{Notes} Thanks for all of your wonderful reviews. I didn't get a chance to respond to all of them *sweat drop*, but just know I appreciate each one of them.
Oh, and just a reminder to those of you who aren't enjoying the direction of the story- I am not forcing you to read.
Enjoy—my readers ;)
Chapter Three
Bellatrix was a complex woman. She was intelligent, observant, powerful and yet she was also deranged. There were times when Izar believed she had been dropped on the head as a child, but then he realized that many Blacks were similar to Bellatrix. They were twisted and too wrapped into the Dark to realize their actions just weren't normal by any standards.
But just like Sirius, Bellatrix was loyal to her family. Perhaps she viewed loyalty differently than others, but she protected her kin and also took pleasure in punishing them when she saw fit. She was also unwaveringly loyal to the Dark Lord. The same man who took her in as his protégé and taught her how to duel and twist the Dark Arts to her own needs. As far as Izar knew, Bellatrix was Voldemort's only student he took in.
He speculated if their relationship ever exceeded that of Master and servant, but immediately pushed that thought away. From what Izar had heard in passing, Voldemort didn't favor bringing his servants to bed. It would create a link between them that he didn't want to establish. It would make them believe they were something more to the Dark Lord than just servants. Voldemort enjoyed making his followers do crazy things for attention. He would never want them to think they were worthy of attention. He would only tease them.
Izar believed Bellatrix was Riddle's undeclared right-hand Death Eater. Despite the fact that there were a few Inner Circle members that Riddle grew up with at Hogwarts, Bellatrix somehow managed to become his right-hand before them.
Izar didn't know whether to feel jealous or determined to pass her in status. At the moment, he was a Second Tier Death Eater, a far cry from the Dark Lord's hand. He knew it was foolish to even think that just because he was Voldemort's mate that he should be higher in ranking than other Death Eaters. They had many years over him in servitude to Voldemort. Izar had to prove himself to the Death Eaters and to the Dark Lord that he could become a member of the Inner Circle through skill and not favoritism.
It would come. He just needed to be patient.
Dust rose in the air and around his feet as he walked quickly to the parlor. There weren't any screams coming from inside the room, but Izar wasn't fooled by the silencing charm. He could feel Regulus' agonized aura throb brightly. It almost choked him with the intensity.
Voldemort was following behind in a lazy saunter. The man most likely enjoyed the power struggles his Death Eaters partook in and didn't feel the need to interfere in the amusing spectacle. Izar clenched his jaw, knowing that the man held little regard for Regulus. If Voldemort didn't take such an interest to make Izar see him in a tolerable light, he was sure Regulus would have been killed already.
Izar reached out and wandlessly threw open the doors to the parlor. Lucius stood at his entrance, the wicked gleam in his eyes only brightening when they landed on him. Bellatrix stood over Regulus' suffering form, her mouth pursed with pleasure. Izar remembered being under Bellatrix's Crucio. It had been the most painful thing he had ever felt.
His father's screams tore at his mind and Izar threw out his arm, wand in hand, and magically pushed Bellatrix off her feet. She gave a grunt as she landed on her arse but she only got back up. Glowering, she pointed her wand at Izar who had stepped in front of his father in a protective manner.
"He deserves his punishment," Bellatrix heaved, her bosom expanding as she inhaled harshly. "Even you cannot interfere."
She threw a dark hex at him, likely meaning to push him away, but Izar quickly circled his wand above his head. The Black wards groaned forebodingly as they caught Bellatrix's hex and threw it back at her in the form of a vein of lightning. The air cracked loudly as the pink static-lightning missed her head by only a few inches. Izar snapped his teeth in a sneer and his wand remained poised and ready to use if she proved foolish to attack.
"Not in our home," Izar whispered sinisterly.
Her black eyes were wide as she stared at the scorch mark on the wall near her head. Black curls fell in her face as she quickly turned to the Dark Lord standing behind Izar. She looked as if she was going to argue, but Izar beat her to it.
"His fate lies in the Dark Lord's hands, not yours. And unless our Lord gave you permission to torture him as you see fit, I will not step aside." Izar stood tall as she continued to raise her wand.
