This is a very long chapter- and it's also my response to your reviews from last chapter ;)

Chapter Thirty

Sweaty and shaking fists slammed against the stone wall in an angry desperation. Labored breaths clashed with the silent corridors as a boy struggled to put himself together.

Just go to Snape or Riddle…

No, he couldn't. There was something that tore at him when he had to bend his neck and ask for help.

Moreover, Snape wasn't on Izar's list of trusted men. Since Lily had informed Izar of the spy for the Order, Izar had stayed wary of the man. Regulus told him Snape was a double agent, an agent who gave a bit of information to Dumbledore about Voldemort, but not enough to do damage to the Dark. Voldemort was aware of Snape's spy status and told the potions master what he can and cannot share with Dumbledore.

Nevertheless, Izar still felt uncertain about Snape, especially because his concussion symptoms had started to flare back up a few weeks after Snape's treatment. That had been four months ago. At first, Izar had put it off as the symptoms he had been feeling ever since Christmas; but those symptoms consisted of a fever, chills, and an occasional headache. It was nothing like this. His stomach was weak, his head was full of painful aches, and his body was slick with sweat.

He licked his lips, trying to steady the dizziness.

When Izar had noticed the concussion flare ups, he began to brew his own potions that would stabilize the inner bruising and bleeding in his brain. The concussion relievers took a few weeks to brew, so he had only ingested two batches so far.

The potions hadn't done anything to dull the pain or level off the symptoms.

There was always the option of going to Regulus if he couldn't bend his neck to Riddle. But Regulus wasn't near Hogwarts. The man had no authority to stay in the castle, especially because he wasn't a high-end politician or professor. Dumbledore didn't see fit to allow him to stay either. There were occasions when Regulus visited Sirius during the weekends and Izar got to spend time with him, but those visits became less and less— almost as if Dumbledore had gotten wind of them.

Izar breathed softly, his palm dancing across the sharp stone wall. A few stones nicked the soft flesh of his hand, but he paid no heed. He felt so distant from everyone, especially Riddle, Sirius, and Regulus. There had been no time for conversations with those men. There always seemed to be something stopping him from engaging a conversation with those men. And the common factor pointed to Dumbledore.

Every day, after completing his homework, he seemed to favor the small marsh at the opposite end of Hogwarts' grounds; the same marsh Voldemort had brought him earlier in the year. It calmed him for a time before he had to go back in the castle.

Daphne was remaining close and constantly asked if he was feeling alright. It would seem as if the conversation they shared in the Hospital Wing four months ago hadn't stopped her from acting normally around him. They never broached the topic of the arranged marriage and Izar felt no hurry to do so. He hadn't come to a decision as of yet.

Draco, on the other hand, kept his distance.

He pressed his forehead against the corridor wall, urging himself that he needed to pull himself together. He had a meeting with the Hogwarts Board of Governors in a few minutes. Apparently, Izar's request for taking the NEWTs early had finally gone through. Izar would need to meet with them today and formally request permission to take the exams early in order to graduate this year. They would make a decision today.

"Izar…"

Izar straightened up, refusing to turn to look. The voice he had been hearing happened rarely, but enough to remind him that something was not right. He had his suspicions that this voice had to do with the Veil and Cygnus' Curse. Or perhaps it was an enemy who had the ability to warp magic as easily as Izar.

He felt the aura come closer and chilling goose bumps raised the back of his neck. He was unsure if it was a spirit of some kind, or something else entirely. The question of this apparition's gender was also unsolved. Izar first thought it was a male when he heard it during the winter holidays and on the train to Hogwarts. But the more he heard it, the more he realized that it was a raspy whisper, something that could be either male or female.

Or maybe there was no gender to this apparition. Perhaps it was just magic in a cloaked-like form.

"Leave me," Izar rasped out, sounding just as hoarse as the apparition itself.

"Lovely…"

Izar turned. The world spun but he could make out the tall cloaked-like form. It was a smoky grey, almost transparent in the dark corridor. The figure moved, reaching out to Izar. Knowing what would happen if the apparition made physical contact with him, Izar put up his arms, hoping to avoid the red hand marks on his face again.

Instead, a sharp cold pain wrapped around his hand before the apparition vanished.

Controlling his breathing, Izar lowered his arms. Even in the dim light, he could see the reddening flesh on his hand. More specifically, his Black ring was sitting innocently in the middle of the visible hand print.

"Izar?"

Unable to control his flinch, Izar turned to see Cyprien Beaumont walking slowly toward him. "Cyprien?" he questioned calmly. "What are you doing here?"

The redheaded French Champion cautiously took a step closer, peering at Izar. "I had to speak with Minister Serge Roux and Headmistress Maxime and I heard you in the corridor." The boy's eyes danced across Izar's sweat-beaded forehead and then across his drawn features. "Are you alright?" Even if Cyprien manipulated his concern in form of a question, the redhead knew Izar was far from fine.

Nonetheless, Izar straightened up, brushing the back of his hand across his forehead to wipe off the sweat. He offered the tall boy a light grin. "Of course, just a bit tired."

"If you're sure," Cyprien murmured softly.

Izar put one foot in front of the other, giving a sharp nod. The two walked down the corridor together and Izar noticed Cyprien lag back slightly, his posture suggesting that he was ready to catch Izar if he fainted.

Did he really look that bad?

He brought up his fingers and gently pinched his cheeks to bring a bit of color. With his wand, he cast a nonverbal drying spell around his face and neck, getting rid of the sweat that lingered there. After adjusting his Ravenclaw robes and running his fingers through his hair, he smirked at the redhead. Cyprien was watching him with suspicion. Let the boy question what Izar was going through. Izar would never tell his rivalry that he was ill, no matter how obvious it may seem.

He would just need to brew another concussion reliever. Madame Pomfrey most likely had a few doses of the potion reliever already brewed, but Izar didn't trust anybody but himself. He'd rather go through the long process of brewing his own.

