Edited January 2021
Part One, Chapter Thirteen
Izar lifted the microscopic lens to his eye as he inspected the small chip on his finger.
The Dark Lord's portkey was complete with the exception of a few minor tweaks. It had taken several days before he could safely say that it was functional. It had taken a bit of work getting all the charms to coexist after being shrunken—a similar problem he'd had this summer with his invention. His first attempt had resulted in an explosion and a loss of eyebrows and eyelashes.
While in the Hospital Wing, as Madame Promfrey had lectured him about the dangers of experimental magic, Izar had realized his mistake. By shrinking the portkey, he had decreased the area of spell work he had created, unintentionally merging the spells together. He realized a cushioning charm was vital to weave between each spell to prevent overlapping.
Izar admired his work, a light and rare smile playing across his mouth.
"Beautiful work," a voice murmured appreciatively behind him.
Izar frowned before looking up into the smug eyes of Lukas Steinar. "If I recall correctly, the library is where students study," he informed scathingly. "The alcove near the Ravenclaw Common Room is not a location usually sought after, especially by outsiders."
Lukas offered a crooked smile, not at all deterred. "What if I said I wasn't looking for a place to study but rather looking for you?" He offered Izar one long, lingering look. "I could say the same about you, you know. What are you tinkering with here, in the dark?"
Izar turned away from the Durmstrang student and removed a pair of tweezers from his bag. Slowly, he took the chip from his finger and set the portkey inside a case. Snapping the lid closed, he threw a watchful Steinar a look.
"This is my alcove."
He'd found the niche in his second year. It was his place to get away when the library grew too crowded during finals. And as of late, it was his place to work on the Dark Lord's project.
"Yes, I've heard." The brunette sat down uninvitedly at the small table. He ran an eye across the various small instruments and the open books strewn about. "I asked what you were doing in here. What was that chip you were working on?"
Izar remained stone-faced as he placed the case into his bag. "You ask too many questions."
"Fair enough. We're competition, I get that." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "But we don't have to be strict competition. We can get to know one another, right? I find your unpleasantries a refreshing change of pace from the norm."
"The norm being?"
"People falling over themselves to get to know me, to get something from me."
Izar stared apathetically at the boy. "Right."
He turned his cheek and proceed to gather his strewn-about books.
It had been nearly two weeks since his argument with Draco. Since then, Izar had gradually put the pieces together. At first, he had thought his own House had placed his name in the Goblet. However, his uncertainties had grown when Daphne pointed out that half the Slytherin House was jealous of Izar's position in Voldemort's ranks.
It had made sense that the Slytherins wanted to endanger—or humiliate—him with the Tournament.
But after the quarrel with Malfoy…
Izar's lips thinned as he stared unseeingly at his school bag.
Draco had prattled about things not going to plan. That he was supposed to be Champion. And to get so emotionally distraught about not being selected… it was evident the boy had been told he'd be Champion by the Dark Lord or Lucius Malfoy. And for some ungodly reason, they believed Izar was better suited as Hogwarts Champion. Quite frankly, anyone would have been better than Draco, but that was beside the point.
He didn't understand why Voldemort entered him in the Tournament. Did it have to do with Voldemort's earlier claim that he wanted Izar out of the shadows and into politics? Surely the Dark Lord would have told him about it—
No.
He grew frustrated at himself.
Of course the Dark Lord wouldn't have told him. It was dangerous to start expecting anything from the Dark Lord.
Izar refocused on Steinar when the boy cleared his throat. "How did you know I was here, anyway?"
"A Mudblood." His lip curled bitterly at the very thought. "Granger, I believe her name was. I charmed the answer out of her."
"I imagine she was beside herself with your charms."
Steinar completely missed the dry sarcasm. "Quite," he agreed. "And here I thought the Ravenclaws were the levelheaded bunch of the school." Here, Lukas looked pointedly at the raven on Izar's school robes.
Izar scoffed. "I don't assume every Durmstrang student is a pain in the ass just because you are." He stood up and shouldered his bag. "Was there a reason you came up here?"
Lukas remained sitting calmly. "I've noticed that your Undersecretary isn't very close with you. He looks at you as I would look at Granger." He placed his chin upon his hand and contorted his features into mock pensiveness. "He hasn't told you about the First Task, has he?"
"Of course he hasn't," Izar replied shortly. "That would be cheating."
