{Notes} Thanks for your reviews last chapter. And thanks to Itallia for editing this chapter ;)

Also. A new WARNGING is going to be issued. Generally, it's just mentions of incest. There will be no acts of incest between father and son, no, but mentions of the incest inside the Black family and other pure-blood families will arise. There are also incestuous acts in this chapter between two characters who are 'related' but not closely. It shouldn't be too much of a squeamish issue. I've already mentioned the incest in the Black family in earlier chapters. I just think I should put a warning out there along with it.

Chapter Twenty Five

Luckily, the Death Eaters were no longer sitting at tables to show their ranks. Instead, they were spread about the backyard, in the gardens, near the buffet table, and just mingling. Izar found favor in lingering near the buffet table as he filled his plate. He hadn't eaten at all today. And while it was normal for him to go a day, maybe two days, without food, the duel with Bellatrix left him a bit faint and in need of protein and nutrients.

After escaping the buffet line, Izar was grateful to get a table to himself. The openness of the patio permitted the chilly breeze to cool his hot face. Despite his flushed body, he found goose bumps forming on his arms and the back of his neck. He frowned. Perhaps he was getting sick…

Regulus sat down gracefully next to him, his own plate of food set perfectly in order. "Pickled pig's feet," Regulus motioned to the odd looking substance on his plate. "I was also inclined to taste the peacock and roasted armadillo. The Malfoys always seem to roast the peacock to perfection." Charcoal eyes looked distantly at the Malfoy gardens. "Perhaps they cook it so flawlessly because of the overabundant albino peacocks they prefer to keep around the grounds…"

Izar had trouble swallowing. "I can handle the pickled pig's feet and even the peacock, but what the bloody hell are you eating armadillo for?" Charcoal-green eyes surveyed the grey substance that looked a bit rough. "Are we talking about the little grey creatures that curl into a ball when frightened?"

Regulus stabbed the small grey ball with his fork, winking at Izar before placing it in his mouth. There was an audible 'crack' as the man broke the surface of the shell before continuing to chew.

Izar kept his appalled eyes on Regulus, veiling his disgust rather well for the circumstances. He watched as Regulus pulled out the empty shell from his mouth and placed the hollow contents on his plate.

"The very same creature, Izar," Regulus commented before eyeing the next armadillo on his plate. "Many pure-blood families enjoy rich and foreign foods. Armadillo's shells can be eaten because of the softening spells the cooks cast on it, but I don't particularly care for the outer case." Regulus' well manicured fingers picked up the armadillo and offered it to Izar's motionless form. "Care to try a bit of your family's traditional cuisine?"

"Hmm," Izar gave a light grunt. "It looks absolutely delicious." He paused, eyeing the rigid grey shell. "However, I think I'll have to pass. I don't enjoy meat of any kind."

"A vegetarian?" Regulus questioned, intrigued.

"Hardly," Izar spoke lightly. He wasn't a vegetarian because he had eaten meat on occasion, but he didn't favor it in the least.

Regulus chuckled, cracking open the shell. The sound grated on Izar's nerves.

Izar glanced away, not inclined to watch as Regulus dug out the pink flesh inside the shell. His eyes danced across the patio and caught Voldemort's gaze. Earlier, the man had all but ordered Izar to seek him out as soon as he left his bedroom with Regulus. Nevertheless, Izar wasn't prone to appease the man right now. Blame it on his irritation with the man's overwhelming arrogance. It was bloody irritating dancing with someone so skilled in the art. He felt as if he were treading in dangerous waters all the time. No hope at success.

Izar scowled in the man's direction as Voldemort inclined his head. The man wanted him to come.

He then noticed Voldemort's crimson eyes. He thought the kiss would sate the man but judging from the penetrating gaze he was receiving, Izar only realized it excited and intrigued the man a tenfold.

Bringing up a dinner roll to his mouth, Izar tore at the fluffy bread before turning away from the man's clear order. Riddle was surrounded by his 'posse' anyway. Izar was too hungry to properly play.

Regulus sighed next to him. "Sometimes I wonder how the Dark Lord puts up with you," the man reported dryly. "With you, he finds your actions humorous, but if it were anyone else, they would be under his wand within seconds."

Izar eyed Voldemort from the corner of his eyes. "He has a sick sense of humor," he responded stiffly, playing with the short-noodle pasta.

He was torn about what he felt for Voldemort at the moment. He didn't want to succumb to the man, yet he was starting to see truth behind the man's confession that they were mates. But right now, Izar's biggest concern was immortality. He didn't know what creature Voldemort was. Perhaps it was a creature Izar had never heard of before, but at least he had confirmed his suspicions that the man could pass his "gift" of immortality to Izar.

Izar never thought of immortality. He never believed it to be appealing. Death was somewhat intriguing to him. It was a mystery that every human feared and every human had to face. He supposed, though, that harnessing that fear would be empowering. It would be fascinating to snub death, the most powerful force in the world. Voldemort had outwitted death. And he reeked of pure power because of it.

