaching forward to take Izar's hand with his own. "You must know that I had no knowledge of your existence. She lied, she betrayed, she was and is a cruel bitch. The only reason I found you is because of the Prophet. Your picture… you look similar to me when I was a boy. And your age fit exactly…"
"Where were you?" Izar asked bitterly. "Everyone thinks you're dead. Lord Voldemort thinks you're dead. How can you fool them?"
Regulus looked around the pub before pulling up his left sleeve. Izar's eyes widened when he witnessed Regulus' blemish-free skin.
"I'm not a Death Eater," Regulus whispered quietly. "My family was very loyal to the Dark Lord and I did many favors for him and his cause as a young boy. I was never Marked right away. He didn't Mark children still in Hogwarts." Regulus' face clouded with the past memories. "I betrayed him, yes, but that is another story entirely, a story Lily participated in just as much as I. Severus Snape was ordered to kill me. After all, the Dark Lord was too important to kill a lowly wizard himself."
Izar sucked in a breath, realizing. "Professor Snape betrayed the Dark Lord's order? He made everyone believe he killed you and allowed you to run? Is he really disloyal to the Dark Lord?"
Regulus eyed him a bit suspiciously. "Severus is still loyal to the Dark Lord. However, he and I shared a friendship that surpassed even his loyalty to the Dark Lord. He made me promise to stay away from Britain and never show my face again. I moved to one of the Black estates in Russia and closed all other Black properties around Britain. But I can't possibly stay away when I have found I have a son. A son who was raised by Muggles." Regulus sneered, his eyes flashing. "Even if I am not wanted by the Ministry, I cannot show my face because Severus would be in great danger."
Regulus sat back, his eyes focused intensely on Izar as the Ravenclaw tried to sink in all the information offered to him. "But what I want to know," Regulus continued softly, a slight protective bite in his tone. "Is how you found out about Lily and me if your lineage was blocked?"
Izar knew it would come down to this. It was better if Regulus knew now than later. It already seemed as if the man had his suspicions. "My second cousin had the decency to provide me with the information. She told me she witnessed your pathetic affair with Lily…"
Regulus' eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, his jaw clenched. "And how did you get in contact with Bellatrix? The last I knew, she was wanted for questioning by the Ministry and chose to stay in hiding." Charcoal eyes glanced at Izar's left arm. "How did you get in contact with her, Izar?"
"Do you even have to ask if you already know?" Izar spat bitterly. "I'm claimed by the Dark Lord. I met her during my initiation not even a month ago. It was there were she rubbed it in my face that I had…not only a mother who lived but also a father."
Regulus gave a bitter laugh. "The Dark Lord is Marking rather young, isn't he? He must be feeling a bit pinched with the lack of followers."
Izar remained silent, feeling a slight twinge in his Mark. His eyes glanced outside, through the foggy and dirty windows. It was there where he saw the Dark Lord approaching the Hogs Head.
Bloody hell.
Izar quickly turned to Regulus. "I think you should go back to Russia. I am loyal to the Dark Lord, Regulus, but I will commit this one act of betrayal because I have a bit of fondness for Severus Snape and a grudging respect for you. I appreciate your attempt to include me in your life, but I don't need you or Lily. I have raised myself since a mere child, I can handle myself."
Regulus shook his head, his face stubborn. Right then, Izar saw himself in the man. "I cannot do that, Izar."
Izar stood up. He reached across the table at Regulus, pulling forward the man's hood. He covered the man's features, feeling as if he were parting ties with his ideal image of a father. "Then you would be risking not only your own life, but Severus' and mine as well." Izar allowed his fingers to linger on Regulus' cheek just for a moment before pulling away.
A hand gripped his wrist, holding him back. "You are my child—"
"I'm doing this for your own safety… bow your head and don't get up to follow me." Izar pleaded softly. Regulus frowned, but his fingers let Izar go.
Izar crossed the room to the bar just as the door opened to the pub. If possible, the atmosphere in the pub grew considerably darker and a bit colder. Izar sat on the bar stool, glancing behind his shoulder and noticing instantly that the Dark Lord did not have his glamour up. The man's magic all but screamed gleefully as it wrapped icily around the wizards in the pub. The men hugged their alcohol closer, hunching in on themselves and avoiding eye contact with the stranger who had just entered.
Izar didn't think he could ever get used to the Dark Lord's magic. It sent exhilarating thrills down his back, reminding him that he was associating with a Master of deceit and power… a man that did not form bonds with anyone and instead used people in his own personal game of chess. It probably thrilled many Death Eaters, hence the reason they followed such a cruel and ruthless man. They believed he could bring them the same power and fame Voldemort held himself.