"Cheating," Lukas repeated with a wry grin. "I suppose it would be cheating if our Ministers haven't already told Cyprien Beaumont and myself. We already know what challenge awaits us tomorrow and you are entirely ignorant. How fair is that?"
Izar skillfully masked his anger. Voldemort hadn't told him about the First Task. While the Dark Lord had commented on dueling being a large part of the Second Task, he never once hinted at the First.
"Well? I don't suppose you're going to tell me what it is?"
Lukas stood up and took an advancing step forward. He loomed above Izar and tapped his cheek. "Now that would be cheating, wouldn't it?" The boy leaned forward, his breath trailing across Izar's ear. "I came up here to wish you good luck tomorrow. We'll see each other at the luncheon, but I won't have another opportunity to wish you luck in person."
With one last notorious smirk, Lukas pulled away and disappeared down the stairs.
Izar stood rigidly in the center of his alcove, his gaze cold and bitter as he stared unblinkingly at the wall across from him.
Death of Today
Regulus stroked his short beard while his opposite hand raked through his cut hair.
His new robes were stiff and restricting, a royal blue in hue that announced his political, albeit diplomatic agenda. The Black family crest was stitched on his chest, large enough for anyone to take notice. The Black family was not heard of often these days, but Regulus intended to change that. It was time to reclaim their position at the top.
There was only one hurdle to get through before Regulus could proceed forward.
"I'm here to see Undersecretary Tom Riddle."
The woman peered at him over her thick-framed spectacles, her murky brown eyes condescendingly amused. "Mr. Riddle is very busy today. I'm afraid you'll have to make an appointment and come back at a later date." She grabbed a quill with her long, talon-like nails. "Next month is the next available time—"
"I'm afraid that won't do." Regulus straightened. "There must be a short time available today… now…" he pushed.
"Let him in, Roberta."
Regulus looked up, catching sight of the Dark Lord leaning against his doorframe across the hallway, his expression less than pleased. Regulus had told himself meeting at the Ministry wouldn't be as difficult as seeing the Dark Lord in his true form outside the public eyes. Yet all that seemed to be heresy as he experienced the spasm of fear he had hoped to avoid.
The Dark Lord stared at him, his expression entirely blank, but his eyes livid. Regulus flashed Roberta one last look before walking stiffly down the hallway. There were desks lined up on either side of Riddle's office, housing busy wizards and witches. They barely spared him a glance as they continued with their tasks.
Riddle took a step back, inviting Regulus inside.
As soon as that door shut, Regulus knew his fate would be sealed.
He entered with a stiff spine. Behind him, the door closed.
Continuing to direct his tunneled stare forward, Regulus felt the Dark Lord breeze past him. The taller wizard stood behind his desk and clasped his hands behind his back, watching Regulus as if he were a repulsive pest. Silence was never a reassuring sign. Not with this wizard.
Recognizing he needed to be the first to break the impasse, Regulus exhaled shakily and lowered to one knee.
Tightening his left hand into a fist, he brought up his arm and placed his pulse point between his eyes. It was a practiced gesture from the days pure-bloods were respected, from the days they practiced their dances. The gesture was meant to demonstrate vulnerability and respect to a higher-ranking wizard.
"Forgive me, My Lord." He kept his eyes stubbornly on the floor. "I have betrayed and wronged you. As repentance, I give you my freedom, I give you my will and soul."
"You have wronged me greatly," Riddle hissed. "And for what means? All for your Mudblood wench?"
Regulus closed his eyes. The Dark Lord didn't seem surprised that Regulus was alive. That only meant the man had known he was alive. He had known that Severus had not followed through with his word. Severus' assumptions from last night had been correct. The Dark Lord was all knowing. "I know it is inexcusable, My Lord, but my betrayal was committed for what the Mudblood was carrying at the time. I committed my act of treachery for the son I was led to believe she was carrying—that she later claimed she was not carrying…"
The Dark Lord chuckled.
It was not at all comforting.
"You are smart for confronting me here, Black. You know I cannot do what I so rightfully deserve to do."
The Cruciatus curse. If Regulus was lucky. There were much harsher and painful curses the Dark Lord had up his sleeves. And that was exactly why Regulus approached the Dark Lord at the Ministry. He wanted to explain himself while the man was indisposed and virtually fangless.
