Edited March 2021

Part One, Chapter Sixteen

It was finally quiet in the halls as he walked to Professor Black's classroom.

As it was his first week back at school after the attack, Izar had hoped to settle back into his routine. And while the classes had taken his mind off certain…events, it still hadn't stopped the gawking, gossiping, and the overall commotion of the other students. They'd all wanted to know intimate details about the attack and what it was like staying with Tom Riddle.

Because surely, he was just as charming and swoon worthy in private as he was in public.

If it hadn't been for Daphne, Izar would have lost his cool several times over.

As it were, he'd swallowed his initial reactions and decided to appease Riddle by working on his public image. Despite the man proclaiming it would be fun to treat it as a game, Izar found himself exhausted by the end of the first day.

He was happy to finally roam the corridors unbothered.

Fortunately, Sirius Black was easy to get along with, and Izar would welcome his presence. His uncle was usually quiet and collected, presenting dueling fundamentals in a way that worked well for Izar. Other times, the man tried to issue sly jokes that oftentimes left Izar searching for the appropriate response.

Luckily, the issue of Regulus was dropped the day Izar denied ties with the Black family, though he did not miss the occasional tunneled stare from Sirius.

As he raised his hand to knock on the classroom, he paused and considered his fingers. Izar had yet to read about the ring. He planned to do it immediately after his private lesson, but until he did so, he had decided to wear a fingerless glove on his left hand. The glove had just the right amount of material to hide the ring from prying eyes.

Exhaling discontentedly, he knocked.

"Come in," Sirius called distractedly from the other side of the door.

Izar cast a wry glance around the corridor, reminded of Voldemort's boast of watching his dueling lessons. Surely the Dark Lord had better things to do with his time.

With his skin prickling uneasily, Izar entered the classroom and immediately noticed the figure sitting next to Sirius. It took Izar a brief moment to identify it as Regulus, simply because the man had cut his hair and shaved his face entirely.

Stopping in place, Izar schooled his features, unsure what he felt upon seeing his father. Recent events prevented Izar from really thinking about Regulus and his brash decision to save the man's life. A man he barely knew. A man who had never bothered to enter his life before.

He hadn't known you existed…

Izar turned to leave, but the door slammed closed.

"Izar," Regulus called after him with a hint of desperation.

Staying rigidly in place, Izar listened to the man's approach and did not stop the warm hands from taking his shoulders captive. He was turned around and abruptly engulfed in a strong embrace. His entire body stiffened at the contact, though Regulus was quick to tighten his hold even further.

"I'm so relieved you're alright," the man murmured into his ear. With one last squeeze, Regulus stepped back, keeping his hands on Izar's shoulders as he studied him closely. "Your performance the other day was magnificent." He smiled smugly. "I only wished it hadn't ended so unpleasantly. You would have been in first place, surely."

Izar attempted a smile, but it came out as a grimace. Over Regulus' shoulder, he eyed Sirius. The man was surprisingly cool and collected with the presence of his proclaimed-to-be-dead younger brother.

The man caught Izar's eyes and winked.

Izar looked away and focused on the empty desks. "Does Professor Snape know you went to Voldemort?" he asked quietly enough so Sirius would not overhear.

Regulus' hands slid from Izar's shoulders, and his expression sobered. "He does." As Regulus' grey eyes dropped to Izar's hand, he stiffened unnaturally. "I… he found my weakness and exploited it. Izar, my son, you did not need to take the ring. I would have gladly suffered—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Izar said coldly. He curled his left hand further inside his sleeve. "You know about the ring?"

Regulus looked truly abashed. "He told me. I only feel worse that you accepted his coercion."

"Of course I accepted it. I spared your life," Izar hissed. Regulus made it sound as if he'd had a choice. "He was going to kill you otherwise."

A warm hand gently touched his arm. "And I am forever in your debt because of your sacrifice, Izar. I had never intended for any of this. I had hoped that if I had approached him directly that I could spare both you and Severus. But he'd known. It was if he were just waiting patiently for me to approach him."