Izar wasn't a fool to believe all that. He followed Voldemort because of the man's cause. And because he enjoyed watching Voldemort play his game.
He was a bit curious to know what Regulus had done to betray the Dark Lord if the man hadn't even been a Death Eater. But Izar knew when to ask and when to listen. He would not give any inclination to the Dark Lord that he was thinking about Regulus. In fact, Izar attempted to clear his mind of the meeting with his father as best he could. He sent a silent prayer to Merlin, hoping Regulus would go by undetected.
From the corner of his eye, Izar watched as the black cloak of Voldemort leaned against the pub counter, barely a few feet away. Izar cupped his hands around the lukewarm butterbeer, trying to keep his eyes away from the Dark Lord. It was difficult, especially because he felt the red eyes roaming the side of his face.
The man chuckled darkly as Izar's lips twitched into a grin.
"How much for the room above? I only need an hour at the most." Voldemort's voice, a bit different from his politician voice, came out in a polite, but menacing hiss.
Aberforth looked between Izar and the Dark Lord, his expression reading nonchalance. "One Galleon," Aberforth's eyebrows rose as he watched the Dark Lord take out his velvet money pouch and slide a golden Galleon on the bar.
The pub owner took the Galleon, biting on it once before taking out a key from his pocket and presenting it to the Dark Lord. Izar set his mug down as he felt the cool touch of the Dark Lord on the back of his neck. "You, child, are going to accompany me."
Sliding off his stool, Izar followed the Dark Lord's tall frame out the pub and into the closed space of the stairwell. Before he disappeared, he could feel Regulus' eyes trail after him.
Don't think about that…
"Why am I not surprised to find you here?" Voldemort started. Izar didn't comment, he only watched as the Dark Lord fit the key in the rusty lock and opened the door. No good could come out of this visit, Izar wasn't dense.
Once the door slammed shut and locked behind them, Voldemort turned, lowering his hood. As Izar predicted, the Dark Lord's glamour was down, revealing his flawless pale skin and brilliant red eyes. His straight black hair was tied to the nape of his neck, bringing attention to his cheekbones.
"I want you to get on your knees," Voldemort's voice was no longer amused, only cold. Izar expected as much after his Mark had been burning ever since last week. The man was angry, and apparently, Izar would find out why shortly.
He went down to his knees, finding it difficult to stop his mind from thinking of the dirt and dust staining his robes. But now shouldn't be the time to think of such things, not when Voldemort was angry.
Izar bent his back as well, knowing that the Dark Lord didn't just want Izar on his knees. He wanted a formal bow and Izar would get in position before the man could ask. "This is meant to remind you that you are submissive to me." The Dark Lord's polished boots were in front of Izar's face. He closed his eyes, trying to picture himself somewhere other than here. "Sometimes, I can't help but to think that you believe you have footing over me."
"I never think that, My Lord," Izar replied passively. He wondered where the Dark Lord got that notion.
"Even so, I want you to stay in this position until I tell you to get up."
The man was sadistic. Izar's jaw clenched as he imagined himself in a log cabin in the mountains. He was just doing yoga in the early morning, away from everyone who made his head hurt. He was miles, upon miles away from all his problems.
"I can't think of any reason for you to doubt my standings, My Lord. I have done nothing—"
"Exactly." The man replied shortly. "You have done nothing."
Izar frowned, placing his forehead on the dusty ground. "Then forgive me, My Lord."
A chuckle was heard and Voldemort shifted until he was crouching down in front of Izar. His long fingered hand swept through Izar's hair, tugging lightly on the strands. "Do you even know what you are asking forgiveness for, Izar?"
"No," Izar muttered, glaring at the floor in front of him. The Dark Lord always seemed to have a multiple personality disorder. Perhaps worse off than Sirius Black.
"Look up at me, Izar," Voldemort commanded.
Offering the ground another glare, Izar cleared his face as he lifted his head, staring at the Dark Lord in the eye. The man smirked, reaching out to brush his thumb across Izar's forehead, wiping the dust that settled there. "I have to admit, Izar, that if things would have turned out differently for me, I would have been a lot like you. Shadows, skipping meals in order to avoid attention, absorbing knowledge instead of socializing… and if things would have turned out differently for you, I wouldn't have cared that you are doing these things."
Izar had a hunch he knew this was going. And he did not like it.