Izar certainly didn't have any qualms about being immortal. However, it was the man's intentions that put Izar on guard. He didn't want to be fifteen forever if Voldemort was, indeed, thinking about turning him soon.

When Izar had first met Regulus, the man had informed him that he was also short and small at Izar's age. His father hit his growing spurt at the age of eighteen. Izar needed to age, he needed to hit his spurt before he became immortal.

Could he avoid Voldemort's advances? Could he try to ward off the man's intentions of immortality? Could he convince him otherwise?

It was possible.

He just needed to dance very carefully. Just thinking about the effort to dodge Voldemort made Izar's headache grow in intensity.

"Those armadillos," Izar began hesitantly. "Do they help growth?"

The charcoal eyes of Regulus blinked, before the man gave a pleased laugh. "I'm afraid not," Regulus responded, delighted at Izar's attempt at gaining more height. "You are just a late bloomer, Izar." Even the man sounded uncertain.

"I have her genes," Izar replied in disgust. Lily was awfully short. Izar was even taller than her.

"That isn't necessarily true," Regulus replied calmly, almost lightly as he cracked open another shell. "I told you I didn't hit a growth spurt into my late teens, early twenties. It will come." The man flashed Izar a grin. "Why are you suddenly so interested in your height? Any lucky lady I need to hear about?"

Even if he said it jokingly, there were shadows in his eyes. Izar noticed the man's attention drop to Izar's left hand where Voldemort's ring sat underneath his fingerless glove. "No, no girl," Izar responded, a bit of disgust lacing his tone.

"You cover it up," Regulus motioned toward Izar's fingerless leather glove. "Yet the Dark Lord bares it for the world to see."

Izar casually turned to where most of the Death Eaters were gathered. Voldemort was speaking to Avery Senior, his expression that of pure boredom. And just as Regulus claimed, his left hand bore the Celtic band. Turning away from it, Izar breathed to settle himself. No doubt the Dark Lord was doing it to taunt Izar. No Death Eater or politician would be so bold as to ask the intimidating man who owned the other ring.

"It's not what you think it is," Izar murmured as he picked at the pasta.

Regulus hissed beneath his breath before leaning forward and placing his lips near Izar's ear. "Your virginity? He seemed oddly delighted when he thrust it in my face that day I asked for forgiveness." It sounded as if this issue with the Celtic band had been weighing heavily on Regulus.

Izar felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at his father's dark tone. The Ravenclaw was oddly thrilled at hearing such a dark tenor from his father. "We want to keep it covered right now, but it's a mentor and heir ring." Charcoal-green eyes matched his father's stare. "By no means is it a virginity ring. He knows how much I despise politics, hence the reason he forced me into the bond by bargaining with your life."

Regulus leaned back, appearing thankful, yet there was still a bit of suspicion and abhorrence in his eyes. "While I'm not too thrilled about you becoming his political heir, I was worried… that he was playing so ruthlessly with your head, Izar, that he was taking your innocence so callously."

Izar felt a small pang of guilt for lying to his father, but he dismissed it easily. Instead, he continued eating in silence. Regulus remained silent next to him, understanding from Izar's reluctance to talk about the issue that he shouldn't pry anymore. Not now, anyway. The man never forgot about things easily. Izar was sure Regulus still remembered the book Izar had read about the Horcruxes.

"Does it bother you?" Izar turned to look at Regulus, changing the subject entirely. "How they all look at you and talk about you behind your back?"

Regulus looked up at the Death Eaters who were none too sly in their conversation about Regulus. When the two Blacks had ventured back outside, the gossip had heightened and furtive stares were thrown in their direction. Izar had easily shrugged it off, but he wanted to know if his father felt the same.

"Does it bother you?" Regulus countered.

"No," Izar replied truthfully. "I'm above them. I'm not affected. But I want to know what you are feeling."

A small smile crossed Regulus' face. "Truthfully, I'm just honored to be given a second chance with you and the Dark Lord. I couldn't care less what these wizards and witches think. I'd say they're just envious and feel threatened with both our presences."

Izar shared a smile with Regulus. It may have bothered Regulus, but the man was doing a rather good job of not letting it show. Regulus sat proudly, confidently, almost conceitedly, in his chair. His robes were crisp and nicely tailored and his appearance was just as clean-cut. He was the swan in the middle of a pack of hyenas, looking equally graceful as he was smart. Nothing could touch him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the life of the party is here," Bellatrix screeched, laughing in glee as she looked toward the door to the patio. Before Izar turned, he eyed her feet. She had successfully reattached her severed toes to her foot.

Pity.

Izar turned to what had caught Bellatrix's attention. He caught sight of an irritated Severus Snape. The man, dressed in his usual heavy robes, swept further into the party. He looked as if he would rather choose Dumbledore's office over the party he was currently at. The Death Eaters watched the man sweep past, their eyes on the deepening scowl of Snape.

Izar couldn't help but grin. He held a bit of a soft spot for his Professor.

Snape's onyx eyes caught his. The scowl deepened as if the man blamed Izar for his current predicament. After all, Izar had all but forced the man to come to the party by commenting lightly that Regulus wanted the man to be there.

