Chapter Two

"Come on, Black," one of the Death Eaters spat. "You're coming with us. Our Lord is expecting you."

Izar paused in his retreat from the shop, eyeing the group of Death Eaters surrounding Regulus and him. "I know," Izar replied vigilantly.

He studied the seven Death Eaters who had their wands pointed in his direction. They were currently standing in a dark and dingy pathway of Knockturn Alley. Earlier this morning, Regulus had dragged Izar down to Diagon Alley a few hours after they returned to Britain to get new clothing for his growing body. Sirius opted to stay at Grimmauld Place, staying the weekend before he had to go back to work on Monday.

Regulus and Izar had just finished seeing the tailor when they stumbled into… this.

"You know?" a second Death Eater sneered. "And yet you still dare to keep the Dark Lord crawling after your hide? You foolish, arrogant child. Perhaps the Dark Lord will allow us to play with you before he gets his own fill."

Izar curled a hand on Regulus' arm to stop the man from drawing his wand. He calmly turned a smile on to the group of Death Eaters. "I apologize," Izar murmured softly. "I should have explained myself better. You see, I've just recently met with the Dark Lord. We've already discussed the issues of my absence."

Izar was a bit insulted that the Dark Lord would send Third Tier Death Eaters after him. Their nickel masks blended in with the dark hoods they had drawn, veiling their features. Even from their visible auras, Izar couldn't put a finger on their identities, but decided they weren't rookies or new to the ranks.

If Voldemort wanted to talk to Izar, the man would come to him personally.

Five of the Death Eaters hesitated before lowering their wands. The other two kept their aim true on Izar's face.

"If that were the case," one of the bigger Death Eaters began suspiciously. "You wouldn't be able to walk in a straight line."

Izar's eyebrows shot up. "Is that so?" His lips thinned as he eyed the man in front of him. "Not that it's any of your business what transpired between the Dark Lord and I, but I already ingested a muscle relaxer to ease the affects of the Cruciatus Curse."

Sniffing, he looked down at his bag of clothes. The Death Eaters tensed at the action, holding their wands up higher. Charcoal-green eyes barely spared them a glance as he inspected only a few of the tailored shirts he purchased. The robes and cloaks would be arriving separately, through post.

Issuing an irritated sigh, Izar lifted his chin before raising his palms upward in mocking surrender. "By all means, you can take me to the Dark Lord but not only will you be wasting my time, but you'll also be wasting the Dark Lord's valuable time. I wouldn't want to be the one to interrupt our Lord from his work to attend to a meeting he's already had the pleasure of having."

The remaining two Death Eaters blanched before lowering their wands. Apparently, the thought of disrupting Voldemort and his temper was sour enough to vanish their suspicions. "Fine," the large wizard motioned out the alleyway with his hand. "Then leave."

Izar raised a fine eyebrow and smirked. "Leave? As far as I'm aware, Knockturn is a public residence." The Black heir took a step closer to the 'leader' of the group and looked down his nose at him. "And you," Izar purred softly. "Have no right to order me around."

The man's dark eyes gazed out through the mask holes, narrowing on Izar.

"Come on, he's not worth it," one of the others insisted as he pulled on the leader's arm.

With one last warning stare from the leader, the man turned his back on the Black heir. Izar watched the group disapparate through lidded eyes. Did they honestly think they could order him around? He was in the Second Tier, higher up in hierocracy than them.

Breathing through his nose to calm himself, Izar turned to survey Regulus. The man looked less than impressed. "What?" Izar demanded. "You do not approve of my methods?"

Regulus reached out a hand and curled it around Izar's bicep, pulling him close. His father studied him with melancholy charcoal eyes. "You said you were ready to face him," Regulus murmured. Issuing a growl, Regulus held onto Izar tighter as the younger tried to pull away. "It is unwise to anger the Dark Lord anymore than he already is, Izar. When he finds out you have manipulated his followers into believing you've already met with him, he'll hunt you down himself."

"And that's what I want," Izar retorted listlessly. He looked around the alleyway, noticing that the occupants of Knockturn were too far away both in mind and physically to overhear. "I'm his political heir," Izar pointed out softly, turning back to Regulus. He held up his fingerless glove that hid the Celtic band. "The least he can do is show me a bit of equality…" he paused, knowing that 'equality' wasn't exactly the best word to use in front of his father.