"Alas, things couldn't be that way for me. I had a goal in mind, a goal to become a very influential politician and a powerful Dark Lord. I couldn't become one with the shadows and allow time to pass so…uselessly." Izar hated the hand on his face, clutching him so possessively. "I want you to start following in my footsteps. At least attend meals in the Great Hall, you foolish boy. Do you have any idea how you are portraying Britain by hiding? You are representing Hogwarts poorly."
"I am not hiding—,"
"Silence," Voldemort hissed, his fingers clutching Izar's jaw tightly. "Whatever you'd like to call it, you are hiding away when I want you thrust into the public eye. If you were any other wizard, I wouldn't care of your habits. However, you are a wizard I want people to take note of. I want you to start showing your face around the school and I want you to start socializing. Not only because you are Champion of Hogwarts, but also for your future. As I stated earlier, I want you to follow in my footsteps. You are to become a prominent figure in the political world. A force many wizards will become wary of and respectful of."
"But… My Lord, I wish to remain an Unspeakable."
Split-crimson eyes narrowed and the fingers tightened. "The last I remembered, the Mark on your arm symbolizes your loyalty to me and not the Ministry, correct?" He didn't wait for Izar to reply. "You will be, what I want you to be."
"As My Lord requests it," Izar hissed cynically.
Voldemort laughed, his fingers dropping from Izar's jaw before he stood up. "I always enjoy your sharp tongue, Izar. And while it needs to be watched carefully around me, I do find good humor in it at times." The man walked over to the dirt-caked window, staring out. "Experimenting is where your pleasure lies, Izar, I will not pull you away from your enjoyment. However, I will also expect you to be known throughout Britain by important wizarding circles."
Izar gave a light sigh, feeling a bit better that the Dark Lord wasn't going to demand his absence with the Unspeakables. "I understand what you want of me, My Lord, yet, I am not good at speaking." He watched as Voldemort turned from the window and back to him. "I hate people."
The Dark Lord looked highly amused at Izar. "Do you think I enjoy people, little one?" Dark eyebrows rose. "You are a Black; Blacks are bred to dance politically." Izar glowered deeply at the Dark Lord. "I apologize," Voldemort continued, not at all remorseful. "I promised I wouldn't mention that, didn't I?"
"It looks as if you'd forgotten," Izar replied scornfully. The man had promised, at his initiation, that he wouldn't mention Izar being a Black. Apparently the man found humor in the situation instead, much to Izar's pleasure.
The Dark Lord waved his hand dismissingly. "You can start slowly; engage your classmates in conversation. Think of it as a game, you enjoy mind games, don't you, Izar? Find their weakness, and exploit them, learn everything there is to know of them. Play with them." It sounded less than entertaining to Izar and Voldemort read his expression easily. "I will help you through it. There won't be much time this year, I will bring you to the Ministry gatherings after this year."
"After this year?" Izar repeated suspiciously. "You're planning to come out, aren't you? You're going to reveal to the world that there is a Dark Lord Voldemort, correct?"
He was still bent in his bow and Voldemort was cruel enough to keep Izar in that position. "Lord Voldemort is going to announce himself, yes. Tom Riddle, on the other hand, is still going to continue just being a politician." The man withheld anymore clues or hints as to when he would step out to the world and Izar knew better than to pester. "You may stand."
Izar calmly stood up, brushing off the dust on his robes. His joints cracked from being in a kneeling position too long.
"There is another reason I brought you up here," Voldemort walked forward, almost a bounce in his step. Izar narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I have a project for you." The man started to circle Izar predatorily. "It will take your mind off other…" Voldemort paused, raising his wand. Izar's eyes narrowed on the object, feeling himself jolt at the sight of his current obsession. "Disobedient projects you have in that mind of yours."
And to make the situation worse, Voldemort set his wand against Izar's cheek, slowly drawing it down the Ravenclaw's jaw line. That man was a bloody bastard. Izar tried not to think of the wand on his cheek, glaring into the taunting crimson eyes of Voldemort. It was settled then. The Dark Lord, somehow, knew of Izar's plan to find out his wand core.
Briefly, Izar wondered how long Voldemort would torture him if he were to reach out and grab the man's wand. It was just one little spell and Izar would know the core.
"What project do you have in mind for me, My Lord?" Izar asked shortly, sniffing and trying to pretend the wand didn't mean anything to him.
"I want a portkey." Voldemort removed his wand with one last sharp tap against Izar's cheek. "Not so much a portkey, but I want this device, this invention you invent, to be small and undetectable. I want it to be able to stick to another object, a bigger object someone can grab hold of."
"So basically, you want small portkey to attach to something that can't be made into a portkey?" Izar questioned, a bit bemused.