Once again, she looked beyond Izar's shoulder at the Dark Lord. The Black heir didn't turn to see what the Dark Lord had done, but Bellatrix seethed at what she saw there, lowering both her wand and head in submission. In turn, Izar dropped his own wand and the Black wards spun away from his control at the action—plastering back on the walls and ceilings.
He then turned to Regulus, frowning as his father's body shook with the after-affects of the Cruciatus Curse. Why had his father simply allowed Bellatrix to torture him? He had the ability to manipulate the wards to his protection just as Izar had done, yet he hadn't raised his hand. Had Bellatrix taken him by surprise? Or was it some kind of sick pleasure to succumb to a higher ranking Death Eater? Or did Regulus think he deserved to be punishment?
Again, he was faced with the fact that Regulus was similar to Bellatrix in many ways. Regulus may have believed he deserved to be punished for his actions and had taken it submissively. Hopefully, if Regulus hadn't thought he deserved the punishment, he would be able to defend himself. Looking into the man's stubborn eyes, Izar was relieved to note that his father could take care of himself if he was in a right mind.
"I tried to tell Bellatrix that it would be unjust to torture your father," a voice spoke up. "It was not her hand he should suffer, but our Lord's."
Izar turned abruptly, observing Lucius through lowered lids. The man, like always, was a statue of cool and frozen elegance despite Bellatrix's dark glower. His cold grey eyes met Izar's in renowned interest. The man never hid his infatuation for Izar; in fact, his aura always seemed to hint that he was excited and aroused. Lucius was a man who wasn't shy about admiring pretty things, or so Izar was told.
"I'm sure you did just that, Mr. Malfoy," Izar remarked dryly.
Lucius stepped forward and Voldemort finally shifted deeper into the parlor after shutting the doors. "Call me Lucius," the blond corrected silkily. "I almost didn't recognize you, Izar, but of course you're eyes gave you away. I wouldn't have believed you could grow anymore striking, but you proved me wrong. And rightfully so." The man reached out a hand despite Regulus' warning growl.
Izar smiled thinly and took Lucius' hand. "You are as charming as ever, Lucius," Izar purred. His forefinger brushed across Lucius' pulse point, startling the man before the blonde's expression turned into that of pensive interest.
Yes, Lucius, I'm not one to be played. I play you.
Regulus finally struggled to his feet and stepped ungracefully between his son and Lucius with his weakened limbs. "Sick bastard," Regulus sneered quietly, almost too quietly for Izar too hear.
It was a bit touching that Regulus wanted to defend Izar, but really, the young Black heir was having just as much fun with Lucius as Lucius was having with him. Over Regulus' head, Izar noticed Lucius' quick glance at the wounds across his cheek.
He had almost forgotten about the scratches on his face and the man that gave them to him. The scratches seemed to burn at his awareness, reminding him that the man in question was in the room. Izar turned to catch the crimson eyes of Voldemort, quickly noting the man was not amused with his interactions with Lucius. Izar supposed healing the cuts on his face would only anger the man a tenfold.
"I beg your pardon, Black," Lucius murmured, appearing affronted. "I was merely complementing him. How he was able to turn out so accomplished considering his parentage is a feat in itself…"
Izar gave a thin sigh, clapping his hands once. Almost as if Kreacher had read his mind, the house-elf popped into the parlor, bowing down low as he balanced a platter of finger sandwiches and a kettle of hot tea. The house-elf set it down at the table in the center of the couch and armchairs.
"Please sit, My Lord," Izar invited, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Despite his tone, Voldemort sat down gracefully on the farthest armchair. Only after he settled did everyone else reluctantly sit. Lucius made a show of inspecting the couch before he sat down next to Bellatrix. His form was stiff as he eyed the mysterious hand sandwiches and the stained teacups. Izar had to admit, the sanitary in Grimmauld was less than satisfactory. In fact, they had a long way to go before the Black home could be passable.
Izar could only imagine what Draco's expression would be if he caught sight of Grimmauld Place.
Snobby pure-bloods.