"He looks rather irate," Regulus commented, his own grin mirroring his son's. "What did you do to him, Izar?"

Izar blinked innocently. "I just suggested his presence would be welcome." He couldn't believe Snape was here. The Potions Professor was willingly at a party? The thought and mere imagery was absurd. But he was looking at the solid proof. Even the Slytherin students looked taken aback by their professor's attendance. Surely they hadn't expected their Head of House to show up at the Malfoy's holiday gathering.

All because Izar mentioned Regulus would enjoy it if he came.

How… repulsively romantic. It was rather appalling.

"You insolent little child," Snape snarled as he eyed the smirk on Izar's mouth.

The man curled his hands on the back of Izar's chair, leaning forward and placing his lips near Izar's ear. Izar wondered what the man would think if he informed him that Regulus had just placed his lips on the very same ear… he decided not to press his luck but he kept it in the back of his mind for his own amusement.

"For reasons I cannot begin to comprehend, I made it my obligation to protect your ungrateful hide as you manipulate the Dark Mark. The sooner you finish your ridiculous plans, the faster I can leave. So wipe that audacious smirk off your face." Snape straightened up, casting Regulus a sneer before turning on his heel and wading through the crowd.

Regulus' lips thinned as he watched Severus hastily grab a drink of what appeared to be brandy and stalk to a corner by himself. Regulus then turned to Izar with his eyebrows raised, a question clearly in mind.

Izar unperturbedly eyed his eaten pasta. "He's a bit of a drama queen…"

Regulus chuckled, but Izar's mind was distant. For just a few hours, he had forgotten about the Mark. Voldemort's presence tended to do that to him. He grew distracted, far too distracted for his liking. But his determination was still at its highest. He would complete the Dark Mark tonight. Or, at least attempt to complete it.

A throat cleared itself next to Izar and Regulus. Father and son turned to the tall and slightly stocky man. The man had short golden blonde hair and his body was pure muscle. His eyes were a mossy green and Izar had an inkling he knew who this was.

"Regulus," the man nodded sharply before turning his gaze on Izar. "Izar, it's nice to meet you. My daughter hasn't stopped speaking of you."

"Mr. Greengrass," Izar realized as he reached forward to shake the hefty hand. It was warm, far warmer than his cold and small hand.

"Please call me Charles," the man corrected as he dropped Izar's hand.

Next to him, Regulus raised his eyebrows at Izar, a lazy smirk across his face. "Please, sit down," Regulus invited smugly as if he knew something Izar didn't.

Nonetheless, Izar played it cool as the tall giant settled in the seat next to him. Daphne looked just like her father, but she must have inherited her mother's stature and soft features. Everything else was Charles'.

"How is Daphne doing?" Regulus continued. "I heard about the terrible incident during the Yule Ball."

Izar raised an eyebrow. Regulus hadn't mentioned anything about his knowledge in the attacks. But then again, father and son hadn't been able to speak to one another that often. Today was the first time they could speak to one another without the pressure of a time limit. Only, they kept getting interrupted. Izar wanted to know what Regulus thought of the attacks and his opinion on who had put Izar's name in the Goblet.

It couldn't be Voldemort. Or, at least Izar didn't think the man was behind the attacks, simply because he was fretting over immortality. That obviously meant he believed Voldemort when the man said he was his mate.

Things were too frustrating to think about. He barely refrained from pulling at his hair.

"She's doing well." Charles Greengrass nodded his chin toward Izar. "If Izar hadn't gotten to her in time, her brain may have permanently shut down."

Regulus nodded solemnly. Charcoal eyes met Izar's before turning back to Charles.

"She won't be able to make it to the manor for the festivities. She was looking forward to spending time with you away from school." Greengrass continued darkly.

Izar cleared his throat, no longer hungry. He knew Daphne would have enjoyed being here. He couldn't feel guilty. And he didn't. He was just imagining her disappointment at not being able to be present. Her small shoulders were likely to be thrown back and her nose would be pointed upward as she walked amongst the groups. It was always amusing to watch her be so sociable and convivial.

"Izar," Regulus started lightly, "it looks as if Draco could use your attention."

Charcoal-green eyes skipped across the patio until he spotted the pale-haired Slytherin boy. Draco was standing amongst the other students, their expressions cool indifference as they spoke amongst each other. They were the typical offspring of pure-blood wizards and witches. While they were children they tried to pass off as young adults capable of keeping up with the adults around them. Sadly, it never worked in their favor, simply because their masks tended to slip at the most critical time.

Draco stood in the center of their conversation, yet his attention was drifting toward Izar every once in a while. When the Malfoy heir noticed Izar's scrutiny, the blond straightened up, jutting his jaw out in invitation.

Izar gave a brief scowl as he turned to look suspiciously at Regulus. The man was all but forcing him away.

"Alright," Izar cocked an eyebrow toward his father before nodding tightly to Charles. "It was nice meeting you, sir. Wish Daphne well for me." He ignored calling the man by his first name. He wasn't familiar enough with him to address him as a long-time companion.

