*cough* Thank you all for your wonderful reviews.
And also a big thanks to Itallia for editing this chapter ;)
Chapter Twenty Four
"I don't need help," Izar spat.
"Perhaps you don't need help, no, but you need assistance to get there faster. Surely you wouldn't want to drag your body across the floor on your belly?" Voldemort replied dryly.
"I was walking just fine," Izar argued, hating how easily the man was carrying him. It was if he was weighed nothing in the man's arms. Izar pinned the blame on Voldemort's status as a creature. This was utterly humiliating. He'd rather have Regulus assist him to his rooms than the Dark Lord.
"Is that what you call it?" The Dark Lord's eyebrows heightened. "From my position at the end of the stairs, it looked as if you had collapsed. But if you'd like to label it as 'walking', then so be it." Riddle's expression was nothing short of impassive. The man, despite his sarcasm, looked deathly calm. Izar pondered on that.
His body was stiff and rigid as Riddle carried him down the Malfoy corridors toward his assigned room.
As soon as they entered his rooms, Voldemort made a move to put Izar down on the wide and luxurious bed. "No," Izar whispered faintly. Cold sweat beaded his body the further away they distanced themselves from the bathroom. "The loo… quickly…"
Red eyes observed him before setting him on the bed anyway. Izar hissed, angry at the man for ignoring his hint. Before he could leap off the bed and run to the restroom, hands grabbed his shoulders, forcing him back down. A bucket was thrust in his hands and Izar wasted no time in vomiting.
Only, it wasn't vomit that came out. Bellatrix's magic climbed up his stomach and out his mouth, blasting the bucket from his hands. It was almost like a destructive hairball. He grimaced, staring at the pieces of bucket over the floors. Fire-like waves made the plastic glow red, a sign of the Reducto Bellatrix had cast earlier in the duel.
"Don't you feel better now, child?" Voldemort mocked, pulling at Izar's shoulders until the younger wizard sat closer to the edge of the bed.
Izar sighed. "Actually, I feel a lot better without her magic inside me," he admitted. "It was vile."
His skin was back to its normal shade, if not a bit paler than before due to his lightheadedness. The Cassesium he invented was only temporary. As soon as his skin turned back to its normal shade, it simply meant that the spell had worn off and Bellatrix's magic would be effective against him again.
The Dark Lord's cold fingers lifted his chin just slightly. Voldemort then traced his wand over his face and he murmured an old Latin healing charm. The wound on his forehead burned fiercely, sterilizing, before slowly sealing. Izar withheld a moan in distress. If he could handle the Cruciatus Curse, he could handle anything. He always had a high tolerance for pain, but Crucio was beyond anything he could ever have imagined. He was still trembling from the after-affects.
"It was exceptionally reckless of you to accept her duel," the Dark Lord began quietly as he healed his forehead wound. "There is that temper of yours again. Odd…" the man trailed off, a hint of ridicule in his tone.
Charcoal-green eyes narrowed at him. "Odd? What's odd?"
Voldemort paused, looking down at Izar. "You are normally calm and collected when someone is rather blunt in their verbal attack against you. Yet, when it comes to someone you care for, you seem to harbor a sense of duty in protecting their honor."
Izar scoffed. "Regulus can take care of himself," Izar stated coolly.
"First it was the Greengrass heir after she was poisoned and now it is your father's honor," the Dark Lord continued as if he hadn't heard Izar. "I wonder if I would fit into that heartfelt category of your 'loved ones.'"
Izar snickered.
Voldemort matched Izar's smirk with one of his own.
Izar allowed his head to be tipped back by cold fingers. He stared up at the dark canopy of his bed. "I'll let you know when the time comes to defend you, My Lord. But I hardly think the Death Eaters would disgrace your honor. To be honest, they would be scared shitless."
"Eloquent," Voldemort tisked at his use of language.
The man continued to sterilize and try to prevent the scarring around his head. Izar's smirk died down when he realized he had completely forgotten about his suspicions of Voldemort. When Izar was in the man's presence, teasing and bantering, it was always easy to forget that this whole relationship may be a scheme on the Dark Lord's behalf.
"Take your robes off." Voldemort stepped back, allowing Izar room.