Regulus' eyes widened before they narrowed. He stepped closer to Izar, his breath hot across his face. "That is a very foolish thing to say. Every Death Eater holds that wish, that dream to become somewhat of an equal to the Dark Lord. They all believe they deserve the Dark Lord's attention. Do not assume the Dark Lord would ever consider something as such. When you start to believe that, you do foolish things to get his attention."

"I do not," Izar hissed. "I'm not like the other Death Eaters, father." Despite his anger, he was pleased that Regulus saw the Dark Lord for what he really was. Voldemort was a puppet master and enjoyed playing with his followers. He enjoyed watching them as they struggled to get his attention.

His father shook his head, giving a bitter smirk. "You are Tom Riddle's political heir, Izar. Tom Riddle is not the same person as Lord Voldemort. You must pretend you have no ties to the Dark Lord."

Izar closed his eyes to calm himself. The ring on Izar's finger bound him to Lord Voldemort sexually while it also bound him to Tom Riddle politically. His father didn't know the former use for the ring and it would need to stay that way.

He offered a small grin. "You're right. It was foolish of me to anger the Dark Lord more than necessary."

But so pleasing.

Regulus' eyes ran across Izar's face. The man must have seen something there, for he nodded and pulled him along the shady paths of Knockturn. "Come now, Sirius asked me to pick up some materials for him…"

As they entered Diagon Alley, Izar's altered Mark stirred fiercely.

Pulling up his hood, Izar smirked gleefully.

It would appear as if the Dark Lord had just found out that Izar had slipped through his grasp once again.

{Death of Today}

Standing poised in front of his window, Izar clasped his hands behind his back as he surveyed the three figures outside the wards of 12 Grimmauld Place. Clothed in black pants and a black button-down shirt, Izar was a picture of dark sophistication and sinister elegance. A light smirk played his lips as he felt the Black wards buckle dangerously before whining back into place.

The Dark Lord was here. This time, he was here personally and with two members of his Inner Circle; Bellatrix and Lucius. It was far more acceptable than being captured and dragged to the Dark Lord by Third Tier servants. Was he being unfair? Yes. Was he overstepping his boundaries by deliberately making the Dark Lord crawl to him? Oh yes. Did he enjoy every moment of it despite the pain that may be inflicting him shortly?

"Yes," Izar murmured pleasantly as he watched Regulus exit the front entrance of their home and stride toward the edge of the wards. If there was one thing Regulus didn't want, it would be Voldemort to shred the Black wards that had been in place for centuries. And Voldemort could accomplish that feat in his anger. Izar had to struggle not to roll his eyes back in pleasure from the man's aura. It had been long—almost too long.

He observed as Regulus exchanged a few short words with the Dark Lord before flinging his wand out and adjusting the wards to allow the three figures entrance. As soon as the wards were down, Regulus went to his knees in submission.

Izar's lips thinned and he reminded himself that he needed to do the same. Unfortunately.

Slowly backing away from the window, he made his way through the dingy halls of the Black home. Izar had been at Grimmauld for a total of five hours, not enough time to study the interior of the Black home. From what Regulus mentioned, the basement was an important part of the Black history. The two had planned to retreat downstairs and discuss the ancestors of the Black family and Cygnus in particular.

Through the course of the summer, Regulus had kept quiet about Cygnus Black and the Curse. Izar hadn't pestered about it at the time; he had other things on his mind such as dueling and imperative inventions. And Izar never mentioned to Regulus what Lily Potter had said about Cygnus' Curse. He assumed it would come up eventually, but there hadn't been any time convenient enough.

The cloaked-like apparition that haunted Izar had appeared only a few times in the past four months. It always kept its distance, never reaching out to touch Izar like it had during the school year. Izar ignored it entirely and buried the situation in the back of his mind. Maybe not his most intelligent idea, but it got him through the summer in one piece.

He hurriedly climbed down the stairs and into one of the parlors that would permit him to approach the guests from the back. Just as he melted into the shadows, the front door opened. Curling his fingers around the parlor door, he watched the group enter Grimmauld. He wanted to prepare himself with the sight of Voldemort before the man saw him. It was a small victory, but it settled Izar's nerves considerably.

