Edited January 2021
Part One, Chapter Twelve
"Mr. Harrison. This is certainly a surprise." Professor Black stared unblinkingly down at Izar before remembering his manners. He cleared his throat and moved aside. "Please, come in."
Izar entered the man's office, ignoring Black as the man motioned to the chair in front of his desk. Rather, he chose to stand stiffly by the door, wanting to end his misery as quickly as possible. He cursed himself—and Regulus—for his current situation. He cursed Voldemort even more so for having played along with Izar's blatant lie, expecting he follow through on such ridiculousness.
"Professor," Izar started, reminding himself that this was essential, "I was wondering if you could assist me with dueling."
Black lowered behind his desk with a confused quirk to his brow. "As I mentioned in class, we will be focusing on dueling for the remainder of the term. I anticipate all the students will see remarkable growth with their dueling skills."
"I don't doubt that, Professor, but I need additional help. At least to get me started. I am quite poor at dueling, and I feel as if I could benefit from a one-on-one tutelage to establish a good platform." He paused as he considered the possibility of Black turning him down. He had a way out of this, he realized. He'd just tell Voldemort that Black had refused to teach him.
"Of course," he started casually, "if it's too much of your time, I can ask someone else. Perhaps you can recommend someone?"
"That won't be necessary." Black was entirely ignorant to Izar deflating. "I am here to help my students in any way I can. You took the initiative to approach me, I can only assume you are…serious about improving." The man offered a goofy grin before suddenly turning contemplative. "You wouldn't happen to have a Thestral wand core, would you?"
Izar was taken off guard at the unusual question. He didn't see any harm confirming, after all, it would be published in the Prophet eventually.
"Yes, Professor."
Black nodded as if Izar's answer was all he needed in solving a mystery. "I have a Thestral wand core, as did my brother and my parents before me." He studied Izar's expression, trying to gauge a reaction. "It runs in the Black family. Even my cousin has a Thestral wand core."
"Is that right?" Izar was immediately intrigued. The whole lot of Blacks had Thestral wand cores? Perhaps Izar could find out if wand cores did run in families and then research—or ask Ollivander—what wand core Riddle's ancestors possessed. Voldemort asked the wandmaker not to divulge his own wand core, not that of his family members.
"Ollivander once joked that he would need to reserve a whole Thestral just for the generations of Blacks." Black chuckled darkly, yet his eyes fervently observed Izar.
Izar feigned ignorance to Black's single-minded focus. "Is that common, sir? For family members to share similar wand cores?"
Black shook his head. "No, it's not common. The Blacks always did pride themselves with being exceptions to the norm."
Izar's eyes dropped to Black's fingers, searching for a family ring. Even if a member of the family wasn't declared the 'heir' or 'head' of the family, they would still receive a ring with the family crest. And with Regulus faking his own death, surely Black had inherited something. However, Black's fingers were naked. Izar thought it was a pity. Sirius may have been a Light wizard, yet his magical strength and his dueling abilities would be useful to the Dark.
"When would you like to schedule our lessons?" Black glanced at his calendar. "With the Tournament this year, Quidditch is canceled so we won't need to work around practices or games." He appeared bashful. "I tend to enjoy watching them play. Do you play?" he asked suddenly. "I imagine you would have made an excellent Seeker. My younger brother, Regulus, was a Seeker for Slytherin—"
"You know, sir, you aren't very subtle, though I suppose subtly isn't a trait most Gryffindors excel at," Izar drawled, growing tired playing ignorant. "Is there something you wish to ask me?"
Black had the decency to look abashed. "Are you related to him?" he asked quietly.
"Related to whom?"
Grey eyes appeared exhausted. "My brother," he whispered brokenly.
Izar considered the man closely, noticing the shadows and wondering about them.
He hoped Regulus had departed from Britain after their meeting at Hogs Head. If he had, it may save Snape's neck and even Izar's for having blatantly lied to the Dark Lord. There was little reason for Regulus to remain in Britain. Izar hadn't needed a father growing up, so why would he need one now? It did not bother him that he'd never speak to the man again.
Or so he liked to tell himself.
It didn't stop him from relishing in the fact that his father hadn't abandoned him intentionally as a baby. It didn't stop him from wanting to know more about Regulus and his past.
"No," Izar lied. "Both my mother and father were Muggles who died in a car crash."
