{Notes} No, Izar will not be showing off the altered Dark Mark. Sorry if I made you think as such in the last chapter. He's going to hide it as long as possible.

Thanks for the reviews last chapter and thanks to Itallia for beta(ing) this horrible and evil chapter.

WARNINGS: Dark themes to this chapter with mentions/actions of torture and death will arise. There will also be SLASH. For those of you who aren't reading the story for the slash and don't enjoy it, I would suggest squinting when you come to the scene with the Voldemort/Izar.

Enjoy the slashiness in this chapter. It will be the last of it for a while. :) Well, at least in *this* depth.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Above, the night sky was clear and the stars and constellations were just as bright as the moon. Izar thought the most beautiful thing about tonight wasn't the sky, but the small balls of light. Every witch and wizard was oblivious to the presence of the spheres but Izar could see them with clarity. There was magic in the atmosphere tonight. It loosened anxieties and washed a wild high through the wizards and witches.

A light smile played on Izar's lips as he stared at the magic in child-like wonder. The small spheres were golden white and about the size of a firefly. The magic seemed to emerge from the ground and float upward, disappearing into the heavens. In all ways, it appeared similar to upside down drizzling rain. Most of the occupants outside were touched by the magic. Although they couldn't see the magic, they were able to feel it in the atmosphere. As the magic ghosted across their skin, pleased smiles and laughter always escaped their lips.

They were getting a feel for what Izar felt all the time with his magic sensitivity, although he was far more controlled and didn't let it affect him anymore.

He supposed he could see the Yuletide's magic because of his recent heightened sensitivity to magic. Never before had he seen the magic on Christmas Eve because it had always been too faint for his underdeveloped ability.

The cold December air stung his face, but it made everything more thrilling. He refused to put a warming charm on his body. The light fever across his neck and face thanked him for the relief.

Regulus touched his arm, urging him forward.

Izar allowed the physical contact, following Regulus. Many of the Death Eaters ahead of them were disappearing into the woods around the Malfoy Manor. Some of their postures were relaxed, yet the majority of the wizards were excited, causing their backs to stiffen.

"You still won't tell me what the celebration is about?" Izar pestered Regulus.

"You'll just have to wait and see." Regulus' lips twitched as he kept his hand on Izar's shoulder. "I am curious, however, to learn where you received those robes." Regulus continued forward as he looked over his shoulder at Izar's white robes. "They are handsome."

"They were a gift," Izar replied shortly.

The hand on his elbow tightened but Regulus remained silent. Izar knew his father wasn't blind or dimwitted. Regulus suspected a relationship between Izar and the Dark Lord no matter how many times the Ravenclaw tried to convince him otherwise. Truthfully, there really wasn't a relationship between the two of them, at least not yet. But Regulus would believe whatever he wished to believe. Izar was just worried what Voldemort would do in order to keep his relationship with Izar a secret.

As father and son trudged through the snow, the smell of burning wood grew stronger. Up ahead, Izar spied a large Yule log burning. Many Death Eaters were surrounding it, their voices high and loud, drunk on magic. Their auras convulsed and twitched with their excitement, causing the color of their usual dull magic to turn vibrant.

Izar had trouble tearing his eyes away.

As he approached the group, he spied the extra count of bodies. "Muggles," Izar whispered, his chest tightening. "We are going to torture Muggles?" He didn't know what he felt at the moment. There was a burning excitement, but there was also repugnance. While he despised Muggles, he didn't know if he enjoyed torture. He was indifferent to others torturing the Muggles, but he didn't know if he had the stomach to do it himself.

Killing was another story. He wouldn't mind raising his wand against a Muggle. It would taste so precious…

"In a way, yes." Regulus smiled darkly, a promise of pain.

There were about twenty Muggles, surely not enough for everyone to grab hold of and play with. Izar pondered on the Muggle's presence before he came to a stop with the group of Death Eaters. The Yule log was burning fiercely, the flames a bright orange and purple. Izar longed to reach out and touch it. Observing the close proximity of the Death Eaters to the fire, Izar knew he wasn't the only one who desired to caress the dancing and provocative flames.

Voldemort stood calmly in front of his Death Eaters. He looked halfway decent tonight. Usually, when the man was in his Dark Lord's persona, he was a bit rugged and not particularly well-kept. His hair was typically in an unruly ponytail at the nape of his neck, revealing his sharp features. And his robes were usually simple black. Despite his rugged appearance, Izar always found himself drawn to the man's untamed appearance. Not many people would see a specific beauty to the man, just a rough handsomeness that bordered along… lethal. The sight of the Dark Lord always twisted Izar's stomach into painful and rousing knots.