Sirius stood up and slowly made his way over, undoubtedly concerned with their hushed conversation.

Regulus must have noticed the approach, for he quickly asked, "do you know what the ring does? Did he tell you?"

"No."

Izar moved his arm away from Regulus' hand, causing the man to drop it uselessly at his side. A dark, haunted look appeared across Regulus' face, the same expression Izar recalled seeing at the Hog's Head. He knew the man was carrying the guilt of his actions, knowing it was entirely his own doing that Izar now had the ring.

At the present, Izar was too on edge to convince him otherwise.

"I've come here to talk to you about Lily," Regulus started once Sirius was in earshot. "I plan to slowly gain influence in the Ministry again. And the Black properties are being reopened for our use once you have decided to publicly declare me as your father."

For our use...

Izar turned his head away, feeling his chest constrict.

…publicly declare me as your father…

Everything was going too fast. He felt lightheaded.

But Regulus continued, not noticing Izar's gradual descent into panic. "I came here to speak to Sirius. I told him about discovering you as my son and about Lily's involvement."

"I don't even know about all that," Izar said, a bit slighted. "I had believed Sirius was friends with Lily and James Potter."

"I was," Sirius confirmed. Next to him, Regulus' brows knotted with concern as he watched Izar. "There was a conflict—"

"We will speak of that later, Sirius," Regulus interrupted quietly. "I need to tell you about Lily, Izar. She's moving about. I have been informed that Lily has been in the shadows for nearly fifteen years, not very active in the political or social light. With whispers of my return, she has gotten livelier. I fear as if she will try to do something to split us apart."

Izar chuckled at the thought of Lily Bloody Potter now wanting something from him. His head spun. "I apologize." He took a step back. It was getting difficult to breathe. Why? Why was his body acting this way? "I can't do this right now. I really can't."

Sirius made a move to stop Izar, but Regulus' ring-clad hand curled around his elbow, stopping him in his tracks. Without hesitating, Izar turned, opening the door and hurriedly escaping the classroom. It only took several paces of distance to cool the flush to his cheeks and slow his racing pulse.

He realized that there were just so many things on his mind.

The Dark Mark, Voldemort's portkey, the political Tournament, extra dueling work, the attack during the First Task, the ring, Regulus, and now Lily and other members of the Black family… it was too much.

Izar slumped against the wall outside the library and stared dazedly across the hall.

Perhaps he was so ill at ease because he never had to concentrate on anything but schoolwork for most his life. He never had any social commitments, social ties, or any expectations he put on others or himself. And this year had come at him so fast, and so heavy, he was struggling to juggle everything at once.

His eyes unwillingly dropped to his left hand.

It wasn't his father's fault. He couldn't blame Regulus for what had happened. Izar had suspected it before when Voldemort had presented him the ring. The Dark Lord had always intended for Izar to wear the ring, he had just used Regulus' situation as means to obtain what he wanted.

But why?

A part of Izar wanted to go back to Sirius' office and listen to what Regulus had to say. The man was at least trying. But Izar was still having difficulty wrapping his mind around someone wanting to care for him. He was used to living alone.

"Izar?"

Through the fall of his dark hair, Izar looked up at Daphne.

The petite girl stood on her tiptoes to peer into his face. "Is everything alright?"

"No," he confessed quietly. Pushing off from the wall, he contorted his expression into indifference. "But it will be."

She offered a small smile. "You know you can always come to me." She laughed when Izar nodded. "But you won't. You'd rather brood in the dark corridors."

"Obviously."

Before he could say anything further, he caught sight of a small group of Slytherins standing just a short distance behind Daphne. They were talking quietly amongst each other, looking truly distraught. Daphne turned, searching for what had caught his attention. The Greengrass heir sighed, her face troubled as she turned back around.

"I need to ask something of you, Izar. But I will completely understand if you don't want to do it. If I were in your place I…"

"What?" Izar asked impatiently.