Instead of being relieved, Black appeared disappointed. He set down his quill and stared blankly at the parchment in front of him. "I apologize. It was silly of me to ask. Regulus died when he had just graduated from Hogwarts. He wouldn't have had any children at such a young age. But you look very similar to him…"
and me…
Izar tried to offer Black a sympathetic smile, but it came out horribly.
Black cleared his throat again and straightened. "Right. I know the Tournament will take up most your time, but I'm sure we can schedule a night or two during the week." He grabbed his agenda and flipped through the days. "Do Wednesdays and Fridays work?" Grey eyes looked up at Izar. "Around seven?"
"Seven sounds perfect." Izar absentmindedly played with the hem of his sleeves. "Thanks for agreeing to help me, Professor Black."
Black nodded, appearing a bit reluctant. "In class this past week, I have noticed you seemed…distracted while dueling. But you have potential," the man hastily added, reading Izar's dismay. "You have good reflexes and the spells you cast are very advanced and appropriate for the situation." Black cocked his head. "What goes through your mind when you duel?"
Izar's attention lifted to the bookcase behind Black's desk, focusing on the piece of furniture in order to quell the embarrassment. His incompetence had been noticed.
"I am thoroughly analyzing which spells would be most appropriate and the drawbacks of each."
The man chuckled, inadvertently adding insult to injury. "I suppose many people would be envious to have such an artillery of knowledge." He stood up. "You should use the first spell that comes to you."
"The first spell?" Izar repeated—horrified. "But… there could be other hexes that may be better suited for the duel."
"Dueling is about reflexes and speed. It's about tactics and taking your opponent by surprise. You can cast the tickling charm at your opponent throughout the course of the duel and still come out as the victor. The more you duel—the more experience you build—the more natural it becomes." He smiled. "Give it time. We'll make a master duelist out of you yet."
Izar allowed himself a thin smile to answer Black's own. "I will take your word for it, Professor." He took a step back and turned for the door. "I'll see you this Wednesday then."
"Tuesday. In class," Black corrected.
"Tuesday." Izar nodded sharply and retreated from the classroom.
It took a great deal of effort not to look back and meet the contemplative eyes of his uncle.
Death of Today
Izar took a deep breath as he approached the Great Hall for dinner.
The students should all be back from Hogsmeade, filling their sugar-coated bellies with a decent and balanced meal. He paused outside the door, his fingers splaying across the aged wood. Voldemort had all but threatened Izar about attending school meals, to actually show his face and…and socialize. Izar shuddered at the thought. This would be his first major public appearance since his name was called from the Goblet. And while Daphne suggested there were students supporting him, he felt as if he were entering enemy territory.
He stepped out from the shadows and cautiously entered the Great Hall.
The few students who did take note of his presence weren't kind enough to keep it to themselves. They leaned over to whisper to their neighbors, spreading a wildfire of rumors and gossip around the Hall.
Izar kept his steps unhurried and poised as he passed by the eager Ravenclaw table and made his way to the Slytherins.
It wasn't against the rules for Hogwarts students to sit with the other Houses, and it wasn't frowned upon— it just wasn't practiced very often. Izar was still wary around his own House, and they would do nothing but hammer him with questions tonight. Slytherins would be more reserved, even if they were curious.
"Izar." Daphne stood up to greet him with a wide smile.
The other Snakes weren't nearly as welcoming, though they weren't entirely hostile. They gazed at him coolly, albeit appreciatively, a blue band across several of their forearms declaring their support for him.
"Hello, Daphne." Izar sat down with the Slytherins, his Ravenclaw robes clashing among the sea of green. Happening to glance up at the High Table, he met eyes with Undersecretary Riddle. The man seemed pleased as he raised his goblet and offered a subtle toast in Izar's direction.
Izar looked away, irked.
Of course the Dark Lord would be pleased Izar was here, especially with the Slytherin table, his House. No matter if Severus Snape was declared the Head of House for the Slytherins, Voldemort would always hold more sway over the students than the potion master.
Izar could see them all gaze at the Dark Lord, admiring and hoping to be noticed.
They appeared particularly desperate. They would never be noticed by Voldemort. Did they not understand that? They were lowly wizards for the Dark Lord's amusement. They were numbers, just a mere figure on a field, whether that be a chessboard or a battlefield. They weren't held in favor of the Dark Lord, especially if they were the third tier to his circle.
Even if they were granted with a gold mask—an inner circle position—they would still be considered a mere pawn.