Izar was pleased with his growth spurt over the summer, but when he laid eyes on Voldemort, the man seemed taller than Izar had imagined. How was that possible? No matter how tall Izar grew, it would appear as if Voldemort would always tower over him. The man's slender form was cloaked heavily with a worn-black robe. Riddle was more than a head taller than Lucius Malfoy, who happened to be a few inches taller than Izar.

Voldemort suddenly turned and peered down the dark corridor Izar hid. The Black heir ducked back into the parlor, sneering at the far wall. He thought he was ready for this. He told himself over and over again that he was perfectly composed to face Voldemort again. Compared to the last confrontation he shared with Riddle on top of Hogwarts' tower, Izar was a lot more stable.

Then why was his pulse racing? Why were his palms clammy?

He closed his eyes, gathering a sense of serenity before pushing off the wall. Lifting his chin, he slowly exited the dark parlor and entered the equally dim corridor. Voldemort had turned away from Izar but his posture told the Black heir that he was consciously aware of his presence.

"Black," Bellatrix spat in fury.

At first, Izar wondered if she was speaking to him, but her back was facing his approaching figure. Her crooked wand was pointed at Sirius as the man cautiously stepped down the rickety stairs. Sirius' expression was grim and wary as he eyed the trio of Dark wizards before him. Regulus made a motion to retreat back up the stairs but Sirius seemed to be frozen in place with stubbornness and Auror instincts to attack.

Bellatrix, her mind likely still fresh with her cousin's exposed arse and manhood, brought back her arm. She was going to attack Sirius and no one would stop her. Regulus remained stiff next to her, resigned that he was lower in ranking and could do nothing. Voldemort wouldn't care and Lucius' dislike for Regulus no doubt mirrored in Sirius. Izar, on the other hand, wouldn't stand for Sirius' unarmed form to be taken advantage of.

"Crucio," Bellatrix whispered in glee.

Before it could leave her wand fully, Izar took her by the collar and slammed her against the wall. She gave a startled gasp, the Unforgivable hitting the floor next to Izar's feet. His forearms flexed as he lifted her further up the wall. Her dark eyes were wide before they sparkled in pleasure when she recognized Izar.

"He's under my protection. You will not harm him in my home," he hissed softly in her face.

Breathing deeply, he released her and she scrambled to regain her dignity but not before offering a mocking pout. Charcoal-green eyes then meet Sirius' surprisingly closed-off expression. The man was standing calmly on the staircase, his hand resting on the railing next to him. His gaze was unwavering on Izar's form.

"Everything is fine, Sirius," Izar found himself reassuring.

Sirius' mouth thinned into a frown before he finally tore his gaze away from Izar and quickly assessed the others, the Dark Lord in particular. The man then gave a tense nod and retreated back up the stairs without another word.

Now that his distraction was gone, Izar could no longer put off his curiosity. He slowly turned to the Dark Lord, only to have a cold hand wrap around his throat. Izar spluttered before he was lifted cleanly off the ground by a restricting hand. His feet dangled but he didn't struggle and kick. Instead, he curled his fingers around the cold wrist, meeting the split-crimson eyes straight on. Voldemort's face was just as impassive as Sirius' had once been. There was a flicker of interest as the man ran his eyes down the length of Izar's body before that spark cooled into a menacing ice chunk.

"My wayward child," the man crooned, sending goose bumps across Izar's lower back.

Izar blinked heavily, trying not to show his struggle. He could barely breathe and his throat began to burn with the force Voldemort was putting on it. Next to the Dark Lord, Bellatrix cackled excitingly. Izar refused to look at her and continued to gaze coolly at the Dark Lord. Suddenly, the hand opened and Izar dropped to the ground in an ungraceful heap. Dust from the floor stirred in visible clouds around him and he resisted the urge to sneeze.

"Follow me," Voldemort ordered abruptly, waving off the others as they tried to follow him. "Only the boy."

Flashing a quick look at Regulus, Izar stood up and walked gracefully after Voldemort. After they crossed the threshold of the drawing room, the door slammed shut behind them, enclosing the two in privacy. It was the first time in months since Izar was alone with Riddle. Quite frankly, he didn't feel as confident as he thought he'd be. With others, Izar felt superior and easily dominant, but with Voldemort, he knew there would always be a power struggle.