"Are you ready for the Third Task?" Izar questioned lightly, turning another corridor on his way to the Headmaster's office. He didn't know if Cyprien was following him because the boy was uncertain about Izar's ability to get there or if the redhead was actually heading in the same direction.

"I can't believe it's only in a few days," Cyprien began. His French accent wasn't as strong as the other Beauxbaton students, Izar noted. "But I'm feeling pretty confident about it. And you?"

Izar mused. If he was feeling like this, he had no chance at succeeding in the Task, especially if it was a physical competition just as much as it was magical. "Likewise," Izar responded self-assuredly. "Are you looking forward to going back home?"

Cyprien raked his fingers through his lengthy red hair and glanced down the corridor. "It will be nice to see my parents again," the boy conceded. "But I enjoyed Britain. Hogwarts is a very beautiful castle." Cyprien seemed to hesitate. "Have you found out who has targeted you in the attacks?"

Only curiosity showed through in Cyprien's expression. Izar could see no deceiving, yet the boy could be a decent actor. But then again, Izar found it highly doubtful that Cyprien was behind the attacks. If the Ravenclaw wanted to know more about the culprit, he would have to go to Riddle and get the answers. Finding the answer from the Dark Lord was impossible though, considering Izar had asked numerous times before. It still irked him that Voldemort knew who it was, or, had a very large inkling as to who it could be.

There was another who may know about the culprit.

Lukas Steinar.

The Durmstrang boy had seen Colin Creevey put the Vesania in Izar's cup at the Yule Ball. Granted, the Gryffindor Creevey was under the Imperius at the time, but Steinar may have seen more than he let on.

It was an impossible mystery to solve, especially because there were so many suspects. And Izar would rather rot in hell then ask Lukas any questions relating to the incident. He couldn't trust the Norwegian boy. He couldn't trust anybody but himself. That was why he kept his concussion symptoms a secret. He could go to Madame Pomfrey, but again, he found it difficult to bare his belly to anybody he didn't know.

"I have my suspicions," Izar bluffed in answer to Cyprien's question.

"It's not Steinar," Cyprien declared boldly, an amused smirk twisting his lips. "He may seem aloof and suspicious, but don't let that pretty boy fool you. You could say he has a bit of a crush on you. I'm sure he keeps his distance because he's intimidated by you and because his father would never allow it."

Izar's eyebrows shut up as he paused in his retreat to the Headmaster's office. "Is that so?" He grinned at Cyprien's nod. It shouldn't have come as much as a surprise, he supposed. They teased one another restlessly and Izar subconsciously found himself drawn to the Norwegian. Nothing serious, but enough to inform Izar that he, himself, had a bit of an attraction.

He was never used to these things. After fifteen years of not thinking highly upon relationships, he was often blinded to other's affections. Draco had come to a surprise to Izar, simply because he thought his distant cousin wanted to be close to him platonically, not sexually. Izar didn't possess any attraction to Draco that way. If the boy was a bit more like Lucius Malfoy, perhaps, but he believed Draco could never be close to his father's persona. Draco was more of a soft-hearted soul beneath a stubborn mask of malice.

Lukas, on the other hand, was smart and handsome. There was depth to the boy, a certain depth that drew Izar to him.

Lukas was a soft flame to Izar. A flame so soft, that Izar would only wince if he touched it.

Voldemort was a roaring flame that both seared him and chilled him. There was never any competition. And Izar hated that Voldemort held so much sway over him.

"And what makes you think that?" Izar continued his path to the Headmaster's office. He was walking at a slow pace, trying to keep steady when the rest of the world spun. He could feel the sweat start to bead at the back of his neck again.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Cyprien shot back, stopping before the stairs to the Headmaster's office.

The entrance was open, suggesting that Dumbledore had kept it open for his guests. Taking out the pocket watch Voldemort had given him, Izar glanced down at the time. The meeting would be starting in a couple of minutes.

Cyprien, sensing Izar was needed elsewhere, nodded. "I'll see you at the luncheon before the Third Task."

Izar didn't respond. The redhead turned his heel too quickly to form a proper response. Charcoal-green eyes narrowed on the Beauxbaton Champion. The boy had accompanied him to Dumbledore's office as if he were making sure Izar didn't fall flat on his face.

He didn't need help.

His mask shattered and his face contorted with a strong sense of vulnerability. He shakily rubbed at his face once again and swallowed the bile that settled in his throat. His stomach growled unpleasantly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten for a while. Even if he did eat, however, it wouldn't stay down. He was incredibly nauseous.

Clenching his fists and jaw, Izar squared his shoulders and walked up the stairs. The stone steps see-sawed in front of him and he had to run his hand along side the wall to keep his balance. From his position on the stairs, he could feel the auras inside before he even knew who was in there. It made his headache increase dangerously. He hesitated, wondering if there was an option to turn back around and reschedule.

But when he recognized who sat inside, he decided against it.

Riddle, Dumbledore, and Lucius Malfoy were in there, along with a few others. Izar remembered there were twelve governors on the Hogwarts Board. Would they all be there? He prayed to Merlin they weren't. If Cyprien could see how miserable he truly felt, the other politicians would have a sharper eye. There was always the option of casting a glamour. However, even if he knew all the different types of glamours and their properties, he knew he wasn't particularly decent with casting one on himself.

If he cast an inadequate glamour over his face, it would draw more attention than having no glamour at all.

"Mr. Harrison," Dumbledore greeted as soon as Izar stepped into the office. "It's good to see you made it."

The office was arranged with a long table next to the Headmaster's desk. As predicted, the whole Board had a seat behind the solid oak table. Papers were strewn across the desktop and large-feathered quills were dipped in ink jars. Most of the Board members were male; however, there were two older females who sat poised among the ten men.

Riddle was sitting at the end of the table, separated from the Board members. Next to him, Professor McGonagall sat. On the other side of Riddle, Professor Flitwick struggled to see above the top of the table.