Granted, they'd be noticed considerably more than the third tier, and perhaps that's all they really wanted. Notice. Izar had to put himself in their position. Even if he enjoyed the shadows, he was confident enough to admit that he was thrilled whenever the Dark Lord gave him attention. If he was one of the students—of the third tier—he would also desire Voldemort's attention with aspirations of climbing the ranks.
It was pathetic, but that was also what made a powerful and influential Dark Lord. One had to have alluring charisma.
He glanced back up at Riddle, noticing the Dark Lord had yet to look away from him.
"He seems oddly happy tonight." Daphne observed their interaction. "He was riled for most the week as of late." She rubbed her left forearm inconspicuously.
Izar caught a few hostile stares from the Slytherins and raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
"Don't pay any attention to them." Daphne threw a poisonous look at her classmates. "They're just jealous that he pays attention to true talent."
Upon her derisive comment, they turned away and focused their attention on their meal in front of them. Izar noted they were the ones who didn't wear an armband supporting him.
He sensed a spark of magic and turned toward the flicker, locking eyes with stormy grey. Draco was sitting a few spots away, his left arm free of the band. Izar usually didn't sense a very strong aura from Draco, but tonight, the aura was restless. He was clearly angry and his magic was affected by the strong spikes of emotion. Despite his hostility, however, his face was completely frozen.
Distinctively, Izar remembered Malfoy had wanted to be declared the Hogwarts' Champion.
"I didn't put my name in the Goblet," he told the other boy. Why he thought he owed an explanation to Draco, he did not know.
Draco's eyes narrowed. "It was meant to be me." A haughty look crossed his features. "There is nothing special about you."
"I could say the same about you," Izar countered back without pause.
A few Slytherins snickered, their expressions varying from disinterest to naked approval for disparaging their Slytherin prince.
With an angry blush across his face, Draco abruptly stood up and sent his goblet sprawling with the back of his hand. It echoed across the Slytherin table, its contents spraying across Izar and the neighboring Slytherins. They made noises of disagreement, glaring at Draco, but it was nothing compared to the raw hurt and anger across Draco's face. The boy was utterly furious.
The Malfoy heir's nostrils flared and his eyes dilated with anger. "Toujours Pur," Draco hissed, his French flawless and thick. "It means 'Always Pure'." Draco's smile twisted humorlessly.
Izar noted the dark circles under the boy's eyes. He also noticed Professor Black making an appearance in the Great Hall. The man was about to sit, but the familiar French motto no doubt rang through his mind.
The Ravenclaw stiffened, his joints taut.
Surely Draco wouldn't…
"It's the Black family motto. Always Pure. And it will never apply to you."
Izar shook his head, not in answer, but a warning for Draco to shut up.
"You're a filthy Mudblood." Voices of agreement danced across part of the Slytherin table, consisting of mostly older Slytherins. Despite the fact that Draco continued with a quieter voice, there were others who overheard him. "I have no idea why he and my father kiss your arse. But you will always, always be dirty. You will never be pure and respected because you are vile. It doesn't matter who your father—"
Izar was up within seconds despite Daphne's hold on his arm.
Magic probably would have been more efficient and quicker, but he didn't trust himself with his wand. A Dark curse would have come out, and Izar didn't want to deal with those consequences.
Draco's eyes widened as Izar collided with him, sending them both to the ground.
The Hall exploded with noise of excitement as students all rose from their seats to catch a glimpse of the action. They cheered them on, nearly shaking the entire Hall with their rambunctiousness. Izar held the boy by the shoulders with a vice-like grip. Looking down at Draco, he observed again how emotionally unstable the boy appeared. The blond wizard's eyes were deranged and exhausted.
Draco must have been going through something… something big to act out in public like this. Malfoys would never create a scene.
"Shut up," Izar hissed. "You agreed not to say anything," he murmured, trying to calm the boy. "I don't mind jabs at my blood status, but don't you ever mention anything about my parents."
He got a fist in the nose as a response.
As Izar closed his eyes against the pain, another fist caught his jaw before a set of hands shoved him backward. All too familiar with physical torment from the orphanage, Izar pushed away the pain and returned Draco's assault. The blond boy's defenses were weak and soft—indication he had no idea how to engage in a Muggle fight.
Izar was able to return Draco's hit to the nose, immensely satisfied to hear the crack.