Before Charles could respond, Izar turned on his heel and made his way toward the Hogwarts students. He was reluctant to do so. Snape's empty table was inviting enough, but Izar wouldn't make a fool of himself. He didn't want the students to think he was afraid of them. Because he wasn't. He just grew tired of their supercilious behavior.

Draco's lip lifted and he placed his eagerness behind a solid façade of calm hospitality. Izar thought he looked startlingly like his father then. Draco inherited very few Black characteristics from his mother and took after his father in the sharp, almost pointy features. But Draco had lost most of his childish features and he was slowly turning into a man.

"Izar," Draco greeted coolly.

Izar nodded back as he approached their group. He blinked when he realized he could sense most of their magic and see their auras. Izar had never been able to see auras on wizards unless they were incredibly strong and he could only sense magic from wizards if they had a decent amount of power. Voldemort's and Dumbledore's auras were visible to Izar and he could also sense the auras of Regulus, Snape, Sirius, and a good amount of others. But the students' magic had never been remotely noticeable.

What changed it?

He paused and casually looked over his shoulder. Was this why he had a headache? He had turned a blind eye on it earlier, he supposed, but he could see all of the wizards' auras. The magic was nothing but a colored cloud of particles, some auras more beautiful than the next, but nonetheless, he could see everyone's.

He licked his bottom lip before continuing to the table. Perhaps his magic-sensitivity was heightening the older he became. He wasn't complaining about this new development. It was always a pleasure to see magic, magic was beautiful. And now that he identified the cause of his headache and fever, Izar knew his illness would likely diminish the longer he grew used to the sudden sensitivity in the objects and wizards around him.

"Nice robes," a Slytherin commented darkly. The boy's eyes surveyed the black robes Regulus had shrunk for him. And in particular, the boy was examining the Black family crest on his chest as if he thought it was a fake.

Izar didn't spare him a glance as he casually leaned against the table next to Draco. He scrutinized the hushed group of students with hidden curiosity. It took all his restraint not to go cross-eyed as he stared at their magic.

So beautiful… These children didn't deserve such a precious gift.

"Excellent duel today, Izar," Nott took the first step forward. He stuck out his hand, a light smirk crossing his lips. "I can speak for everyone when I say you were bloody brilliant."

Izar took Nott's hand and shook it, staring into the boy's blue eyes. Despite the unfortunate circumstances revolving around Appleton's clumsy murder, Nott had taken a liking to Izar. With his father's death in Azkaban, Nott had grown up considerably. It was if he realized he needed to represent his dead father through his actions. His growing maturity rivaled that of Draco's development.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Izar replied lazily as he dropped Nott's hand.

"When we get to see the all powerful Lestrange bloodied and submissive, it's more than just simple enjoyment, Nott," a student next to Nott spoke up. Izar didn't know her name. She looked like a seventh year Slytherin and Izar distinctively remembered her surname being half-blood. She smiled at him, her chapped lips twisting sickly sweet. She didn't hold a flame to Daphne's natural poise.

A few heads nodded in composed agreement. They didn't all agree. And Izar would be a little put-off if they had suddenly dropped their beliefs so quickly due to a successful duel. And while most of them may seem awed by his duel, Izar knew there was still jealousy lingering in their judgments.

"I call it luck," a boy, Wellington, began spitefully. "It was that last spell that tipped Bellatrix's rightful win." The tall boy stood at his full height in front of Izar and ran his eyes down the Ravenclaw's body. Beside Izar, Draco stiffened. "What was that spell you used?"

Izar withheld a snort and instead tossed a smirk at the boy. "I could tell you what the spell was… but I'd rather not," Izar drawled.

Before Wellington could retort, Draco grabbed Izar's arm and pulled him away. "You don't need to humor them," Draco hissed lightly. The blond Malfoy led Izar away from the prying students and toward the gardens. The hand on Izar's arm was extremely possessive.

"I have to interact with them sometime, Draco," Izar replied stiffly. He pulled his arm from Draco, stopping to assess the boy suspiciously.

Draco tried his best to appear stoic and unaffected, but Izar could see the magic around Draco. It was distressed. The flow of the magic wasn't at all calm and tranquil. There was a tight tension around Draco's mouth as he leaned closer to Izar. The latter remained upright, well aware of the eyes on them from the patio. It was best not to make a scene. "How can you just stand there and act as if it is nothing?" Draco demanded quietly.

Raising an eyebrow, Izar's lips twitched in amusement. "I assure you, I am quite used to their stares and comments—"

"Not that," Draco sighed, irritated. "I'm talking about Greengrass and your father."

At the mention of his father, Izar turned to watch Regulus. The man was sitting regally next to Charles Greengrass. Whatever he was saying to the taller and broader man wasn't pleasant, judging from the way Charles was leaning closer to him, his lips pursed tightly.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Draco; you'll need to be more specific."