"Exactly," Voldemort gave a sharp nod. "It will be, in all honesty, like a portkey. However, I want it to be small and to be able to stick onto things. I also want it to be a timer of sorts. I want this portkey to transport to its desired location with a touch of a hand. But the hand won't be touching this small portkey."
"You know," Izar drawled. "This would be a lot easier if you just told me the situation you're going to use it with."
He shut up as the Dark Lord sent him a warning stare. "It will be used during raids. For example, if I was in the Ministry, I would touch your invention. It would portkey me away to a location where my Death Eaters await. I want this portkey to be able to transport all said army back to the Ministry without them having to touch the portkey. After all, how could my whole army crowd around and touch a portkey? It wouldn't be possible."
"I see," Izar nodded; his mind racing. It would be relatively easy, he would just need to shrink a portkey and make it a self-timer as it transported a group of living beings within a radius. "There are restrictions, of course. How big would you like the radius to be? How long would you like the timer for? Will the Death Eaters be in position before the portkey arrives? And the location? Where would you like it to be set for?"
Voldemort's lips quirked. "The radius should be large enough to transport the Death Eaters. But for this portkey, I will only expect a five meter radius. As for the timer, lets set it for twenty seconds, no more, no less. The location? Please make it possible for me to set the location." His eyes took in Izar. "Do you think you can handle this? If not, I can ask another—,"
"No," Izar interrupted quickly, insulted. "I can do it just fine."
The Dark Lord nodded. "I meant no insult, I was only curious if you could complete the project with the Tournament hanging over your head as well."
Izar gave a dry shrug. "If I find myself short on time, I will come to you, My Lord, and inform you. But I believe I can complete it before Christmas holidays." He lifted his chin confidently, enjoying the pleased look crossing the Dark Lord's face.
"Good," Voldemort motioned toward the door. "I will let you go. Enjoy the rest of your Hogsmeade visit."
Izar gave a stiff bow at his waist before turning to the door. Before he could safely make it out, Voldemort's voice stopped him. "By the way, Izar, who was that man you were speaking with at the pub earlier?"
Izar knew his heart stopped just then. "W-what man, My Lord?" He regained his voice easily, even if he had faltered at the beginning.
"That man… with the hood... I believe he was out cold near your stool when I arrived."
Izar turned back around, relieved. His expression remained schooled as he looked at the equally expressionless Voldemort. Before he could speak, the man continued. "Who did you think I was speaking of? Certainly you didn't think I would be asking after the man in the corner with the Black family ring on his finger, yes?"
After a moment of composing his reactions, Izar looked away from the red eyes, snorting. "That was Sirius Black, actually," he murmured in a bit of repugnance. "I thought it would benefit me if I asked him to help me with dueling this year. A bit of one on one action, I mean, because I'm not too good at it. I thought, with the Tournament and all, I would need a bit more help." He stumbled, clearly, but he showed no signs that he had struggled.
Voldemort gave an interested sound in his throat, his eyebrows shooting up. The red eyes surveying him showed no yielding. Izar knew the man didn't believe him. "Dueling, hmm?" Voldemort continued to humor him. "That is a rather smart move on your part, especially with what you need to do in the Second Task." Although Voldemort was playing with Izar, and humoring him, the Ravenclaw wondered how the man knew it was Regulus he was speaking with earlier.
Izar nodded, realizing he wasn't breathing. At the moment, Voldemort didn't appear angry about the lie Izar made about Regulus, but the Dark Lord was schooling his features and his magic quite expertly. It made Izar wonder if Voldemort knew it was Regulus in the pub or if the man just had his suspicious.
The Dark Lord had his hands clasped behind his back, blinking at Izar. "Well then, I suppose you should go finish your discussion with Professor Black and set up a schedule with him."
Izar nodded again, stupidly, as he opened the door to leave. With a cautious step, he made it safely out the door and into the hallway without a hex to his back. He paused, turning back to look at the Dark Lord. The man was still standing motionless, smiling thinly at Izar.
Without wasting another moment, Izar turned and fled from the room, hoping he wouldn't be feeling a Cruciatus curse at his back.
As he made it down to the lobby, he thankfully noticed Regulus was no where in sight.
The only problem?
Izar would need to actually ask Sirius Black for assistance with dueling.
And… he should probably beg Severus Snape to help him with Occlumency. But then again, Voldemort once admitted that he didn't enter one's mind gently. He entered minds painfully and Izar hadn't felt anything, not even a tickle, enter his mind.
Izar had a hunch that the man was just that good. No one could hide anything from the Dark Lord. Well, Severus Snape was an exception. After all, he was able to fake Regulus' death without Voldemort being none the wisest.
…Or was he?