Before anymore punches could be thrown, however, they were pulled apart. Hagrid picked up a bloody Draco and began hauling him out of the hall. Draco glanced back at Izar before his gaze drifted up to the High Table. Whatever he saw there caused his entire persona to shift into sheer panic and distress.
Izar refrained from looking himself, already feeling the Dark Lord's displeasure.
"Follow me, Mr. Harrison. To the Hospital Wing with the both of you." Professor McGonagall's hand clawed at his shoulder as escorted him out of the loud and boisterous Great Hall.
This incident surely wasn't what the Dark Lord had expected for Izar's return to the public.
Death of Today
Two weeks of detention and one hundred deducted points later, Izar and Draco were given the clear by Madame Promfrey to leave the Hospital Wing. Both students were slowly relacing their shoes, knowing full well they'd both overacted and had been an embarrassment to their classmates, Head of Houses, Voldemort, and most importantly, themselves.
"I apologize," Draco said stiffly, breaking the silence. They were the only two students in the Hospital Wing and Madame Promfrey had just bustled into the back room. "I realize my actions were horribly Muggle and graceless. You had every right to attack me up… no matter how Muggle that was of you," he said snidely.
Izar sat at the edge of the bed and looked up from his laces. "It was either a physical alteration, or the new hex I read about. I'd found a spell to transform your internal organs into parasites that consume you from the inside out."
Draco stiffened. "I would have never done it, you know," he said quickly. "I would have never said Regulus was—"
"It was enough," Izar snapped. "You'd said enough for even Crabbe and Goyle to determine I was related to the Black family."
Despite his nonchalance upon discovering his family, or more specifically, discovering a father, the boy's words had stung a bit. He realized he probably wouldn't fit into the Black family expectations. He would never be pure enough. In fact, Izar wondered if he was the first Half-blood born into the Black family.
"If they ask," Draco started, "I'll say it was in reference to my family. After all, my mother is a Black."
Izar could tell from the boy's tone that Draco wasn't all that sorry. The blonde was just sorry for acting out in public. He was sorry for getting caught and for having the Dark Lord witness it. "I told you I didn't enter my name in the Goblet," he emphasized slowly. "I don't know what your problem is."
"I know you didn't enter," Draco snapped. "I was told I was going to be Hogwarts Champion. How could—"
The boy shut up as a face emerged from the shadows.
Both students scrambled at attention, their spines rod straight.
Draco appeared to make a move to drop to his knees. "Please, forgive my mistakes, My L—"
"Mind your surroundings, boy." He moved past Draco without so much as a glance. "This is the second time today that we meet on unfortunate terms, Mr. Harrison." The undersecretary came to a stop directly in front of Izar. "I trust you realize how pathetic you looked? I don't mind a bit of competition among the ranks, I do, however, mind the sheer mockery you made of yourself."
Izar kept his head bowed. "I understand, sir. I should have handled the situation more maturely."
Riddle appeared unimpressed. "The first Task is in two weeks. The Champions and their respective Ministers, or, in your case, Undersecretary, will be meeting for a formal luncheon before the Task. I expect you will not only be on your best behavior, but that you will impress me. Acting like a Muggle hellion will only fuel my suspicions that you need etiquette lessons from Rubeus Hagrid."
Only because he knew the Dark Lord would not see it, Izar smirked at the imagery. It was difficult imagining the half-giant giving etiquette lessons, especially after watching the man blow his nose on the table cloth at meals. Izar knew very little about formal mannerisms during a luncheon. He would have to brush up on the etiquette—or at least ask Daphne.
"By the time the luncheon arrives, Undersecretary Riddle, I will be sure to have a stick up my arse. Surely, only then, will I fit in with the rest."
Draco's head turned so fast, a joint in the boy's neck cracked.
It was a bold comment on Izar's behalf, especially considering the circumstances tonight, but he was testing the waters with the Dark Lord. If what Daphne said was true, and that the Dark Lord favored Izar, then Izar wanted to see how far he could push the Dark Lord.
"Be sure you do that," Riddle said quietly. "Should you need assistance, I am more than happy to provide a helping hand."
Izar's eyes widened. His cheeks burned slightly as he willed away his shock. The man hadn't gotten mad, he had bloody retaliated.
Riddle continued without a pause. "As for you, Mr. Malfoy, you created such a distasteful and terribly melodramatic performance this evening. One that I'm sure your father will be pleased to hear about. To think, his son's mannerisms dip below even that of a Half-blood raised in a Muggle orphanage."