Izar hesitated before standing up and unclasping his robes. They pooled at his feet, leaving him in a torn shirt and dirty pants. Without waiting for a request to take his shirt off, Izar tore it, throwing it aside.
Voldemort raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips. "And here I thought I would have to tear them off you by force."
Izar sat down, giving a light shrug. "The way I look at it, we share the same anatomy. I don't think you'd be attracted to a fifteen-year-old anyway," he replied tartly. As if the man was really his bloody mate… it was just a game.
Voldemort gave a lipless smile and he took an advancing step forward, closing in on Izar. "On the contrary, child, I am very attracted to you." The man leaned forward, his nose brushing Izar's cheek. A tongue ventured out to lick the bit of blood on his face and a deep hiss echoed across the room. Izar's breath hitched as the man spoke Parseltongue in his ear; it was seductive and amused. In between hisses, lips would caress and lick off the crimson blood on Izar's face.
Izar flushed, pushing Riddle away forcefully with the palms of his hands.
The man took a steady step backward to regain his balance and his eyes narrowed angrily. "What are you thinking about? You seem unsettled today."
Izar shook his head. "Nothing is wrong. I'm not thinking anything spectacular."
Crimson eyes surveyed him before the man chuckled. "Are you past your denial stage yet?" Izar looked at the man sharply. "First the shock of the situation settles, then you analyze the situation; the next stage is denial and avoidance. You spent a month looking away from me. While I find it humorous, I don't see why you must dwell on your denial of our situation." Voldemort frowned.
"I find it hard to believe," Izar responded tightly. "I think this is all a game to you," he confessed, and immediately wondered why he was being so open.
"I chose to tell you of our connection because you would have had to find out soon anyway; my attraction to you is growing and there is a war starting." Voldemort paused before claiming Izar' jaw with his hand. "If you weren't so damned noticeable, I would have kept you in my third ranking, under wraps. I would have never told you that you were my mate. If I had kept you oblivious, the situation would have been far easier than the current path we are taking. After the war, I would have claimed you. Everything would have been wrapped with a neat little bow," Voldemort added sarcastically.
Izar reluctantly looked at the split-crimson eyes. "Then why did you tell me about it?"
Voldemort was silent for a moment, studying Izar. "I must admit that while I recognize you as my mate, Izar, I am not driven by the intense need to claim you like other magical creatures are with their intendeds. I could go centuries without having you in my bed and I would never be affected by your absence." Voldemort cocked his head to the side. "So why did I tell you about it? Simply because you are noticeable and I can't help but feel possessive of your attention."
Izar grimaced. "I'm not that noticeable. If you hadn't thrown me in the Triwizard Tournament and if you hadn't paid any attention to me in the first place, I would still be nonexistent."
"I disagree," Voldemort tisked, pushing at Izar until he laid down on the bed. "You don't give yourself any credit, child."
Izar decided not to continue arguing. "I've already healed the wound on my chest," Izar spoke coolly.
"And you did an absolutely terrible job at it," the Dark Lord mused.
"You're licking my wounds," Izar accused, unsure of how he felt about the Dark Lord's coddling after his duel. He hated it, most certainly, but he wondered at the man's motives. If Voldemort really was using Izar to get back at Regulus for his past betrayal, why would he go through the trouble of cleaning Izar up after a bloody battle? Unless… Izar sighed. He needed to stop analyzing every move Voldemort made. "What would the Death Eaters say if they knew I was being pampered by the Dark Lord?"
"When you mention licking your wounds, do you mean figuratively or literally?" Crimson eyes gleamed as he eyed the blood across Izar's chest. "Nonetheless, I'm sure neither option would sit very well with my followers."
The Ravenclaw shook his head, unable to configure a retort to that. The man had to be something similar to a vampire. This was the second incident that proved the man had a liking for blood, or at least Izar's blood.
He laid there, biting his tongue as Voldemort sterilized his wound. Did he believe the Dark Lord now? It was too difficult to comprehend. And Izar wasn't sure if he could fully trust Tom Riddle, not if they were always dancing around each other like this.