Tonight, though, the Dark Lord let his hair fall to his shoulders. Izar was amused to note that the Dark Lord had wavy hair. The waves weren't very obvious, but they were there. And the man's robes were of richer black material. The high collar exaggerated his tall height. Izar hated himself for liking the man in a high collar. Not many wizards could pull off such a dramatic look with the high collar, but Voldemort made it look like a simple accessory.

Along with his well-groomed appearance, his magic was just as noticeable tonight. The other Death Eaters seemed to lean toward him, sensing his magic. Usually powerful wizards' and witches' auras were felt faintly by others. It was what drew people to them. And tonight, with magic loose, his power was embellished.

Izar rocked back on his heels, raising his eyebrows as crimson eyes caught his gaze. A conceited smirk crossed the man's lips but his expression cleared as he continued to search the rest of the Death Eaters before him.

"I'm not going to keep you all here for very long," the Dark Lord started. His voice cut through the noise with ease despite the fact that he hadn't shouted. "Most of you know the routine for tonight's celebration. We hunt our prey."

Izar's gaze fell on the kneeling Muggles. Most of them were strong-looking men and women. They were all healthy and coherent. It was almost if the Death Eaters wanted them strong and capable of resisting.

"For those of you, who do not know of our Yuletide tradition, let me enlighten you." Voldemort began again. "Tonight is the Wild Hunt."

The Death Eaters whispered excitingly, their wands out and shaking with excitement. Tonight, their pure-blood masks weren't hindering their real emotions.

"We welcome the upcoming year by hunting our prey and celebrating our past achievements. Only the most worthy wizards will be able to claim a prize." Here, Voldemort's ivory hand motioned toward the struggling Muggles. But his eyes were on Izar, a wicked gleam dancing beneath the depths of crimson at the word "prize." No one noticed. Their attentions were on the Muggles.

Izar glowered.

"This year should be celebrated with high spirits, for, come next Yuletide celebration, we will not have to conceal our Hunt behind trees. And every loyal follower shall receive their own prize."

The Death Eaters roared with excitement. The fire sparked dangerously, heightening the Death Eaters' ecstasy. Izar felt his own grin widen at that. Next year Voldemort planned thrust himself out into the wizarding society. There would be no Malfoy woods to limit their range of celebration.

Next year, the whole country would become their playground.

Voldemort waved his wand, cutting the restraints on the Muggles. The men and women hesitated, like cornered animals, before sprinting out of the clearing and into the depths of the woods. Izar watched one man cut himself off from the group of Muggles. He was a smart Muggle. He wouldn't run with the others because it would draw attention. Izar's eyes grew hungry. No one else seemed to notice the Muggle take almost an opposite turn from the group.

The Death Eaters were swaying on their feet, their eyes desperately begging Voldemort for his consent to hunt. The Muggles in the woods disappeared, gaining a head start.

Voldemort looked all too smug with his hold over his followers.

Bellatrix was at the lead. Her body was positioned similar to that of a sprinter ready to lunge. Izar could relate. He felt his own sense of excitement twist in his chest and stomach. He blamed it on the overwhelming abundance of magic in the air and the excited auras close by.

The Dark Lord took a step back, waving his wand. The Yule log exploded in crimson sparks and hot ashes. Death Eaters cried out in both pain and the excited delight of it all.

"Happy hunting," Voldemort released his followers.

Chaos erupted. Izar was pushed aside roughly as the Death Eaters sprinted around him and into the woods. The small Ravenclaw parted with Regulus as he took an opposite route than the other Death Eaters. As he parted ways, the hairs on the back of his neck stood when he heard the Dark Lord's parting words.

"I know I'll enjoy it."

It was a whispered promise and Izar felt the crimson eyes follow his back.

He ran.

In the subconscious part of his mind, he knew running was the most dangerous thing he could have done. He was doing exactly what Voldemort wanted him to do. But he couldn't bring himself to care as he ran after the Muggle man. With the image of a Dark Lord stalking after him in the dark, Izar was able to push his legs quicker.

His eyes had trouble focusing on the woods in front of him when he was distracted with the spheres of magic. He didn't know if he was running in the right direction. The Muggle had disappeared fully from his sight, but Izar pushed himself through the trees and snow. His long robes tangled in his legs, but he skillfully avoided any face-plants into the snow.

With adrenaline roaring through his veins, it only felt like seconds before he came within sight of the broad-shouldered Muggle. But judging from the quick breathing coming from his mouth, he concluded that it had been a good handful of minutes he had been running.