Here, Izar scowled.
Riddle all but glided as he approached Draco, bringing with him an uncanniness that sent uneasy chills down both students' spines. His eyes seemed to sparkle wickedly as he closed the distance and leaned down to put his lips directly next to Draco's ear. Izar watched the scene from the corner of his eye, unable to hear what Riddle was saying, but judging from Draco's whirlwind of emotions across his face—it wasn't pleasant.
Trepidation turned into surprise, which then altered into resentment before that soon fell way to extreme fear. Draco's flushed cheeks abruptly paled and he cowered, trying to appear as small and as submissive as possible before the Dark Lord. All the while, Riddle's magic curled around him in serene and gleeful waves.
Izar stiffened when Riddle looked at him from over Draco's bowed head. A slow and unnerving smile curled the Dark Lord's lips as he turned and departed from the Hospital Wing.
Izar and Draco spent the next several minutes rooted in place, the latter trembling like a leaf.
Death of Today
His stomach growled loudly, resonating across the cold dungeons and drawing Severus away from his work. He stood stiffly from his stool, making certain the stirring rod continued to move clockwise in the new batch of Pepper-Up Potion. Hogsmeade days were prime opportunities to replenish Madame Promfrey's stock of potions. Without the distractions of students or coursework, he always managed to complete several batches and then some.
Likewise, without distractions, he often lost track of time.
Casting a tempus charm, he realized he was several hours late for dinner. Glancing at the number of cauldrons and the state of brew, a quick mental math informed him a call to the kitchens was in order. It would be a late night.
Suddenly, a presence made itself known in his open doorway, drawing Severus' sharp attention. At first, he assumed the hooded figure to be the Dark Lord. His potion-stained fingers danced lightly across his left forearm before dropping. It was not the Dark Lord. This figure was shorter, nor did the Dark Lord make a habit of roaming the halls of Hogwarts looking painfully conspicuous.
"Yes?" Severus drawled impatiently, taking note of his wand just inches away.
"Can you help an old friend, Severus? Yet again?" The voice was hoarse and scratchy, rough and unused.
Regardless of what form that voice took, Severus could identify it anywhere. "Regulus." He braced himself on the counter to compose himself. It had been years—too long. He watched as Regulus lowered his hood to reveal a grim smile.
Severus recovered quickly and sneered. "Looking a bit rough."
Regulus chuckled, his bright grey eyes absorbing Severus closely. "Izar said almost exactly the same thing."
"You went so far as to speak with him?" Severus' eyebrows rose. "Fool."
"He's my son."
He had anticipated stirring from Regulus when Izar was made Champion, he just hadn't expected him to be so bold. Issuing a heavy sigh, he motioned for Regulus to enter. "Shut the door behind you. Quickly. The Dark Lord is in the castle today." He turned his shoulder on the wizard and grabbed a rag. He rubbed persistently at his potion-stained fingers and nails, knowing he looked a sight.
But had that ever mattered before?
The door slammed shut.
Severus cast a silencing ward around the room, making certain they were as protected as they could be at Hogwarts with a Dark Lord roaming the halls. "You're not only putting yourself at risk, but both Izar and myself."
"Odd," Regulus remarked shortly, "that's what Izar said as well." He moved down the aisle of brewing potions and stopped before the golden cauldron. He examined if for quite some time before turning and contemplating Severus. "Surely, you're not corrupting my son, Severus. I am beginning to feel as if my presence is not wanted here."
"Then you would be right to assume so. What had you expected? A warm, welcoming reception?"
He turned his back on Regulus to tend to his potion, pleased to see the mint green hue beginning to blossom through the murky jade. He touched the glass stirring rod, beginning to stir counterclockwise before releasing it. The stirring rod continued its stirring—approximately seven minutes would do.
"I would have thought," Regulus began again, "that Izar would have at least feigned interest at my presence."
Severus preoccupied himself with the ledger of potion ingredients. "Izar," he started, "is an exceedingly independent wizard. He's also intelligent. He knows you betrayed the Dark Lord, and I assume you informed him of my involvement with your escape?" Onyx eyes noted Black's sharp nod. "Then he was right to distance himself and tell you to leave."
Closing the ledger with a snap, he turned to consider Regulus. He knew the man was far too stubborn to remain in hiding. No doubt the wizard was carefully strategizing ways to get around the Dark Lord.
