{Notes} Thanks for all of you who reviewed last chapter. And thanks to Itallia for editing this chapter :)
The Dark Mark will be explained in further detail later on in the story. Just know that Izar has manipulated in such a way that he knows when Voldemort is calling him and when Voldemort means to give him pain through it (it just doesn't come through as pain).
…You'll see when Izar reveals the shape of the Mark. Which you won't know until Voldemort sees it.
Chapter Twenty Six
Izar handed the Portkey over to Voldemort, watching as the Dark Lord held up the incredibly small object.
Crimson eyes narrowed as they assessed the small chip between his index and thumb finger. "Very small," the man mused.
Hopefully as small as your bloody dick, you bastard, Izar thought grouchily, his shoulders stiff as the Dark Lord continued to eye the Portkey Izar had invented. There was always something that made Izar uptight when his work was being evaluated. He hated rejection and he hated judgment, especially when it was directed towards one of his inventions.
"Is there anything wrong?" Izar drawled in question, his eyes flashing. "You've been ogling at it for awhile now. Would you like me to make it smaller?" The cushioning charms would need to be shrunk along with the chip in order to make it workable. Otherwise, the spells would collide together, completely destroying the Portkey.
They were standing near the gardens of the Malfoy Manor, not far from where Draco had brought him yesterday. After more than nine hours of sleep and ingesting a Blood Replenishing potion, Izar felt a lot better than he had in months. He had eaten a large breakfast with Regulus in the privacy of their rooms before he was dragged outside by a sharp rap to his door. Draco, his posture rigid, had informed Izar that the Dark Lord requested his presence in the gardens. And he was told to bring along his little 'project' that he had been working on.
Izar had concluded that Voldemort wanted to test his Portkey. After arriving outside on the patio, he had been happy to see the area mostly cleared. The guests, along with the Death Eaters, were going home tomorrow. Today was Christmas Eve and the Yule celebration was occurring tonight. Izar could only imagine what the Death Eaters had in mind for the celebration.
Regrettably, Izar realized most of the Death Eaters weren't sleeping as he originally had thought. Instead, they were waiting at an undisclosed location for both Izar and the Dark Lord to arrive by the invented Portkey.
If the Portkey worked properly, Izar and Voldemort would arrive at the same location the Death Eaters were waiting at. Within twenty seconds, the Portkey should re-activate and transport Izar and Voldemort back to the manor with the Death Eaters in tow. The Death Eaters wouldn't need to touch the Portkey to be brought back to the Manor.
It would work. He had no doubts.
"It's faultless," Voldemort murmured in amusement as he crouched down next to the stone bench. His tone suggested that he had intended to make Izar uneasy with his continued surveillance of the Portkey.
Charcoal-green eyes narrowed.
Voldemort disregarded him in favor of placing the Portkey delicately on a large golden plate. The man's long, white fingers caressed the edges of the plate, testing the Portkey's stability. And just as the man had originally asked for, Izar made sure the Portkey would stick to any object, and, in turn, make that object a Portkey alongside the small chip.
Izar hated how the man could make crouching looked dignified and graceful. Even when Riddle was many inches shorter than him, he still made Izar feel short. "And it will transport the Death Eaters who are standing within five meters, correct?" Voldemort questioned.
Izar bristled, lifting his lip. "Five meters," Izar confirmed darkly. "Just as you asked."
Voldemort looked up from the golden plate to consider Izar through heavy-lidded crimson eyes. The Dark Lord's lips twitched. "Forgive me; I know better than to question a Master about his works. Severus is the same way with his potions."
Izar ignored the man's comment and favored watching as Riddle unfolded his tall frame. He tried not to notice how Voldemort easily towered over him. As soon as Izar's eyes swept the length of the tall frame, Voldemort noticed his observation. Clearing his throat, Izar averted his eyes from Voldemort and back on the golden plate. "You never told me what you planned to use the Portkey for," Izar hinted. Voldemort, when ordering the Portkey made at the Hog's Head, had mentioned using the invention in the Ministry. But the Dark Lord did not confirm or deny those claims.
