As a reminder, Cyprien Beaumont is *not* the son of French Minister Serge Roux and Airi Roux. Lukas Steinar, however, *is* the son of the Norwegian Minister, Bjørn Steinar.

Two chapters within two days. ;)

Thanks for your reviews!

Chapter Thirty-One

The silence around the room was only broken by the sound of silverware clashing against porcelain plates. Izar gazed at his food, blocking out the awkward conversation transpiring between Dumbledore and Madame Maxime. The two were the only ones who spoke amicably at these luncheons. There were a few times when Dumbledore engaged a crabby Karkaroff in a strained civil conversation, but other than that, conversations were usually cruel remarks coated in a sugary-sweet and innocent tenor.

Riddle was rather good at disguising his true meaning when it came to discussions with Minister Bjørn Steinar. The two would usually banter pleasantly back and forth, but today, they seemed to lose interest. Perhaps it was because this was the luncheon before the Task and they didn't need to be forced together again after this.

"Where did you say Minister Roux was, Madame?" Dumbledore inquired the Beauxbatons Headmistress.

The half-giant swallowed the rich fruit in her mouth before patting her lips with her silk napkin. "He owled and informed me that he had an urgent briefing to attend, Headmaster Dumbledore. I'm afraid he won't make it back before the Tournament is over." Her French accent was almost too heavy to understand, but it was clear enough for the luncheon members to comprehend.

Izar looked up from his plate, casting a lazy glance at the Headmistress. "An urgent briefing?" he inquired softly. "I didn't know France had any political issues to attend to urgently." France was one of the few countries who prided themselves as being incredibly diplomatic with no dirty politics within their ranks. An urgent briefing sounded as if that image wasn't as pristine as they claimed it to be.

Maxime looked down at Izar, not at all impressed at his knowledge in their politics. "It doesn't," she defended fiercely. "He is a very busy man. Surely the French Minister has every right to tear himself away from fun and games in order to manage his country."

Izar lifted his eyebrows, a slow smirk stretching across his lips. "Indeed."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Mr. Harrison—,"

Maxime straightened up suddenly, an almost insulted look on her face. "I do not see how Minister Roux is any different from your own Minister Fudge. I have yet to see him through the course of this Tournament. Poor hospitality at best."

Charcoal-green eyes met hers calmly, a bit of an amused twitch to his mouth. "That is true, Madame, however, I never claimed Britain to have clean politics, that position and claim is for the French to live up to." He paused, flashing a look across the table at Riddle. "Though, I doubt any politics can be so pristine."

"You have that right, Izar," Cyprien spoke up, chuckling.

Izar tore his eyes from Riddle and offered a small smile toward Cyprien. The boy sobered quickly when his Headmistress sent him a disproving look.

"Mr. Harrison, I believe we should leave the politics to the members of the Ministry." Dumbledore, always the diplomatic gentlemen, easily interrupted Madame Maxime from continuing on her tirade.

Izar's jaw clenched hotly. "I would take your words into consideration if only you had gotten my name correct." He turned his attention on the Headmaster next to him, looking the man in the eye. His temper got the better of him. But then again, his temper had been making a debut the past few days. "It is Izar Black. With the number of times I have corrected you, I'd think it would have sunken in by now… despite your old age."

Silence spread across the table, not even the noise of clashing forks sounded.

Bjørn Steinar gave a grunt, the first noise he offered since the luncheon began. "Ah yes, the tabloids mentioned the outcry surrounding your parentage." The man considered Izar from across the table. Next to him, Lukas mimicked his father. "I don't know what is worse, being an orphaned Muggle-born boy or carrying the surname of Black."

The Britain Undersecretary gave a light laugh, leaning back in his chair as he considered Bjørn. "Surely, even your dense mind can determine the answer to that, Minister Steinar," Riddle murmured softly, a hint of threat lingering in his tone.

Bjørn paid no heed to Riddle's stare, nor his tone. The Norwegian Minister continued to stare down Izar from his position across the table. "I suppose you think it's an honor to carry such a surname in Britain. However, the rest of the world looks down on such an incestuous-filled bloodline. I remember Orion and Walburga Black. The two were inseparable and also blood cousins… your grandparents, correct?"

Izar breathed deeply in order to calm himself when he observed a few of the luncheon occupants sneer in disgust. Next to him, Dumbledore shifted uncomfortably, obviously not enjoying the turn of conversation. Before Dumbledore could interrupt the steady flow of insults, Izar lifted his chin, prepared to defend his blood.

"What my ancestors preferred to amuse themselves with in their beds had no direct reflection to their power and domination in the wizarding world." Izar paused, trying to control his smile. He remembered a brief conversation he had with Regulus regarding the Norwegian Minister. "Maybe the reason you remember my grandparents so well is because you're still sour about Orion Black obtaining the position of Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic over yourself."

Orion was in office for only one term, but it was still worth mentioning; especially when Izar took notice of how Bjørn's face turned a deep crimson.

The Norwegian politician then offered a grim smile through his anger. "That was a long time ago, boy. Now look where I'm at— Minister of Norway. And where is your grandfather? In a grave. Early mortality rates are all too common in the Black family. It's a cursed bloodline— lets hope you meet your end soon enough. Perhaps then, maybe the bloodline will die with you."

Madame Maxime gasped in horror at the man's words, touching her chest in a gesture of shock. Izar smiled thinly, not at all affected by the man's words. For a high politician to lose control of his emotions like that, simply meant that Izar had gotten under his skin.