Izar cleared his throat, catching the predatory eyes of Riddle before nodding to Dumbledore in cool greeting. "Headmaster."

The old man peered at Izar over his glasses in a concerned manner. Luckily, the Headmaster held his tongue and gestured at the lone desk sitting in front of the Board. "Please sit, Mr. Harrison," the man invited.

Izar made his way over to the desk and shakily sat down, his face a mask of indifference. As he leaned back against the chair, his eyes locked immediately with Lucius Malfoy. As always, the man was a painted portrait of poise and cold splendor. A velvet ribbon tied his long, platinum blond hair at the nape of his neck. Only Lucius Malfoy could make a bloody ribbon look masculine.

"Mr. Black," Lucius greeted, his lips curling upward as if he could sense Izar's thoughts. His cool silver eyes danced across Izar's face, most likely noting the tension and ill pallor in his expression. "Let's get right down to business, shall we?"

With a grateful nod from Izar, Lucius glanced down at the parchments in front of him. "The Hogwarts Board of Governors and I have received your formal proposal requesting permission to take your NEWTs early." Lucius looked up, sharing a meaningful look with Izar. They both knew the Dark Lord was the one to submit the proposal, not Izar.

"How old are you, Mr…" one of the women trailed off, looking uncertain as to how to address him. Harrison? Or Black?

Next to her, Lucius narrowed his sights on her, looking almost disgusted that she had taken over his Board.

Izar blinked heavily, feeling a bead of sweat drop down the side of his neck. "Izar Black, ma'am. And I am fifteen." It had taken a few days to correct his professors with his surname. Eventually, they all addressed him as Black, save for Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Fifteen," she repeated back at him. Stiffening straighter, she leaned forward. "Most the students who decide to take the NEWTs are seventeen, the majority are eighteen." Her face became blurry in his eyes and he tried his hardest not to squint up at her. "What made you decide to take your NEWTs early?"

It took a moment for her words to register through his murky head. "I have decided I want to graduate early, ma'am. This year."

The Board murmured and shifted.

"And rightfully so," Lucius took over naturally. "Mr. Black is a prodigy. He has already skipped a grade level this year and he has passed his OWLs with top marks at the age of fourteen." Lucius took another parchment from his stack of papers and peered down at it with exaggerated interest. "He was awarded with an 'Outstanding' in all his courses." The man's eyebrows heightened. "With the exception of one."

Izar's ears burned at the mention of the course he had passed with only an 'Acceptable'.

"History of Magic," Izar answered for the Board as he watched them shift through their papers for his scores. "I only passed with an 'Acceptable' in History of Magic."

A few quiet chuckles were issued from the Board. Lucius' own lips twisted in amusement. "Yes, Professor Binns lectures that course." Lucius' silver eyes danced across the office toward Dumbledore. The rest of the Board turned to look at the Headmaster, interested. "There has been numerous times in which we lightly suggested to replace Professor Binns. Perhaps its time we strongly suggest to replace the… professor."

Izar glanced to his right where Dumbledore stood. The Headmaster stood tall and patient, not at all affected by Lucius' sly words. Glancing back at the Board, Izar paused on Riddle. While the rest of the Board looked to Dumbledore, Riddle had his attention forward on Izar. The Ravenclaw found his pulse quickening from the sheer intensity the man was watching him with. He should have been used to the Dark Lord's strong intensity, but right now, Izar could feel those eyes pierce straight through him.

It made Izar wonder why he ever thought he could hide anything from the man. But then again, four months had passed since he manipulated the Dark Mark and the Dark Lord was still oblivious to that.

One man with grey hair cleared his throat. "Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick are here to offer their opinion on the subject. We would be happy to hear what you think of this situation."

Leaning heavily in his chair, Izar pursed his lips as he concentrated on McGonagall and Flitwick. His fingers tightened in his lap as he struggled to remain unaffected by Riddle's continuing stare.

McGonagall gave a sharp nod. "I was sent personally to the orphanage Mr. Black grew up at when he was ten-years-old. I informed him of Hogwarts and the wizarding world."

Izar's lip twitched in a sneer as he remembered that day. He had been engrossed with her, unable to believe that something good was happening to him after ten years of hell. She had come to the orphanage to inform him of Hogwarts and explain his letter. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. He had been a bit disappointed that she didn't have any outward differences than the rest of the Muggles. In fact, Lucius Malfoy was the first aura he had sensed.

But now he was able to sense every witch and wizard and their magic.

She smiled lightly at the memory. "For not being raised amongst the magical world, Mr. Black showed a very large aptitude for magic. He has surpassed many of his fellow classmates throughout the years and I truly believe he is ready to graduate early and take the NEWTs. He will make a very central figure in the wizarding world."

Izar smiled thinly at her, giving her a nod of thanks.

The same man with grey hair nodded to Flitwick. "And you, Professor Flitwick? You are the boy's Head of House."

Flitwick stood up too quickly on his chair, his stubby arms waving to regain balance when he almost tipped backwards. Riddle, not looking very pleased, caught the chair before it could fall back. Flitwick cleared his throat, flashing a grateful look to an impassive Riddle.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Black would make a fine candidate for taking his NEWTs early. I have never seen Mr. Black do less than satisfactory on his exams and homework assignments. He's a very good student."

Dumbledore frowned lightly as he sat down at his desk. There was nothing the old man could do— this was out of his control. Judging from the man's expression, Dumbledore knew as much.

"Mr. Black," the stern woman demanded his attention. "What made you decide to graduate early? What will you do afterward?" She picked her quill up and looked imploringly at Izar's dazed expression. "Mr. Black?" she repeated in question.

Izar snapped himself out of his haze and nodded. "I find myself bored at Hogwarts. It's a wonderful school and I've always felt at home here, but many days I don't have anything to do. I've exhausted the curriculum here and need to find something that will occupy my time." He paused and nonchalantly wiped his sleeve across his neck. Sweat absorbed the black material and he brought his arm back down to his lap. "As far as what I plan to do after Hogwarts, I have a position reserved with the Unspeakables."