The trees were growing thicker, more mature. It took more effort to zigzag through the expansive tree trunks, especially when he had to trudge through the snow. The cold temperature outside clashed with the temperature coming out of his panting mouth, causing his breath to come out in visible clouds. The cold air burned at his fevered face, cooling it before it turned warm from the frosty bite.

He was lightheaded and dizzy from the stress he was putting his body through in its ill state. But he couldn't find it in himself to stop. The magic around him gave him strength to continue, despite his burning body.

In the distance, he could hear screaming. It wasn't a frightened scream, no: it was a scream that told Izar that the Death Eaters had captured some of their prey. He had never heard a man screaming so desperately. When it was coming from a Muggle, he found a certain gorgeousness in the tenor.

"Izar…"

He slowed. The Muggle was still a good few yards away when Izar heard the voice.

He first thought it was Voldemort, whispering from the depths of the woods. But the voice sounded nothing like the Dark Lord. Izar frowned, peering deeper in the woods. With the aid of the spheres of magic, Izar could faintly see a shadowed form of a man. In less than seconds, it was gone, making Izar realize that it was just a silhouette of a tree trunk. He hissed, annoyed with himself. Since when did he become so paranoid?

He breathed deeply, continuing his run.

He didn't get very far.

Arms enclosed around him and his feet were lifted cleanly off the snow covered ground. "In where the predator becomes the prey," a voice mused darkly in his ear.

Both the words and the tone went straight to his groin. Izar hissed, hating himself for that. He struggled against the binding arms, rearing his head back. "You are interrupting me—"

He was roughly cut off as he was pushed fiercely into a nearby tree trunk. He blinked, trying to regain his bearings as black dots danced across his vision. When he finally regained his balance, Voldemort was nowhere in sight. He could hear the dark chuckle coming from behind him as the Dark Lord circled him.

Voldemort then prowled before Izar, looking up and down his frame before disappearing back around the tree. "I see you've accepted."

Accepted? Izar assumed the man was speaking about the choice he had offered Izar this evening; the choice to step out of this…relationship with Voldemort and turn his back on it all, or to continue. Izar gave a silly grin, tipping back his head to stare at the naked branches of the tree. "And you knew, before I was even given the choice, which I would choose," he accused lightly.

"You would be disappointed in me if I didn't know you well enough to foresee your decision."

The voice sounded as if it came from his left ear. He turned, not surprised when Voldemort wasn't anywhere in sight.

"Nonetheless, it was still a choice I gave you, no?" the man purred.

Within seconds, his left hand was grabbed and his fingerless glove was pulled cleanly off his wrist. Izar hissed, seeing red. He curled his naked fingers into his sleeve, not giving the Dark Lord the pleasure of seeing the Celtic band on his finger. The man was still playing in the shadows when Izar turned. Thanks to the heavy Yuletide magic in the air, he couldn't see the exact location of the Dark Lord.

"The choices you give me don't seem genuine when you keep me on the short leash you favor." He hated this. By wearing his fingerless glove tonight, he was giving himself some equality with Voldemort. And now it was gone.

He breathed deeply to calm himself. At least he had the knowledge that he had manipulated the Dark Mark. And that's what gave him the patience to continue standing there like a calm adult. Otherwise, he would have stamped his foot and hissed out insults to the man before storming away.

"And yet," Voldemort murmured as he stepped from the shadows, "you knew the consequences of coming tonight, dressed in the robes I gave you. You knew the 'leash' around your throat would shorten the moment you accepted the alea iacta est." The man cocked his head and a mockingly concerned expression marred the cruel handsomeness. "Unless, of course, you didn't put two and two together—"

"Of course I did," Izar seethed. "You think me an idiot?"

Voldemort lost his mocking concern and offered a cold, lipless smile. Distant screams from the Muggles made his expression a lot more chilling than it should have been. "An idiot?" Voldemort whispered. "Of course not. But I think you are naïve, and oblivious to what you think you're getting yourself into with me." The man paused to consider Izar through lowered lids. "But you cannot turn back, not now. It is too late, I'm afraid."

Izar remained silent. Perhaps he was naïve to think it would be beneficial to continue his relationship with the Dark Lord. Perhaps he didn't even know the extent of Voldemort's cruelty, but it was what Izar wanted. He thought he may have inherited some of the Black insanity because he wanted that cruelness the Dark Lord had to offer; he wanted to exploit it and use it for himself. Izar supposed he would need to get used to the man's overwhelming dominance. But that didn't mean Izar had to take it lying down on his belly.

Voldemort took an agonizingly slow step forward. Spidery fingers reached forward and brushed across Izar's jaw. "You look delicious," the man intoned softly, almost inaudibly. Before Izar could respond to the touch and the words, the cold fingers left his jaw and the man turned his heel. "Stay."