"Minister Steinar," Dumbledore reprehended sharply, appalled. "Let's remind ourselves that despite the excessive vocabulary our Champions possess, they are still only children. It would do to hold your tongue."

Steinar leaned back, looking almost ashamed. Not for what he had said about Izar, certainly not, but he for losing control so easily. The Norwegian glanced at Riddle, grimacing when the Undersecretary shook his head in mocking disappointment. The charmed brown eyes of Riddle met Izar's gaze across the table before the man winked.

Izar glanced down, still peeved with the Undersecretary to take much notice of the man's approval. In fact, the morning Snape had woken Izar up from the wet shower was the same day Izar had buried himself in books and hid out in his dorm room. He didn't reach out to human contact and he distanced himself from most the students and adults. Even now, he felt as if he were struggling to keep himself in line. He was on a short fuse and it felt like the world was spinning too quickly for Izar to grab hold of and make sense of.

It was almost like insanity, uncertainty, and insecurity. He wanted to run his fingernails down his face, pull at his hair, and scream.

He was on the verge of a mental breakdown, even he knew that much. Izar believed if he distanced himself from everyone and everything, he could patch up and hold himself together. Because Izar didn't know what more he could take until he cracked completely.

Luckily, his physical health was getting better. The poison in his body had washed out completely the night in Snape's private chambers. After a quick thanks of gratitude to Snape, Izar had turned his heel and escaped the dungeons.

"Let's turn our attention to the Third and last Task of the Tournament," Dumbledore murmured. His aura had settled down from its temporary flare up and now lazed around the Headmaster in gold-like waves. "The judges and I have decided to inform you three of your Task here at the luncheon."

Izar straightened in his seat, almost salivating at the thought of finishing this bloody Tournament.

"Mr. Black is in first place by only one point from Mr. Steinar and two points from Mr. Beaumont. With the points so evenly spread out, the judges came to a new conclusion regarding the point system for the next Task." Dumbledore met the eyes of each Champion around the table. "The last Task will be constructed in form of a maze. The maze is situated underneath the Quidditch pitch and will contain a few obstacles on your way to the center of the maze."

Izar nodded, curious. A maze may sound easy enough, but he knew to never underestimate a challenge.

"Once you reach the center of the underground maze, you will find a lift that will elevate you above ground and onto the Quidditch pitch. Once above ground, you will race to the Triwizard Cup at the end of the pitch," Dumbledore finished lightly.

"It sounds relatively easy," Lukas drawled from his position next to his father. "What is the new point system you decided on? Will we have a Watchful following us as we did in the First Task?"

Izar grimaced as he remembered the floating eyes in the First Task. The Watchfuls had followed each of the Champions and transported an image to the spectators in the Quidditch pitch. The last time he saw his Watchful, it had been lying uselessly on the ground after his attacker had come at him.

"No," Dumbledore answered, surprising the Champions at the answer. "You will be on your own under the pitch. Whomever touches the Cup first will be declared the Champion of the Tournament." Dumbledore lifted his hands, spreading his fingers out in a gesture of surrender. "If the points were spread more irregularly amongst the Champions, the judges would have come up with an alternative point system." His blue eyes landed on Izar. "Because you are in first place, Mr. Black, I will ask you if you deem this point system acceptable in terms of declaring the winner."

Izar mused it over in his mind, debating. In all ways it sounded fair enough. The judges awarded him the five points during the Second Task, even when he was two seconds away from the required time of thirty seconds. And because Izar would rather not have his actions recorded to the spectators above on the pitch, the alternative point system Dumbledore decided on was favorable.

Cocking his head to the side, Izar offered the Headmaster a nod. "It sounds acceptable, Headmaster."

Dumbledore gave a grave nod, his expression contorting solemnly. "Under the Quidditch Pitch, there will be no monitors and there will be no safety in guaranteeing your other opponents will play fair. There is nothing stopping the use of restricted magic." Dumbledore looked at Izar pointedly over his half-moon spectacles. Izar blinked back at him innocently. "With that being said, you will not only be searching for the lift to bring you to the surface of the pitch, but you will also be fighting for a bit more in the maze. You may just lose yourself in the process."

It was a grim warning, but a true one. Izar looked slyly over at Lukas Steinar noticing the boy was already watching him.

Why did Izar get the feeling that something was not right with this last Task?

{Death of Today}

Izar panted as he ran through the black ice-like walls of the maze. Above him, he could hear the drowned-out sound of the fans. It was cold under the pitch and he wondered if any of the other Champions had as much as a chilling fear as he did.

He gave a grunt as he slammed his fist into a dead-end wall. There had already been a few obstacles he had to destroy in his path, such as a small Acromantula, a few Billywig and Blast-Ended Skrewts and a Demiguise. The latter had been the most difficult to defeat, but it had perished at the end of Izar's wand.

Izar turned around and began to run the opposite direction. A 'point me' spell didn't work to find the lift and it wasn't possible to cast a translucent spell on the walls of the maze. Izar grunted as he made his way through a good amount of corridors without hitting a dead-end. Perhaps he was finding his way?

Ten minutes ago, Izar had been the first Champion lowered into the underground maze. Lukas had been lowered in a minute after him and Cyprien followed last. As of yet, Izar hadn't encountered any of the other Champions. But he knew it was only a matter of time.

As he turned a sharp corner, he faltered when he came face to face with...

Himself?