The blond witch's lips thinned before she stepped closer to Izar. "I'm going to guess you haven't read the paper recently? It may come to a surprise, but when you get past the first five pages, there is news other than the Tournament."

"Is that so?"

She sent him a warning look before glancing over her shoulder at the group. A few of the Slytherins didn't appear happy that she was talking with him, but there were also a few who were perked up and waiting for his reaction.

"Theodore Nott's father was recently sentenced to two years in Azkaban. He's sick, Izar. Nott's father. He won't last a week in Azkaban, let alone two years." Tears started to gather in Daphne's eyes. "Theodore is pretty upset right now. He lost his mother when he was only four years old. He's close to his father, really close."

Izar looked again at the group of students, noticing the tallest and thinnest boy. His eyes were on Izar, desperate and angry.

"He's requested me to ask you…" Daphne paused, searching for the right words.

"He wants help to break his father out of Azkaban?" Izar guessed wryly. The fortress of Azkaban was impossible to break in, much less by a group of school children.

"No," Daphne scolded. "He wants you to help him extract revenge. It appears that a Mudblood—Cory Appleton—ratted out Theodore's father. He informed the Ministry that Mr. Nott had a few illegal items in his house, illegal Dark artifacts that weren't registered with the Ministry. Undersecretary Riddle tried to get the charges dropped, but the evidence was all there. The best Mr. Riddle could do was reduce his sentence from five years to two."

Izar sighed lightly. "What does Nott plan to do?"

"Kill. And I don't blame him. Appleton is an old Mudblood who takes pleasure in putting away innocent men and women. Mr. Nott had those artifacts in his basement for decades. Most of them belonged to either the Dark Lord or Nott's ancestors. He never touched them. And now, with his illness, he'll be sent to a death prison that will kill him within a week."

The girl was getting far too emotional for Izar's liking.

"This is reckless," Izar finally spoke. "The Dark Lord…if—no—when he finds out…" He paused, realizing. "That's why Nott wants me to accompany him, isn't it? He thinks because the Dark Lord favors me that he will get off painlessly."

Daphne growled quietly. "That's not it at all. The Slytherins who aren't jealous of you, or hate you because of your blood status, actually look up to you because the Dark Lord thinks highly of you. They believe you're his successor of sorts. They want you near them for this. Nott especially."

Theodore walked over while the rest of the Slytherins stayed behind.

Izar examined the Slytherin as he neared. The boy was tall and lanky with features that were similar to that of a rabbit. His eyes were large, and a small, pointed nose sat above an equally small mouth. Izar even spied two large teeth in the front of his mouth, though they were nowhere near as large as Granger's.

His blue eyes were dull, and the whites of his eyes were pink from what Izar assumed were tears. The boy held himself straight, like any typical pure-blood, but the air of defeat was noticeable. "I have never formally introduced myself," Theodore's voice was strong, lacking any of the emotional torment he carried. "I'm Theodore Nott. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Izar."

The boy held out his hand, revealing a large family ring on his pinky.

Izar withheld a sigh before he shook hands with the boy. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked quietly. It wouldn't do to have the other Slytherins overhear. "Did you think this over with a clear head?"

Nott's brow furrowed as the lurking emotion took over. "I want to avenge my father," it came out breathlessly. "I will do it with, or without your help, Harrison. I only wish for you to come along with me. You're a capable and levelheaded wizard. And right now, I could use someone like that."

"We need this to be as quick and clean as possible." Daphne moved closer to Izar. "We need you to come with us, if only to reign in the more…bloodthirsty ones," she hinted, looking over her shoulder at the older Slytherins.

Izar knew if Voldemort found out, the man would be utterly furious. He had only caught glimpses of the man's fury, but he knew better than to ignite that anger.

And yet…

"Gather your Death Eater robes," Izar whispered. "Meet me back here at the library with your robes in your bags. From there, we will walk toward the Forbidden Forest to Apparate." He paused. "Where, exactly, is Applegate's home?"