"I could bring you away from here," Voldemort continued softly. He moved around his desk and approached Regulus' hunched and defeated figure. "Only there could I enjoy inflicting the punishment you deserve." He came to a stop directly next to Regulus. "You are aware of my favor toward your son."
It was not a question, but rather a cold and blunt statement.
Denying it would be an insult to the both of them, yet the Dark Lord hovered, waiting for an answer.
Regulus closed his eyes. "I—had my suspicions—"
"And you used it to your advantage." Fingers raked through Regulus' hair, pulling at the roots and forcing his head backward. Red eyes stared down at him with contempt. "It's what any Slytherin would do to save their own hide, yet it is rather pathetic that you're using your son as a shield. You think to challenge me, to call my bluff that I won't kill you in order to stay in Izar's favor."
"Never challenge—"
"You are challenging me." Riddle released his hair and threw him aside. "Your scheme has worked, Black. I won't kill you or Severus for your betrayals."
Regulus stayed down where the Dark Lord tossed him, knowing any attempt to straighten or right himself would only be seen as disobedience. Rather, he placed his hands on the ground, fisting the rug and chancing a look up at the Dark Lord. "My Lord…I will certainly make it up to you. I will pledge myself to you and your cause. My resources—"
"You will do all that and more," he assured. "Moreover, because you found it apt to use Izar as your gambling dice, I will see that and raise you tenfold." The Dark Lord removed a ring from his pocket, the sheen black, the design Celtic. "Know that I will bind and chain him to my side…forever. I will make it known to him that he has you to thank for such a position."
Regulus' stomach dropped and turned cold. He recognized the ring as belonging to many pure-blooded families. "No!" he hissed, fury blinding him once he realized what the magical ring was and its intended purpose. "Leave Izar out of this! This is between you and I, not him—"
"You have willingly placed him between us to save your own hide." Riddle pocketed the ring and smiled down at Regulus. "I would not be Slytherin if I did not use it to my advantage."
Regulus sat, stunned.
The undersecretary moved across the room and plucked his outer cloak from its hook. "Alas, I must cut our meeting short, as I have a luncheon to attend at Hogwarts." He glided across the room towards the door, his expression scarily blank. "I will keep in touch with you as to our next meeting." He opened the door. "You may show yourself out when you've come to terms with the mess you've made."
With that, the man exited his office.
Regulus' face crumbled as he placed his face in his hands.
Death of Today
"You look very handsome," Daphne persisted yet again as they made their way up to the third floor. Her hands continued to pry at his robes, picking and smoothing down the fabric. Stopping him in his tracks, she pinched the imaginary fuzz off his robes.
Izar sighed.
"You're a mother hen." He pushed her hands away as she came at his robes again. "Everything will go fine, Daphne. I wore neutral robes, I read up on the etiquette for political luncheons, and no matter what someone says, I will convey absolute boredom. Which should be quite easy…"
Mossy green eyes flashed up at him. "You told me what the Dark Lord said, Izar. He wants you to make a good impression." A sly grin stretched her flawlessly painted lips. "He also wants you to be a force in the political world. It just goes to show he has big plans for you. You should be excited. Not all of us get such an opportunity."
Yes, Riddle made that very clear.
It was all about the opportunity and how Izar was wasting it.
Izar turned his gaze to the ceiling. He was beginning to realize it was a mistake telling Daphne what the Dark Lord had said at Hog's Head. He assumed she could help prepare him for situations like these, but Daphne didn't just help. She mothered him instead, nitpicking on the littlest mistake he made at dinner. She had enjoyed herself far too much.
"No," Izar drawled, "it just goes to show that he wants his Death Eaters to be influential." He lowered his gaze to her smug expression. "If neutral individuals realize that influential wizards and witches were following a rising Dark Lord, they'd most certainly consider joining the cause. That is why the Dark Lord wants all of us to succeed."
She tsked. "I believe he sees the potential you have to offer, Izar. Like I always have. You'd make a brilliant politician."
Izar frowned as he side-stepped further into the corridor, giving them more privacy as a few students passed. "Are you daft?" She glowered, her bottom lip seemingly curling into a pout. "I hate these things. If it was the Dark Lord's goal to pick the least suitable wizard for his 'big, political plans', he succeeded."
Sniffing, the blond witch ignored his comment and rather touched the hem of his sleeve. "Do you like the robes?"