Izar raised his wand, considering the frail boy before him. Everything was mirrored back at him; the wavy black hair that curled at random strands, a compact body that refused to grow, pale and flawless skin that reflected off Izar's wand light… but the closer Izar looked, the more he realized there were more differences than similarities.

This Izar had short sleeves. On the mirror image's left forearm, Voldemort's Dark Mark sat, appearing blacker than ever. This Izar had no fingerless glove upon his left hand and it revealed the Celtic band to Voldemort. The other Izar also slumped, appearing shorter than usual… but the eyes were the most noticeable difference. While they were still charcoal-green, they had no brightness to them. They were defeated… submissive.

Izar took a step back, thrusting his wand out toward his double. He knew what he was seeing. A boggart. Izar had never come face to face with a boggart before. He always wondered what his boggart would take form as. But now he was looking directly at his deepest fear.

His fear was failure, a failure to remain independent and strong, a failure at staying true to himself.

The boggart took a step closer, its eyes becoming even more defeated. Fury washed through Izar. This was a fear that would never come to pass.

"Riddikulus," Izar hissed.

The spell hit the boggart, vanishing the image before a dark shape huddled into the corner of the maze. It was a small boy. The dark-headed boy sniffed into his knees before looking up at Izar with glowing charcoal-green eyes. Izar stepped back, his pulse racing as he watched the small boy. He was looking into his past— a past that held no affection, but only torment.

Izar turned his heel on the defeated boggart, continuing through his maze. He tried to shrug off the image of the boggart, but it seemed to follow him at every twist and turn. He pegged it on being emotionally exhausted and reassured himself that it would be just a memory after the Tournament.

Turning another corner, Izar gave a startled gasp as a tendril of magic grabbed his ankle and twisted him heavily to the ground. He gave a roar as he felt his ankle snap painfully. Quickly rolling on his stomach, he avoided another spell sent his way. Throwing up a quick and hasty shield, Izar turned and watched as Lukas Steinar stalked toward him, thrashing his wand toward Izar.

"Steinar," Izar growled. Only, even if it appeared as Steinar, the boy's aura was altered. For a moment, Izar wondered if it was another boggart, but tossed that idea angrily away when he realized that boggarts couldn't use magic through wands.

But then why was the Norwegian's aura so different? More powerful? Darker?

Izar didn't have time to speculate, for Lukas sent a nasty hex that pierced straight through Izar's shield. The Ravenclaw struggled as he dodged it, careful not to snap his wand as he landed on it. The Norwegian's hex blasted a hole through the maze wall before the wall magically closed once again. Izar stared at the wall before turning to study Lukas. There was nothing but a cold determination in the boy's eyes.

Scrambling to his feet, Izar put most his weight on his right leg as he cast his own hex at the boy. As predicted, Lukas easily side-stepped it and sent a yellow spell in Izar's direction. The Black heir frowned as he crouched down to avoid it, sweat dripping in his face. When he had dueled Lukas during the Second Task, the Norwegian wasn't very skilled in nonverbal spells. There were times Steinar could cast them, certainly, but not to the extent of this. And there was brute power behind each spell.

Suddenly, Izar was lifted off his feet and his back slammed into the roof of the maze before his stomach crashed agonizingly onto the floor. He cried out as his attacker repeated the process again, up and down, up and down.

His chin hit the floor and he began seeing stars. His body burned but Lukas gave him no time to recover as he shot a disarming curse. Despite his soreness, Izar still managed to twist around the spell with quick reflexes.

Magic seemed to grab Izar around his middle before he was flung into the wall of the maze. Bindings wrapped around him, rendering him motionless. Clenching his fingers together, Izar struggled, feeling his fury begin to rise as he realized he was caught without so much as fighting back.

Charcoal-green eyes glared at the advancing figure of Lukas Steinar. If Izar had anymore indecision to believe this wasn't Steinar, all he needed to do was look deeply into the boy's eyes. They were cold and disgusted. They reminded Izar of another pair, a pair he couldn't put his finger on at the moment.

"I don't know what he sees in you," Lukas murmured, a sneer to his lips. "You're pathetic."

Izar trembled in rage. His wand was on the ground a few feet from him. He didn't know what his attacker was speaking about, but it didn't matter. The words were weapons in their own right. Izar seethed, his mind spiking with both mental anguish and desperation.

Steinar shook his head, assessing Izar through mocking eyes. "All too easy, just as he predicted." The Durmstrang Champion then eyed Izar's fallen wand. A considering light entered his expression before he moved toward the wand and stopping inches from it. He picked up his foot, his heel positioned over the wand. "Pathetic," the man spat again before bringing down his foot.

Izar reared his head back, giving a growl of fury. The bindings around him slithered off and Izar lunged forward, wandlessly blasting Lukas away from his wand on off his feet. Crouching in his aura stance, Izar called for his wand.

His beloved came to him in one piece. Izar wasted no time in rejoicing at his luck and instead threw out his arm, calling his magic around him. "Pungo," Izar shot at the stumbling Lukas. The hex reached the boy, and with a cry, the Durmstrang Champion dropped his wand, nursing his brilliant red and purple hand that swelled up twice its normal size.

A dark sensation curled in Izar's stomach as he watched Lukas' features twist into pain. There was something thrilling about putting an enemy through pain. Especially when Izar knew this wasn't Lukas Steinar but someone who wanted to cause Izar true pain.

"Who are you?" Izar growled out in question.