Currently, Riddle's magic was cold, freezing almost. It was frightening and it darkened the room with his mood.

Nonetheless, Izar stood tall and unaffected. He watched the Dark Lord as the man turned his heel and finally studied him. "On your knees," Voldemort ordered sharply. His hood was drawn, obscuring most his face as he looked down at Izar.

Clenching his jaw stubbornly, Izar fell to his knees. The positive to this situation was that the man wasn't doing this in front of the others. Granted, Riddle had already choked him and dropped him on the floor to show his dominance in front of the others, but at least Izar hadn't been forced to submit.

He bowed forward on the ground and was about to put his forehead on the floor in a standard bow before Voldemort's voice stopped him.

"No," the man started. "Stand on your knees."

There was a sick pleasure in the man's tone and Izar became instantly suspicious. Slowly, he straightened and stood on his knees, realizing his eyes were almost eye-level with Voldemort's groin. Izar narrowed his eyes and tried to stay as dignified as possible. Sick bastard. "I don't see why you're so angry," Izar began quietly.

"Silence," Voldemort hissed.

Izar threw back his shoulders and glared at the black cloak in front of him. Anger coursed through his body, surprising even himself at the intensity. He thought he could face the Dark Lord calmly and unaffectedly, but it appeared as if he hadn't been as ready as he originally thought. His anger shouldn't have been present. It was understandable that he would be punished for altering the Dark Mark and also hiding for four months. Izar had known that, it was just difficult to accept it—accept the submission.

For a long while, Izar stayed on his knees. He legs were becoming numb as he continued to kneel and his pride was beginning to crack. No doubt Voldemort wanted Izar's pride to sting, so the Black heir tried his damnest to pretend he was anywhere but kneeling at his Master's feet.

"You've grown," the man stated after several minutes of silence.

Izar closed his eyes, seething.

Voldemort chuckled lightly and reached out to touch Izar's cheek. The Black heir reared back in order to avoid the touch, but he remained stubbornly on his knees. "I may have to kneel at your feet, but I don't have to let you touch me."

"You deserve a proper Crucio," the Dark Lord mused as he took a step back from Izar. "But I am feeling rather merciful today."

Izar bowed his head, black hair veiling his vision. "How fortunate," Izar quipped.

He didn't see or hear the hex coming before it was too late. He gave a loud groan as he fell to the ground, shuddering as the pain swept through his muscles and tendons. It was similar to the Crucio, but many times more diluted. Izar whimpered, holding in his screams to the best of his ability. As he trembled on the ground, he realized that Voldemort had never cast a Crucio on him despite the many times that Izar deserved it for his past actions.

The answer came to him almost immediately. The Crucio was a curse that was emotionally attached to the caster. It only worked if the caster wanted to cause pain to their victim, they needed to mean it and enjoy it. Voldemort may boast that he was merciful by not casting the Crucio on Izar, but Izar knew the truth behind Voldemort's lack of ability to cast the Cruciatus.

It was because Izar was the Dark Lord's mate. Even if Voldemort never gave any inclination that he was a creature, there had to be something inside the Dark Lord that protested against intentionally harming his mate. And while the human side of Riddle thought Izar deserved the pain, the Crucio wouldn't be efficient. So the man had to settle with another dark curse. That was why Voldemort brought him in here to punish him. He didn't want his followers seeing his lenient punishment on a boy who had defied him.

Izar didn't doubt that Voldemort could cast the Cruciatus on him. But the man needed to be enraged to do so.

Through the pain, Izar tipped back his head and gave a strained laugh. Voldemort swooped over him, and with a wave of his wand, he ended the curse. Izar's body shook with the after-affects but he continued to laugh up at the red-eyed gaze.

"You punished me for an altered Dark Mark, which, by the way, saved your hide in front of the Headmaster. And you also punished me for my absence—a four month healing period…" Izar's tongue was heavy, but he slowly gained control of it as he grinned up at the Dark Lord. "When do I get to punish you for completely betraying my trust?"

Voldemort leaned down, a frown marring his features. "If you'd like, I could give you an even larger punishment. You've escaped practically unscathed."