Grey eyes glowered. "For being so smart, you are thick at times. Greengrass is trying to set up an arranged marriage with you and his daughter," Draco spat. "Odd. It was just this morning that the Prophet came out with the revelation that you are a Black. It didn't take him too long to approach your father about it. Because you're the son of a powerful pure-blood family, I suppose you are worthy enough for his precious daughter's hand."

Jealousy. The boy was spitting acid similar to that of jealousy.

Izar rocked back on his heels, his lips thinning. He didn't know if Draco was right to assume Charles had approached Regulus for an arranged marriage. He doubted it, but if it were true, Izar had faith that Regulus would refuse. Daphne would be devastated, but it was for her own safety. Voldemort surely wouldn't be happy. And Izar wouldn't be happy. The more he thought about it, he wondered if Daphne really wanted the arranged marriage.

Despite being rather oblivious to affection, Izar didn't think Daphne held romantic feelings for him. It was more of an endearing sort of relationship. Friendship, he supposed.

"If I remember correctly," Izar intoned softly, "I wasn't good enough for you until you found out I was a Black. What makes his actions so much different?" Izar challenged with his chin raised superiorly.

A flush pooled near Draco's cheekbones before the boy glared. He took another step forward, making the space between them almost disappear. "That's different. This is about marriage. For life. Your father barely presents himself in your life and he's about to sign your fidelity to Greengrass. How is that even fair?"

Izar bristled at the insult to his father, but remained calm. It wouldn't do to allow his temper free reign, especially when Draco was already at the end of his patience. The last thing Izar wanted was to make a scene in front of the other Death Eaters.

Reaching up, Izar caressed his temple. His headache was piercing by now and he didn't know how long he could take being out here. It was difficult to see straight with the migraine throbbing on the side of his temple. "Regulus doesn't strike me as a man who would agree to such an arrangement," Izar replied, a bit bored.

Regulus was a homosexual. Or so he had admitted to Izar. The man wouldn't agree to an arranged marriage, would he?

Draco thought so. And he wasn't calming down in the least. Izar's headache was growing worse with Draco's anger.

"I should have known," Izar started again. "You and Daphne have a… 'thing' for one another. It makes sense." He had thought, originally, that Draco was always jealous of Daphne for being close to Izar. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that their instant dislike for one another seemed a bit off. It was too extreme. And now that Draco was upset with the mention of Daphne's arranged marriage, Izar had a hunch that they secretly desired one another.

The front of his robes was taken by Draco's fist. The blond turned them both around, ducking behind a large grey statue to avoid any witnesses. Izar barely composed himself as he was pushed against the statue before Draco dived for his lips. It was his second kiss today.

Did this day ever bloody end? Especially with all the physical touches and endearing motives, it was irksome.

Draco's fingers lightly tapped Izar's face as if he were uncertain of touching Izar's face during the kiss. In the end, he settled for curling his fingers in Izar's robes, pulling their bodies closer. It wasn't a ghastly kiss and Draco was a lot more graceful in the action than Izar was when he had kissed Voldemort.

The ring on his middle finger burned. It wasn't a searing burn, but it was a warning. Izar had the crazy urge to see how far he could go with another lover. What would be the consequences? Who would get hurt? But he was not in the mood to dabble with the chance of irritating the Dark Lord at the moment. Especially when Izar was sure the man felt the same burn with his ring, alerting him that his 'intended' was being unfaithful.

Izar sighed, breaking the kiss with a turn of his head. His fingers curled around Draco's shoulders, pushing the boy to arm's length. Before Izar could deliver a scathing and cruel remark to the blond, he caught sight of the vulnerability in the grey eyes. Draco donned the Malfoy mask expertly, but Izar had a sharp enough eye to see the lost child beneath the surface. Draco was afraid of Izar's rejection, yet hopeful at the same time.

Did things always have to go against him?

"We're related, Draco," Izar murmured quietly. "There is no way in hell I am going to initiate a relationship with someone of my blood." Briefly, he wondered when he started to grow so soft and pleasant with people who irritated him.

"We are hardly cousins," Draco insisted. "Your grandparents were cousins. And there are rumors going around that your father and uncle weren't at all innocent when it came to incest. Regulus won't look down on you because of your involvement with me."

Izar bit his lip as he fought the chuckle. Sirius and Regulus? It would never conjure itself in his mind because it didn't make sense. For the better part of Regulus' childhood, he was smitten with Lily Evans. And when he wasn't revolving around her, he immersed himself with Severus Snape.

"I'm not…" Izar trailed off, leaning his head against the stone pillar as he tried to form the correct words. "Regulus' opinion is regarded highly, yes, but he does not run my life or my actions. I am saying we can't do this because I am not attracted to you." He was at the end of his rope, especially as he noticed the dark shadows cross behind Draco's eyes.

"You are just attracted to Greengrass," Draco accused spitefully.

Izar snapped.

Grabbing Draco around the neck, he reversed their positions so that the taller boy was pushed against the rock. Izar's fingers were tight around the vulnerable skin of Draco. The taller boy had to bend his knees with the force Izar was pushing him with. Their eyes were on equal level and Izar grinned maliciously.