Lukas stepped forward in a lunge, his wand already in hand before shouting out his next curse. "Caedo."

Izar was hit in the wand arm. The power behind the attack threw his shoulder backward. His skin split, dropping blood in every which direction. He moaned, but kept focused. Thrashing his wounded arm through the air, he wordlessly tied his attacker's legs together. The boy went down roughly, wiggling his legs in an attempt to shake it off.

When Izar saw the hostile expression in Lukas' eyes, he stiffened and sharpened his mind. Time seemed to slow and Izar saw the world through a new light. He watched as a cruel smile slipped across Lukas' lips and the boy aimed his wand at him. Whatever was going to come out of that wand, Izar knew he didn't want to be on the other end of it.

He raised his wand in response. There was a beloved spell he had invented not too long ago. It would serve him well in this situation.

"Confringo," Lukas whispered darkly.

"Retroago," Izar yelled at the same time.

Izar's indigo spell embraced his enemy's wand before the Durmstrang boy's spell could fully leave his core. Izar's invented spell then began to manipulate Lukas' wand, causing it to backfire. Whatever Lukas had intended to cast at Izar was thrown back in the boy's face. Through wide, eager eyes, Izar watched as his attacker cried out in pain as half his face blew up. Pieces of flesh scattered around the maze floor and Izar stepped back as an eyeball rolled to a stop at his feet.

Keeping his arm raised, Izar slowly approached the prone and still figure of his attacker. The boy was still alive, whoever it was, but was left unconscious. Izar assumed the attacker was under Polyjuice Potion. Whatever damage was inflicted on a body during Polyjuice was transferred over to the drinker's body when the potion wore off. Izar would know exactly who had attacked him if he ever saw this man again.

The cheek was gone, revealing a few missing teeth in the man's mouth. The right eye was also gone and the skin and muscle on his right side was torn and ragged. A stream of steady blood seeped down the man's chin and pooled at his neck.

Izar gave a cold smile and slowly began to make his way back through the maze. His ankle reminded him that he had sprained— perhaps broken it and his arm was no better. Hopefully he didn't have a long way to go until he reached the lift.

He spoke too soon.

Through tired eyes, he looked up at the Sphinx that guarded an elevator-like lift. Above the lift, Izar could see the blue sky and the sound of the crowd was heard with more clarity. Izar wondered if he was the first Champion near the Cup. Or more importantly, he wondered if Cyprien was anywhere near. Lukas… 'Lukas' wasn't function at the moment.

It did make Izar ponder on who was underneath Lukas' face. What purpose would it serve to disguise one's self as the Norwegian Champion? Could it be someone who desperately needed Norway to win the Tournament and thought they would have a better chance at winning?

"Welcome, young one," the Sphinx greeted, interrupting Izar's train of thought. Her tail thrashed excitingly as she eyed him in hunger. "You have stumbled across one of two lifts. Unfortunate for you, this is the only exit that is guarded."

Izar slumped on his heels, favoring his right leg. There were two lifts? He hadn't known that and Dumbledore made it seem as if there was only one exit to above. Nonetheless, he was confident and a bit impatient. He could try to attack the Sphinx, but he had an idea where this was going. Sphinx's were known for their riddles and puzzles and Izar could handle riddles just fine.

"I will allow you to pass if you answer two of my riddles," she flashed a smile. Her human face clashed with the fang-like teeth in her mouth. "Or would you rather turn around and search for the other lift?" Her claws came out and began to wiggle suggestively. Izar assumed he wouldn't have any chance of turning his back on her.

"I'll take my chance with the riddles," he began dryly.

For a moment, she looked disappointed but immediately brightened. "When young, I am sweet in the sun," she began mystically. "When middle-aged, I make you gay. When old, I am valued more than ever." She cocked her lion mane to the side. "What am I?" Her amber eyes twinkled, rivaling the spark in Dumbledore's eyes.

Izar pondered over the words, his mind almost immediately whispering him the answer.

"Wine," he spoke confidently.

She gave a purr that sounded more angry than pleased. "What is the beginning of eternity," she stared again. "The end of time and space. The beginning of every end, and the end of every place?"

Above her head, near the opening of outside, the crowd suddenly became deafening. Izar's pulse began to race as he struggled to focus on her words and not the fact that Cyprien was likely near the Cup. "End of time and space…" his mind was blank. "Beginning of every end… end of every place…" he gave a growl of frustration, closing his eyes and ears to the distraction of the outside world.

Beginning was also known as the start or the foundation. What was the beginning of every end? The beginning would be the start of the end… but… what was the end of every place? The end would be the end of every place— a dead-end.

Unless he was looking at this wrong. Perhaps…

Izar gave a lipless smile. The end of time and space…end of every place.

Charcoal-green eyes slid open and he leaned forward. "The letter 'e'."

He raced past her before she gave an affirmative. Keeping aware of her position at his back, Izar climbed the lift and almost scrambled off when it quickly shot him above ground. He flew through the air, landing heavily on the Quidditch Pitch.

He rolled in a somersault, quickly coming to his feet even when his ankle screamed at him. The fans became louder and Izar pointed his wand at Cyprien's back, taking aim. Was it against the rules to stun his opponent when they were above ground? Would it be considered cheap to attack his competition when his back was turned? Izar noticed Cyprien was suspiciously unharmed and seemingly unexhausted. Had the boy taken a path Izar hadn't seen? Cyprien was the last inside the maze and also the first one out and unharmed.