It was not possible. Not again.
"You know I always wanted a son… a child," Regulus murmured darkly.
"Yes," Severus drawled, "I know all too well."
"Severus," Regulus' tone dropped unhappily.
Severus stiffened. "I will entertain your presence tonight, Black, but by no means will I discuss the past or the ghastly relationship you shared with Lily Evans."
Regulus came to a stop directly across from Severus, appearing pained—as if he were the victim. Severus was momentarily distracted, realizing Regulus had grown considerably during his stay away from Britain. The last time they'd seen each other was fifteen years ago. The man had just turned eighteen when he left Britain.
Regulus was as tall as him now. While the fifteen years had been hard on both men, Regulus somehow seemed to have lost his boyishness and embrace manhood. Surely Severus had changed just as well, only, the long hours of potion making turned him yellow and greasy, while the life of a fugitive had made Regulus gaunt and harsh.
"You say you want my help?" Severus smothered his resentment of the past and leveled Regulus with a stern look. "Go back to where you came from. Do not return. Do not reach out to Izar. The Dark Lord is wrapping his ropes around the boy and it will only end poorly for you."
"That is your help." It wasn't a question, only a numb acceptance.
"That is the only help I am willing to give you. If you do not hold my life in high regard, think of Izar's freedom. The Dark Lord will surely use this—your sudden reappearance—against him. I can only imagine the things he'll make Izar agree to in order to protect his estranged and immensely foolish father."
Regulus turned away and quietly observed the wall of potion ingredients.
"As always, you are correct. Leaving Britain would be the most logical answer. It would keep my loved ones safe, both Izar and…" Grey eyes turned and looked at him pointedly. "You. However, I cannot continue hiding. I'm growing deranged in isolation and I cannot reasonably give up my son. There has to be a way to come back without the Dark Lord going after Izar and yourself."
"There is no way," Severus argued fervently. "The Dark Lord knows all. I would be extremely surprised if he hasn't already picked up on your presence here." He pushed off from the desk and crossed the room slowly. His mind raced with possibilities of a safe passage for Regulus, a safe passage out of Britain.
"I am not wanted by the Ministry," Regulus calmly stated.
"The Dark Lord is the bloody Ministry." Severus hissed. "I'm certain he would find—or create—enough reasons to convict you into Azkaban."
Regulus chuckled ironically, his face contorting scornfully. "He…" the man paused, his lips thinning and his eyes alighting with an idea. "How favored is Izar to the Dark Lord?"
Severus' eyebrows rose. "Whatever makes you think Izar is worthy enough for the Dark Lord's notice?"
Regulus shook his head. "He was barely fifteen when he was Marked." He began to pace and rake his fingers through his long, unruly hair. "I met Izar at Hogs Head today. The Dark Lord entered not too long after, bringing Izar upstairs with him. Surely, a low-ranking Death Eater wouldn't be pulled aside so privately." A sudden realization crossed Regulus' features. "The Dark Lord knew Izar was a Black, didn't he?"
"It is possible. The Inner Circle had their assumptions. I am certain the Dark Lord was just as perceptive." Severus examined Regulus. "It wasn't as if he was hidden very well. He looks like a Black, his name is that of a Black."
Regulus resumed his pacing. "So, he knew. Izar is one of the last remaining Blacks of the predominant line. He'd want to make haste grabbing him for his collection. If he took possession of Izar when he's young, he can condition him to his liking. Without a stable father or family, Izar is susceptible to such an influence." He suddenly turned and gazed at Severus. "Is it sexual?"
Severus' lip curled with extreme disgust, though his initial reaction tempered as he recalled the boy's initiation, as well as the way the Dark Lord had…tended to the boy with the infection of his Dark Mark. "The boy is fifteen," he explained reasonably. "Moreover, the Dark Lord does not bed his followers."
That did not reassure Regulus in the least. "I'm going to approach the Dark Lord."
Severus sneered down his nose at Regulus, treating him as if he were one of his students. "Perchance…all those years living with your house elf truly took a calamitous turn on your intelligence."
Regulus' teeth snapped into a threatening snarl. "It's the most reasonable option I have remaining." He took a long stride across the room, stopping inches from Severus. "Lily is my answer."
Breathing deeply to calm his piqued rage, Severus busied himself with straightening his tools.
