{Note} Thanks so much for the reviews last chapter. I didn't get around to responding to them, even though I wanted to. :( Just a big 'thanks' to whoever took the time to review!

This chapter got away from me. Sadly. *shrug*. Hopefully it won't be too bad.

Chapter Twenty Three

Izar put on his most expressionless face as he followed Draco back downstairs. Draco seemed to have felt the sudden coldness from Izar, for his own mood dropped several degrees. The blonde boy had just been rocking on his heels, excited as he showed Izar his room. Sometimes, Izar wondered how old Draco really was. But then, maybe the boy had never had someone close to him before. Was the boy's childhood cold and lonely? He could imagine a young Draco, surrounded by every single toy a child would envy, but feeling miserable because no one was around.

It didn't matter.

Not right now, anyway.

Izar walked down the steps. His poise was confident and lacking any weakness. Weakness wouldn't be tolerated now, especially when he was on his way to the Dark Lord and his Inner Circle. "You're completely closed off," Draco murmured. "It's frightening when you get like this… I feel like I'm looking at a younger Dark Lord."

Charcoal-green eyes turned to Draco. The boy frowned before turning away. "You do realize that I must be like this when approaching the Dark Lord, correct?"

"It's not just when you're with the Dark Lord. It's almost all the time. You're so cold. And quite frankly, it's frightening at times." Draco eyed Izar suspiciously. "Are you hiding your true feelings behind your mask? Or are you… really like this?"

Was he really having this discussion with the boy? Izar wondered if he should tell Draco he had never been a child. There was no child lurking beneath Izar. And he wondered if Draco would be surprised or if Izar would be confirming his suspicions. Even Draco, who was raised to keep his cool, was a child. And every child had an innocence to them, a sort of innocence that was lively and active.

Izar didn't feel as if he had that.

Draco stepped in front of him, blocking him from continuing on. Izar sneered at the blonde haired boy. "That was a foolish question," Draco murmured. "Forget I even asked it." Grey eyes traced his face before the boy's lips thinned at Izar's lack of response. "I suppose I should take you out back."

"Be inclined to take your time," Izar drawled as they swept from the stairs. Draco grinned lightly as he led Izar closer to the volume of irritating laughing and stuffy voices that sounded as if they'd forgotten to swallow.

"Ignore them," Draco started as soon as they entered what appeared to be a large sitting room. The occupants inside slowly hushed when Izar and Draco waltzed through. Some of their gazes were curious and others were filled with disgust.

Izar gazed back coolly. Their eyes… they reminded him so vividly of his days in the orphanage. Why did he feel as if he had gone back in time as soon as he stepped foot in the Malfoy Manor? In this manor, he felt as if he were eight, standing in front of mocking eyes clouded with cruelness. In front of them, he felt belittled.

And yet, he showed no emotion. Just as he had done so those many years ago.

They swept through luxurious rooms, passing before the stares in a blur. Some of the rooms they passed where small serving rooms with platters of food, others were entertainment rooms, and most of them were just richly decorated parlors with alcohol beverages. Izar took note on the many goblets of wine and brandy in the guests' hands. Pretty soon, they'd all be tipsy and more obnoxious than ever. He could use that to his advantage if needed.

As he crossed the barriers in between rooms, he also observed that there were more people here then just Death Eaters. Perhaps friends and associates with the Malfoys, and families of the Death Eaters.

Draco flashed a superior stare toward a few riled guests before turning to whisper to Izar. "The Dark Lord's followers usually sit out back. The Dark Lord doesn't enjoy socializing amongst the guests on his 'vacation'. It's strictly My Lord or Lord Voldemort during the holidays. Most of these people here, inside the Manor, cannot know that the Dark Lord is, indeed, Tom Riddle. The secret is only known to his Death Eaters, as soon as the Mark is branded on their skin."

It was smart. Most of these guests in the Manor weren't capable of keeping the secret that Voldemort was Undersecretary Riddle. They would go to the next party and drink a few goblets of alcohol and the secret would be spilling from their flapping gums. Izar wondered if Voldemort put a secrecy charm inside the Dark Mark as soon as he branded his Death Eaters. He would make it impossible for them to speak of his identity.