Izar looked down at the black robes. They were simple, yet they were new. He had never owned new robes before. "They're very nice," Izar admitted softly, feeling ashamed. There was a Hogwarts crest near his shoulder, declaring his loyalty to Hogwarts and not just Ravenclaw. "Thank you for the robes, I will pay you back as soon as I get the money."
"Nonsense," Daphne retorted. "They weren't particularly expensive." She paused and a scheming, considering light entered her eyes. "Dress robes, on the other hand, can be a bit spendy…"
He narrowed his eyes. "Just what are you getting at?"
She trailed a well-manicured red nail along his collar and smiled wickedly. "The Yule Ball is approaching, Izar. I was hoping you could accompany me." Her expression crumbled into mock hurt. "I know its tradition for the wizard to ask the witch, but when have I ever acted like the submissive maiden?"
"You truly are one of a kind," Izar conceded. She looked expectant. He breathed heavily through his nose, not wanting to go, but acknowledging the requirement. "I would be most honored, Ms. Greengrass, to accompany you to the Yule Ball."
Green eyes brightened and her smile was predatory. "I know just the robes to get you…."
She trailed off as a large figure cast a shadow across them both. Izar looked up, spotting Tom Riddle. He pursed his lips at the sight of the man, not at all impressed by the Dark Lord at the moment. Daphne, on the other hand, flushed a light pink and curtsied flawlessly.
The Dark Lord chuckled lowly.
Whether it was from Daphne's or Izar's reaction, he didn't know, nor care.
"Ms. Greengrass," Riddle greeted silkily, causing the blush to deepen across Daphne's cheeks.
"Undersecretary Riddle, it's an honor to see you."
Izar turned away, brooding darkly. He ignored Daphne's disapproving stare, not caring how immature he was acting. He just couldn't look at the Dark Lord after knowing the man had willingly put his name in the Goblet without notice, without authorization. Despite his anger, Izar knew he had no right to resent the man. The Dark Lord did not ask his followers for permission. The man doesn't share his plans with his servants either, especially a fifteen-year-old wizard.
His anger—his sense of entitlement—would only get him in trouble. Did he not mock the others who believed they held a special place in the Dark Lord's eyes? Yet here he was, acting the same way.
"I'm assuming you had a hand in getting our Champion prepared today?"
"Yes, sir."
"A job well done."
She bowed her head. "He cleans up quite nicely, sir, I didn't have to do much to make him shine."
"If he turned that petulant scowl into something more manageable, I would have to agree with you."
Daphne offered Izar a thin smile as she curtsied once more. "I know you two would like to confer before the luncheon. I will leave you to it." She tugged on Izar's sleeve. "Good luck today."
Izar watched her depart quickly from the corridor, undoubtedly having sensed the tension between the two wizards. And there definitely was tension. Not just from Izar, but he could sense a certain rigidity to the Dark Lord's magic. Moreover, when the hand curled around the back of Izar's neck, the fingers tightened with intentional ire.
He was forced to glide alongside Voldemort, hyperaware of the hand shackling him like a collar.
"I can't help but to think you're angry with me," Riddle mused. "But that certainly can't be the case, can it?"
"Of course not," Izar said dryly. "How could anyone get angry with your majesty?"
Voldemort did not find Izar's cheek amusing, rather, he pulled him down an unused side of the corridor. The hand around Izar's neck released him with a shove, sending him against the wall. He stiffened abruptly as the Dark Lord loomed before him, his expression pinched with undeniable rage albeit a bit of excitement.
Izar released a shaky breath and pressed his back against the wall. The magic!
He got caught up in Riddle's adrenaline, watching the man near even closer, their noses a mere inch apart.
"We only have a few minutes before the luncheon begins, and in that time, we will strike a sensitive agreement. I want you to listen to me very carefully." Riddle reached forward, curling his long fingers around Izar's collar and holding the young wizard firmly against the wall. "A man visited me today at the Ministry. A man who had once betrayed me."
Izar turned cold.
Riddle released Izar's collar and took a step back. "He begged me to spare his life. But I don't forgive betrayals, and I'm not particularly fond of forgiving those who deliberately lie to me."
"You knew I was lying," Izar said as soon as Riddle's rage focused on him. "You knew all along that Regulus was alive. When I lied to you about meeting Regulus that day at the Hog's Head, I figured that simple, small lie wouldn't be worth a grain of salt. Not only because you seemed to have known, but I had believed Regulus would return to hiding. I did not know he would confront you."