"She blackmailed me with the threat of losing my child. It may work with the Dark Lord. Moreover, I have a considerably large amount of political power, not only with the Britain Wizengamot, but in other countries as well. My chair is still open. The Black chair is still open. I have a ridiculous amount of money at my—his—disposal and I have many properties across the world."
"All that will not blind the Dark Lord to the fact you had betrayed him!"
"I wasn't Marked at that time. She—Evans—told me about… an artifact the Dark Lord holds dear. It wasn't even there when I arrived at Bellatrix's vault! The Dark Lord isn't known for being merciful, but he's known for his manipulations. He can use my position as the Head of the Black family to his advantage."
While Regulus had been caught for his betrayal, Severus—to this day—did not understand what had happened.
"If you are willing to choose committing your life under his servitude over living your life in hiding, then by all means, go for it." Severus caressed the Dark Mark through his robes, a grim smile on his face. "You are willing to sacrifice your life—my life—for a boy who doesn't want anything to do with you."
Regulus appeared stricken. "I need more time with him," the man whispered. "You said it yourself. He's trying to distance himself because he wants to protect us." He looked at Severus' drawn features. "Your part is easily explained away. I faked my own death. You fully believed you had succeeded in killing me."
Severus shook his head. "He will not believe that."
"Then I overwhelmed you and Obliviated you."
"A Master Legilimens…" He trailed off and straightened his knives. "It is a risk I am willing to take if this is truly the only solution."
"I need this." Regulus smiled gravely. "I need to protect my son. Izar needs someone he can trust, especially when he's entering the Dark Lord's world. There is also my fanatical great grandfather and his curse—Cygnus' Curse. What if he's inherited the gift?"
"He's showed no signs of being able to see spirits—"
"It doesn't matter. We will only know for sure if he's near a source of death, particularly, the Veil." The man paused. "One of the side-effects is magic sensitivity. Do you know if he's magic sensitive?"
"I do not know," Severus admitted. "While I have watched over him throughout his years at Hogwarts, I am not particularly close to the boy." Severus looked toward the door, his lips thinning. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?"
Regulus cocked an eyebrow and smirked devilishly. Severus stared, seeing the ghost of the familiar eighteen-year-old Slytherin.
"Are you trying to get rid of me, Severus?
"Yes," Severus said bluntly. "I have several potions that need to be completed tomorrow."
Charcoal eyes danced across Severus' face before narrowing in on the cauldron. "I know you're frustrated with me and my decision to come out of hiding. I understand I'm putting everyone at risk, but I can promise you, I will not allow harm to come to either you or Izar. I want to straighten things out with my son, my family, and with you, Severus."
Severus turned away, infuriated.
The man was suicidal. But Regulus was also smart. If anyone could worm their way out of this, it would be Regulus. The man was raised as a true Slytherin, and most times, he acted like a Slytherin. There were times, however, when Regulus resembled his brother in terms of taking things a bit too lightly.
During his school years, Severus had been interested in learning about pure-bloods, especially the Blacks. He had heard of their power, their insanity, their dual personalities, and their long line of interbred family members. It was during his second year when he had fixatedly watched as Regulus Black was Sorted. Severus could still recall Regulus glide toward the Slytherin table with his nose in the air.
From that day forward, Severus had watched in envy as the pure-bloods held themselves gracefully and prominently. No matter how often half-bloods tried, or even Muggleborns, they could never mimic that impeccable grace the pure-bloods possessed. During his later years, he had grown resentful of the whole dance and charade.
Oddly enough, he was never able to tear his interest away from Regulus.
The man had always been there.
A cold hand covered his. Severus stiffened, looking down at the ring-clad hand covering his before meeting Regulus' intense gaze. "You deserve so much better, Severus. I hope to bring you a bit more…radiance in your life."
For a moment's hesitation, Severus delighted in the warmth before scowling deeply. He ripped his hand away, grimacing at the knowing smirk crossing Black's face. He turned away, grasping the stirring rod and removing it from the mint green potion. He lowered the flame and then considered the other batches set on simmer.
Only when he knew he had reasonably recovered, he addressed the other wizard. "When do you plan on approaching the Dark Lord?"
There was no response.
Severus looked up, his eyes searching his rooms before landing on the ajar door.
"Merlin have mercy on that foolish idiot," Severus murmured, his fingers itching the Dark Mark. "If not for me, then do it for his son."