As they continued forward, the sound of the guests slowly diminished and Izar found himself in a plain, dark room. Ahead, a single door stood. Judging from the natural light coming from the crack underneath the door, Izar assumed that the door led to outside.

Draco shut the door behind him, locking them inside the dark room. "Allow us entrance," Draco's voice echoed across the tiny room.

Izar stood against the door, unsure of what was transpiring. Suddenly, a wand was lit and a man cloaked with Death Eater robes all but materialized from the dark. "You may enter through, Mr. Malfoy," the lightened wand pointed at Draco and then to Izar. "But you… let me see your Mark." The man's voice dimmed with disdain.

Draco lifted his lip. "You know who Izar is, Mulciber. After all, he's in a rank higher then you are."

Mulciber. The man had a nickel mask on, one of the lowest ranking Death Eaters. Izar remembered passing Mulciber's name in a textbook once. Distinctively, he remembered reading about Mulciber Senior, the one who attended school with Tom. However, Izar couldn't remember the information read. Izar was curious, however, why the older man was still in third ranking.

"You will not pass unless I see the Mark," Mulciber continued cruelly, his wand pointed at Izar.

Before Draco could seethe any longer, Izar sighed, irritated, as he raised his sleeve. The Dark Mark was inky black, a sign of the Dark Lords close proximity. The serpent in the skull's mouth slithered in place, excited. Mulciber grew eager at the sight of the Dark Mark before stepping aside and extinguishing his light. "You may pass…" the man ushered them toward the door.

"As if he hadn't known we wouldn't be able to," Draco snipped. "Come along, Izar, the Dark Lord requests your presence." The boy added toward Mulciber spitefully.

Izar scoffed, stepping outside. He stared, wondering why he thought the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters would actually be sitting outside. 'Out back' was nothing short of an extended addition onto the manor. Outside, the December air felt like mid-September. There were small fire pits in the middle of each table. Black silk cushions sat among the chairs and silk tapestries decorated above similar to that of a gazebo. It was a very large area, one that would seat all the Death Eaters comfortably.

Some Death Eaters were even mingling outside the decorated area, walking along the pebble paths and around the gardens. Small lights were twinkling on the pine trees further in the distance. And a large heated pool sat abandoned further along the way.

Food aplenty sat on the tables and on the benches.

Izar traced the steps leading up to the smaller platform of the Inner Circle. And conveniently, Lord Voldemort, in all his glory, sat amongst them. The platform wasn't very high, just high enough to show their ranking.

"Are you going to go up there?" Draco swallowed, looking ill at the mere idea of strutting up there with all the others.

Before Izar could reassure Draco that he wanted nothing to do with the Inner Circle and the Dark Lord, the man in question caught his eyes. The split-crimson eyes gleamed maliciously as soon as they caught sight of Izar. With a long, pale finger, he motioned Izar towards him.

"It appears as if my Master is beckoning me," Izar replied dryly, irritated at the mere arrogance the man exuded.

The Inner Circle turned to see what had caught their Lord's attention. Izar was oddly amused at the wide variety of emotions crossing the Death Eater's faces. "Good luck," Draco whispered before parting ways with Izar. The Malfoy heir walked down two steps and toward the third ranking tables with the other students. Izar felt envious. But he supposed, if he was a silver mask, he wouldn't be sitting with Draco anyway.

Deciding not make the Dark Lord wait any longer, Izar slowly made his way toward the platform. He had a stubborn knot in his stomach that he couldn't shake. If Voldemort really was manipulating Izar… if they really weren't mates and the man just wanted to toy with him, it made Izar feel a bit vulnerable. Of course, he would never outwardly appear weak and affected, no. But he would admit to his inner turmoil. If this was all a ruse to punish Regulus for his past betrayal and, in the mean time, frame the French and Norwegians, Izar wanted to go down gracefully.

And that meant allow the Dark Lord to pull his strings while putting on his own show.

"Look who it is…" the woman breathed once Izar reached the top step to the Inner Circle's platform.