Blinking, he watched the black form disappear entirely from view. Izar played with the idea of leaving, but decided against it. Instead, he leaned against the tree trunk and waited for the Dark Lord to come back.

It must have been only a few seconds before Voldemort strolled back. Izar straightened up, blinking when he caught sight of the Muggle in Voldemort's arms. Izar wasn't even going to consider how the man had caught the Muggle so quickly. Instead, he watched as the Dark Lord dropped the broad-shouldered man at Izar's feet, looking oddly pleased with himself.

Not being able to stop himself, Izar laughed quietly. In all ways, Voldemort looked like a dog dropping a prize at his master's feet. He didn't dare voice his opinion on that, especially when he caught sight of the emotion behind Voldemort's eyes. The man was… lustful, and there were sinister shadows dancing within the crimson eyes.

"I want to see you have fun," Voldemort breathed lustfully. The Dark Lord lifted his lip, revealing white teeth that all but glowed in the dim lighting.

"I don't torture," Izar replied stubbornly. It was better to admit to the Dark Lord now, rather than later,that he didn't prefer torture. The Muggle at his feet was magically bound, but his eyes revealed his relief at Izar's words.

Pity Izar wasn't against killing.

Crimson eyes gleamed as the Dark Lord stepped closer to Izar. "Is that because you refuse to torture or because you don't know how?" The man reached out to ghost his fingers across Izar's jaw. At Izar's glower, Voldemort smirked. "Then you'll do it for me."

"One spell," Izar concurred. "I will cast one spell that kills him, but it could count as a torture spell."

Voldemort looked down his nose at the Muggle. Izar could see the Dark Lord was itching to torture the man himself. He could only imagine Voldemort's torture. Izar considered allowing Voldemort to have the Muggle himself, but Izar had been the one to chase after his prize. He wanted to kill the Muggle.

"Such a waste," Voldemort murmured. "However, if you make it worthwhile, I will step aside and allow it." Voldemort moved silently behind Izar, placing his mouth near the Ravenclaw's ear. "Make it painful. Make him scream." A tongue ventured out and licked the side of his neck.

Izar couldn't stop his body from shaking in pleasure at the man's tone. There was something intoxicating about the Dark Lord, something that made Izar crave anything he could get from the man. And feeling the man's excited and aroused aura was overwhelming.

Izar crouched near the Muggle, raising his lip in disgust.

"You're just a boy…" the man whispered.

Izar clenched his jaw, trying to remain calm. It was the wrong thing to say… and the wrong assumption. Izar tisked, reaching out to touch the Muggle's face. He held the man's jaw as he traced his wand down the Muggle's face. "'Desperation is sometimes as powerful an inspirer as genius,'" he quoted softly as he stared into the desperate eyes of the Muggle. His wand pressed into the Muggle's cheek before he drew back and stood.

At his back, Voldemort wrapped his long fingers around Izar's neck, almost choking him. "Do it," Voldemort whispered huskily in his ear.

"Not yet," Izar murmured back, ignoring the tight grip on his neck. As he dropped his wand to his side he watched as hope flickered across the Muggle man's eyes. Izar smiled, bathing in the emotion of hope. This was what he had been waiting for. He wanted the Muggle man to have high spirits before he dropped his curse on him. There was always something satisfying about shattering someone's hopes.

Waving his wand, Izar magically ripped the man's shirt. The Muggle's nude skin rippled with goose bumps as it touched the cold air. The man grunted, frightened. Izar smiled coolly before bringing his wand in a tight half-wave. "Interstringo statumen."

Because Izar cut off the man's shirt, he was able to see his spell in action. The man tipped back his neck and screamed as his ribs stretched and broke off from the sternum. Izar eyed the ribs as they rose underneath the skin, looking ready to pierce through as they were pried apart. Before long, they did pierce through the skin. With ease, the ribs broke through the tissue and muscle, and blood began to stain the man's body and the snow underneath him.

Voldemort hissed in praise as he recognized the spell. An arm snaked around Izar's waist, clutching his hip possessively.

Izar waved his wand again, making the magical binds disappear. He wanted to watch the man struggle. If he was bound, it wouldn't be as much fun.

The Muggle arched, his face beginning to moisten with sweat and tears. His screams had died down to pathetic whimpers once his ribs were fully out of his chest and poised above. The scene resembled a large cooked turkey sitting at the feast table with all the meat generously taken off. If Izar looked closely enough, he could see the lungs and a bit of the heart, though he averted his eyes, not particularly inclined to see such gore. He was doing this curse for the Dark Lord, not for himself. Izar just enjoyed the Muggle's suffering.