"I must apologize again," Voldemort started silkily. "I had no intention to make you think I would indulge you with that information."
White hot irritation burned Izar's body at the man's words. He held his chin high and his face froze into cool indifference. "It's my invention," Izar pointed out unnecessarily. "Don't I deserve an explanation to what it's going to be used for? I can just unhinge its properties and make it useless just when you're about to use it."
His threat was far too light and Voldemort easily saw through his farce. A smile stretched Voldemort's thin lips and the man's eyes became hooded as he stared Izar down. "You have no intention of corrupting the Portkey simply because you are too eager to see your invention in action. In fact, I can imagine you would even invent something for Dumbledore if it meant you would get the chance of seeing your invention put to the test."
Izar swallowed thickly. Vaguely, he watched the crimson eyes follow the Adams apple at his neck. "Not bloody likely." A flush warmed the top of his ears when he realized that Voldemort was very close to the truth. "When Lord Voldemort comes out to the public, are you going to use the Portkey at the Ministry?" Izar paused, realizing Voldemort was still gazing at his neck.
"I'm sorry," the man began airily after blinking and looking away from Izar's neck. "I'm afraid I didn't hear a word you were saying."
Even Izar could sense that lie. The Dark Lord had heard what he was saying. Voldemort just wanted an excuse to ignore Izar's allegations and turn the subject around. Scoffing, Izar shook his head, unhappily bowing to the man's intentions of changing the subject. "That's the third time today you apologized, My Lord." He blinked sweetly. "Are you going soft?"
Crimson eyes brightened and Voldemort took an advancing step forward. Izar bit his tongue. He should have kept quiet.
The newly manipulated Dark Mark on his forearm seemed to weigh his arm down. He was reminded that the Dark Lord would find out sooner rather than later and the results wouldn't be painless. No matter, he was proud of himself for breaking the mystery to the Dark Mark. Regardless of what Voldemort intended to do as punishment, Izar would take it with a smile on his lips.
Voldemort cupped his cheek, a dark smirk on his face. "You amuse me, child," Voldemort murmured. "I can't help but notice you're trying to inch away the closer I come to you. I would have thought yesterday's proceedings would put you at ease with physical touch." The man's tone was anything but comforting. It was mocking, amused, and purely sadistic.
"You got lucky then," Izar murmured scathingly. "My Ravenclaw qualities were at their highest yesterday. I was simply curious." He would never be able to forget the kiss he shared with the Dark Lord. Despite the clumsiness on his behalf, it was a frightening thrill—so pleasant. Would he want to kiss Voldemort again? Yes, he wouldn't mind any advances from the Dark Lord. But Izar was too distrusting of this new development with Voldemort to succumb.
He was afraid of becoming too lost in Voldemort. He was afraid that Voldemort's creature-like possessiveness would smother him until he was only a shadow of his past self.
Izar had to come to terms with this… this relationship before he gave in. Only then would he feel comfortable enough.
Voldemort leaned closer, looking as if he were going to kiss Izar. Instead, he bypassed Izar's mouth and ventured to the pulse-point at Izar's neck. A breathless chuckle tickled Izar's skin before a sharp pain pierced his ear.
Gasping, Izar reared back, holding his hand up to his ear. By the time his fingers assessed the bloody damage to his earlobe, Voldemort was already reaching for the Portkey. "You're a bastard," Izar seethed. The man's teeth had pierced right through his skin. "Should I be disinfecting my ear against rabies?"
Voldemort hovered near the Portkey, considering the object and acting as if he hadn't heard anything being said. "Let's not waste our spare time bickering, child. You wouldn't want to keep young Draco waiting in the Manor all day long."