"There is an issue I need to bring up with you," Voldemort murmured. "I'd like for you to graduate early." It wasn't a request; it was a sugar-coated order.
Charcoal-green eyes averted from the canopy to the Dark Lord's face. "Graduate early? I've already skipped a grade level this year. Surely that is what you mean by graduating early."
Voldemort sealed the wound across his chest before stepping back. He eyed his handiwork before turning his observation on Izar. "I've taken the liberty of observing your results this school year. Even with the Tournament and all the personal issues you've been dealing with, your test results and homework have returned to me flawless." Izar held his tongue. How did the Dark Lord receive such authority to view his school grades? "I want you to take your NEWTs this year and graduate at the end of June."
Izar blinked, breathing heavily. "That's a bit much to ask, don't you think, My Lord?"
Voldemort raised a fine eyebrow. "You don't put any extra time into your classes outside the classroom and yet you pass them without effort. It is unheard of to have such an occurrence. Not only do you pass your classes, you invent spells that are far beyond any average adult. You will be taking your NEWTs." The Dark Lord's lips twisted.
"No one's ever done that before. You'd have to appeal it in court—,"
"Of course it's been done before, silly child. Just not by a fifteen-year-old. And as Undersecretary I have every right to appeal that order. There will be criticism, yes, but I believe you can easily pass your exams. You did so with the OWLs at the young age of fourteen."
Izar sat up slowly, his attention on the bed covers. "Why? Why do you want me to graduate this year?" His stomach twisted as he began thinking. "This… this creature you are…" Vivid eyes danced up to Voldemort's face. "You're going to turn me, aren't you?"
The Dark Lord's lips thinned as they curled into a dark smile.
Izar stood up abruptly. "Don't I get any say in this? I don't want to be bloody fifteen for eternity!"
Voldemort looked down his nose disapprovingly at Izar. The Ravenclaw immediately felt flustered for yelling at the Dark Lord. "Must you be so dramatic?" The Dark Lord turned his shoulder to Izar, studying the wide window to the room. "The war is brewing. I will not have a mortal mate on the battle field. But who said I want you to graduate so I can turn you? Hmm? While you may show atypical intelligence, you do not know all my motives."
Izar calmed, but he remained suspicious. "You can say that again," Izar hissed darkly. "You hide everything behind that bloody smirk of yours." He studied the turned back. "What do you wish of me, then?" Crimson eyes looked at Izar over his shoulder in a silent demand to expand his question. "Why do you want me to graduate early?"
"A number of reasons," the man continued calmly, "one being that you hold high power as the Black heir. You will be in politics this coming year, Izar, both as my political heir and your father's heir. But that is neither here nor there. We will discuss this more in depth when the situation arrives. In the meantime, I have already submitted the petition for your early graduation."
Breathing calmly through his nose, Izar clenched his jaw in order to stop himself from giving the man a scathing retort. It was unhealthy how fast Izar's respect for the man could drop and then rise again. But he supposed any sort of relationship with Tom Riddle wouldn't be very healthy.
"Look at you," Riddle all but purred. "That stubborn tick in your jaw is oddly endearing." Voldemort finally turned away from the window and approached Izar. His eyes raked the smaller wizard's petite frame with glee. "But I do wonder why you're silent. Your silence is almost unheard of with that sharp tongue of yours."
Izar glowered. "I would be on the other end of your wand if I dared to utter what I'm truly thinking. You wouldn't be impressed," Izar promised confidently.
The man continued to approach Izar, similar to a hunting predator. Izar stiffened, not in the least bit amused at the man's actions.
"I must truthfully admit that you were remarkable today during the duel," Voldemort spoke quietly, barely above a purring whisper. "Even more ingenious was that last spell. I expect you to show it to me."
"Is that a question or an order?" Izar quipped, but he had lost his bite as the towering man came to a stop mere inches from him.
He tried to keep his eyes on the chest in front of him, but found his curiosity getting the better of him. His skin prickled at Voldemort's proximity and his stomach twisted both pleasantly and unpleasantly. How could he be both frightened and thrilled at the man's closeness? He was too conflicted and he hated himself for being so affected.
Clenching his jaw again, he looked up at Voldemort through narrowed eyes.