The platform had two tables. One with just food dishes and the other table occupied the eleven figures sitting with the Dark Lord. Eleven. The Dark Lord had eleven Death Eaters in his Inner Circle. No, Izar corrected himself. Severus Snape wasn't present. That made twelve. And if Izar counted Theodore Nott's imprisoned father, who had passed away in Azkaban, that would have made thirteen.

Thirteen was a rather superstitious number in the wizarding world. Many wizards avoided having thirteen of anything. It didn't surprise Izar that the Dark Lord thought opposite.

So who would fill in Mr. Nott's position?

He spotted Augustus Rookwood among the Death Eaters, his fellow coworker at the Ministry. The Unspeakable's eyes lazily took in Izar before dropping back down to his plate of food. Lucius Malfoy nodded unperturbedly. And then there were Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, the two dark-haired brothers. There were four older men around the table appearing to be around the same age as the Undersecretary Tom Riddle, in their late sixties. Izar assumed the four men were Voldemort's classmates in school.

He didn't have any guesses as to whom the younger, stout man was sitting near the empty chair.

But he did know the woman who was leaning back in her chair, a wicked smile crossing her lips. "It's Izar Black…"

They chuckled mockingly.

"Now Bellatrix," Voldemort started. His white hand curled around the empty seat beside him and the unidentified larger man. "Let Izar sit and adjust before you begin to play." How utterly generous of the Dark Lord.

Izar gave a twisted smile as he closed in on the group. He could feel the eyes of the other Death Eaters below but ignored them in favor of sitting down stiffly. The Dark Lord's magic nudged at him, a comforting sensation he hated feeling. Especially from a man as dangerous and manipulative as Tom Riddle.

"Eat," Voldemort invited silkily, motioning to the plate in front of Izar. "You are most likely hungry from your venture." Izar was anything but hungry.

Bellatrix hunched forward in her seat, laughing underneath her breath. She was all but giddy at the sight of Izar. Her onyx eyes danced merrily. "I see your dearest daddy hasn't offered you any of the Black family fortune as of yet. You still wear second-hand robes, in our Lord's presence… how disdainful."

Izar picked his fork up, eyeing Bellatrix. He wasn't the least bit affected, even with the man next to him chuckling like that of a wounded pig. "Yes," Izar drawled. "And torn and ratty black dresses are most definitely the rage among witches…" he trailed off, giving Bellatrix a good eyeful as he studied her rather tatty dress.

The table quieted, only Rookwood's quiet chuckle danced across the group.

Izar tore his eyes away from Bellatrix's glower, favoring the green flames in the middle of the table. The fire emitted a comfortable heat, nothing too blaring and uncomfortable. "I'm sure you know Lucius, Bellatrix, and Augustus." Voldemort cut in smoothly, a smirk to his lips. "And you've heard of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange…"

Rodolphus, Bellatrix's husband, was a tall dark wizard. He had thick eyebrows and a brooding expression plastered across his face. His brother, Rabastan, was a lot thinner and shorter. His eyes all but glittered cruelty.

"And then there is Mr. Walden Macnair," the long fingernail motioned toward the graying dark haired man. Macnair's lips were creased into a heavy frown as he stared at Izar. "And Mr. Cene Lestrange," Voldemort continued.

Cene Lestrange was one of the four older wizards present. He also resembled Rabastan and Rodolphus, giving off the impression that he was their father.

"Here is Mr. Ayers Rosier, grandfather of Evan Rosier, who happens to be in my second rank." Ayers was also one of the older wizards. His head was bald and his eyes were dark, looking wise and cold. He nodded sharply at Izar, surprising the Ravenclaw. He would have thought the Inner Circle Death Eaters wouldn't want anything to do with him. Nonetheless, Izar nodded back stiffly.

"Mr. Read Avery. His son is also in the lower ranking group…" the aging man scowled at Izar, ignoring him entirely in favor of sipping at his mead.

Voldemort tisked before moving on to the last older man in the group. "And then we have Mr. Evelyn Mulciber. You have already met his son, I'm sure." Voldemort's voice turned sour at the mention of the younger Mulciber.

Mulciber was the third ranking Death Eater Izar had encountered before he entered out back. He bit his tongue, refraining from asking why Mulciber's son was so low in the ranking.