He noticed most the men and women tensed and buried their attention to their papers. That was a typical reaction after hearing the word 'Unspeakable'. Many wizards didn't want to hear anything related to the Department of Mysteries and they closed up afterward. It wasn't forbidden to inform others of one's occupation to the Unspeakables, it just wasn't suggested. As long as he didn't speak of the things they worked on, he was within his rights to inform the Board of his occupation.

"And how often do you study for your exams, Mr. Black?" The same woman asked. She seemed to be the only one, besides Lucius, who spoke up for the Board. Izar could imagine the other members were just puppets for Lucius to pull to his own amusement.

Izar looked down at his desk. "I don't study," he confessed. "I find the lectures in class and the homework the professors hand out are enough material to prepare me for the exam." He didn't bother telling him that he had drowned himself in books and notes the first few years of his Hogwarts experience. Once he realized that knowledge was power, he had absorbed as much information as he could until he was starved for more.

"I don't see any reason to hold Mr. Black back—,"

"He's fifteen," the grey-haired woman interrupted Lucius.

Izar couldn't muster the energy to smirk at the affronted look on Lucius' face at being cut off.

"Mr. Black could be thirteen and still graduate early," Lucius hissed beneath his breath. "Surely, just because your granddaughter struggles to pass her Transfiguration OWL, doesn't mean you should hold back an able boy." Lucius turned to look down his nose at Izar, a predatory gleam to his eyes. "This child is destined for great things."

Izar kept his eyes downcast, unable to lift his chin without his head falling backward. Even if he wasn't looking, he could feel the female Board member become flustered. The woman sniffed, shuffling through her papers.

"You mistake my personal motives with my professional, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Black already has the Triwizard Tournament to deal with. He's already skipped his Fifth year in order to enter his Sixth. Not to mention, the personal issues with his parentage. Too much stress on a young boy does not sit well. What more can he handle until he breaks?"

It already looks as if he's breaking…

She didn't need to say it, simply because Izar could almost feel the unspoken words.

His head remained bowed as he felt the overwhelming nausea sink in his stomach. With pale fingers, he caressed his fingerless glove on his left hand, taking care to ghost over the Celtic band on his finger. Indeed. What more could he handle? And to think she hadn't named half of his problems.

As much as he always wanted to remain strong, to keep himself together, he could feel himself start to crack.

He looked up at her from beneath moistened strands of hair. "I think…" he trailed off, his voice catching.

Behind the Board, he could see the cloaked-like shadow. A high-pitched chuckle escaped from the apparition before it raced across the Headmaster's office and vanished as it came within a few inches from Izar.

He blinked, his pulse accelerating.

Charcoal-green eyes froze over in a cool fury before he lifted his chin. "I can deal with much more, ma'am. With all due respect, I believe it should be my choice if I want to graduate early and take the NEWTs. I know I'm ready to take such a step." He held her gaze, challenging her to say anything more against his word.

Her brown eyes softened as she looked down at the table. "I am only worried for your well-being, Mr. Black. But if this is what you wish, then I think our work here is done." She turned to the rest of the Board. "All in favor of allowing Mr. Black to take his NEWTs?"

All but two people raised their hands. The grey-haired woman and a younger looking male kept their hands in their laps. Dumbledore pursed his lips at the outcome, but wisely stayed silent.

"Then it's settled," Lucius murmured richly. "Mr. Black will take the NEWTs along with the other Seventh year students. We will be looking forward to seeing you graduate with high marks, Mr. Black. Good luck."

Izar quickly stood up, his hand reaching behind him to steady himself on the desk. He quickly bowed at the waist, ignoring the spinning room. "Thank you."

Without so much as another word or glance, Izar swept from the room. He heard his name being called from behind him, but he hurried from the spiraling staircases and into the cool corridors of Hogwarts.

"Mr. Black," the voice called again.

Izar brought up his shoulders, knowing it was Lucius who was following at his heels. Not too far from Malfoy, Riddle was stalking about. Ignoring the two men, Izar turned a quick corner and tried his best to escape the blond-haired man. He didn't want to deal with all this at the moment. And he especially didn't want those two men to see him in such a vulnerable state. All he needed at the moment was to lay his head against something cold and bury himself in bed.

Another dose of the concussion reliever should also be brewed.

His altered Mark stirred. Izar placed his hand on the Mark through his sleeve, trying his best to hide a smile at the tickling sensation. It tickled. Granted, he knew he charmed it to do as such, but his skin was incredibly sensitive today.

"Izar, stop this," Lucius reprehended as if he were scolding a child. "I am only trying to assist you."

Izar stopped his retreat and stiffly waited for the man to approach him from behind. The corridor he was standing in wasn't used very often by the students and it was dimly lit. "I don't need any help, Mr. Malfoy," Izar murmured as he felt the taller male come to a stop from behind him. "You have done enough for me today."

The man's gloved hand descended on his lithe shoulder, squeezing it possessively. Lucius danced around Izar, his hand still taking residence on his shoulder. Malfoy's face seemed to glow in the darkened corridor as he surveyed Izar. With his opposite hand, Lucius brought up his cane and moved away the hair in Izar's face. "You are ill. Why haven't you sought for help?"

"Because the boy has a stubbornness that morphs into stupidity," Riddle purred from the shadows.

Izar's lips thinned as he continued to meet the liquid silver eyes of Lucius. "It's just a common cold," Izar defended himself.

He knew lies were never possible with Voldemort around, yet he attempted one anyway. Perhaps he knew Voldemort wouldn't have believed him because he wasn't at all taken aback when his body was pushed harshly up against the wall. Riddle's hand cushioned his head, stopping it from slamming against the wall… almost as if he knew Izar's head was bothering him and didn't want to do anymore damage.

"You knew," Izar hissed in accusation, staring up at the Undersecretary.