"Near Diagon Alley," Daphne responded for Nott.

Izar nodded sharply, his mind racing as he watched the Slytherins all race off toward the dungeons.

Near Diagon Alley.

Izar looked at his ring before hurrying into the library. He just needed a few minutes to research the ring. It was eating away at him, and he needed to get it off his chest. Finding a secluded table, Izar brought out the Eruditio. His fingers shook as he flipped open the book, his wand trailing along the blank pages.

"Magical rings," he intoned clearly.

As his wand washed over the blank book, ink magically began to spill across the gold-dusted pages. He sat down and waited impatiently as the book began spilling its secrets. Once it seemed to have stopped, Izar quickly flipped through the pages, looking at each ring and flipping past when it wasn't the match to the band on his finger.

Finally, about middle of the way through, he stumbled across a picture of his ring and its partner's ring. Voldemort's. Izar's eyes widened briefly at the sheer amount of information.

The text went into detail of the ring's history, explaining that it was used quite frequently since medieval times and was continued throughout modern times.

The Celtic ring has many uses among pure-blood families. The majority of the time, the Celtic band is used on mentor and heir. It is not to be mistaken for uses inside a true family. Should the caster wish to declare a child outside his family as his heir, the Celtic ring would act as a connector. The caster dons the silver Celtic band and presents his heir with the black titanium band. For many years, the Ministry of Magic has expressed their beliefs that Celtic rings should be prohibited in the wizarding world due to the mere controlling nature. However, Celtic rings have been in pure-blood families for over centuries, confiscating such an accepted item would be near impossible.

The Celtic ring, while Dark in many aspects, can also be a positive occurrence. Families who cannot produce heirs use these bands to formally adopt children into their family. Overtime, the Celtic ring can be adjusted to transfer some of the mentor's physical and chemical signature into their heir. Within a few years, the heir could be mistaken for his true son.

While the Celtic rings are used primarily for mentor and heir, it is also used between betrothed couples of pure-blood races. The Celtic ring prohibits sexual exchange with other—

Izar shut the book and grimaced.

Voldemort coerced Izar to become his heir? Wasn't the man immortal? Was that why Regulus was so upset? If Izar was Voldemort's heir, did that mean he could not be Regulus' heir?

It didn't make much sense.

Skimming more of the article, he read that the caster could manipulate the rings to his favor. Transferring blood and personality traits were among the things Voldemort could accomplish through his ring. And the passage mentioned controlling tendencies. Was the Dark Lord aiming to leave Izar dependent on him?

So far, Izar didn't feel any different. He didn't feel any more dependent on the man than usual. And he couldn't see any physical differences in his appearance. Flipping through the pages, he was at a loss. Even if Izar did approach the man about the rings, would he even get the full truth? Would he find out what manipulations Voldemort placed on the rings?

Izar sighed and rubbed his face tiredly.

He would go to Riddle tomorrow. The man was usually at Hogwarts for a few hours during the day with the other politicians before leaving at night.

Tonight, he had to focus on more pressing issues.

Daphne indicated Appleton lived near Diagon Alley. Izar looked at his wand. Ollivanders was in Diagon Alley. And the large ledger Ollivander kept was in Diagon Alley.

Izar sat up, feeling a bit smug with himself.

Voldemort could see through lies. Yes. Perhaps more so now with their connecting rings. But the Dark Lord wouldn't be able to sense half-truths, could he? If they were caught outside the castle, Voldemort would demand to know where they had gone. Izar could truthfully say he had helped Nott with his revenge. But who said he had to tell Voldemort that he had also gone to Ollivanders?

It was the perfect solution. Izar could discover Voldemort's wand core and continue his work on the Dark Mark.

A lazy smirk settled across Izar's mouth as he stood and began packing away his books. As he made his way toward the Ravenclaw Common Room, a form stepped in his way.

"I want to come with you," Draco informed with a stubborn lift to his chin.