Izar narrowed his eyes at the hovering Dark Lord. "I'd like to see you do more," Izar challenged sharply.

A sharp nail reached out and traced Izar's jaw line. The man gave a low, amused hum, shaking his head. "Do not tempt me." The man then turned away, his aura turning even icier.

Izar sat up, glowering. "You're a right bastard," he hissed. "Why punish me for healing?"

Voldemort stood motionless near the Black tapestry, studying it in bored fascination. He had his back turned to Izar and continued to keep his attention turned as he began to speak. "I offered to assist you in healing your mind. While I may be possessive of your well-being, I could have accepted the fact that you wanted to heal on your own. I could not, however, accept your decision to leave Britain entirely for four months." Here, Voldemort's tone dripped frigidly. "I had no word on your location, nor your health. You left Britain in your anger only in spite of me. That is why I punished you."

Izar wouldn't deny it. He had left Britain secretly because he was angry with the Dark Lord. But also to heal without interruption, without the Dark Lord's reach.

Izar looked down on the parlor floor, realizing once again that his anger was unjust. Harboring such anger toward the Dark Lord was affecting his actions, making him appear immature, childish, and juvenile. Four months of absence from the man had cooled Izar's fury considerably, but he realized not all of his anger over the Triwizard Tournament was gone. And that anger he kept hold of was being directed at Voldemort.

The sooner he acted like an adult, the sooner Voldemort would treat him as such. And when Voldemort began to see him as an adult, situations like the Tournament wouldn't happen again.

Or so he assumed.

Izar smiled thinly. His anger seemed to cool with his insight and he gave a pleased nod. He had matured; he just had a few hurdles to cross before he was fully adult.

"You're right…" Izar conceded. "I was bitter over your decision to leave me unaware of my invention's purposes. After my suppressed memories began to break my mind, you were the center of my blame." Although Izar no longer directed his anger over the Tournament's outcome on Voldemort, his trust was still a bit damaged. It would take awhile for Izar to trust the Dark Lord again.

Voldemort turned to look at Izar intentionally. Izar met the cloaked gaze, his chin lifted in his usual stubbornness. "You may stand," the Dark Lord sounded pleased, almost as if Izar had passed a test of his.

Bracing his hands on the ground, Izar gradually stood. He gathered his cool confidence again and stood a few feet from Voldemort. The man continued to study the Black family tapestry, his attention directed toward the branch Izar and Regulus were located at.

"What will it take for you to trust me, child?" Voldemort murmured in question.

Izar blinked at the question, surprise flushing his stomach before he cleared away his expression. It wouldn't do to have Voldemort see such a vulnerable emotion on Izar's face. "I may never trust you," Izar admitted softly. "Because I know, no matter how close we may or may not grow, you will never trust me. If it is not a two-way link, I don't think I could ever place such trust in you."

Voldemort's head cocked slightly. "I have trusted you with many things already."

"With bindings," Izar shot back calmly. "You may have told me of sensitive topics, but you've enforced my silence through the Celtic band." The man was likely speaking of his lack of Horcruxes and the fact he was immortal because of his creature status. Each of those important secrets were being protected and bound through the ring Izar had on his left hand. It insured Izar's silence.

Voldemort's aura pulsated with a bit of dark humor. "Nonetheless, I did not need to share any of those sensitive matters with you. You are the only one who knows."

Izar nodded, though, Voldemort wouldn't see it. He glanced at the Black tapestry Voldemort seemed to take up his attention with before looking back at the tall figure of the Dark Lord. "Teach me Occlumency."

Voldemort finally turned, his expression veiled beneath his hood. Izar stood his ground, his hands clasped behind his back. "You've taken on students before," Izar continued. "Bellatrix was once your student and you taught her to duel; perhaps you even indulged her with some teachings of the Dark Arts. You asked me what it would take for me to trust you. Teaching me Occlumency is a large step in that direction."

The Dark Lord issued a hissing laugh. "Dueling is far different than what you ask of me, child. Occlumency forms a mental bond between student and mentor. For you to truly succeed in learning Occlumency, you must place your confidence in me. Allowing me into the deepest recesses of your mind requires trust. You have already stated that you do not trust me."