Just as the Muggle thought the spell would be complete, the ribs arched one last time before diving back in on the chest. They pierced through the lungs and the heart, similar to sharp jaws sinking into their prey. The man screamed before he was choked by his own blood bubbling out of his mouth.

Izar turned away, his stomach a bit weak.

The blood and gore were immediately erased from his mind once cool lips pressed into his. Izar's neck was still clutched by Voldemort's tightening hand. If he wanted to pull away from the Dark Lord, he wouldn't be able to.

But whoever said he wanted to pull away?

With the Muggle's suffering gasps coming to a halt, Izar was pushed against the tree and lifted off the ground and above Voldemort by a single hand. His legs automatically wrapped around Voldemort's waist to gain a bit of control and balance in their position. The hand around his neck loosened before his cheek was taken captive by the cool palm. The kiss… it was far more graceful than the one Izar initiated yesterday. No… graceful was the wrong word for it. It was burning, possessive, and dominating, but also poised.

Izar pulled away, breathing unevenly. Trying to steady his spinning vision, he leaned his head against the tree, looking down at Voldemort's clouded expression. The Dark Lord wasn't out of breath like Izar was. In fact, not a hair was out of place as he gazed predatorily up at him.

Narrowing his eyes, Izar reached out and curled his fingers around Voldemort's hair, pulling at it. Crimson eyes became hooded with pleasure as the man stepped closer to Izar, pushing their bodies flush against one another. Hot breath tickled Izar's face and he tried to keep from shuddering. He was so dizzy and ill. His fever was just as hot as his aroused stomach. He ignored his illness, wanting to feel all Voldemort had to offer.

Yanking at Riddle's hair, Izar crushed their lips together. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew he was going too fast with Voldemort. He was initiating something dangerous. But he was too dizzy to think straight. And he was enjoying this all too much.

Voldemort's tongue traced Izar's bottom lip before forcing itself in his mouth. The man claimed every inch of Izar's mouth brutally. And then Izar felt the hard evidence of Voldemort's arousal pressing against his own groin. Izar ripped his lips away from Voldemort, unable to escape the lips as Voldemort continued to suck and bite his neck. The erection pushing against his robes was so thick and warm. Izar issued a breathless moan, frightened and eager.

"Don't make noises like that, child," Voldemort scolded briskly. His hips thrust into Izar, making the younger wizard dizzy with it all. "I find it hard enough to control myself when you are docile."

"I am not docile," Izar hissed, his fingers curling into claws at Voldemort's back. As he inhaled the cool air, he found his mind clearing.

He turned his head away as Voldemort came at his lips again. The Dark Lord gave a threatening hiss before grabbing Izar's chin roughly, turning him around and claiming his lips. Teeth pierced his bottom lip and Izar reared his head back in pain. His fingers unhooked themselves from Voldemort's back before ghosting across the man's neck and settling on the gaunt cheeks.

Boldly, he scratched his nails down the older man's cheeks. Skin ripped and liquid stained underneath his fingernails. He bit the tongue in his mouth, drawing just as much blood from Voldemort as the man had drawn from him.

Voldemort growled.

"Stop," Izar whispered, swallowing the iron taste of blood. He pushed Voldemort's chest with his palms, knowing that if Voldemort continued, the Dark Lord wouldn't stop despite his claims that he wouldn't take Izar as of yet. "Stop," Izar spoke assertively as he turned his body away from the Dark Lord. "I'm not ready for this."

Surprisingly, Voldemort released his hold on Izar and dropped him to the ground without a taunting word. Before Izar could fall on the ground, he balanced himself against the tree. He took a few calming breaths before straightening up and meeting the crimson eyes. They burned fiercely as they met his own. Voldemort's eyes showed a piece of his creature side, the side that had most likely pinned Izar against the tree.

Izar's lips twitched in superiority as he eyed the vertical cuts claiming the Dark Lord's cheeks. He had marked the Dark Lord.

"Don't get too pleased until you have seen your own appearance," Voldemort drawled smugly, his hair a mess from Izar's insistent pulling. The man backed away, placing distance between them in order to gather his cool confidence once again.

Izar's knees shook but his robes hid the evidence from the other man. He inhaled, closing his eyes.

"Happy New Year, my child."

Charcoal-green eyes snapped open. It wasn't a surprise that he was alone with a Muggle corpse and an abandoned fingerless glove in the snow.

{Death of Today}

He leaned against the cool window of the train. The train shook and Izar was almost lulled into a deep slumber. The only thing keeping him awake and aware were the silver eyes watching him.