"It does not matter." Riddle stared at Izar, his fury cooling into scary impassiveness. "The day you took my Mark, I expected complete and utter loyalty from you. I put my trust in you—"
"You don't trust anybody. Don't make me out as a fool," Izar whispered darkly. "For you to trust me, it would require you to tell me why you entered my name in the Goblet. It would require you to tell me what the First Task was—just like the other Ministers had told their Champions."
A slow, knowing smile curled Riddle's mouth. "It feels good to get that off your chest, doesn't it?"
Heat burned across Izar's cheeks for the condescending remark.
"The cruel fate of it, Izar, is that you belong to me. Should I wish to enter your name in the Goblet, I will do so without the obligation of telling you my reasons." An eyebrow arched. "As for the First Task, I am more than confident you can handle yourself without knowing what awaits you. I want you to prove yourself to me. I want to see what kind of wizard you are."
Izar didn't know what to think about that. He was still furious with the Dark Lord—as well as disgusted at the man's sense of ownership—yet…when the man put it like that, it truly did encourage Izar to fight his way through this Tournament and show others what he could accomplish. He didn't need hints; he didn't need information handed to him.
He looked down at his trainers. "What are you going to do with Regulus and Professor Snape?" he asked tensely. He didn't want to care. He told himself he shouldn't.
Yet he did.
Riddle's gaze was unfriendly. "I think you're smart enough to figure that out for yourself."
Izar's stomach plummeted and a deep despair welled inside him. How could Regulus have been so stupid?
"Unless…" Riddle trailed off, reestablishing Izar's sharp attention. "I don't often make exceptions, yet there may be something you can do to stop my hand. But it requires obedience."
Suspicion and dread immediately clouded Izar's senses. He watched as Riddle removed a small ring box from his cloak. When he opened the lid, Riddle held it out to Izar, displaying a handsome, black titanium ring inside. Izar's dread only skyrocketed.
"All you need to do is put this on your finger, and your father and Severus will be spared."
Izar's mind raced quickly and he glared up at the Dark Lord. "You had this planned out even before Regulus came along, didn't you?"
He had no idea what the ring's purpose was. It was magical, that much was certain as Izar felt the bit of magic coming from the ring. There were several magical rings in the wizarding world, originating from an array of pure-blood traditions. He really hadn't been that interested in the subject, after all, he would have never thought he would be subjected to one.
"That is irrelevant." The Dark Lord held the ring closer to Izar. "The decision of your father's fate is entirely yours to make."
"What does it do?" Izar demanded hastily, taking sudden notice of the ring on Riddle's hand. The man wore an exact replica on his middle finger, only his was silver.
"After you put the ring on your finger, you can research it. You'll find the information in a textbook. Until then, you'll have to make this decision instinctively." Voldemort raised his eyebrows, his ivory hand still holding the box out to Izar.
Even Izar could see the absolute mercilessness in Riddle's eyes.
Considering Voldemort possessed a similar ring, it was obviously linked to the man himself. It had to do with loyalty, possibly truthfulness. It could also be a punishment, putting Izar through both emotional and physical pain. However, he doubted the latter. Judging from Riddle's expression, this ring was already planned before Regulus had approached him at the Ministry.
But now, with Regulus' reappearance, Voldemort finally had something to force Izar's acceptance.
He couldn't deny his concern for Regulus. It was difficult to pinpoint what he wanted to feel for the man. Dislike, surely, because the man thought he could waltz up to Voldemort and expect both Izar and Snape to get by unscathed. But he also felt a bit of grudging respect that the man decided to stay in Britain and face his demons.
For him…
"The luncheon will begin shortly, Izar. I will not offer this opportunity again."
Izar closed his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose in an attempt to calm himself. He hated not knowing the ring's properties. He was oblivious to the fate he was choosing. It wasn't very fair, but then again…this was two lives he had a potential to save. He did not owe them anything, and yet…
This was exactly why he avoided attachments.
Bloody hell.
"Which finger?" it came out resigned and jaded.
"Left hand, middle finger."
"If I place this ring on my finger, you will spare both Regulus and Professor Snape, correct?"
Voldemort took Izar's wrist, pulling the younger wizard closer. Izar stumbled, reaching out and steadying himself on Voldemort's arm. "I guarantee both lives will be spared."
The ring was on Izar's finger, sealing the fate of both himself and his father.