"Stupefy," Izar whispered, his aim true.

Cyprien, feet from the cup, turned to look what had gotten the attention of the crowd. Poor boy didn't have any time to react when the stunner hit him square in the chest. The Beauxbaton Champion went down rigidly.

Izar limped across the Quidditch pitch, drawn to the blue glow of the Cup. Reaching toward it, he grinned as he curled his fingers around the cool metal. His grin turned into a frown when he sensed something oddly familiar about the Cup. It took only seconds for Izar to look up at the judge's stands to meet the Dark Lord's wide eyes. Riddle looked utterly flabbergasted as he reached toward Izar as if he could grab hold of him from so far away.

And then Izar was pulled away from time and space.

It was his Portkey. HIS.

Izar gave a cry of outrage as he was pulled away from the Quidditch pitch and to an unknown destination.

The first thing he noticed upon landing was the cool atmosphere, almost insanely so. The second thing he noticed was two limp figures settled right underneath his face. Izar gave a cry, as he scrambled back, vomiting at the feet of the corpses of the French Minister and his wife. It took him a second to remember her name as Airi, the woman Daphne had mentioned during the Yule Ball. Their expressions were etched of horror as they stared up at him, cold and lifeless.

The woman's head was disfigured, looking almost square. The white's of her eyes were bloody red and there were bruises and wounds across her body as if someone had attacked her with brute force. The French Minister was the most grotesque looking. His innards were wrapped around his body, issuing a pungent smell.

Izar's assessment took him only five seconds. It was a wonder why he didn't notice the most important thing about his surroundings.

Trembling uncontrollably, he looked up just as the Dementor floated near his face. The Black heir screamed as his body and soul seemed to tear apart at the proximity of the Dementor. There wasn't just one, but a swarm of them hovered near the bodies of the French politicians.

His wand… his wand…

Izar whimpered, feeling around for his wand but he knew it was useless. Even if he had his wand firmly in hand, he couldn't do anything in defense. The Patronus charm was a charm he had never practiced, simply because he knew he had no happy memories strong enough to conjure an affective defense.

The Dementors seemed excited, thrilled upon having him. They floated closer, reaching out to touch him. Their caresses burned and he screamed, tears escaping his eyes as his vision darkened. There was nothing stopping this torture and he found himself falling into unwanted memories of his orphanage days and events he'd rather not remember.

"Please let me in… please…" a young, nude, Izar called as he banged on the back door of the orphanage. "Please." Tears all but froze on his cheeks from the cold weather. He knew he would have to walk around the building and into the front entrance way in order to get back in. He had been pulled harshly from his room and stripped before being thrown outside by Louis and the others. He had no socks, no shoes, no clothing. Sad eyes looked at the snow and he stifled a pained cry as he began walking barefoot around the orphanage's snowy grounds.

Izar breathed as he fell to the ground, his head cushioned by the breast of Airi Roux. Through the Dementor's ratty cloaks, he could dimly spot a group of Death Eaters. They were behind a misty-white barrier that likely separated them from the Dementors. The misty-white barrier was a magic Izar didn't know existed. He had thought only a Patronus could deflect a Dementor.

Weakly, Izar moved his hand out toward the Death Eaters, mentally pleading for them to take notice. But they couldn't see him; they would probably not even help if they had seen him.

"Freak," the boy hissed, spittle flying in Izar's ear. "You're worthless, even more so than the rest of us orphans."

How long? How long would the Dementors torment him until they Kissed him? Why hadn't they Kissed him yet? How long until his Portkey activated again? He didn't know. He felt as if he laid there for hours— stewing and basking in vulnerability so high, he feared he would never be sane again.

Wouldn't it be ironic if Izar's Portkey failed to activate?

Knees hit the floor as long fingers grasped his left forearm. He looked into crimson eyes, feeling as if this second was his last of a free man. "Morsmordre," Voldemort murmured, pressing his wand into Izar's forearm. Pain, so thick and heavy, washed through him. But he didn't scream. He would never give the man the satisfaction.

Izar found his voice already becoming hoarse in his screams as another Dementor came at him. His body burned from the extreme cold of the creatures' touches. His mind was a blur as he was forever thrown in his past memories, his prison. He had prided himself with burying the long-time memories… but to have them flung at him so callously… so quickly and all at once…

He cried out, his screams sounding alien to his ears. His body burned… it was cold.

So cold. His mind shuddered as it recoiled from the situation and he snapped.

Izar massaged the bump on his head, eyeing the dark and small cubby door. He didn't remember the last time he had seen light. The orphanage workers didn't even seem to notice him missing. Louis had seen to that as he had thrown Izar inside the cupboard, hitting the smaller child's head against the wall before locking the door.

The young boy looked down at his fingers, seeing nothing because of the dark but feeling the burning sting of torn nails from clawing at the door. He hated the dark. He hated this place. He hated them.

{Death of Today}

Severus stiffened as he watched the boy disappear before their eyes. He could feel his Mark begin to burn as the Dark Lord's fury washed over him through the link. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Avery Senior, disguised as Lukas Steinar through the use of Polyjuice, was supposed to bind and stop Izar from completing the Task. Avery was supposed to tell Izar not to touch the Cup. Despite the pain being unbelievably excruciating, Snape was thankful he wasn't Avery as the moment.

Or Izar.