Izar was prepared for that. He had accepted as much this summer when he attempted to learn Occlumency but failed considerably. "I tried to self-educate myself in the ways of Occlumency. Obliviously, it didn't work. The only other Occlumens I know of is Severus Snape. But he's teaching at Hogwarts."

Much to Izar's surprise, Voldemort shook his head once again. "No, I cannot teach you."

Veiling his shock and disappointment, Izar blinked across at the Dark Lord. "May I ask why?"

Voldemort took a predatorily step forward, his movements almost liquid-like. "Many reasons, Izar. I told you several times that I enjoy mind-rape. I do not know how to enter the mind gently. If I instruct you, it will be torture for you. I also know that you will never trust me enough to absorb my teachings. At any rate, I intended to teach you more of the Dark Arts this year. Consider that my teachings."

Izar clenched his left hand, hearing the leather of his glove groan at the action. "I need to learn Occlumency, My Lord."

"Stubborn," Voldemort tsked before reaching out a spidery hand and reaching it toward Izar.

Suddenly, a piercing pain erupted behind Izar's eyes and his head seemed to expand abnormally. He gave a muffled cry, squeezing his eyes shut against the memory.

A young Izar stood motionlessly in the rain, clutching the lifeless bird in his hand. His nails imbedded in the soft feathers, piercing through the flesh. Crimson blood trickled down his pale arm before the trail washed away in the rain.

Izar was relieved of the pain. He straightened up quickly, his mind heavy with the darkness of Voldemort's lasting presence. "It wasn't so bad," Izar lied. A moment later, his lie was seen through when his nose began to bleed. Angrily, he wiped at the thick liquid.

Voldemort was inches from him, reaching out to cradle Izar's cheek possessively. "Why do you wish to learn Occlumency? Is there something you must hide from me?" It was a teasing tone, but Izar took it to heart.

Charcoal-green eyes flashed. "Do you think I would ask you to instruct me if that were the case, My Lord?" He turned away from the hand, wiping away the blood that trickled down his nose. "There is… an invention I drafted up over the summer. I believe it's a way to destroy a few key members of the Light side. I don't want Dumbledore seeing it in my mind."

Voldemort reached up and lowered his hood, finally revealing his unkempt black hair and devilish features. Currently, his eyebrows were raised. "And what invention would that be?"

For a moment, Izar hesitated. He wondered if Voldemort would think he stepped over his boundaries with the invention he drafted up. The man could think of it as a breach of his privacy, but Izar hadn't been able to help himself when it came to mind. "A… Horcrux."

Crimson eyes darkened and the man took another step closer to Izar. The Dark Lord's cloak brushed against Izar and the younger wizard felt a shiver run up his spine from the barely contact.

Voldemort's lips twitched upward as if he sensed Izar's complete awareness of him. "What do you mean, child?"

They were so close, but they weren't touching. Izar wondered why he felt the pull to the taller man, why he felt the need to reach out and touch Voldemort.

Throwing the erotic temptations in the back of his mind, Izar focused on the task at hand. "You want Dumbledore to believe you have Horcruxes in order to draw him away from the fact that you are of creature status. What better way to lead him along than by creating an artifact that he believes to be a Horcrux? Or several Horcruxes? Hide them where they would connect to your past and make him seek them."

Voldemort's hand tightened at his side as if the man were controlling himself from reaching out to Izar.

"I've been working on the drafting process of a Horcrux," Izar continued quietly. "It has a few things I need to straighten out, but the outcome of the invention has remained the same ever since I've come up with the idea."

The expression on Riddle's face was unreadable, almost menacing. If Izar hadn't been able to feel the dark excitement coming from Voldemort's aura, he might have thought the man was against Izar's invention. "And what outcome is that?" Voldemort breathed forebodingly. "Tell me."

Izar hadn't planned to tell Voldemort anything about the invention. It would seem as if his expectations of this confrontation with Voldemort had turned on its head. Completely. Everything he had planned had fallen through his fingers. He had underestimated the man's enthrall. "Not that you deserve any of my inventions after what happened to the last, but I hope to come up with a way to manipulate the invention to cause demise. Whoever seeks the invention to destroy it will end up dead. It will be difficult to construct. And the Dark magic I will need to put into it will be overwhelming, but—"

He paused when Voldemort turned his shoulder on him, successfully cutting off conversation.