Winter break had passed quickly and the spring term was beginning at Hogwarts. Izar was heading back with a new trunk and a new wardrobe. Regulus had spoiled him this Christmas in terms of gifts. The man passed it off as nothing as he continued to tailor new robes, shirts, and pants for Izar. Even Izar's previously torn Muggle sneakers were replaced with leather trainers.

The one gift Izar couldn't help admiring was the ring on his finger. Luckily, the Black family ring sat on his right ring finger and was not required to be on his left hand where he wore the fingerless glove to hide the Celtic band. Regulus had been hesitant to give the ring to Izar this holiday. He didn't want to pressure Izar into accepting their bond, but Izar had reassured Regulus that he would be proud to wear it.

Izar eyed the ring, enjoying the sight. He finally belonged somewhere. He was no longer a part of the Muggle world. And Izar couldn't help but compare the immense freedom and pride of the Black ring to the constricting and oppressive Celtic band.

"Is there something you would like to address?" Izar drawled, not looking up at Draco.

The blond boy was remaining stubbornly silent. No words had been spoken between the two wizards since the first day of the holidays. Izar was sure it was his rejection that had quieted the usual chatty Malfoy heir. He felt no remorse for what he had done or said. It was better that he push Draco down now rather than Voldemort doing it later.

"Just wondering if you had noticed Greengrass' avoidance," Draco murmured coolly. "Or were you too busy admiring that ring on your finger?"

Izar issued a sigh, finally turning to look at the boy. "Malfoy, if you find my presence boring, go find your friends and chat over Chocolate Frogs and Liquorice Wands. I have no inclination to analyze Daphne's avoidance, nor do I care." He sat back against the seat of the compartment, irritated.

He had noticed Daphne's stand-offish attitude towards him as he boarded the Hogwarts Express. She had given him a cool stare before she turned her heel and entered a compartment with other Slytherin students. Wanting to be alone anyway, Izar found his own compartment before being joined by Draco.

Draco stood up, looking the role of a cool pure-blood. He advanced closer to Izar, smirking. "You refused her father's act of proposal. She's obviously peeved."

Izar's jaw clenched and he refrained from closing his eyes in exasperation. Why was it that the longer he spent time with Regulus and Voldemort, the more he found himself unable to tolerate being in the proximity of people his own age? Dealing with the other students again made him realize that graduating early may be for the better.

"Draco, I don't care," Izar repeated before turning to look back out at the window.

"And you have no reason to care," the boy stated confidently as he sat down next to Izar. "She'll get over it eventually, I'm sure."

"Just as you will get over my rejection and not pretend it never happened?" Izar replied sweetly, giving the boy a stare. "I know you. You're acting as if it never happened."

Draco's face darkened and he leaned closer to Izar. "What would you like me to do? Mope around miserably?" A blond eyebrow perked upward. "I have your attention. And that's all that matters. For now." Draco leaned backward in his seat, sniffing superiorly.

Izar continued to stare at the Malfoy heir, who preferred to turn a blind eye to Izar's examination. Hopefully Draco wouldn't do anything reckless and foolish. In the past, Draco seemed to do foolish things just to get attention, just to get something he wanted. It was a purely childish thing to do, especially when Draco didn't know he was playing against the Dark Lord Voldemort. And Izar was certain Riddle wouldn't stand by passively the second time Draco pressed forward.

Touching a finger to his lips, he remembered staring at himself in the mirror the night after the Yuletide celebration. His hair had been in disarray and his lips had been both bloodied and swollen. It had given him a sort of thrill, seeing himself like that. But it also disgusted him to know he had bent so far for the Dark Lord.

"Ready for the Second Task?" Draco questioned.

Izar tore his hand away from his lips, shaking himself from his musings. "Of course," he commented dryly before turning back to the window. "The Second Task is just dueling."

"But aren't you worried that your dueling style will be recognized? I mean, what if an Auror or Ministry member watches you tomorrow and then notices a Death Eater on the battlefield with the same dueling style? You do have a distinctive style." Draco smiled cruelly and stood up. "And your invented spells. That was the reason you won the duel against Aunt Bellatrix. I know you wouldn't want to show off your invented spells to the crowd of spectators, would you?"

Izar's eyes narrowed into slits as they watched the Malfoy heir back up. "What are you playing at, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged lightly. "I'm just concerned," he whispered. His tone suggested that he wasn't concerned in the least. In fact, he sounded smug as he played with Izar's emotions. "Good luck, Izar." With that, the blond boy left the compartment, slamming the door shut behind him.