"I knew your head was bothering you? No, but I had my suspicions. I can see the symptoms of a concussion, child. Your pupils are unevenly enlarged and you're holding your head unusually still as if it pains you." Dark eyes of Riddle narrowed. "Tell me. Everything."

{Death of Today}

And Izar had told the Dark Lord everything. He told him that he was experiencing the concussion symptoms once again and that he believed Snape was somehow involved with his current condition.

Which is why Izar was peeved to find himself laying face down in Severus Snape's couch. He glowered and sneered into the pillow his head was cushioned upon. Above him, Snape, Riddle, and Malfoy were looming, staring down at the image of his brain. Snape had cast a scan around his head and a magical image of his brain was materialized for everyone to see.

"What is that?" Lucius murmured in intrigue.

"I assumed as much," Snape's voice drawled from above Izar. Before the Ravenclaw could turn around and see what caught their attention on the brain scan, cold fingers pressed his head further into the pillow. The appendages then ghosted upward and pressed against the bottom of his skull. Izar hissed as a searing pain traveled up his neck and into his brain.

"Right here, near the cerebellum and the medulla, there is a liquid sac full of Aconitum Folliculus."

"Acontium Folliculus?" Izar murmured, reaching up to touch where Snape's fingers were just located. Before his fingers could ghost over the tender area, a hand swatted his fingers away. Izar glowered once again, turning his face out of the pillow and peering at the three adults standing over him. "What is that? I've never heard of it," he admitted, a bit ashamed. But judging from Lucius' and Riddle's oblivious faces, he didn't feel so bad.

"Acontium Folliculus is a drug, or more particularly, a poison. Its properties are drawn to the human brain before attaching to a bruised or bleeding wound outside the tissue. Because of your concussion, the Acontium was drawn to the part of your brain where you damaged it in your fall." Snape informed sharply, looking down his hooked nose at Izar. "The sac on your brain grows more swollen when it comes in contact with an excessive amount of the ingredient, asphodel."

Izar blanched, turning around and sitting up. "Asphodel? That's the main ingredient in the draught I've been brewing for my concussion reliever." He watched as Riddle became more and more withdrawn. The Undersecretary seemed to be in his own mind, it was almost frightening to look at. "That means," Izar continued, dread in his stomach. "That someone injected me with the Acontium Folliculus."

Lucius Malfoy frowned. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

Snape's dark eyes danced to Lucius. "Someone must have injected Mr. Black with the Acontium Folliculus right after his concussion during the Second Task. As soon as the Acontium was in his system, it traveled through his bloodstream and up toward his brain where the wound was located. After which, the Acontium attached itself on the brain damage and grew in size when it came in contact with asphodel— which happens to be the main ingredient in the concussion reliever."

Lucius' eyes widened partially and he looked back down at Izar. "So with each dose of the concussion reliever, the Acontium grows in size?"

"That is what I just stated, Lucius, yes," Snape drawled bitingly.

"Subsequently, someone knew Izar would be taking the concussion reliever in hopes of getting rid of the concussion symptoms. The Acontium would only be growing in size with the more doses he takes in because of the ingredient, asphodel. If Izar hadn't brewed his own potions and had taken the school's pre-brewed potions, it would probably be much larger." Lucius continued as if he hadn't noticed Severus' biting comment. "And what…" Lucius' eyed Izar a bit fearfully. "Will happen when the Acontium reaches its maximum size?"

Severus opened his mouth but the Dark Lord cut him off.

"It explodes," Riddle commented harshly, crimson eyes staining the glamoured brown. "Judging from the size of it currently, it should start leaking poison through the boy's brain. If Izar were to hit his head once again, the sac would likely explode as well. The more liquid inside the sac, the easier it is to damage Izar's mind completely."

Riddle had his arms crossed over his chest and he kept his eyes locked on Izar. The younger wizard looked down. "Who injected me with it, then?" He looked back up at Riddle accusingly. "You know who is behind the attacks, yet you don't do anything about it. At least tell me. I deserve that much."

Snape and Lucius stiffened at the tone of voice Izar had used with the Dark Lord. Surprisingly enough, Riddle remained calm. "You will known soon enough, I can promise you that much."

"All these attacks," Snape began, "have been geared at not necessarily killing Mr. Black, but destroying his mind. Whoever is behind this, wants your most important asset to the Dark obliviated."

Riddle's aura was overwhelming. Izar struggled to keep upright in the face of such Dark magic tainting the air. "Is it Lily?" Izar guessed. "She was right by my bedside when I woke up from the Second Task. Or…" he lifted his chin, realizing. "It was the Healer."

"It was," Riddle conceded. "But he was working for them. Your Mudblood mother had nothing to do with these attacks." He turned his shoulder on Izar, searching Snape. "I trust there is a remedy for this?"

Izar slumped against the couch, closing his eyes. He tried to calm himself when the Dark Lord avoided his questions once again. He almost didn't hear Snape's response to the query in his state of anger.

"A simple, yet painful solution," Snape murmured. "There is another poison that neutralizes the Acontium when they interact. Cicuta is a common poison that will kill off the Acontium sac in his brain. However, it will be…" the man trailed off, no doubt looking at Izar's closed eyes. "Most painful. The toxins will need to escape through his pores, likely rivaling the sensation of acid passing through skin. There is also the risk that the Cicuta will not neutralize all the Acontium, resulting in brain damage nonetheless."

Izar's lips twisted bitterly. "What other option do we have?" Slowly, he opened his eyelids and gazed at the three men before him. He found himself wishing Regulus was there, but the man was away from Hogwarts. "From what I remember, the Cicuta isn't very difficult to brew and it doesn't take too long…"

"No," Snape agreed. "I already have a base prepared from a different potion with similar properties. It should be completed within a few minutes at best under direct flame." Direct flame wasn't recommended for beginners and even intermediate potion brewers tended to avoid it. With direct flame, the potion brewer had to work twice as quickly.