The man met his stare, an amused smirk twisting his lips. "Whichever you'd like to think of it as." Voldemort's pale fingers inched out from his robe in order to cup Izar's clenched jaw. The Dark Lord bent his neck closer to an impassive Izar. "Would you find it insulting if I thought you were more arousing than impressive during the duel?"
"Very insulting," Izar murmured. His voice was far too quiet for his liking.
Riddle lifted his lip, revealing brilliant white teeth. He kept his contact with Izar, not at all ashamed of his intimacy. The man then leaned closer, his nose bumping Izar's before brushing near his cheek.
Izar's lashes fluttered and he struggled to keep his breathing even as his pulse raced. He should have stepped away and ignored the man's overwhelming arrogance and presence. But he found himself stubbornly standing in place. Izar lifted his chin. His eyes were so close to Riddle's; it was intoxicating. "Are you going to bloody kiss me?" Izar whispered hoarsely. "Or do you enjoy having my breath on your face?"
Voldemort chuckled, pleased. "Oh no, child, I am going to allow you to take the first step." Split-crimson eyes mocked Izar. They both knew Izar would never make the first move. It was too new for him, too bold and out of character.
And that's exactly why Izar did it.
He reached up and placed his palms on Voldemort's cheeks before pulling the man's head down. Izar closed the distance, clumsily crashing their lips together. His body leaned awkwardly into Voldemort's thin frame as he stood on his toes to get better access. It wasn't a pretty scene, but it was also his first kiss. He wanted to know if kissing the Dark Lord was as intriguing as he thought it would be.
Sadly, it was better.
Izar pushed himself into Voldemort, wanting it all. He felt the man's magic touch him and Izar all but shuddered at the feel of harboring such power. He had never imagined being so close to another male like this, especially a male as powerful and dangerous as the Dark Lord.
Voldemort made an engaged sound in his throat. But before Voldemort could react with his own dominance, Izar took a step back, releasing the man's face quickly. He turned his back on the Dark Lord, a grin on his face even as he struggled to clear his expression. To stop his hands from shaking, Izar walked to his trunk to dig out a new shirt.
"Don't expect that ever again," Izar whispered coolly. "I was just curious…"
Buttoning his shirt, he slammed his trunk closed, catching sight of Voldemort. The man had an impassive expression on his face but his crimson eyes were oddly bright. "Careful, Izar," the Dark Lord whispered darkly. "I told you, you would be the one to take the first step. You have just initiated our game. It's my turn to move freely."
Izar felt a cold wash down the length of his spine at the man's promise. Izar was a fool. He should have never given into his hormonal desires, his curiosity, and his weakness. He had wanted to prove the Dark Lord wrong, that Izar was dominant and sure enough to kiss him. Little did he know that the Dark Lord had wanted and expected Izar to prove him wrong. Riddle wanted Izar to make the first move, to break the boundaries.
"You're a bloody bastard," Izar whispered spitefully.
"I beg your pardon?" Riddle questioned, his brows furrowing sardonically as he cocked his head. "I didn't quite catch that."
He had.
Izar glared.
Before he could retort, a knock sounded at his door. "Izar?" Regulus' voice came from the other side. "Is everything alright?"
Voldemort raised an eyebrow. The man swept conceitedly toward the opposite door, knowing he had won the little match between himself and Izar.
Izar, still kneeling near his trunk, slapped his palm on the floor, catching Voldemort's attention before the man left. "Don't think for one moment that this… this…thing," he motioned between himself and the Dark Lord with disgust, "averted my attention from our original topic. I still don't agree I need to graduate early. And I will continue to make you see that I need an extra year of schooling."
He didn't want to study for NEWTs on top of everything else this year. Izar also didn't want to face immortality yet. Even if Voldemort claimed he wasn't graduating Izar early in order to 'kill' him forever, Izar was still suspicious. He would do everything he could to hold off being immortal. He didn't even know what creature Riddle was, but he was leaning heavily toward a distant relative to the vampire.
"I hope you make it downstairs," Riddle started, completely ignoring Izar's remark. "Your presence is what makes me sane, I'm afraid. You give me some entertainment in this monotonous setting." The man then left the room as soon as the door to his main entrance opened.