"And lastly, we have Mr. Antonin Dolohov." Voldemort waved his hand dismissingly toward the stout man next to Izar. The one that laughed like a pig and whose appearance was similar to that of a boar. The man's double chin shook as he stared down his nose disapprovingly at Izar. His beady eyes were blue and they had an odd glint in them.

"A Black…" the older Avery burred. His brown eyes assessed Izar from across the table. "My Lord, do you reckon his mind is clean? The decent Blacks ran out decades ago. The interbred offspring's tend to be a bit…" he trailed off, looking at Izar in distaste. "Insane."

Izar scowled as did Bellatrix.

"Don't pretend your lineage is as unadulterated as you believe it to be, Avery," The Dark Lord began, a sinister quality to his tone. Izar looked at the man from the corner of his eye. Riddle's glamour was down, revealing the long black hair tied to the nape of his neck and the sharp, aristocratic features. The Dark Lord wasn't stunning or even very handsome but he wasn't unattractive by any means. It was the man's aura and charisma that drew many people to him. It was his power and lure.

Crimson eyes turned to him, catching his observation.

Izar turned away, watching as Avery flushed an ugly crimson. "My Lord," Avery whispered, his head bowing to show his submission. "I am merely pointing out a fact. The boy's grandparents, Orion and Walburga, were cousins. His father turned out rotten and his uncle turned the other side of the coin. Andromeda Black married a damned Muggle. The more they interbred, the more insane they become." He looked at Bellatrix.

The man next to Izar, Dolohov, gave another laugh, like that of a dying pig. Izar's jaw clenched, irritated.

"I hope you realize you are insulting my wife, Avery," Lucius replied curtly, sipping pleasantly at his wine. His tone may have been sugar coated, but his grey eyes were cold as they pinned Avery with a stare.

Izar smirked.

Avery shook his head, throwing his arms up in surrender.

"Perhaps Avery is wording his suspicions wrong," Mulciber began calmly. "He just wishes to express his concerns with the boy's loyalty, My Lord. His father, after all, betrayed you—,"

"What transpired between Regulus Black and I will remain private." The Dark Lord began, cutting Mulciber off completely. "Izar," the man purred. "Should not be pre-judged from his father's past mistakes."

The group was silent. Most of their distaste of Izar showed on their faces with the exception of Rookwood and Lucius. The others didn't understand why the Dark Lord was so forgiving of Regulus. Despite their obliviousness regarding what Regulus did, exactly, they knew Regulus had betrayed the Dark Lord. They didn't understand why Regulus was still living. And they didn't understand the Dark Lord's favoritism of Izar.

And Izar was not very appreciative of their discussing him as if he wasn't even present.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord's hand clamped over Izar's leg underneath the table. The Ravenclaw stiffened, but remained emotionless otherwise. Voldemort was a picture of innocence as he twirled the steam of his goblet with his free hand.

Merlin. Izar was a bloody pansy. It was a bloody hand…

"Where is your daddy dearest?" Bellatrix fluttered her lashes mockingly, her bottom lip curling. Next to her, Lucius' grey eyes raised upwards, as if he were trying to control his sigh of displeasure. "Out raping more Mudbloods?"

The Death Eaters chuckled. Somehow, Bellatrix's and Dolohov's chortles were the loudest and most earsplitting to Izar's ears. His fists tightened over his fork and his temper got the better of him.

The small dinner roll on Izar's plate flew into Dolohov's open mouth, successfully shutting the man's snorting. Just as Izar's fork descended into the flesh of Dolohov's hand, Bellatrix's glass shattered. She yelped, standing quickly from her chair to avoid the glass shards flying toward her face and neck. She raised her arms, the glass cutting long, horizontal lesions into her forearms. Her black eyes were deranged as she snarled at Izar.

Matching her reflexes, Izar's and Bellatrix's wand met point to point.

He would have been standing with her, but the hand on his leg grew overpowering and restricting. Izar was forced to sit, his wand drawn and ready as his cold eyes matched hers. Next to him, Dolohov was heaving, choking on the roll in his throat. His hands shakily went to his neck, the fork still hanging in his hand. Crimson blood stained the table cloth and his robes. No one paid the man any heed. They let him choke until Mulciber reluctantly freed him of the dinner roll when the man's lips turned blue hue.