"And four hands will surely make it go even faster," Riddle mused. "Lucius, why don't you assist Severus with the potion?" It wasn't so much a question as it was an order.

Both elite Death Eaters stayed stubbornly still in their retreat to the potions room, their expressions mirroring what they truly thought about working together. Lucius didn't want to get his hands dirty and Snape didn't want Lucius to get in his way. If Izar wasn't so lethargic, he might have snickered.

"Quickly," Riddle hissed, not in the least bit amused with their hesitation.

Snape and Malfoy turned their heel and escaped to the adjoining room where the potions laboratory was settled. Izar watched them go through half-lidded eyes, not excited about the upcoming process. Acid seeping from his pores? It sounded extremely ghastly and painful. And to make matters even better, the Cicuta may not even neutralize all the Acontium, resulting in brain damage anyway.

Even so, a sense of calm settled over him.

That was, until Riddle loomed closer to him.

Izar gave a light grunt in resistance and he moved his head away to the side. The man's aura was far too overpowering. However, it seemed as if Voldemort intended him to turn away, for his nose traced the outer shell of Izar's ear.

"I've been incredibly patient all year, Izar," the man's voice was almost inaudible in its fury. "I have stood by and watched as my enemies have attacked you not only once, but three times. Now that the time is right, I can answer. This will not happen again. They won't get away with this…"

Riddle kept his lips near Izar's ear but his hands also joined in the fun. One hand clutched possessively at Izar's neck and the other ran through his sweat-soaked hair, pulling at it gently. Izar's eyes blinked closed and he became limp and overwhelmed with the man's dark presence. He felt goose bumps paint across his skin and he tried to stop himself from trembling. He didn't know if he succeeded in holding still or not, he was long gone from this world.

And yet… the man's next words reached the deepest parts in his mind.

Lips seared the sensitive skin under his ear as Riddle suckled and nipped. "I'll make them scream for you, child." There was such a strong promise in his voice, a promise that was not full of hope and determination, but one full of darkness and menace.

Izar tipped back his neck. Was it in submission? Passion? Or exhaustion? Perhaps a combination of all three. And with a sense of dizziness, Izar reached out and clawed at Riddle's hair, urging him forward until their lips locked. It was a short kiss, but one full of passion and thrill.

They pulled away, both their faces flushed. Riddle, his hand still on Izar's neck, surveyed him in consideration. "You're angry with me," the man mused darkly.

"You're a right bastard," Izar admitted weakly, leaning further into Snape's couch. "I hate that you aren't telling me anything, like I'm some lowly Death Eater."

Riddle considered this. The longer the man remained silent, the angrier Izar became. Was he only a lowly Death Eater? Granted, he was 'supposedly' the Dark Lord's mate, but Riddle had admitted that he didn't need Izar like most creatures needed their mates. Izar was only a member of the second tier in the Death Eater group, he was many, many years Riddle's junior, and he was only with the Death Eater scene for less than a year.

Why wouldn't he be a lowly Death Eater? What else would he be?

Izar hated both himself and Riddle just then.

Before either could retort, Snape swept into the room with a goblet full of a foul smelling potion. Lucius was distancing himself from the potion, a bit of sweat beading his forehead. The blond dabbed a handkerchief across his brow looking as dignified as ever.

Riddle moved back, watching the proceedings behind his cheater glasses. His posture was stiff, looking as if he were going to pounce.

Snape cast a quick charm at Izar. Bringing up a hand to his throat, Izar felt his throat contract. "It will keep the potion down where it belongs," the man responded briskly. He passed Izar the goblet. "I suggest drinking quickly."

Izar looked down at the murky pink liquid, turning his head away as a wave of nausea hit him. It smelt horrible. He swallowed thickly, staring at the far wall before quickly tipping the contents in his mouth. Not soon after, he tore his face away from the half-drunken potion and gagged.

"Hippogriff piss," he moaned. He retched, but thanks to Snape's spell, nothing came out. His body was trembling uncontrollably as he clutched the warm goblet in his hand.

"Considering you've never tasted the direct urine of a Hippogriff, I find your comparison rather impractical," Snape drawled, stepping closer to the hunched over Ravenclaw. The man placed a hand on Izar's bowed head, almost in a caressing manner. "You need to drink the rest, Mr. Black, or your risk of brain damage will increase. The last thing we need is your father foaming at the mouth through the halls of Hogwarts. I daresay he'd resemble his brother if those circumstances come to pass."

Izar grunted with his face between his knees. He kept a limp grasp of the goblet but he knew he needed to drink the rest. His stomach was weak and the thought of consuming anything, let alone the foul potion, made him shiver in disgust.

He lifted his head, a determined line creasing his lips before he gulped down the rest. As soon as the potion was gone, the goblet slipped from his slack fingers. Snape caught it before it could hit the ground.

Izar sniffed, closing his eyes. "I'd like to do this in the bathroom, by myself." Izar spoke as confidently as he could manage. There was no way in hell he would sweat toxins and scream bloody murder with Riddle and Malfoy around. If he had to have supervision, he'd rather have Snape watch over him. Despite Izar's shaky trust with the man, he understood that his life wasn't in danger with Snape.

He just didn't know what side the professor was on.

"I think not," Riddle murmured, leaving no room for argument.

"I think," Izar snapped back. His temper was at its edge— a temper he knew he didn't possess easily. "You can grant me a bit of privacy if you can't tell me who is behind these attacks."

He held the gaze of the Dark Lord, not at all frightened when he saw Riddle's aura begin to darken. Whether it was from Izar's sharp tongue or the situation in general, he didn't know. Lucius and Snape seemed to stiffen and lean away from the Dark Lord, but Izar held himself assertively even when the Dark Lord's aura reached toward him threateningly.

Izar stood up with his chin held high, daring the man to do anything. But Riddle remained motionless and silent as he watched Izar unfasten his outer cloak. With quick fingers, Izar loosened his blue and bronze tie before unbuttoning his white collared shirt. Throwing the Dark Lord a last cold stare, Izar made his way to the loo. Before he crossed the threshold of the cold bathroom, he toed off his shoes.