Izar bristled. "You don't sound too angry over that," he observed skeptically. Judging from the man's bright, amused eyes, the situation wasn't worthwhile. Izar had earlier suspicions that Voldemort had known about Draco's kiss. After all, the ring had burned, so it must have alerted Voldemort as well.
The Dark Lord turned, his long black cloak twisting about his ankles at the motion. A black eyebrow twitched. "There is no reason to be." The man's voice was a dark whisper, promising Izar that if there was need to be angry, Draco wouldn't be intact at that very moment. "Is there?"
Izar pursed his lips in answer, taking out his worn pocket watch from his cloak. Whenever he pulled out the tarnished watch, he was reminded vividly of his orphanage, the very same place he stole the piece of jewelry from.
"I do not claim that there is anything to be angry over," Izar began softly. "I just think you're taking it extremely well," he added a bit suspiciously. There was always the possibility that Voldemort was taking care of Draco behind the scenes and was feigning disinterest on the exterior.
Voldemort made an amused sound in the back of his throat. "I do not get threatened over young, hormonal teenage boys. And women, no matter their age, are no threat."
Izar realized Riddle was sexist. Izar pondered on that before changing his mind. Voldemort had Bellatrix as a close comrade and many other Death Eater women. Perhaps Voldemort just didn't consider them any threat. He wasn't sexist; he just found it hard to be threatened by the female counterpart.
Izar chuckled beneath his breath. "That's good to know for future reference," Izar replied cheekily.
"It's a shame I find my attention wavering on this significant and vital conversational topic," Voldemort drawled as he waved his wand over the Portkey, activating it. "But we have far more pressing details to straighten out."
Flipping open the cover of the pocket watch, Izar nodded sharply to Voldemort. He too was growing bored with the direction the conversation was headed. He was just eager to see how his Portkey worked out.
Grasping his watch with one hand, he reached for the golden plate with the other. Charcoal-green eyes locked with crimson before both wizards grabbed hold. A pleased sensation tightened his stomach as they were pulled through time and space.
Within seconds, Izar landed on his feet and he pushed the pocket watch to start recording the seconds. Only when the third hand traveled across the five second mark did he look up.
He found himself surrounded by the Death Eaters from every angle. They were situated in a field weighed down by snow. It was probably located near the Malfoy Manor. Lucius was the closest Death Eater to Izar, his expression cool save for the small smirk creasing the corner of his lips.
Izar ignored the others as he dropped the plate to the ground. It was easy to forget they were there. They had quieted with the arrival of their Lord. "The Portkey should take us all without physical contact," he explained softly. In order to see if the Portkey worked properly, Izar didn't want anyone touching it. That way he could study the Portkey in more depth if he realized it was not picking up the surrounding wizards within five meters without touch.
Ten seconds.
"I place my bet that it won't work," a man in the crowd declared spitefully.
Without turning, Izar knew who had spoken. "Well," he drawled. "Now I understand why the Crabbe family fortune is rather lacking." Murmurs spread through the Death Eaters; some chuckled while others exclaimed at his smart mouth. Voldemort remained silent, his towering frame sticking noticeably out from the crowd.
Fifteen seconds.
Izar eyed the golden plate with the small, almost indistinguishable chip on top of it. It wasn't glowing, or trembling. Not that it was expected to show such obvious signs of working. In fact, Izar preferred the Portkey not to make noticeable signals that it was about to activate again.
He scowled, feeling the large sensation of disappointment wash through him as twenty seconds came and went.
Crabbe snorted, sensing Izar's failure. "The boy isn't even intelligent enough to make a Portkey correctly."
Lucius' eyes flashed. "Have some consideration, Crabbe." Next to him, Bellatrix was caressing her crooked wand as one would do a precious jewel. While they may be obvious in their support for Izar, the Dark Lord was remaining silent, knowing better than to side with Izar on such a trivial issue.