"Put your wand down," Voldemort hissed. "Both of you."

Izar's vision tunneled. He could only see Bellatrix and she could only see him.

"My Lord," Bellatrix breathed; her eyes still on Izar. "With all due respect, this is long overdue. He needs to prove himself worthy of the Black name. And if he wants to defend his dearest daddy… it's only proper to duel." Bellatrix licked her bottom lip agonizingly slowly, a crazed grin on her lips. "You, yourself, My Lord, have claimed the boy can hold his own. I think its time he proves us all."

"If I say the boy is worthy, my word is all that is needed. Do you not agree, Bellatrix?" The Dark Lord's voice was just as cold as Izar's stare. It sent goose bumps the length of everybody present. Bellatrix was forced to tear her eyes away from Izar to look at the Dark Lord in submission.

"No," Izar spoke before she could step down. "I think she's right."

He probably wasn't thinking very logically at the moment. But if this was a few months ago, he would have surely hid behind the Dark Lord. Now though, he had training with dueling. And Bellatrix was a thorn on his side. Let them all see he was capable of defending himself.

The hand moved itself from Izar slowly. "Then so be it," the Dark Lord whispered darkly.

Bellatrix didn't waste any time. She slashed her wand through the air, sending Izar flying off his chair and off the raised platform. He tumbled into the snow, rolling before coming to an abrupt stop in front of a frozen garden.

He quickly jumped up, getting into a defensive crouch. Charcoal-green eyes watched as Bellatrix leaped from the platform and landed into the snow in a lethal crouch. The Death Eaters on the stone patio stood up. The lowest ranking Death Eaters all ran to the edge of the patio, watching with barely hidden excitement. The other ranks were much more casual and poised about their observation.

"Anything is game," Bellatrix set the rules. "No killing curse. Loss of limbs or organs is within the boundaries." Bellatrix snapped her teeth together in a large grin. "Look at you… has my dearest cousin been teaching you Auror maneuvers?"

Izar cast a nonverbal curse at her, tired of her mouth. She quickly dodged it, hissing before throwing her own curse.

They tiptoed around each other for a good few minutes, testing out their weaknesses and strengths. They made their way further away from the patio and closer to the pool. The spectators could still see clearly, but they wouldn't be in the crossfire of any stray or deflected curses.

Izar noticed Bellatrix was arrogant in her dueling. And yet, she had every right to be confident of her skills. There were rumors that the Dark Lord had taught her when she was younger. She was one of the Dark Lord's second in command, famous for her leadership and dueling. But she was arrogant and rather crazed.

Izar leaped into the snow when she screamed out a curse. His body shook as it nearly missed his crotch. The spectators gave howls, imagining the spell connecting with their own privates. It was a hex many angry wives cast on their husbands if they ever found out they had slept with another. The spell destroyed the manhood, effectively leaving it useless forever.

His wide eyes looked at his distant relative in shock. It shouldn't have surprised him she would have carelessly destroyed his manhood but it shook him all the same. Her thin legs were bent, revealing the knee length leather boots she wore. She wiped away a black curl that dropped into her eyes, setting her predatory gaze on Izar once more.

Over her shoulder, Izar caught sight of the patio of observers. Lying there, in the deep snow, he knew they were all cheering for Bellatrix. Their gazes spoke tales as they eyed the duel hungrily. They all wanted a reason to prove their suspicions that Izar was worthless. They wanted him to be hurt, to be harmed and humiliated. And more importantly, they wanted a valid reason for the Dark Lord's favoritism to turn away from Izar. After all, they were right to assume he was weak… he was nothing but a Half-blood bastard, the result of a 'rape'. How could he be looked high upon by the Dark Lord Voldemort if he was so weak?

The cold determination washed through Izar, solidifying. This was no longer about defending Regulus' honor; this was about defending Izar's position among the Death Eaters. This was about proving himself.