"I am not attracted to you, nor am I attracted to Daphne." Izar gave a dark smile and Draco's eyes widened at the sight of it. Leaning closer, Izar teased the boy with his breath. Draco's eyelids fluttered with a bit of pleasure. "You would never make it out untarnished if you entered a relationship with me, Draco. You see, I enjoy mind games and I enjoy the power and the thrill and the sexual tension. You are too safe. I would just scar you beyond your mental constrictions."

Running a fingernail across Draco's jaw, Izar tisked. "Consider that a warning, my dear cousin."

Izar released Draco and turned to leave the garden of boulders the blond had led him to. He ignored all the inquiring stares and met Snape's onyx eyes. Inconspicuously, Izar touched his left forearm and then continued back to the Manor.

Regulus was deep in discussion with Bellatrix. Their eyes mirrored each other in dark pleasure as they parried insults back and forth.

Regulus was perfectly fine by himself. He needed to make peace with the Death Eaters without Izar's presence.

Voldemort, on the other hand, was surprisingly standing alone. He nursed a goblet of liquor as he watched Izar's retreat through thoughtful eyes. Snape wouldn't be able to follow Izar without notice, Izar knew. It didn't matter. He could accomplish his plans with the Dark Mark by himself.

Tomorrow night, during Christmas Eve, there would be a Yuletide celebration. Izar's presence would be expected, simply because the Death Eaters and the rest of the guests would be leaving the next day at Christmas day.

Until the celebration, he would become scarce.

{Death of Today}

It was pure determination that drove him.

Otherwise, he would have put off the manipulation of the Dark Mark due to his nagging illness.

His forehead was sweating almost as much as the rest of his body. The goose bumps from earlier today were still present, conflicting with his fever and the sweat staining his robes. He had thought that the distance he put between himself and other magical beings would lessen the stress on his body. But even his room in the Malfoy Manor couldn't subdue the sensitivity he felt to their magic.

Izar breathed deeply through his nostrils as he looked up at the mirror. His hair was matted in the most disgusting manner, slick with moisture and losing some of its natural wave. His pallor was sickly and the vivid green shards of color in his eyes were rather dim, yielding to the overpowering charcoal.

He stripped down to his pants after locking himself in his bathroom. His body was quivering, exaggerating his thinness. But his attention was on the black Dark Mark. It was an ugly stain on his body, an obvious mark of ownership. While he didn't regret his decision to join Voldemort's ranks, he did despise the evident mark. He loathed the invisible collar around his neck and the strings that pulled him through every day motions.

He wanted to do something to shake himself of everyone's hold. Dumbledore, Voldemort, Regulus, and just everyone in general were starting to weigh him down heavily. At times, he believed he had lost himself to the demands of everyone else; to their expectations; to their commands and judgments.

It always came down to him, though. He was independent and he wanted to accomplish something to prove that sovereignty. Manipulating the Dark Mark may seem like such a small way of proving that he was in control of his own actions, but it was for his own sanity. He looked at his body every day, either after or before a shower, or when he was changing clothes. He always saw the Dark Mark, and, in turn, he was always reminded of his servitude. If he could manipulate it to his own tastes, it would be a vivid reminder that he was powerful and in control of his own life.

Izar brought the brother to Voldemort's wand up to his nose and inhaled. A pang of desire and thrill throbbed in his belly as he held the powerful wand.

He twirled the holly wand in his fingers before caressing the Dark Mark with his wand. The serpent in the skull's mouth hissed in desire at the familiar feeling of the phoenix feather. "Yes, that's it," Izar breathed. "You recognize this, don't you?" He caressed the Mark again, watching as the black tattoo became impossibly dark with the wand's touch.

The serpent opened its mouth, baring its fangs in glee. Izar smiled thinly, eyeing the ward around the Dark Mark. It was incredibly strong and sour with the darkest of Dark magic. Izar lifted his lip, considering.

It was possible that if Izar removed the ward, Voldemort would be alerted right away. But if he was careful enough, subtle enough, there was a chance that Voldemort would be oblivious. But the Protean Charm connected all the Dark Marks to Voldemort's wand, and in turn, the man himself. Wands were a part of a wizard's core. Wizards bonded with their wands and Voldemort would be able to detect the breaking of a ward if it was a powerful and strong break.

Izar leaned against the wall and slowly sat down on the vanity. Subconsciously, he was aware that he was caressing the hissing serpent. The reptile was all but purring at the touch of the brother to Voldemort's wand. Izar paid no heed as he stared unseeingly at the Mark.

Would it be possible to construct his own ward underneath Voldemort's?

Leaning his head against the cold mirror, Izar considered. If he placed his ward underneath Voldemort's, that would mean the Dark Mark would still be protected, and thus Voldemort wouldn't be alerted if Izar took off his ward.

He leaned forward, his earlier illness being pushed aside in favor of excitement.