Anger got the better of Izar as the Ravenclaw turned around, hissing in Crabbe's portly face. The man paled at Izar' actions, taking a step back. "And you don't have enough intelligence to even come up with a proper insult. You wouldn't have enough creativity to construct this Portkey, let alone—,"
Before Izar could finish his retort, his body was being tugged ruthlessly by the Portkey.
They were all being sucked in by the Portkey on the ground. Because they weren't being stabilized and anchored by physically touching a Portkey, their bodies were being flung carelessly through time and space. Izar's neck snapped back and his body flung in odd angles. He tried in vain to keep himself from spinning so quickly, but he relaxed his body as best he could to resist injury.
The rest of the Death Eaters were having the same problem. They were fast moving blurs to Izar's eyes, so he kept his eyes shut, hoping to ward off the motion sickness.
A naked fear began to worm itself in Izar's stomach the longer they remained traveling. Was it possible that he had mistakenly invented an object that would make them spin through time forever? Izar couldn't believe it, not with an invention he created himself, but he felt Voldemort's magic expand as if he were thinking along the same lines as Izar.
He had worried needlessly.
The ground came at him quickly and Izar rotated his body skillfully in order to land gracefully on his feet. His knees bent with the impact of the landing. The other Death Eaters weren't so lucky. Most of them landed on their stomachs and backs, groaning with the impact. A few of the poised ones stayed on their feet. And as if to prove to Izar that he was capable, Crabbe also landed on his feet. The man offered a smug smile that turned into a frown as the Portkey finally arrived.
The golden plate hit him squarely in the head.
Through smug eyes, Izar watched Crabbe Senior fall to the floor. Sniffing, the Ravenclaw continued to eye the Death Eaters who had all landed ungracefully on the ground. "You all better practice your landing," he informed smartly, stepping callously on Crabbe's fingers on his way to the Manor. "You wouldn't want to make such pathetic spectacles of yourselves in front of your enemies."
He still had a headache from the night before. And everyone's auras were just as noticeable as yesterday. He would have thought, after a good night's rest, that things would have gone back to normal.
They hadn't.
Izar just needed to get used to his intensified power and be grateful he got to see more magic.
He just didn't want to deal with the Death Eaters so early in the morning.
{Death of Today}
"Did you agree to Charles' arrangement?" Izar inquired softly as he tapped his quill against his parchment. He was situated in Regulus' assigned rooms, completing his Charms essay that was due after the holidays. Despite the simplicity of the material Izar was having trouble concentrating.
Regulus looked up from the stack of legal documents, raising an eyebrow. The two of them had decided to spend some time together today, before the Yuletide celebration. Izar was hesitant at first, feeling a bit pressured into his father's proximity. He didn't want their relationship to become strained with forced dialect. So far, there hadn't been any awkward tendencies or fluffy bonding time and Izar didn't want to ruin that with this 'bonding session'. But the longer Izar sat in Regulus' rooms, the more he realized that he shouldn't have worried.
Regulus enjoyed the silence just as well as Izar did. His father wasn't pushing for conversation. In fact, the man was knee deep in his own business with legal contracts with Black properties and artifacts that had been destroyed or looted in his absence. There were also quite a few documents for donations to certain causes that were in need of completion. Izar was sure the donations were a way to get back in the political scene. Izar wondered if Regulus would apply for a job within the Ministry soon. From his position, he could see a few letters of recommendation and also a few job applications.
As far as Izar knew, every pure-blood had a chair in the Wizengamot court. Because Regulus was rightfully the Head of the Black family, he would be placing his foot in the door that way.
"His arrangement?" Regulus repeated, setting his sharp quill down.
Izar narrowed his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean."
Regulus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I think it's a very good idea, Izar. In all honesty." He held up a hand before Izar could give his retort. "I think that Daphne is a very intelligent and charming young lady."
"You've never met her, Regulus," Izar accused scathingly. His fingers curled around the edge of Regulus desk. He stared down his father, who sat directly across from him. "What is the real reason you agreed?"