Izar turned, staring at Regulus innocently.
His father eyed Izar suspiciously before looking at the door Voldemort had just escaped from. "Did you not hear me?" Regulus asked coldly. With deadly poise, he stepped inside Izar's rooms without invitation. "Or were you…preoccupied?" Cold charcoal eyes were still on the opposite door.
"Both," Izar murmured, motioning to the bathroom. "I was cleaning up."
Regulus gave an 'ah' sound, not looking the least bit bought by the story. His leather boots groaned as he slowly approached Izar's sitting form. The man's charcoal eyes were vivid today as they stared at Izar through thick lashes. Izar liked Regulus' groomed appearance far better than his unruly and roguish facade. The man still had a goatee, but it was considerably shorter than earlier in the year.
"Forgive me," Regulus started as he sat down gracefully on Izar's aged and worn chest. "I have been neglecting my duties as a father as of late."
Izar stayed sitting on the ground, not feeling obliged to stand before his father. He was comfortable enough at his father's feet. "What do you mean?" Izar asked softly. "You've been clearing out the Black Manors and opening them back up. You've been busy."
Regulus' eyes glinted with warmth. It wasn't a look Izar had seen on his father. It was a rarity. "You are far too lenient with me." Regulus leaned forward, pinching Izar's shirt between his fingers. "You need new clothes, new necessities…"
"I've gotten by fine without them," Izar defended.
"You have," Regulus conceded as he pulled his hand away from Izar's shirt. He remained sitting forward, clasping his hands over his knees. "Sometimes I believe it is better you have grown up without the influence of the Black riches. Understand that I never wanted your childhood to be the way it was, Izar, yet you've grown to be an independent and self-sufficient wizard. If you had been raised by me, I fear I would have spoiled you. You certainly wouldn't be half the young man you are today."
Izar offered a small smile. "In short, you mean you're happy I didn't turn out like Draco?"
Regulus chuckled lightly. "That's exactly what I'm saying. While Draco is growing more mature, he has a long way to go before he's anywhere near worthy of the Malfoy Head title."
Izar looked down at his shirt, not really studying the frayed ends and worn dye. Instead, he was thinking of Bellatrix's harsh words concerning his father. Perhaps he had overacted and allowed his temper to get the better of him, but he didn't regret his decision to duel with her. "I suppose you've seen the article that came out today in the Daily Prophet?" Izar asked, avoiding Regulus' piercing gaze.
"I have, and I don't want you to be worried." Regulus' voice turned chilly. "It was to be expected that Lily would do something such as that."
"She disgraced you," Izar hissed darkly, his jaw clenched. "She sullied both you and the Black family."
Regulus tisked, reaching out the clasp Izar's jaw. "That was her intention, my son. She wanted the public to sympathize with her in order to set the stage." Regulus quickly continued before Izar could ask what Lily was setting the stage for. "Lucius told me what transpired in my absence. With you and Bellatrix." Regulus leaned forward, closer to Izar. "I am very privileged to have a son that protects my honor. And you were absolutely wonderful during the duel. You're a remarkable wizard. But I never want to hear again that you put yourself in harm's way just for me. Do you understand me?"
Izar scoffed, pulling his face from Regulus' hands. "She's a right bitch," he hissed disgustedly.
"That she is," Regulus agreed full heartedly. "But what you must understand with Bellatrix is that she knows which buttons to push. And while it is hard to believe, she is also very protective of and loyal to her family. She wanted to test you today. She wanted you to prove yourself to her, to prove that you should be under her protection. And you have, most certainly, proved yourself worthy."
Izar found it hard to believe that Bellatrix could actually feel a sense of loyalty and kinship to someone other than the Dark Lord. But Regulus' words made sense. If anyone knew Bellatrix, it was Regulus, the same man who had grown up with her.
However, Izar knew Bellatrix would never cease to tease and ridicule him.
"Getting back to the situation with Lily," Izar started, noticing that his father stiffened. "What is she setting the stage for? There was a reason behind this public attack on you. What?"