"I have missed you, child," Voldemort admitted huskily. "I must confess that you have been a constant in my mind during your absence."

Izar's eyebrows heightened and a smug smirk settled across his lips. "That's because you insist of surrounding yourself around incompetents, My Lord. I too, would miss anyone with a shred of intelligence if I surrounded myself with the same lot you seem to favor."

The Dark Lord turned predatorily toward Izar, a thin smile stretching across his lips. The white hand reached out and grabbed a hold of Izar's shirt, pulling him flush against his thin chest. Izar's ears burned with the closeness. The long finger that stroked down his cheek harbored just as much domineering verve as the hand holding his shirt captive. His belly could feel the heat coming off from Voldemort's groin—it was almost his undoing.

"I look forward to seeing that invention," Voldemort murmured, pleased. He leaned down, hunting for his prize before Izar pushed him away.

"Oh no, My Lord," Izar purred darkly. He laid his hands on Voldemort's chest, pushing him away little by little. He may have brushed off the man's advance as if it was nothing, but his pulse was racing with the thought of kissing the man once again. He wouldn't. He couldn't submit that easily. "You must teach me Occlumency before I even begin constructing it. I think it's a fair trade, no?"

He didn't just want to learn Occlumency to protect the information of his inventions, but he always wanted it for personal gain. Occlumency was something Izar had struggled with for many years. It was a talent he always wished to possess.

Crimson eyes widened before narrowing in dark satisfaction. Nails reached out and scraped down Izar's cheek in a painful claiming. Izar withheld his immediate reaction to the painful sensation of his skin ripping open. "You dare deny me a kiss after four months of absence, child?"

Izar's wrists were taken from Voldemort's chest before he found himself slammed up against the Black tapestry. Voldemort's knee separated Izar's legs forcibly and the lithe frame of the Dark Lord pushed itself between Izar's hips. "I find the result of your reconstruction of your mind to be both pleasing and infuriating."

The younger found it in himself to offer a smirk despite the controlling way Voldemort was pushing him into the wall. "As long as you find it infuriating then I know I did something right."

"Cheeky." Voldemort didn't smile, yet his magic peaked in humor before darkening. "You wish to learn Occlumency from me, then so be it." The finger on Izar's cheek embedded lightly into one of the wounds the man inflicted moments ago. Ignoring Izar's breathless inhale, Voldemort crooned. "Just know there are many things that will be changing once you become my student."

It was a whispered promise and Izar found the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention.

Before he had a chance to respond, he felt the atmosphere turn chilly just before the house elf popped in the room.

Something was not right…

"Master Izar," Kreacher rasped in a short bow. "Master Regulus is being hurt. You asked me to inform you if there ever comes a time…"

"Bellatrix," Izar hissed darkly. He somehow managed to pull himself away from the hold of Voldemort and toward the door to the drawing room. If Bellatrix so much as harmed Regulus…

Just as soon as his hand curled around the door handle, Voldemort reached out and grabbed a hold of Izar's arm in a tight grip. Izar turned, a nasty retort on his tongue until he saw the sinister expression in the man's eyes. "We are not finished with this discussion just yet. It will be continued at a later date."

Izar realized the man's hand was enclosed over the altered Dark Mark. Voldemort was applying a significant amount of pressure on it before reluctantly dropping his hold.

With a sharp nod, Izar opened the door and stepped out, Voldemort at his back. Before he escaped to the parlor where he could feel Regulus' pained aura, he paused. Slowly, he turned to look at Riddle with a mischievous grin. "I thought you'd enjoy her," Izar mused innocently as he motioned toward the Dark Mark through the sleeve. "After all, I had you in mind when I altered her form. You two have many features in common."

A dangerous hiss followed at his heels.

"Insolent brat."


{Notes} Thanks so much for the reviews last chapter.

I had to split this chapter into two parts. It was getting far too long with too much information for my sanity. Next chapter, you'll get some interactions between Lucius/Bellatrix/Izar and of course more Tom/Izar. You'll find out more about what Voldemort has planned for this upcoming war.

Thanks for reading. ;)