"I did not agree," Regulus growled lightly. "I will not subject you to an arranged marriage. My mother tried to do the same to Sirius and I and we both rebelled. While I would like for you to continue the Black line, I will not force your hand. Or your…" his eyes dropped to Izar's lap, "seed."
Izar remained silent for a long moment. He had never thought about continuing the Black line. If Sirius never had children, Izar would be the last male Black of the direct line. Draco was part Black, but he would continue the Malfoy name, not the Black. And Izar knew that the continuation of their lines was extremely important to pure-bloods.
"There is always adoption." Izar straightened up, eyeing his father. "Blood adoption. There are rituals and spells a family can use to adopt a son or daughter. The rituals will allow the child to adapt physical and mental traits from the parent. You don't always need to impregnate a woman to carry on the pure-blood line."
Regulus brought up his clasped hands and settled his chin on his fingers. Eerie charcoal eyes stared at Izar. It was the most intensity Izar had seen coming from Regulus. "That is true," Regulus admitted at last, his voice exceptionally quiet. The man continued to search Izar's face as if he could see all his secrets. "Are you trying to tell me you prefer men, Izar?"
Izar controlled the flush and met Regulus' stare straight on. "It doesn't matter which gender I prefer."
Regulus' lip twitched in amusement. "No," he conceded, his posture still rigid. "It doesn't matter which sex you prefer. I was only curious." Regulus tilted his head to the side, eyes still intense. "You should know better than to think I would judge you. Have I not confessed my own sexuality?"
Izar sighed through his nose, looking down at his half-written essay. "You are deviating from our original topic. You think arranging a marriage with Daphne Greengrass would be productive. Not just because of the possible heir, but for another reason. What?" He raised his lashes, looking stoically at his father.
Regulus clapped his hands, almost inaudible, before leaning back in his chair. "I despise the relationship you share with the Dark Lord." Regulus sniffed, shrugging. "I will not stand for his sexual advances on my fifteen-year-old son."
Izar leaned forward, flattening his palms against the desk. "I already told you he is not interested me in that way," Izar lifted his lip in disgust. He was a decent liar, even for not being a Legilimens and Occlumens. However, Regulus was stubborn. And Izar knew he would need to work hard in order to banish his father's beliefs. "He wants me as his political heir. And at any rate, if he was interested in me sexually, do you really think an arranged marriage would stop him from pursuing me? It would only anger him."
Regulus raised an eyebrow. "You sound as if you've thought about this already, Izar." The man shrugged again, almost irritated with himself. "But you're correct," he continued. "An arranged marriage certainly wouldn't stop his advances."
"You need to trust me," Izar murmured. He slid his hands back, his eyes catching the fingerless glove on his hand. "There is nothing like that between the Dark Lord and I."
Regulus hummed. "Still," he spoke crisply, "I don't like that you are his political heir. It will paint a target on your back for his enemies. The political front is just as dangerous as the front lines of battle. Only, in the political scene, the attacks aren't as apparent. You'll always have to look over your shoulder, especially with being Undersecretary Riddle's heir."
"I will always have a target on me," Izar defended himself.
Regulus growled, his dark disposition shining through. "Even more so with his blatant favoritism," the man snarled, his lip lifting and his eyes becoming deranged.
The conversation was heading downward. Father and son had never sunk into such depth in a conversation. They always danced around important topics and expressed diplomacy when it came to minding their own business. It appeared that Regulus was becoming more comfortable with the fact that Izar was his son. Regulus may be a decent father, both caring and concerned, but there was a darker side to the man, a side that Izar knew better than to push… at least right now. It was a side that Bellatrix had, a side most Blacks were known for: a dark insanity.
Izar looked up at Regulus. Regulus was no longer that young adult, swooning after a puppy-dog love. He was no longer the young man who would trail after a Mudblood and become blind to everything else around him.