Izar continued to stare at the frosty glass door before he realized what Draco was trying to accomplish. He leaned back, chuckling. The boy was attempting to play mind games with him. It was somewhat amusing. Draco was trying to prove himself worthy of Izar's attentions. Sadly, the boy didn't hold a flame to the Dark Lord. And Izar had a hunch that if he returned the mind games with Draco, the boy wouldn't come out of it sane.

He played with the notion of teaching Draco a lesson. It was a possibility, but at the moment, Izar had other pressing topics to think about.

Even if Draco was just trying to press Izar's buttons, the boy did have a valid point. His dueling style was distinctive. Izar would be on display for many spectators tomorrow at the Second Task. Would they recognize his dueling if he was on the Death Eater's side, donned with a mask? He knew he wanted to remain an Unspeakable with the Ministry for a very long time, but if he was discovered to be supporting a Dark Lord, his career would be in shambles.

He pursed his lips.

"Izar…"

Charcoal-green eyes flashed toward the door, eyeing the shadowed figure on the other side. His migraine grew stronger as he stood up and approached the door. Quickly, he slid the door aside, stiffening when he saw no one on the other side. Instead, a rush of cool air hit his face, raising goose bumps across his neck and back.

Izar's hands grasped the door tightly, his knuckles turning white. Slamming the door shut, he fell to his knees, shuddering from the fever racing across his body.

He closed his eyes and tried to put himself back together. All the while, his mind raced with possibilities. The night at the Yuletide celebration, he had heard and seen the same thing. That night, he thought it had been his imagination. But what had just transpired made him think it wasn't his imagination.

When the burning on his face became almost unbearable, he took out his wand and cast a nonverbal spell to see his reflection. Leaning closer to the spelled mirror, Izar's eyes dilated when he caught sight of the red marks on both his cheeks.

Each red mark was in the shape of a hand print.

{Death of Today}

The incident on the train was pushed to the back of Izar's mind as soon as he arrived at Hogwarts, and even more so when he stood in his Champion robes on the day of the Second Task.

The Champions were ushered onto the Quidditch Pitch, except the pitch had been transfigured into something entirely different today. It was resembled a giant fish tank full of murky water, which reached a depth where diving from remarkable heights wouldn't cause injury. In the center of the pitch, floating above the water, was a wide stone platform. It rose several meters into the air, coming eye-level with the spectators in the stands.

The stone dais was obviously the dueling platform. Judging from the visible aura Izar could see around the stone, he decided that there was more to it than just a simple platform, though he couldn't figure out what, exactly, the magic was being used for.

Izar looked down on the floating dock that he, the other champions, and the judges stood upon. The dock was floating right out of reach of the calm water, and was dwarfed by the large stone platform. Izar knew the dock would be the transportation unit to bring the duelers up to the platform.

The crowd in the stands was larger than in any Quidditch match Izar had the pleasure of seeing in his first years. Their faces weren't very distinguishable from where he stood, but he knew as soon as he stood on the dueling platform that he would be able to see some of them quite clearly.

Off to the side, a screen-like canvas stood. It was the same device the judges used for the First Task. On the screen, a large timer was displayed, as well as pictures of the three Champions. They were ordered by score. Izar looked sourly at his picture at the bottom. He currently had seventy points. Cyprien was at the top with eighty-five and Lukas was in the middle with eighty points.

Dumbledore cast a Sonorus on his throat. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. Let us quickly explain the rules and expectations before we begin."

The crowd quieted as they looked down at the Champions and the judges.

Izar eyed the tall politician beside him. Riddle stood lazily, almost as if he didn't notice the floor beneath his feet was moving.

"The Second Task is simply dueling, with a few obstacles, of course." Dumbledore waved a hand at the circular platform above. Izar craned his neck to look up at it. "With each minute a duel continues, both Champions will be awarded a point. If a Champion is thrown off the platform and into the water, they will cease gaining points and the duel will be over."

Izar grimaced. He wasn't especially frightened of heights, he just wasn't inclined to be thrown off the platform into the watery depths below. But someone would need to make a splash for the duel to end.

"If the winner maintains hold of their wand when the duel ends, he is awarded four extra points. However, if the winner loses his wand in the midst of the duel, then he will only be awarded two extra points." Dumbledore paused in order to let the information sink in.

Ideally, just as Dumbledore had stated, it was best to disarm and win with your wand in hand. Izar imagined that if a Champion dropped their wand or was disarmed, but remained standing on the platform before their opponent touched the water first, they were awarded two points.