"I made your favorite, Master Izar," Kreacher praised, happy with himself.
Izar's eyes widened a fraction when he eyed the moldy-green bread and the cheese that didn't smell very appetizing. "Thank you, Kreacher," Izar nodded sharply, not making any move to grab one of the offered… sandwiches.
Kreacher popped out of the parlor, leaving a heavy silence amongst the group.
"Pathetic," Lucius drawled, flashing an astonished look at Regulus. "All that gold in your vault and you cannot even provide our Lord with satisfactory food?"
Izar's lips trembled as he held in his laughter. He was sure Voldemort wouldn't care about finger sandwiches… Charcoal-green eyes flashed toward an impassive and bored-looking Dark Lord. The man's gaze turned from the green sandwiches to Izar's impish face.
"Grimmauld has been abandoned for almost twenty years, Lucius," Regulus started briskly. "Considering we have just arrived, I'm afraid we don't have a fresh batch of armadillos and albino peacocks ready to serve upon a diamond platter," Regulus retorted viciously, defending his birthright. Izar made a face at the mention of armadillos.
Voldemort waved a dismissive hand. "As much as I enjoy the flow of this conversation, I did not come here to discuss the benefits of culinary arts."
Izar scoffed, trying to hide his amusement all the while watching as Bellatrix reached over and helped herself to the offered food. Her face revealed nothing as she ate and Izar wondered if she got enough food at the Lestrange residence. That couldn't be healthy…
"My Lord," Lucius replied in reverence. "Please forgive me; I was only concerned with your well-being. Surely you don't want a decaying—" The blond tapered off after a stern stare from the Dark Lord.
"The war," Izar supplied lightly as the room lapsed into another tense silence. "Regulus and I have been keeping up with the Daily Prophet, but it doesn't mention the Death Eater's movement. Save for a few occasions." Here, Izar threw Voldemort a pointed stare, telling the man that yes he knew about the orphanage and the hoaxed assassination attack. Voldemort held his stare, amused underneath his expressionless mask.
Lucius straightened, receiving a nod from Voldemort before beginning silkily. "There is nothing much to discuss, Mr. Black. We have been remaining inactive in the light of the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament. With our inactivity, the Prophet has been degrading Dumbledore's image. Meanwhile, Fudge still believes that the Death Eaters is a terrorist group. He will not accept that there is a rising Dark Lord."
"Typical," Izar mused. "And Undersecretary Riddle?" Izar looked over at Voldemort. "What is he saying about this terrorist group?"
"He's silent, following cautiously behind Minister Fudge, but not as vocal about his doubts that there is not a Dark Lord," Voldemort studied Izar through lowered lids. "He will make more of an appearance once Fudge steps down as Minister and Rufus Scrimgeour takes his place." Voldemort looked pleased with himself and Izar leaned forward, clasping his hands together in contemplation.
"Rufus Scrimgeour?" Izar furrowed his brows, his mind racing as he tried to put a history with the name. "The Head of the Auror department? You think he's going to become the next Minister?"
The term for the next Minister was due in the beginning of November, only a few days away. The wizarding world would vote for their new Minister and Izar wondered if Fudge would run for office a second term. And would Tom Riddle?
"Ex Auror," Regulus corrected gently. "He retired last year from the department and has been getting more heavily involved with politics. He has Dumbledore whispering in his ear about the Dark Lord's rise to power. And while Rufus claims he doesn't support Dumbledore, the man has been outspoken involving the terrorist group. Many people believe, because of his Auror skills, that he would make a reliable Minister— they believe he could protect them."
"He's also pro-Muggle," Izar considered. He looked down at the floor, debating on Voldemort's plan of action. Izar doubted the man would outright tell him what he was planning. Riddle always enjoyed making Izar find out for himself.
Suddenly, his mind warmed with a realization. He looked up at the dark form of Voldemort and gave a wicked smile. "You're going to make his life hell, aren't you?"
Voldemort lifted a hand to silence Lucius as the man was about to respond. He held up his left hand, the silver Celtic band on his finger visible—much to Izar's dislike. "What are you implying, Izar?"