Izar blinked. It didn't surprise him that Draco knew about Nott's plan of revenge. The Slytherins were a rather close-knit group. Izar was, however, surprised that Draco wanted to accompany them. After all, Nott was a bit of a loner in the Slytherin House. He didn't feel the need to trail after Draco like the others.

"And I would also like to apologize for my outburst that night at dinner a few weeks ago. It was entirely uncalled for. Very tactless."

Izar scoffed. "You already apologized to me in the hospital wing, Malfoy."

"No." Draco shook his head. "I didn't mean it at the time. Seeing you in danger this past Task made me realize you had no say over the matter. They'd forced you into this Tournament." The blond boy offered a light smirk. "And I also realized I wouldn't have enjoyed the hallucinations from the Devil's Venenum. So…I'm glad it was you."

Izar rolled his eyes upward in aggravation.

Trust Draco Malfoy to come up with an apology that dripped of arrogance.

"Accepted," Izar conceded bitterly. What else could he do? Malfoy would stalk him through the corridors of Hogwarts if he did not accept the apology. There was also a part of Izar, albeit a small part, that held a bit of pity for Draco. "Get your robes, then."

Draco lifted the top of his bag, revealing the charcoal Death Eater's mask already tucked inside.

The boy's eyes gleamed wickedly.

Izar was vividly reminded of Lucius Malfoy.

Death of Today

Izar had refused to take the whole group of Slytherins on this…night hunt. Rather, he allowed Nott to pick two others along with Draco and Daphne. The boy had picked two seventh year Slytherins, Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole. A wise and mature choice. Nott wasn't particularly close to the two, but they were decent wizards and not as rowdy as the others.

Or so he assumed.

Because Derrick and Bole were the only two who could Apparate, they had to take two trips of Side-Along Apparition with the younger students. Draco had stubbornly refused, stating that he already knew how to Apparate. Izar had sent one look his cousin's way, prompting Draco to silence and reluctantly hold on to Bole's arm.

The five Slytherins currently waited at the outskirts of Diagon Alley. From their position, they wouldn't be able to see his whereabouts. And Izar intended to keep it that way. The less people who knew his intentions, the higher the possibility he would get away with it.

The cold mask felt heavy against his face as he slithered between the shops of Diagon Alley.

It was late enough that the shops were closing and the storekeepers were going home.

He crouched next to Ollivanders, watching silently as the wandmaker stepped outside his shop. A merry tune whistled past his lips as he waved his wand, locking up his shop. It was a simple locking charm, one Izar could easily get past. He wondered at the poor security, knowing there must be some appeal for people to obtain an illegal, unregistered wand.

Ollivander paused in his retreat down the street, his shoulders stiffening.

Slowly, the white-haired man turned toward Izar.

The Ravenclaw ducked behind the corner, leaning his head against the cold stone. He didn't allow himself to breathe until he heard the whistling resume and the footsteps retreating further down the street.

Cautiously, Izar poked his head around the corner, searching the streets. Nightfall had covered the streets in darkness. Only a few street lanterns were lit, but not enough to wash many shop fronts in light.

Izar hunkered toward the front of Ollivanders. His wand was already drawn as he spotted the glowing shade of wards near the base of the door. As his wand caressed the wards, he redacted his earlier proclamation of a simple lock charm. These were well-laid wards. It was expected that Ollivander would be decent at spell work, after all, he nurtured wands for a living.

Izar slowly unraveled it, layer by layer.

With the tip of his wand, Izar flicked away the topmost layer of the ward. The torn layer drifted in the air, rivaling the appearance of a recently blown out flame. The smoke wisps disappeared within seconds, only to be joined by the second discarded layer.

Izar intoned the Latin incantation as he worked on reversing the wards. It was relatively simple for him. He had a love for all magic, every form of it, and all its properties. Perhaps that's why he excelled so well in school. He treated every magical signature as if it were precious and rare, both Dark and Light magic.

Of course, his abilities of understanding the properties of magic could also be contributed to his magic sensitivity.

It wasn't much longer until the wards dulled before dissolving.