Looking at Regulus, Izar traced the cold charcoal eyes and the lines of tension. Regulus was now a man who had been hardened by betrayal and over fifteen years of isolation. The man had lived every day with the memory of his past mistakes and his weaknesses. Something told Izar that Regulus would never allow his weaknesses to run him again.
Regulus once confessed to Izar that if he were presented with the past again, he wouldn't change anything. He would have chosen to fall in love with Lily again and conceive Izar with her.
But Izar saw differently. If the hardened man sitting before him was given the chance to do it all again, Izar had no doubt that Regulus would kill Lily.
"The Dark Lord wants me to graduate early." Izar sat back, relaxed. He decided he would be the one to change the subject. "He thinks I should take my NEWTs this year. They aren't required, but he believes I should take them in order to prove that I don't need to return next year."
Regulus scoffed, grinning sarcastically at the window. "He already expressed his beliefs," Regulus wondered. "I just didn't think he'd spring it on you so soon."
"You knew?" Izar raised an eyebrow.
"I did," Regulus admitted, turning back to Izar. "And I full heartedly agree with him. You are bored at school, Izar. There are many worthwhile things you can do outside the walls of Hogwarts."
Izar picked at the end of his sleeve, finding it hard not to express his outright disagreement on the subject. "There is something, a reason, why you want me to graduate. I can read you easily," Izar confessed. "There is a reason you want me out of Hogwarts other than the fact that I'm bored."
Regulus chuckled. "I hope you can read others just as well as me." His father leaned forward, trying to peer closely at Izar. "You are old enough to know the reasons I think you should graduate. There is no reason to think you can't handle the truth."
"I'm glad you think so," Izar grinned lightly. He didn't see himself as a child who needed sheltering. Getting used to having a father was a hurdle Izar was still struggling with. Izar couldn't accept some things that came with having a father, and that included coddling.
"I believe that if you graduate Hogwarts, you'll have some claim to independence. With the custody battle with Lily approaching, I think if you have a steady income with the Unspeakables and have graduated from school it will tip the balance in your favor. It couldn't hurt."
It seemed logical and certainly plausible. He didn't know much about custody battles, but if the child had a bit of independence, wouldn't it be in the child's best interest to choose whom he lived with? If Izar graduated this year, he would still be fifteen, a good year before he turned seventeen. There would even be the possibility that Lily wouldn't file for custody, but then why would she go through the trouble of publishing that article in the Prophet?
Despite his reluctance to graduate early, Izar knew that it would be in his best interest. Still… he found it hard to believe that Voldemort wanted him to graduate early just for that reason. There had to be another motive behind his insistence that Izar graduate. And Izar didn't know if he would be able to find it out in time.
Izar, realizing he had kept quiet long enough, looked up at Regulus and nodded. "It sounds reasonable. Just do me a favor." He paused, making sure he had Regulus' attention. "Don't presume to hide things from me again."
Regulus' eyes became hooded and a pleased smile crossed his lips. "Never."
{Death of Today}
Izar stared at the package on his bed. He could have sworn it hadn't been there a few hours ago.
Lifting his gaze from the package, he eyed the darkening window, noticing the sun was about to sink below the horizon. Tonight's Yuletide celebration would be starting in a matter of minutes and Izar had just stopped by his room to change out of his comfortable jeans and into robes.
It wasn't wrapped as a gift; it looked like a parcel with brown paper and a string tied around it.
He couldn't sense any magic coming from the package. It meant that there weren't any harmful hexes or curses. Nonetheless, Izar kept his wand raised as he reached forward to untie the string. The thick paper fell away from the parcel and he eyed the white material and the gold pocket watch.
Izar dropped his wand, staring at the watch. He picked up the pocket watch, marveling at the weight of pure gold. It wasn't cheap, not in the least. Everything about it was heavy and high-class. He pursed his lips and set it aside for later observation as he grabbed the note on top of the white cloth.