He clenched his teeth, feeling Regulus stand up in surprise next to him. Snape tried to open his eyes through the pain, but it was too much. He didn't believe Izar would make it out intact. Oh yes, the boy would be alive, but his spirited soul would be in the belly of a lucky Dementor.

Next to him, he could hear Regulus breathing heavily as the man assessed the area where his son once stood. "Albus?" Regulus whispered in uncertainty toward the Headmaster a few rows behind him.

Despite the loud and bemused crowd of the spectators, Regulus' grief-stricken tone was the loudest in Snape's ears. "Albus?! Where is my son?" The man cried out hysterically.

Snape cracked open an eye, feeling a dark emotion settling in his gut at Regulus' expression. The man's naked grief was difficult to look at, even for Severus. Sitting a seat before Snape, the Dark Lord sat stiffly, his shoulders appearing as if they were trembling, likely in rage. The Undersecretary's face was off-white, appearing almost ill in appearance. Severus narrowed his eyes, musing. The Dark Lord seemed attached to Izar Black in a way that was unheard of among the Death Eater ranks.

Izar was incredibly intelligent and powerful, but the boy was still a child and had many faults. The boy had a smart tongue on him and he constantly butted heads with the Dark Lord. What could the man see in a child so young?

Snape considered his own feelings for the child.

Pursing his lips, he narrowed his eyes as he pushed those musings away. Now wasn't the time to grieve. There was a chance the boy survived with his mind intact.

Behind him, he could feel Dumbledore stand up, sending a chilling aura around the group of adults. The Headmaster didn't get a chance to calm the rousing students and spectators, for Lord Voldemort's gift to the wizarding world materialized in a blink of an eye. Courtesy of Izar Black's invention, of course.

Rather ironic that the child's invention was used in his own destruction.

The scene below was just as the Dark Lord had planned. It was a beautiful play in the Dark Lord's eyes and in the eyes of many frenzied Death Eaters. To Severus, it looked like an end of an era and beginning of a new era. He was hesitant to call it devastation because he supported the scene below just as much as those masked Death Eaters running around the Quidditch pitch, wreaking havoc.

As planned, the French Minister's corpse was levitated in the air for all to see. Next to him, his wife, the daughter of a renowned politician in France, hung next to his corpse. Their identities were easily recognized and once the shock of the scene sunk in, chaos erupted. Screams from the spectators pierced the air just as visible as the green Dark Mark that was shot up into the air.

Death Eaters began racing toward the spectators, setting alight the stands and the Quidditch pitch. Flames engulfed a few unfortunate victims as they ran toward Hogwarts. The Death Eaters were ordered not to kill, but terrorize as heavily as possible. The Dark Lord promised his followers they would get Muggles and Ministry workers in the future, but they were not to kill the students and spectators today.

Severus was suspicious of the Dark Lord's plans. The man was too brilliant to allow 'Lord Voldemort' to be the only spokesperson for the fight for Muggle resistance. Undersecretary Riddle had something else up his sleeve when it came to this rising war.

But for a brief moment, Snape had to congratulate the Dark Lord for being able to go through with such an act on Dumbledore's school.

Standing up, Severus noticed the Dementors weren't wreaking havoc on the spectators like the Death Eaters. Instead, they were surrounding a prone form on the grassy pitch, racing around the figure in obvious excitement. Severus grew ill as he recognized the figure as Izar Black. Why were the Dementors focused only on Izar? A used prize compared to the many available souls in the stands?

Regulus blinked before racing down the stands.

"Black," Snape barked, unsure as to why he was stopping the man. Regulus paused, turning to Snape with determined eyes. "You don't know how to cast a Patronus."

Regulus' mouth turned ugly as he searched the stands and locking eyes with Riddle. "He's my son. I need to do something… anything."

With one last glare at Undersecretary Riddle, Regulus raced blindly down the stands and toward his son. Snape held back a hiss of displeasure. Must he be the only one to think logically? With his mind and not his sentimental anchors?

Breathing deeply, Snape followed the heels of his long-time friend. He was a fool. They both were fools.

Gathering his thoughts, Snape calmly pointed his wand at the Dementors. He despised summoning his Patronus. Not only because he had to bring himself back to the day he lost everything, but because he was reminded vividly of what could never be. The memory he had chosen shouldn't have produced the Patronus, but it did.

"Expecto Patronum," he uttered in a cool calm.

The silver form morphed into a sleek panther as it raced toward the Dementors. Snape eyed the panther, reminded, sourly, of the past. Nonetheless, the sleek feline had raced apart the Dementors, leaving Izar Black exposed and sending the Dementors scurrying away from the scene.

Snape hesitated when he caught sight of a Death Eater hovering near Regulus as the man dived on the ground and embraced his son. Irritation stung at Snape as he batted the Death Eater away with his wand.

He was the only sane one.

"Leave," he ordered the woman.

Bellatrix's dark eyes looked up at Snape through the slits of her gold mask. She then turned her attention back on her distant nephew, her body seemingly struggling against going over to Regulus and Izar. Wasn't this the same woman who had attempted to cut off her nephew's manhood a few months ago? Snape reluctantly understood Bellatrix's mind was no where near normal and would see her nephew in a new light once he had defeated her in the duel.

"I don't take orders from you, Severus Snape," she breathed through her mask. With one last glance at her nephew, Bellatrix turned her heel to join in the fun.

Snape's Patronus dissipated. Stopping near son and father, he wondered if he should feel relieved Regulus hadn't noticed the form his Patronus had taken or a bit bitter. He shook his thoughts away when he watched Regulus mourn over his son's body.