With a simple wave of his wand, Izar unlocked the door. As it creaked open, he scrambled inside. The interior of the shop was just as he remembered at the age of eleven, bringing with it a precious nostalgia. The gentle hum of the wands was a constant comfort to Izar as he sat upon the stool placed in front of the ledger.

He ran his hands across the page before flipping through the book.

All the information on purchased wands was organized by last name.

Izar paused on the 'Black' surnames. Just as Sirius had claimed, the direct descendants of the Black family had all purchased Thestral wand cores. He stared at Regulus' name, imaging his own name right below his fathers. But his information would be under the name of 'Harrison', a surname Izar wondered how he had received. Was it the orphanage?

Quickly paging past the B's, he flipped toward the R's.

His eyes danced across the text until he came to the name Thomas Marvolo Riddle.

A wide smile curled the corners of his lips as he read the wand.

Length; 13½", wood; Yew, core: phoenix feather.

"Phoenix feather," Izar murmured with amusement. "Who would have thought the Dark Lord had such a Light creature as his wand core?" As looked around the dusty and worn wand shop, he realized a phoenix feather fit the man perfectly. Like a phoenix, the Dark Lord was immortal, powerful, and obnoxiously loud in his arrogance.

The magical tape measure whined and twitched on the table next to him, spurring him from his thoughts. He looked back down at the old ledger, frowning when he read what was in the parenthesis next to Riddle's core.

(Fawks— Albus' bird)

Izar sat back, dumbfounded.

Could it really be this easy? Grey-green eyes looked back down at the ledger. He noted the ink. Riddle's wand data was written in slightly worn-out ink, as if it had been written over fifty years ago. However, 'Fawks' looked as if it had been written just recently. Almost if the man had known Izar would have ventured in his shop.

Izar stared at the page, lost in thought.

Ollivander didn't strike Izar as a Dark wizard. But then again, he wasn't exactly Light either. Izar assumed the man was just absorbed into his work. It was all about knowledge and wandlore. The man was fascinated with what his wands could accomplish when given to the right wizard, whether said wizard was Light or Dark.

Izar assumed the man was just happy he'd taken such a liking toward wandlore, so happy in fact, that he would assist him.

Lazily flicking his wand, Izar startled when a wand box on the desk trembled at the action. He stared at it for a time before twirling his wand again and watching as it moved even closer to him. He contemplated for a moment before cautiously reaching out to touch the box.

Nothing happened.

Reassured there were no jinxes or curses on the box, Izar slowly removed the lid, surprised to see a holly wand inside. The top of the lid detailed the wand as a phoenix feather, eleven inches. More specifically, Ollivander's writing labeled the phoenix feather as Albus' bird, with recently spilled ink.

"You old man." Izar chuckled, pleased. "You knew…"

He was looking at the brother to Voldemort's wand.

And for the first time in years, Izar felt truly happy. Something finally went right and painless. He curled his fingers around the wand and removed it from the box. Instantly, he felt warm. The warmth washed through his body, making him feel more aware—more alive—than ever before. It was the same feeling he got from his current wand four years ago.

Could it be possible to have two wands destined for one wizard?

This wand felt so right to him, so precise. It was almost as comfortable as his Thestral wand, only a bit more alien in his hand. Izar was sure he could become just as comfortable with it as his original wand.

He wondered…

Looking at his fingerless glove that hid the ring, he wondered if he was always meant for this wand, or if it just recently became a worthy match. What if the ring Voldemort presented to him was the cause for the wand's acceptance to Izar? After all, the ring had the potential to pass along similar traits…

Izar eyed the wand before looking at the ledger and the ink pot. Quickly tucking the brother to Voldemort's wand in his pocket, he leaned forward and grabbed Ollivander's quill.

Next to Riddle's data, he scrawled the words, I owe you.

Jumping off the stool, he crossed the store before shutting the door. Placing the wards back into place, Izar ran down the streets, knowing he had made the others wait long enough.