Izar stared at the onyx ring, watching as it shrunk to fit him tightly. He felt the magic grow and expand, seemingly stretching between both himself and the Dark Lord. It would have made him feel better if he knew he could experiment with the ring, but Izar knew magical rings were one of the most binding rituals in the magical world.
"Don't look so forlorn. There are worse things," Riddle mused as he brushed past Izar and into the main corridor. "When you do find out the ring's properties, I would like for you to approach me. We will need to discuss a few things."
Izar did not—could not—find a retort as he followed Riddle to the luncheon.
He felt bound and chained.
He glared at the Dark Lord's back.
Now, more than ever, he was determined to figure out the Dark Mark's properties. With the portkey completed, and not expected to be done before Christmas break, Izar had more time to commit himself to the wand core. Voldemort did not need to know Izar had finished his assignment, otherwise the man would just assign another project to distract Izar.
He would unlock his bindings with this wizard one chain at a time.
Death of Today
The luncheon had been uneventful.
Izar had been rather subdued during the gathering. He ate his food properly, he used proper etiquette, and he made polite conversation. Aside from the necessity, he had remained silent and pretended he was anywhere but there.
Tom Riddle, on the other hand, made up for Izar's silence. The man was sickly polite, trading cutting remarks with Bjørn Steinar, the Norwegian Minister. Their insults were always coated sweetly with an underlayer of malice. Even when he'd been in a dour mood, Izar had marveled at the Dark Lord's flawless deliveries and dry wit.
After lunch, Izar and the other Champions were ushered inside a tent.
He tugged curiously at his robes, admiring their tasteful design before glancing at his competition. Both Cyprien Beaumont and Lukas Steinar were pacing back and forth, their fingers brushing their wands for reassurance and their expressions incredibly pinched. Izar busied himself with adjusting his leather glove while periodically glancing at Steinar.
"No smart comments from you, Steinar? You seem especially worried for someone who knows what the Task is," Izar provoked.
That earned the instant, infuriated regard of the Durmstrang wizard.
Before the boy could respond, the judges entered the tent. They appraised the three Champions, making sure they were dressed and decent. Dumbledore was in the lead, and just behind the six judges, the sound of thunderous cheering could be heard. Evidently, all the fans were present, filling up the stands of the Quidditch pitch and waiting for the competition to begin.
Izar stood slowly and briefly caught the eyes of Riddle.
"Gather around, gentlemen."
Izar made his way over to Dumbledore, ignoring Lukas as the boy knocked into his shoulder on the way there.
"Each of you will draw a parchment." The Headmaster pulled out three small scrolls, each one decorated with a bright, golden ribbon around its middle. "On the parchment, you will find a number at the top. That number represents the order in which you will compete." The wizard allowed the Champions to each pluck a scroll from his hand.
Izar took the offered scroll, slowly unrolling it to see a number three at the top.
"For your first Task," Dumbledore continued, "each of you will be entering the Forbidden Forest. You will only be accompanied by your wand and your roll of parchment.
"On your parchment, you will find a list of items. It is your job to navigate your way through the forest to collect all these items. Points will be rewarded for each item collected and the amount of time it takes you to complete your hunt. The shorter amount of time will increase your chances of obtaining additional points." Dumbledore gazed at the three wizards over his spectacles. "The Forbidden Forest is extremely dangerous. If you find yourself unable to continue, there is still a possibility you may succeed over your rivals."
Izar stared at the list, feeling his nerves settle just a bit. He knew all the items. Granted, he had never entered the forest before, but he had a general idea of what kind of environment most of the plants and fungi were favored to grow.
"You will also be allowed your bag and vials." Minister Steinar approached and handed each of the Champions a sack with a few glass vials inside. "This is not just a scavenger hunt, boys," the man barked. "In the forest, you will be confronted with beasts and horrors alike." He looked at Izar and smiled maliciously.
Izar narrowed his eyes before snapping the parchment high enough to block the man's regard.
"You will enter the forest five minutes apart. Each of you will be timed separately." Dumbledore ushered the group with his hand. "Who is first?" Cyprien straightened and waved his scroll. "Then by all means, Mr. Beaumont, please accompany me out of the tent."
Dumbledore escorted the redhead out the tent with Madame Maxime and Minister Serge Roux following close behind.
Loud cries from the students and fans erupted across the pitch at Cyprien's appearance.
Their cheers echoed eerily across the tent, leaving Izar a bit anxious.