"There are ways to make up for lost points," Dumbledore continued, speaking mainly to the three Champions on the dock with him. "However, you can only participate in gaining more points if you are still standing on the platform without your wand at the end of the duel. With each thirty seconds that pass, the Champion in question is awarded five points for successfully staying on the platform."

Izar frowned. There had to be a catch, otherwise the Champions would try to lose their wands in the midst of the duel in order to gain more points. Five points awarded for each thirty seconds standing on the platform?

"Sound easy?" Dumbledore chuckled before flicking his wand to the circular platform.

With a moan, the stone began to move. The circular platform started off rocking back and forth at a decent pace. But as time past, it started to tip from all angles and drop in height before shooting back up. It made Izar's stomach weak just imagining himself trying to balance without his wand.

Dumbledore continued. "The platform will also begin to move if both Champions are still dueling at the five minute mark. In this case, they shall have to contend not only with their opponent, but with their environment."

Next to Izar, Cyprien Beaumont nodded confidently, his fingers flexing around his wand. Lukas Steinar, on the other hand, whispered with his father, eyeing the platform in barely hidden fear. The boy was afraid of heights. Izar could use that to his advantage.

"I expect you to win this Task," a breathless order was whispered in his ear. "You will be in first place by the end of the dueling matches."

Izar's eye twitched at the order. He turned to look at the man's charmed brown eyes through the cheater glasses. Riddle looked entirely serious and unsympathetic. No encouragement was seen in the man's expression, nothing but a cold order twisted the man's lips.

"You couldn't have told me sooner?" he murmured back.

Riddle arched an eyebrow. "You should expect to win every Task, Izar. This one is just needed, especially after the outcome of the First Task."

Izar turned his shoulder sharply on the man, feeling his chest tighten. The man was hiding something yet again. Whenever it came to the Triwizard Tournament, Voldemort was tight-lipped and he tiptoed around Izar. There was a reason Izar was being pressured into winning this Task and not the others. The poisoning from the First Task, Daphne's attack, and everything in between was anticipated by the Dark Lord. The man knew what was transpiring, yet he kept quiet.

Looking back on his past actions, Izar was grateful he had gone to Sirius for help in dueling. Otherwise, this Task would be deemed impossible.

"The first and third place Champions will start us off," Dumbledore concluded merrily before canceling the Sonorus. "Good luck to you all." Blue eyes twinkled as he patted the three Champions on their shoulders before ushering the dock up to the stands.

Izar watched bitterly as the judges and Lukas stepped off the dock. He avoided Riddle's stare, wondering why he found the man appealing. It was times like this that Izar wanted to gouge the man's eyes out.

Suddenly, the dock twitched and began rising once again up to the stone platform in the middle of the pitch. Izar regained his balance and watched as the dock inched closer to the stands and the circular dueling platform. Both Cyprien and Izar were gaining in height and the Ravenclaw tried not to look down.

It seemed all too soon when the dock came to rest beside the stone dueling platform. The redheaded Champion and Izar shared a look, both uncertain about stepping onto the stone platform.

Izar lifted his chin and stepped off the dock. The stone underneath his feet was sturdy, almost as if it was anchored surely on solid ground. If he hadn't seen the setup of the Task before hand, he would have never known that the platform was suspended above murky waters without any anchors but magic holding it up. Shrugging to himself, he looked down, off the side of the dueling ring, and into the waters below. It was a far fall. His stomach knotted just thinking about falling down into the water below.

If he won his duels like Riddle expected him to, Izar wouldn't have to fall.

Cyprien followed Izar, walking to the opposite side of the platform. The dock that had transported them up to the dueling stone zoomed away, back to the water beneath them. Izar refused to watch its descent.

Izar found himself eyeing the roaring crowd. Because the professors' box sat directly to his right, he could see Regulus clearly. His father was sitting near Severus Snape and Sirius Black with the rest of the adults. Regulus nodded toward Izar, a comforting smile stretching across his face. Regulus' eyes nonchalantly turned to the right before quickly looking back at Izar.

Frowning, Izar turned to see what had caught his father's attention.

"Bow to your opponent," Dumbledore's voice boomed from below.

Lily and James Potter were sitting in the stands.


Scoring:

Disarming: With wand in hand= 4 points awarded

*Without wand= 2 points awarded

Dueling: Each minute dueling= 1 point awarded

After Disarming: Every thirty seconds on platform= 5 points awarded

{Notes: I know it is difficult to picture the setup to the Task. I had a lot of trouble describing it in words. It isn't really that important. Just know it's a big fall from the dueling platform to the waters below. And the platform is suspended in midair by only magic… like a flying carpet- but it's larger and made of stone. If that helps any? I'm not really going to concern myself over the setup. It's the duels that are important.}