The man had half his body covering Izar as he rocked his child back and forth, whispering pleas in the boy's ear and running his fingers through the boy's sweaty hair. Pained charcoal eyes looked up at Snape, appearing almost lost.

Snape took a step back, recoiling at the thick emotions exuding from Regulus. It was if the man were silently asking Snape to help him… help him with an unattainable and impossible task. "He may still be…" Snape trailed off when Regulus' expression morphed into one of anger.

"Don't come closer," Regulus breathed inhumanly.

Frowning, Snape looked over his shoulder to see Britain's Undersecretary make his way over. Severus was certain the man would have been the first one next to Izar Black's prone form if Riddle didn't possess dignity and if he was capable of producing a Patronus.

Riddle crouched down next to Regulus, ignoring the threat. "You will cease your foolish antics," the man reprimanded as Regulus pulled Izar's body away from Riddle's advancing reach.

"You have no claim on him," Regulus, the fool, barked out. His uncontrolled antics reminded Snape of the mutt, Sirius Black. "You put him in this state—,"

Riddle reached forward, tearing Izar from Regulus and putting a magical barrier around the four of them. To outsiders, they would appear unrecognizable, a mere blur on the horizon. "I did not intend for this to happen," Riddle hissed out, brown eyes morphing into spilt-crimson. "He was not supposed to be the one to touch the Cup."

Snape's lips thinned as he watched Riddle's wand trace over Izar's forehead. It was the same procedure he was considering completing before the man made his presence known. The charm would indicate if Izar Black had any brain activity. If a blue light surrounded the boy's forehead, it would mean there was activity inside his brain. If a red light appeared, it would mean the boy had succumbed to the Dementor's Kiss.

Oddly enough, Snape found himself stiffening.

Fortunate for Regulus, a blue light glowed around Black's head like that of a crown. Snape pondered on this, marveling at the boy's luck. How had Izar come out of it intact?

"He's stable," Riddle murmured, sounding just as surprised as Snape felt. "His brain is showing signs of activity." The Undersecretary passed Izar's prone body toward Regulus, albeit a bit reluctantly. "Take him to the infirmary. His wounds need to be looked at."

Regulus accepted his burden with a lighter aura about him.

Snape stepped back as Riddle turned. The man placed his wand to his temple, blinking his crimson eyes closed before they opened as a dark brown. For a long moment, Riddle studied Snape with an expressionless mask.

"Assist them to the infirmary, Severus," Riddle hissed out before turning his heel and heading toward the fray.

Onyx eyes met charcoal.

"Thank you, Severus," Regulus whispered hoarsely. "Thank you."

{Death of Today}

Severus didn't understand why he was standing so foolishly next to Regulus in the infirmary. Two hours had passed since Pomfrey had finished cleaning and tending to Black's wounds. The boy was lying pale and unconscious on his hospital bed, looking as peaceful as death itself. According to Pomfrey, Izar was in a temporary coma. Apparently, the boy withdrew himself mentally during the attack of the Dementors.

Snape considered this, understanding that Izar had gone through mental and emotional turmoil. It wasn't unheard of to withdraw into one's self during a tragic situation. It was difficult, however, to determine if Izar would be the same after waking.

He didn't dare tell Regulus as much.

Onyx eyes glanced out the infirmary window. He should have been tending to his Slytherins. There were several other things he should have been doing to help Hogwarts recover from the Death Eater's successful attack; such as making potions and seeing to the other wounded. Instead, he found himself standing next to Regulus' sitting form. The man hadn't moved from his son's bedside since the moment Pomfrey moved aside the curtain.

And Severus found himself just a motionless.

He'd like to think he was staying near the two Blacks out of curiosity, not because he wanted to lend his support to the foolish man sitting next to him.

After the attack had disbanded and the wounded were tended to, Minister Fudge, Headmaster Dumbledore, and Undersecretary Riddle had appeared at Izar Black's bedside. Severus could easily see the fury behind Dumbledore's carefully constructed mask. The man was uncomfortable and enraged over Riddle's continuous presence in Hogwarts after the bold attack. But Dumbledore was powerless to stop Riddle from doing what he wanted. There was no evidence against Riddle and the Ministry had every right to be inside Hogwarts.

Riddle, for his part, looked serene and a bit concerned. None of his Death Eaters were killed or captured, so Severus assumed the concern was a mask to present to the public. Only, Severus could see the way he stood over Izar in a protective, yet exceedingly possessive way.

"Death Eaters?" Minister Fudge exclaimed, puzzled. The word sounded foreign and humorous on his tongue. The Minister gave a light chuckle, unable to believe what Dumbledore was informing him of. "You believe the terrorists who attacked today were 'Death Eaters', Headmaster?"

Severus eyed the proceedings with masked interest. Next to him, Regulus seemed as if he were focusing on his son, and only his son, but Snape knew better.

"I don't believe, Minister," Dumbledore replied gravely. "I know so. The attack by Death Eaters was orchestrated by a rising Dark Lord. The Death Eaters are his band of followers." Here, Dumbledore's eyes pierced across the bedside at Riddle.

In turn, the Undersecretary cocked his head to the side, feigning interest and curiosity.