Snape motioned for Izar to step into the tub and then proceeded to turn his back on his student to give him a bit of privacy as Izar began pulling off his sweater vest. As the fabric dropped on the ground outside the tub, Izar heard Riddle from outside the bathroom.

"My old friend," Riddle murmured to Lucius. "After twenty years, I believe it's finally time."

Still clothed in his white collared shirt, Izar watched through the open door as Lucius began to drop. As soon as Lucius hit his knees, Izar's skin began to sweat a lilac purple. He began shaking uncontrollably with the pain, but remained standing as he watched Lucius' face break into a gleeful smile.

"My Lord… I shall inform the others. We have planned this for so long…" Lucius looked up at Riddle through strands of blond hair. "We will make the wizarding world tremble before us, before you."

Izar inhaled sharply, struggling to control himself. Did Lucius know everything? Of course the blond knew. Malfoy was in Voldemort's Inner Circle. It was difficult for Izar to come to the conclusion that despite being the 'mate' to the Dark Lord, he was still lower in rank than the other gold-masked Death Eaters. Obviously Voldemort didn't trust him with such vital information. If he had trusted Izar, perhaps the Ravenclaw wouldn't even be in this situation.

His fingers resembled dancing spiders as he reached for the shower facet and turned on the spray of cold water. It was a relief to his burning skin. As his hair matted in his face, he met Riddle's eyes through the open door.

The two stared at one another, not willing to be the first to look away. Izar's pain and illness got the better of his temper.

I'm nothing but your bloody puppet, Izar thought spitefully as he gave a strangled gasp. Throwing his arm out toward the door, his wandless magic slammed the door shut, cutting off any contact he had with the Dark Lord.

He collapsed in the tub as the toxins became too difficult to handle standing upright. Through the spray of the water, he turned to look at Snape. The man had his back to Izar. With both hands balancing on the vanity before him, Snape breathed deeply. Onyx eyes caught his through the reflection of the mirror and Izar was surprised by the expression.

It was unreadable in Izar's mental state, but it was softer than Izar had ever seen it.

Izar tore his eyes away from the man and laid himself down on the shower floor. He shook and trembled as the painful acid seeped through his pores and washed down the drain. He wouldn't scream. He couldn't.

Instead, he whimpered inaudibly and curled in on himself as the cold water continued to beat down upon him.

{Death of Today} SLIGHT TORTURE.

"Good work," Voldemort praised lightly as he swept from the entrance way of his hideout. Behind him, his Death Eaters bowed low in gratitude, shivering at the Dark Lord's praise.

Sniveling fools, but useful fools.

Voldemort gave a lipless smile as he swept dramatically down the steps and into the basement. One would call it a dungeon with the lack of windows and light and the heavy atmosphere that hung about the closed-off cells, but it had many exits that the prisoners were otherwise oblivious to. Voldemort considered the long corridor before making his way down to the only occupied cell.

Despite these prisoners being the first step of his regime, he found his mind struggling to focus. He had a child residing at Hogwarts, fighting to keep his sanity in tact from the poison running through his system. Voldemort was secure enough with himself to admit he was at fault for what Izar was going through at the moment; just as he had been at fault for the last two attacks. No matter how many eyes he had on the boy, she would get the better of him. She would threaten the only wizard Voldemort wanted to survive in this war.

His temper grew and he grasped hold of it, soaking in the darkness. It had been too long since he surrendered into the darkness, too long since he acted on it.

He stopped before the sealed-off door and focused his mind at the task in hand. He trusted Severus to owl him of Izar's mental health when the cleansing was over. Now wasn't the time to let his sentimental feelings get in the way.

No, now was the time to extract his revenge.

Waving his hand, the cell door opened and he stepped inside the dimly lit room. His cruel smile stretched as he eyed the two fools chained to the wall.

"A pleasure to see you both," he murmured as he glided closer to them. His foot kicked an object on the ground and he paused, eyeing the eyeglasses. Giving a disproving tsk, he bent down and picked up the thick glasses. "We can't have you blind to the events about to transpire, Serge, can we?"

"Who are you?" Serge Roux demanded as crimson stained his usual pale face. He licked his lips as Voldemort stepped closer. "I should have you know, the French Ministry will hunt your insane arse down. You hear me? You won't get away with this."

"For being the French Minister," Voldemort began. "Your security is awfully light, almost embarrassingly so." His crimson eyes took in the woman whose wrists were shackled to the wall. "And you, my dear, are awfully quiet."

"Who are you?" she whispered lethally. "What reasons do you have to kidnap us?"

"Kidnap…" Voldemort mused pleasantly as he leaned forward and placed the thick glasses on the older man's face. He patted the grey hair almost lovingly as he pulled back. With bone-white fingers, he dropped his hood, revealing his face. "I am Lord Voldemort," he introduced softly. "But you may know me as Undersecretary Tom Riddle."

They both flinched, narrowing their gazes on him. Airi Roux, the newly wed wife of Serge Roux, gave a horrible sneer as she realized his intentions.

"Serge had nothing to do with the attacks on your Hogwarts Champion," the Asian woman defended foolishly. She shifted her body further away from the wall and closer to her bemused husband. "It was my father who ordered the attacks. The poor child and I were only pawns in your power game with my father."

Voldemort paused to consider this. He wondered what Izar would think if he heard he was nothing but a pawn. Whatever his reaction, Voldemort was certain he would look beautiful in his defiance. No matter, Izar was an unfortunate pawn in this game of politics. But this was only one battle, there were many more to come in which Voldemort needed Izar to be something a bit more than a common pawn.

"Yes, your father dearest," Voldemort murmured softly. "How is Acelin Morel doing, by the way? Has he declared the mantle of the Dark Lord of France yet?"