Child,
While I'm not particularly fond of the nature of gift-giving, I couldn't resist the temptation of indulging you. The pocket watch is a replacement for the one you are currently using. The robes, on the other hand, were purchased for my own selfish purposes.
I believe white is a dreadful and disdainful color. Regrettably, the color of the Light looks far from unsightly on you, my child.
Wear them tonight. And allow your left hand to breathe.
It wasn't signed, but it didn't need to be. The beautiful penned calligraphy and the blatant usage of the pet name 'child' was enough of a hint.
Setting the note aside on the bed, he took out the robes. They were similar to the ones Daphne purchased for him for the Yule ball, yet instead of gold accenting them, black took its place. Luckily, with the black present, the robes weren't all white. Riddle had obviously enjoyed the sight he made at the Yule ball enough to purchase the robes for him. It both pleased and troubled him. Of course he was only pleased because someone thought he didn't look like a bloody flop that night. Not because Voldemort found him attractive.
He sighed, disgusted with himself, as he allowed the soft material to slip from his fingers and back on the bed.
Taking hold of the pocket watch again, he tilted the face in order to observe the engravings. The carvings were breathtaking. Small details designed the face of the watch, but the main image was that of a broken hourglass. A powerful serpent coiled around the broken hourglass, its fangs embedded in the shattered glass. The serpent's eyes were two rubies, contrasting with the gold. Below the hourglass, a Latin phrase was skillfully engraved.
"Alea iacta est." Izar's eyes closed as he whispered the Latin words, his mind racing as he put the phrase in English. "The die has been cast," Izar understood. He opened his eyes, looking back down at the watch. It could mean many things, but Izar knew it meant "a point of no return." It meant that events have passed a point of no return, that something inevitable would happen.
Izar sat on the bed knowing that he held something far more meaningful in his hands than just a pocket watch.
Voldemort was giving him an out.
There was still a chance—a chance of burying things. Izar could become disfavored. He could become a lowly Death Eater and he could sink back into the shadows. No one would go out of their way to attack or insult Izar. And Voldemort would keep his hands to himself. He would never make another sexual advance.
Considering Voldemort had claimed he was too selfish to allow Izar in the shadows, this gift was incredibly rare. Voldemort was giving him something that he would never give again.
A choice.
And Izar knew this would be the last time Voldemort would allow Izar to step out of their twisted game. If Izar chose to stay where he was, there was the assertion that Voldemort would become unforgivably harsh in his claims of on Izar. Their game would become fiercer, far more heated and warped than it was currently. Voldemort would never allow Izar to walk away. It was the point of no return.
And…
Izar found himself looking forward to it.
He closed his fingers over the pocket watch, a pleased purr wanting to make itself heard.
While he was thankful that Voldemort was giving him an option, Izar favored this relationship he had with the Dark Lord. He may find the sexual side of it unnerving, and he may not be ready for the physical aspect of their relationship, but he did enjoy having someone as intelligent as himself to speak to; to banter with; to play with.
Having such a powerful Dark Lord close to him was thrilling. And Izar would be damned if he let that slip away.
He caressed the pocket watch, eyeing the last sentence of the man's note.
And allow your left hand to breathe.
Izar snorted. Not bloody likely.
Although he would appease the man by wearing white robes, he wasn't going to submit so entirely to the man as to remove his glove. Izar was not going to risk revealing the Celtic band to prying eyes. And while the night would veil his ring from the notice of others, he didn't want Voldemort to think he was going to be readily submissive and take his glove off. He knew Voldemort wanted to see Izar tonight as utterly bound to him and belonging to him. Izar wasn't going to satisfy the man's peculiar urges.
He was going to wear his glove to cover up the ring. And…
Izar lifted his left sleeve, staring at his newly manipulated Mark. He chuckled, pleased at the outcome of his decision.
He wasn't as subservient as Voldemort believed him to be.
{Nothing much happening in this chapter, but it was needed. Next chapter shouldn't take too long to get out. I hope to post it earlier than a weeks time.}