The properties of his ward would need to be somewhat similar to Voldemort's magic. But Izar decided he wasn't going to place a strong ward around the Mark. If Voldemort ever found out about Izar's Mark, which would undoubtedly happen, he didn't want it to hurt as Voldemort tore through Izar's ward in fury.

He pursed his lips as he murmured a simple Latin incantation. It would be a simple ward, one that would remove many of the properties Voldemort placed in his own ward. Izar wouldn't feel pain when Voldemort summoned his Death Eaters and Izar also removed the property that would entitle Voldemort to summon Izar to him by Apparition through the Mark. He paused as he recognized the secrecy spell in Voldemort's ward. It prevented his Death Eaters from speaking about Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort as the same person to someone who wasn't Marked.

In the end, he added that to his own ward. He never wanted to betray Voldemort's secret. And hopefully the Dark Lord would recognize that Izar had added that property to his own ward in a show of loyalty to the man.

The purple ward oozed from Izar's wand in a lazy cloud of magic. It bonded to the Dark Mark underneath Voldemort's smoky grey ward. If Izar succeeded in removing Voldemort's ward from his arm, there would be no barrier in changing the shape, color, and position of the Dark Mark.

But that was if Izar succeeded in removing the Dark Lord's ward.

He wasn't stupid. The Dark Lord had studied the Dark Arts for many years, going as far as hunting for immortality. Immortality was a severe branch of Dark magic and if Izar thought Bellatrix's magic tasted vile, he could only imagine what the Dark Lord's magic tasted like. However, the man had the ability to cast clean magic as well. Most of Riddle's magic was grey, nothing too Light and nothing too Dark. It was the ward on Izar's arm that was impossibly Dark.

Only a powerful wizard could change the properties of his magic at will like the Dark Lord did. Most Dark wizards and witches could cast Light spells. But the magic itself would have Dark undertones to it, and if Izar tasted it, it would be Dark despite the innocent spell. And in its place, Light wizards could cast Dark spells, but the curse would have a Light undertone.

Voldemort was able to manipulate his magic on level with a Master.

Izar gave a light sigh, toying with the ward. It bucked against his wand, pushing his hand away. If Izar listened closely, he could hear the hissing. And the hissing was not coming from the serpent.

Cautiously, he tried to strip away the magic like he had with Appleton's and Ollivander's wards. As Izar pulled away the first layer of magic on Voldemort's ward, a painful shock traveled up his wand arm. Howling, Izar dropped the wand and curled in on himself. Controlling his breathing, his mind raced with possibilities and solutions.

He sat up abruptly, eyes widening.

Could he eat Voldemort's magic and, in turn, resist the ward?

It would be entirely risky on his behalf. If Bellatrix's magic had affected him so much, he could only imagine what would happen if he ate the Dark Lord's magic. Nonetheless, when he was stubborn and curious, he needed to sate that itching urge with answers.

Summoning his wand to him nonverbally, he frowned in concentration. "Cassesium," he intoned. The brittle web-like shield stood strong in front of Izar.

Slowly, he inched his forearm closer to the shield. The Dark Lord's ward hissed as it touched the barrier, but Izar's shield was able to absorb some of the magic. Hesitating, Izar stared at the grey magic in the web-like shield. It looked as if it was slowly tarnishing the white web.

Without hesitating any longer, Izar reached forward and touched the web. Voldemort's magic balled at the end of his fingers as he caressed the magical barrier. The magic was incredibly cold, almost burning his skin. Taking a deep breath, Izar made a face before swallowing the magic on his fingers.

The web around him shattered to the ground and Izar threw his head back, crying out.

The mirror shattered behind him, showering him with sharp shards of glass. Blood poured from his nose as he struggled to keep the magic down. His skin turned an inky grey and he whimpered as he quickly touched his wand to the ward on his arm. He didn't have time to waste, not when he was uncertain how long Voldemort's magic could stay down in his stomach.

The ward didn't hiss this time around. Instead, it seemed docile as it eagerly complied with Izar's wand as he stripped the ward layer by layer. As the ward unraveled, he felt an odd sensation lingering in his belly.

Self-satisfaction.

A weight lifted from his shoulders as the ward dissipated and he laughed.

Oh Merlin, this felt amazing.

He felt free.

His merriment didn't last long as his body was forced to recognize the painful magic it held. His stomach turned ice-cold and his breathing came out in tight gasps. He leaned across the vanity, thrusting his face in the sink, hoping to vomit out the magic. Nothing came out. Sweaty fingers curled around the sink's edge as he shuddered on top of the broken mirror. The glass cut his body in multiple areas, but his mind was too focused on his freezing lungs to care.

It was similar to that of a cramp, a cramp that would be the end of him as it squeezed the walls of his stomach and chest. It was so cold. And the sweat across his body contrasted horribly.

Blood from his nose painted the porcelain sink and he laid there, mesmerized by the remarkable clash of porcelain white and crimson. Dimly, it reminded him of Voldemort's eyes and his ivory skin.