Rolling away from a curse being fired, Izar leaped up, issuing curse after curse at Bellatrix. Their earlier dueling session seemed innocent and light in comparison to the pace now. Nonverbal hexes were the favorite and blocking shields were thrown aside in favor of spinning away or dodging. Izar flung his concentration into the duel, far too determined to lose. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Bellatrix breathed heavily, crouching as Izar threw a slicing hex her way. It hit the tree trunk behind her, cutting deeply into the wood. She crossed her wand quickly through the air in an imaginary 'X' before flinging her wand out, her wrist snapping at the action.

An icy blue hex came at him so fast; he couldn't dodge or raise a shield in time. He grunted as he was knocked backward. The hex burned as it sliced through his robes and eventually through the skin on his chest. He wheezed loudly as warm blood soaked his cold skin. Izar never imagined being comforted by the feel of his own blood. It was so warm.

The Death Eaters grew loud with excitement at Bellatrix's upper hand. He could hear the laughing and that got on his nerves.

"Expelliarmus!" Bellatrix murmured the disarming charm.

It would have hit him and his wand would have gone soaring if Izar hadn't thrown up a wall of snow and ice. It stood as a protective wall in front of him as he clumsily sealed the wound to his chest. He didn't excel in healing charms, but he knew enough to stop it from bleeding.

"Hiding my sweet cousin?" Bellatrix taunted and the Death Eaters laughed.

Izar clenched his jaw, his sweaty hair in his face as he pointed his wand toward the pool. The water's surface crystallized before turning into a solid chunk of ice. Bellatrix hadn't noticed. Her attention was on the ice wall in front of her as she taunted Izar.

Swiftly, he rolled out from the ice wall and ran toward the pool of frozen water. He slid on the ice, skating across the icy surface. Izar drew his wand on his oblivious opponent. "Abrumpo," he murmured his invented curse he had used on the Aurors that day of Appleton's murder.

Bellatrix turned abruptly when she caught sight of Izar sliding on the pool. Before she could melt the water's surface, he threw the Aburmpo in her direction. The fire-like worm slithered through the snow, melting it in its wake.

She sneered at it, not likely recognizing the spell. Izar did give her credit for trying to stop the quick moving worm. But his spell ate through the shields, intent to destroy her feet.

Izar stumbled as he came to the other end of the frozen pool. As soon as his feet touched solid ground, he heard Bellatrix scream. Turning, he was disappointed to note that only her toes were cut off from her foot, not the whole anatomy itself. The toe of her boot lay on the crimson stained snow. She gasped in pain, jumping to regain her balance. Her neck snapped as she turned to look at him. Never before had Izar seen eyes so dark… so cruel.

She attacked with a vengeance; spit flying past her sculptured lips.

Izar laughed as he dodged, stopping the blasting hex from blowing up his wand arm. The tree behind him wasn't so lucky. It groaned as it bowed forward into the other trees surrounding it. Snow from the pine tree's branches fell on top of Izar as he stood, but he shook it away as he watched Bellatrix summon the Cruciatus curse. It hit the snow next to his foot as he danced away, throwing the banishing charm at Bellatrix.

She twisted her body around the charm throwing the Cruciatus curse once more. He wasn't as lucky as last time, for it hit him in the center of his belly.

He had never felt the Cruciatus curse before. After hearing the screams from his classmates the day of Appleton's murder, he deduced he didn't want to feel such a hex. But it was in vain as he went to the ground, breathing unevenly between screams. He couldn't get enough air in his lungs; his screams were getting in the way. Twisting in the snow, he prayed for it to stop. His mind was in shock as it tried to push away the pain.

Never before had he felt so much pain.

His nerves and muscles were on fire and he twitched uncontrollably. Oh Merlin… anything but this.

The only thing keeping him sane was the laughing.

Always the laughing.

They drowned out his screams… making it even more unbearable.

He couldn't imagine being under the Dark Lord's Crucio, Izar knew that would be ten times worse than Bellatrix's. But she must have been pretty high up there with the Dark Lord. It was unbearable.

Through heavy tears, he growled out his hex. "Reducto." His unsteady hand missed her, but it was successful enough in breaking her concentration. The Cruciatus curse lifted and his body shuddered uncontrollably. This would cost him both his reflexes and his aim. His hand wouldn't remain still as he shakily got to his feet.