Fudge looked horrified at Dumbledore's claims. "A Dark Lord?" the man repeated, sounding uncertain. For a long moment, Fudge tried to gather his thoughts before his expression morphed into anger. "There is no rising Dark Lord, Dumbledore. The last Dark Lord was Grindelwald and there has not been another since. I will accept that there is a terrorist group, aimed at destroying the French, but I will not consider a Dark Lord to be active on Britain's soils."

Snape looked across at Riddle. The Undersecretary shook his head in mocking concern. "I don't understand why you would believe there is a Dark Lord, Headmaster. The only deceased in the attack was the French Minister and his wife."

Riddle made no outward stand. He wasn't denying that he thought it was a Dark Lord and he wasn't accepting that it was just a terrorist group. The Undersecretary was just curious to know why the Headmaster would believe a Dark Lord was in their midst.

It was a smart move on the man's behalf. It gave Riddle more stepping room.

Severus pondered, briefly, what role Undersecretary Riddle would play in this war.

Dumbledore motioned toward the prone figure of Izar Black. Regulus eyed him distrustfully, looking every bit of a protective mother hen. "I believe Mr. Black has fallen victim to the manipulations of a Dark Lord. If you look, Minister Fudge, you'll see a Death Eater tattoo on the boy's left forearm. I believe it's in shape of the same Mark that was thrown into the sky during the attack."

Fudge issued a sigh, not noticing the stiffening shoulders of Riddle and Regulus. Snape, on the other hand, tried to control his amused smirk. He was afraid he didn't succeed.

The Minister placed his glasses on his nose, motioning at Dumbledore and Izar. "I will give you the benefit of the doubt, Headmaster Dumbledore. Let me see this… rebel tattoo you claim the boy has."

Dumbledore gave a grim nod, reaching toward Izar. Surprisingly, the hand that curled around the old man's wrist was not Regulus' but the Dark Lord's. Riddle gave a cruel smile, his fingers looking painfully tight around Dumbledore's wrist. "Give the boy some dignity, Headmaster," Riddle crooned. "He's unconscious. Won't you show a bit of respect?"

Fudge tittered, shaking his head. "Come now, Tom, we are only humoring the Headmaster. Let us see the boy's arm."

The Dark Lord showed no sign of releasing the Headmaster. Snape looked upward, realizing he must step in once again. "Forgive me, Undersecretary Riddle, but I believe Minister Fudge is correct," he drawled. He felt Regulus stiffen next to him, but his attention was directed on the cold eyes of Riddle. "It can do no harm."

Severus was clueless to what the boy had altered the Mark as. He hadn't wanted to know at the time and Izar never came to him with the information. All Snape had known was Izar had taken down the Dark Lord's ward—an impossible feat.

For all he knew, Izar hadn't had the time to alter it.

Riddle let go of Dumbledore. His gaze was searching Snape suspiciously. Perhaps he would be punished for knowing about Izar's intentions with the Dark Mark, but Snape believed it was better to be punished than have Fudge suspicious.

Dumbledore lifted Izar's sleeve and all five male wizards leaned forward to inspect the marking.

"My word…" Fudge exclaimed, adjusting his glasses and peering closer.

Snape's own eyes narrowed as he studied the Mark. He grimaced when his eyes traced over the barely-clad female with voluptuous curves. Thick black hair fell to the middle of her back as she danced away from their scrutiny. Her lips pursed sweetly as she used a small flag to cover her breasts, not succeeding very well. Upon the flag, a Black family crest was proudly stamped in the center. The tattoo moved, using a dainty hand to brush hair away from her eyes.

Regulus was the first to break the silence. The man tipped back his neck to issue an amused and pleased chuckle.

Snape looked up at Riddle, eyeing the man's head as he continued to stare uncomprehendingly at the Mark. It was inappropriate to smile at a time like this, but Snape found himself offering a smirk. It quickly vanished when Riddle finally looked up. The man eyed Snape over his glasses, appearing unimpressed. Perhaps Snape was too quick to spy it, but he could discern a ghost of a smile across the man's lips. Though, it was covered just as quickly as Izar's sleeve covered the Mark.

Fudge's face flushed crimson as he took his glasses from his nose. "I believe, Headmaster, that you have discovered the tattoo not of a terrorist, but of a hormonal teenaged boy." The Minister cleared his throat. Pity the Minister didn't realize the boy in the bed was anything but a hormonal teenaged boy. Izar was far too mature to consider the tattoo as means to express his attractions. No, Severus concluded that Izar wanted the Mark to take shape of something that would poke the Dark Lord smugly in the side.

"Come along, Undersecretary Riddle, I believe we have more important things to look into." Fudge threw one last scandalized look at Izar Black before making his escape.

Dumbledore stood stiffly as the two politicians made their way past him and out the infirmary. When Albus' gaze landed imploringly on Snape, the potions master just shook his head in response. Let the fool think he hadn't known about Izar's altered Mark.

With on last glower from a protective Regulus, Dumbledore calmly left the infirmary.

Snape decided now was the time to leave. After all, he had sated the curiosity that made him stay beside Regulus in the first place…

He turned to leave, his cloak snapping at his heels.

"Severus…"

Pausing, onyx eyes looked over his shoulder at Regulus Black. The younger male offered a sly smile. Immediately, Snape became suspicious.

"Don't think I didn't notice the shape of your Patronus…" Regulus paused, his charcoal eyes alighting. "It's the same shape as my Animagus form." The foolish man was too smug.

Snape offered a deep sneer in response before leaving the infirmary.


{Notes} Next chapter is the last chapter for part one. Sorry for the typos. It's late and I'm exhausted.