Izar groped for his wand. He needed to cast a hex that would make him throw up Voldemort's magic before it consumed him and stopped his heart. His fingers encountered nothing but sharp glass. Izar gave a grunt, his lips no doubt turning blue with the lack of oxygen. His skin was still inky grey, proof that Voldemort's magic was still deeply imbedded in his body.

Suddenly, the door to the bathroom opened.

Charcoal-green eyes widened, but he slumped in relief when he saw that it was Snape.

Snape, on the other hand, didn't seem relieved. His eyes widened comically at the sight Izar made before he shut the door quickly behind him. "Dare I ask?" Snape, getting over his initial surprise, sounded dryly amused.

"Vomit," Izar whispered out, motioning to his stomach, which laid in a pile of glass.

Snape's eyelids drooped before he pulled out his wand, casting a nonverbal spell at Izar.

Luckily, the man understood what Izar was referring to. Within seconds, his stomach clenched and he threw up Voldemort's magic. Remembering what happened with Bellatrix's magic last time, Izar forced his body to move quickly as the magic met the porcelain sink. His feet crushed the glass as he pushed Snape away just as the vanity exploded. They covered their heads with their arms, luckily far enough away that they weren't harmed.

Izar lowered his arm, staring at the destroyed bathroom.

Dimly, he wondered if it was too damaged to repair it with magic and if the Malfoy's would be furious.

"Sit," Snape ordered, grabbing Izar by the shoulders. The Ravenclaw was forced to sit at the edge of the shower as the man healed the lesions on his body from the glass. Izar watched the man work. Snape's lips were always thin, but they were nearly gone as he concentrated.

"Don't you want to know if I succeeded?" Izar croaked. His nose was still bleeding lightly and he could taste the copper-like flavor in his mouth. He wondered if Voldemort would have enjoyed it as much as Izar hated it.

Onyx eyes glanced at him sternly before continuing on with the healing.

Izar sighed.

"I don't think we would be having this discussion if you hadn't succeeded," Snape started before Izar could continue. "I would ask after your methods, but I can already guess what you have done."

Izar scoffed, grinning rather stupidly. "Really?" he murmured in question. "And what do you think I did?"

"You used the brother wand to Lord Voldemort to construct your own ward. After which, judging by the guests' constant prattle about your duel with Bellatrix, you used your newly invented spell to eat his ward." Snape finished his work and stood up from his crouched position. "Rather remarkable, Mr. Black."

Izar's delight was short lived as Snape scowled.

"What I'd like to know is how long you think you can hide it from the Dark Lord?"

Standing up, Izar reached out to brace himself on the wall. He eyed the destroyed bathroom unhappily. "This wasn't so much about getting away with a crime as it was seeing if I could succeed." Izar growled darkly. "And I did. This was about proving everyone wrong, the Dark Lord in particular. I enjoy solving riddles that are deemed impossible. And I'd do it all over again if I had the choice."

His nostrils flared as he stared Snape down.

The Potions Master bowed his head, offering a curt nod. "I can see your intentions, Mr. Black. You did a noteworthy job. I can only express my concerns for when the Dark Lord finds out."

"It won't be soon, I can guarantee you that," Izar promised hoarsely. "Let me bathe in my triumph, Professor."

Snape eyed him longer than necessary before giving another curt nod. "Then I shall leave you to your celebration." The man turned on his heel to exit the bathroom, though not before he flicked his wand, putting back the mirror and the destroyed vanity.

"Professor," Izar called out, stopping the man from leaving. "You are staying for tomorrow night's Yuletide celebration, correct?" Despite the fact that it was not New Year's Eve as of yet, most wizards celebrated the coming year on Christmas Eve. And Yuletide celebrations were known to be traditional among wizards and witches. It was the night magic was alive and where pure-bloods unwound their tight arsed shoulders to enjoy the festivities of the night.

Izar was not looking forward to it. But Regulus wanted Izar to join him.

Black eyebrows formed high arches. "And what, exactly, gave you the impression that I would stay to enjoy such a valueless gala?"

Izar's lips twitched. "The same reason I'm going. For Regulus." It was meant to be a light hearted jab, but Izar stiffened when he saw a dangerous light enter Snape's eyes. "And watching the others make fools out of themselves," he added hastily. Perhaps he needed to take a step back from teasing Snape about Regulus.

Snape's lips thinned and he left without another word.

Izar blinked, sitting back down to rest his shaking body. He almost knocked over a vial of potion next to him. Blinking, Izar grasped the vial and held it up. He hadn't seen Snape place it down, but the Potions Master was notorious when it came to subtlety. And judging from the color of the potion and the thickness of the liquid, Izar deduced that it was a Blood Replenishing potion.

It was late enough to retire for the night. And he would take advantage of that. There was no way in hell he would go back to the party tonight. The day had been long enough with the Prophet incident, the duel with Bellatrix, and…

His feverish eyes landed on the Dark Mark.

A light smirk played his lips as he wondered what he should transform it to. Surely, he must make it something the Dark Lord would look down upon.


{Notes} Probably one more chapter of Izar's winter break and then we go back to Hogwarts for the Second Task and confrontations with Lily ;)