Everything spun and Izar finally understood why Theodore Nott had been so unsteady on his feet for a good week after his punishment from the Dark Lord. Bellatrix took immense pleasure in this as she watched him stumble on his own feet. She laughed pleasingly along with the Death Eaters.

The laughs…

She blasted her next hex. His ears were ringing with too much laughter to hear the incantation, but he raised a shield. While his shield did slow it down and strip it of most of its power, it did not get rid of it entirely. His head was thrown to the side as his forehead sliced open. It wasn't too deep, but it was deep enough to bleed profoundly.

Izar sunk to his knees, breathing unevenly through the bitter shock. His mind took him back to his days at the orphanage. The days in which he was nothing but a freak. Louis, his Muggle tormentor, had beaten him rather badly that day. And all the children, too afraid to stand up to Louis, had all stood around, laughing at Izar.

It was just like now. The Death Eater's eyes showed the same emotion as his Muggle tormentors had as they laughed.

Blood clouded his vision as he looked at the patio. Their Slytherin smirks and their boastful laughs… Izar caught sight of a pale Draco. The boy was standing silently next to an equally silent Lucius. And then there was Regulus. The man hadn't been there earlier, but he was now. His father didn't look disappointed, only concerned. And Izar hated that.

Voldemort stood up, his face impassive, yet his crimson eyes were dangerous. He was going to stop the duel.

But Izar wouldn't be beaten. He couldn't let them win.

The duel was far from being over with.

With a roar, Izar stood up, circling his wand around his head in almost a crazy fashion. He could hardly see, the blood seeping into his face was becoming a nuisance. "Cassesium," Izar croaked, his voice hoarse but full of passion.

This was his moment to cast his invented spell, the same spell that had taken him weeks upon weeks to construct. It would most likely fail in his delirious and weakened state, but he would try anything. It wouldn't depend on reflexes or aim, only pure magical talent. And that's what he needed at the moment. He couldn't rely on his damaged nerves to help him against Bellatrix, despite the fact that the witch, herself, was suffering from wounds.

The Cassesium showered over him before solidifying into a sort of web-like shield. The strands were brittle and looked as if they could be knocked down in seconds. Bellatrix paused, studying the web before snickering. She wasted no time before casting her curse.

"Reducto,"

Izar grinned. She fell for his trap.

Her spell struck the spider web shield, turning the web a beautiful ruby color as it absorbed the spell. Bellatrix took a wobbly step backward, trying to balance herself on her one foot. "Reducto," she said again, this time, a few of the web-like strands collapsed. She grinned.

And he grinned.

Bellatrix hesitated when she saw his grin. The laughter died down from the patio as they observed.

With a heavy and quick pulse, Izar reached his fingers toward the web barrier. As soon as his fingers touched his beloved web, the ruby magic from Bellatrix's Reducto transferred into a small globe onto the pads of his fingers. He held it up to his face, blinking away the blood in his vision. Bellatrix took a step back, her wand raised and ready.

Izar lifted the magic to his mouth and swallowed.

It tasted vile and revolting, but he forced it down his throat. Bellatrix must have had the worst sort magic… it was dark and slimy.

Izar looked down, ignoring the murmurs from the Death Eaters. If it worked right, his skin would turn red.

Raising his fingers, he laughed delightfully as he watched his pale skin turn a brilliant red. He looked up at Bellatrix after wiping the blood from his face as best as he could. It still dripped from the open wound on his forehead.

"Bellatrix…" he sang, grinning. "Come on, my dear cousin. Let's have another Crucio, hmm?" He stepped forward, his body breaking the web barrier around him. It clattered noisily to the ground, sounding similar to brittle bones collapsing together. The shell of the web-like barrier was useless now. It served its purpose.

Bellatrix's eyes were narrowed into slits as she observed the crimson magic dancing beneath Izar's skin.

"Why are you hesitating?" Izar continued to step closer to Bellatrix. His wand was clutched loosely in his hand; he had no use for it. As long as Bellatrix's magic was still underneath his skin, he was perfectly protected. She just didn't know that. "I'm right here. You'd better hurry or your toes aren't going to be able to be reattached so easily." He stretched his arms out wide, inviting her to a clear shot.