Regulus rubbed his face with his hands. Izar's eyes zeroed in on the rings on the man's fingers. He didn't understand why he was always so interested in family rings. Perhaps it was the irony of it. Izar had his own ring, yet it represented ownership and a sense of possession while the family rings always represented pride, honor, and status.
"She's looking to regain custody of you," Regulus admitted softly.
Izar frowned. "And how the hell is she going to go about that? She can't do that. She's never approached me with familiarity…"
Regulus held up a hand, silencing Izar. "The Dark Lord is well aware of her movements. And as the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, he has a large sway over the Wizengamot and the courts. And in turn, he has sway over Fudge. Fudge is little more than his puppet. Lily won't find a very clear path to gaining custody of you."
"But Dumbledore knows of Voldemort. Don't you think he'll find a way to keep Voldemort out of the matter? In any matter, isn't the Department of Magical Family Services in charge of custody disputes? What power does he have there?"
"Of course he has power there. He has power everywhere." Regulus gave a light sigh. "Now isn't the time to think about this, Izar. Lily has yet to legally file for custody. Until that time, keep an eye out for her and Dumbledore. I don't want you alone with them."
Why did it always seem as if Regulus wanted to hide things from Izar? It was as if the man wanted to take burdens from him and bear them all himself. It was both frustrating and oddly endearing.
"Does James Potter know about all this? And I'm guessing Dumbledore does as well? You told me he wasn't aware of Lily's pregnancy."
"They both know now. James was suspicious of Lily fifteen years ago." Regulus chuckled lightly. "It's one of the reasons Sirius distanced himself from him. But. That is not my tale to tell. James is aware of your existence. And I'm certain he's not very happy about it. But he has always wanted an heir." Regulus' voice turned sour. "Lily has never given him a son or a daughter. Potter would probably take you as an alternative. You are the nephew of Sirius, one of his oldest and best friends."
"He can take his Potter heirlooms and shove them up his arse," Izar replied scathingly.
Regulus' lips twitched. "I don't foresee you living with Lily, Izar. She may be manipulative and rather clever, but you are currently a ward of the Ministry. In particular, the Dark Lord sees that as his right to your guardianship. He'll fight incredibly dirty as long as you stay away from Dumbledore and Lily's hands."
Izar grimaced at the thought of living with the Potters. Surely it would never happen. Like Regulus said, Voldemort would take this case personally. And the Dark Lord would fight with anything but fairness to get what he wanted.
"I suppose we should venture down." Regulus stood, extending his hand toward his son. "As much as I'd like to be anywhere but Lucius' glam party, we must keep up appearances."
Izar felt the same. He accepted Regulus' hand and was pulled into a standing position. The man frowned, looking over Izar's clothing. "I have a set of robes in my room. They should flatter you better than your Muggle clothing. A simple shrinking charm will have to do for now before you get tailored robes." Regulus eyed the amused smirk crossing Izar's lips. "You are my son. You will look like the respected pure-blood you are."
"Half-blood," Izar corrected.
Regulus pursed his lips. "More pure than anything. Come."
Izar was oddly curious to see how his father acted among the Death Eaters' obvious suspicion and disgust. Surely Regulus could dance skillfully. And despite the cruel and dark streak Izar could see in Regulus, there was also patience. Something told Izar that Regulus could handle himself just fine among the Death Eaters.
{Notes} There are a lot of questions on- how many more chapters? I have no idea; it's really hard to say. :( Originally, I was going to write out his whole seventh year, but I need to end the story *sometime*. When I get closer to the end, I'll let you all know. As far as the slash goes, it is starting as of this chapter. However, there will be no *sex* until Izar is sixteen.
Another concern I'm getting is Voldemort's appearance. I never said Voldemort was ugly or unattractive. I just pointed out he wasn't very 'beautiful'. I can't picture the Dark Lord being beautiful like Izar. Most of the Death Eaters think Voldemort is 'handsome' because of his power and pure charisma. Izar, while noting the man's average appearance, still sees a sort of uniqueness about him that draws him in. You could say Voldemort is 'refined' and lethal-looking, an individual that makes your stomach clench and goose bumps rise. (But not in an unpleasant/disgusted way) If that makes sense? Sorry for the long description, just had to make myself clear.
Thanks for reading!