The fool politician, Acelin, had been a thorn on Britain's side for the past few years. In France, he had many politicians' kissing his arse because of the flaccid power and money he flaunted. Despite the French's high opinion of Morel, Voldemort saw the fool for what he truly was. A fraud; a man with insecurities so large Voldemort was impressed Morel could look himself in the mirror every morning.

All it took was one encounter with Morel for Riddle to turn his nose down at him. Morel, on the other hand, had requested Undersecretary Riddle to join his cause. The day Riddle laughed in response to a partnership with Morel was the same day Morel saw the Britain Undersecretary as a threat.

And to think Morel could put Izar Black in danger…

Airi Roux's dark eyes flashed. She had no resemblance to her father. Riddle pondered if she was a bastard child. "It's Lord Morel to you, Riddle."

He gave a deep hum in response, already tired of her. And the French Minister Serge was simply a waste of space. He would have thought there would have been more enjoyment with these two. No matter, the screams would begin soon. "Morel is an arrogant fool for attacking what belongs to me… on my soil no less."

Voldemort reached into his pocket and drew out a small plastic bag. He held it up for the two to see. Crimson eyes traced across the glowing purple dust inside the bag, giving a sly smile. "Do you recognize this, woman?"

Airi and Serge stared at the dust, the former growing pale. "You should," Voldemort continued. "It was the same Devils Venenum you threw on Izar Black's face during the First Task. I kept the remaining dust you planted in his school bag. I hope you don't mind. It's rather expensive, is it not? Originating all the way from Asia, your mother's land."

He lowered the bag of dust and offered a smile.

"But before we start the hallucinations, let's have a bit of fun. We need to get you prepped and ready for the Third Task."

Serge Roux finally reacted. "Prepped? What the hell do you mean?"

Voldemort placed the purple dust calmly in his pocket before caressing his wand. "You can't make your debut to the wizarding world looking like that, can you?" He lifted his wand and watched in amusement as the girl gave a strangled yelp, placing her legs in front of the French Minister as if it would protect him.

"Please," she begged.

Ah yes, the pleading… He didn't understand why Izar found torture to be so dreadful.

"Serge had nothing to do with this. He doesn't even know," she repeated desperately, her eyes wide and crazed. "Are you going to kill someone so innocent? Do you not have any mercy? You can just obliviate him and set him loose… please."

Voldemort mockingly considered this, eyeing the two frightened fools with concealed merriment as they hoped he would reconsider killing him. "Do I have any mercy? No. I am not a merciful Lord, girl." With that being said, he slashed his wand through the air and sliced a large lesion down Serge's front torso. The cut went from his belly to just above his groin and a river of blood trickled down his sides and onto the floor beneath him.

The girl screamed as blood splattered across her pale face. Blood choked Serge as he attempted to voice his pain. "We can't have you dying so quickly, Serge," Voldemort mused as he cast a preserving charm on the French Minister. "You need to be assembled accordingly."

Voldemort lifted his wand upward, unraveling the large intestines from Serge's body. It slithered from his body cavity with simplicity, rivaling the graceful movements of a charmed serpent. Blood splashed across the floors as it danced upward and eventually settled around the man's thin neck. The desperate eyes of Serge looked up at Voldemort as he loomed closer.

Taking out the dust, Voldemort sprinkled the glowing residue across Serge's face. Almost immediately, the hallucinogen drug took affect. The man's pupils dilated and he began whimpering past the thick blood in his throat. The Minister's hands grasped his own intestine around his neck, pulling at it harshly; likely thinking it was a large serpent.

Voldemort chuckled pleasantly before he turned to look at the horrified girl. "Your father was an idiot to put his own daughter in my hands," Voldemort murmured as he glided toward her. She was backed into the corner, closing her eyes against the sight. "Perhaps…" he considered lightly. "Perhaps you really aren't his daughter, hm?"

Her eyes snapped open and she glared at him hatefully. Voldemort's mouth twisted cruelly. "It would seem as if I touched a nerve."

"You know nothing," she whispered fiercely, but her fear was obvious.

"No, I don't," Voldemort acknowledged as he stopped at her feet. "But I don't really find myself caring." He crouched down in front of her hateful gaze, taking pleasure in it. "I promised Izar that I would make you scream. Perhaps your end won't be as painful and grotesque as your pedophile husband, but it will be long and drawn out, I can promise you that."

Leaning forward, he breathed in her ear. "No one touches what is rightfully mine."

He leaned backward, taking out the last of the dust. She began to move her face around, escaping a direct shot to her nasal passageways. He smirked, his wand already trained on her skull. With the Dark whispering words of enlightenment, Voldemort gave a lazy flick of his wand. A sharp snap was heard as her skull cracked and concaved. It made her appearance deformed as pieces of skull either rose, pushing against her skin, or sunk down near the brain.

It wouldn't kill her, not immediately anyway.

Ignoring the screams, Voldemort placed the dust on the palm of his hand before blowing at it gently. The purple dust scattered across her face and into her system.

Voldemort stood up, eyeing the struggling form of the French Minister as he fought his own intestines, gurgling. They both were under the hallucinogen, their minds slowly becoming destroyed with the amount of magic in the air. They would see visions and they would also see each other as strange figures before their mind shut down.

"When the dust was at its most dangerous stage, I had to restrain Izar from lunging at me and himself…" he trailed off, unlocking the handcuffs and releasing husband and wife. "Why don't you two enjoy each other's company?"

He stepped back as Serge eyed the prone and still figure of his wife. The system had yet to reach the deepest parts of her destroyed brain.

Turning, he walked out the door.

"I will see you both on the day of the Third Task."

As the screaming intensified, Voldemort shut the door behind him, casting the two in darkness.


{Notes} Chapter twenty-one was the first and only time Airi Roux was introduced. If you want to jog your memory, you can go back and read through what Daphne mentions to Izar about of her. Also, I'm splitting "Death of Today" up into two parts. The first part will be completed within the next two/three/four chapters.