She snarled, thrashing her wand out in a nonverbal spell. The curse flew at Izar. Instead of harming him, it just bounced off him, rushing into the trees behind him.

"Impossible," she took a step back, falling on her arse as her loss of toes made it impossible to stay balanced.

"Not impossible," Izar whispered. "You're looking at it, no?"

Bellatrix blinked up at him, casting one more spell. It bounced off him. Onyx eyes blinked again before Bellatrix bowed her head. Her shoulders shook and before Izar could comprehend, she was laughing delightfully. Izar sneered.

Through the fall of black curls she eyed him excitingly. "The rumors are true, I suppose," she threw her wand down, a sign of her surrender. The Death Eater's murmurings almost drowned out what Bellatrix spoke next. "You have Cygnus' mind." Izar narrowed his sights on her, his wand to her throat.

He could have seriously wounded her. He should have caused her more pain. He wanted to. But it would be below him to curse a witch or wizard who had already surrendered.

"I suppose you've passed my test," Bellatrix sniffed, eyeing him with renewed interest. "You're a true Black, no matter what Mudblood birthed you."

Izar's sneer deepened. "I'm so honored to have passed your verdict. It's a true burden from my shoulders." He didn't care what she thought of him. Regulus was the only Black Izar wanted to impress. Although, Izar would readily admit that things would be easier if Bellatrix wasn't constantly down his throat.

Bellatrix flashed a thin smile, her eyes chilling. Her gaze spoke of dark promises, not necessarily horrors for Izar, but a sort of protection and admiration.

Izar dropped his wand at his side as he turned away from her. He slowly walked back to the Malfoy Manor, his emotions hidden behind a wall of stone. His stomach groaned in protest as he pushed his muscles to their limit. He had to get inside his rooms before he showed any sort of weakness.

The Death Eaters made way for him, their gazes coolly appraising him. They were silent for the most part, while some of the Slytherin students congratulated him. He ignored them as he hurried to the backdoor. From his limited vision, he couldn't see Voldemort anywhere. But he did see Regulus. The man followed him at his heels.

"Not now, Regulus," Izar whispered as soon as he entered the Manor.

He could hear the other guests from further inside the Manor.

"I'm going to assist you—," Regulus grabbed hold of Izar's arm, stopping him. Charcoal eyes softened as they caught sight of the exhausted Izar.

"I can't," Izar shook his arm free, taking a step back. No matter how much he wanted to get to know Regulus, to trust him, he wasn't ready to show his father such weakness. "I'll be down in a few minutes. Just give me some space, please." He added softly as an after thought. He didn't want to wound his father too badly. But something told Izar it took a lot of effort to harm Regulus.

Regulus nodded sharply, reluctantly staying in place as Izar continued forward.

The Ravenclaw passed the parlors rather quickly. His body was screaming in pain and anguish. His chest and forehead burned where Bellatrix had struck him and the Crucio fried his nerves and muscles. He needed a bath. No… he needed to vomit first and then take a quick shower. He wouldn't stay holed up in his room, he needed to be back down near the Death Eaters. If they noticed his prolonged absence they would likely see that as a weakness.

However, Izar wasn't a fool. Despite winning his duel with Bellatrix, it wouldn't change some of the Death Eater's minds. It would quiet them, certainly, but they would still pass judgment of him and they would still despise him for being Muggle raised and the Dark Lord's 'favorite'. And they would still harbor their hate and suspicions for Regulus.

Izar reached the desolate part of the Manor and made his way up the West wing staircase. His face crumbled and he allowed himself to pause. No one was around to see him now. He could finally show his weakness.

He attempted to continue up the steps, but he slipped on his own sweat and blood. Izar landed awkwardly on the stone steps, breathing as he tried to compose himself. He laughed hollowly, the eerie sound echoing across the manor's staircase.

Suddenly, strong arms grabbed him and swung his body up effortlessly. Izar gave a sharp intake of breath as he was positioned ridiculously easy in a bridal-style cradle. His ears flushed when he caught sight of his captor.

And Izar thought things couldn't have gotten any worse...