Izar looked at Bellatrix, noticing the woman wasn't paying much attention. It would seem as if she didn't enjoy politics and was a woman of action instead. "If Tom Riddle isn't running for the position of Minister of Magic and he wants Scrimgeour to succeed, then I can only imagine you have plans for him." Voldemort cocked his head to the side, urging Izar to expand. "You want him to lull the wizarding world into a sense of calm…"
"Because of his position as ex-Auror, yes, the wizards and witches of Britain will likely see him as means to destroy this 'terrorist group' before the group begins to expand," Voldemort conceded.
Izar's smirk widened into a smile as he realized where this was going. "I assume Lord Voldemort is going to become a bigger problem for Britain once Rufus Scrimgeour is Minister? You'll make the wizarding world go into chaos and the citizens of Britain won't feel so secure with Scrimgeour when he fails to deliver. There will be doubt in his leadership. And meanwhile, like you stated earlier, Tom Riddle will make more of an appearance. I wonder…" Izar trailed off, pondering. "You will never reveal that Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort are the same, will you?"
Voldemort finally sat forward with a dark chuckle. "No, they will never be the same person to the public. As Undersecretary, I will gradually put my word out into the public that, perhaps, we need to bend slightly to the Dark Lord's wishes and break ourselves from the Muggle world. There will be groups of wizards and witches who will be against my word, but the more Scrimgeour fails, the more the citizens will start to listen to Riddle's words."
Izar shook his head, marveling. "And when the wizarding world starts to sway to Undersecretary Riddle's reach, the less Lord Voldemort will attack the wizarding world. And when the people realize that they no longer have to live in fear of the Dark Lord, they will adapt to the new changes of the wizarding world." Izar summed up, feeling a bit pleased with the man's scheme.
"Very good, child," Voldemort purred. "I can see I will not have to prep you very much for our political runs."
Regulus shifted next to Izar, clearly still against Izar being the man's political heir.
Bellatrix finally looked up from her half-eaten sandwich. However, it wasn't her who posed the question. "Izar will be accompanying you on political runs, My Lord?" Lucius murmured in question, his eyebrows high in surprise.
Voldemort kept his eyes on Izar as a lipless smile crossed his mouth. "He's my political heir, Lucius."
Lucius looked at the silver Celtic band on Voldemort's finger and then to the fingerless glove Izar wore.
Before Lucius could ask when or how, Izar spoke up. "Do you think it wise to continue telling your followers that you are also Tom Riddle? I understand that you have a privacy ward in your Dark Mark to prevent the Death Eaters from speaking of you as the same person, but perhaps you and the Death Eaters should start courting wizards without informing them you are Tom Riddle."
Izar tried his best to appear innocent as he spoke of the Dark Mark. When he manipulated his Dark Mark, he had thought he transferred over Riddle's privacy ward from the old Mark and onto his new Mark. It hadn't worked. Somehow, Izar wasn't able to convert the privacy ward and he was able to speak about Riddle and Voldemort as the same man.
Voldemort gave him a pointed look at the mention of the Dark Mark, but nodded nevertheless. "You may be right. There are both benefits and downfalls in revealing my duel personas to my followers. However, I'm confident enough that my privacy ward will hold. There aren't many prodigies out there, hell bent on infuriating their Masters by stripping the Dark Mark of its privacy ward…"
The man trailed off and Izar looked down, hiding his grin.
"If I may ask, My Lord," Lucius murmured, oblivious to Voldemort's remark. "When will you announce that you have taken a political apprentice under your wing? I find myself very anxious to see Izar in the political scene."
A trembling hand landed on Izar's knee in almost a possessive manner. Turning, Izar noticed Regulus was sitting back against his chair, offering Lucius an unimpressed stare. Despite his body trembling from the after-affects of the Cruciatus Curse, Regulus was able to pull off an intimidating look. Times like these, Izar knew that Regulus thought he was nothing but a child in need of a father for defense.
Izar would let it slide. This time. It was best to humor Regulus and allow his father the chance to defend him. There may come a time where Izar had to deny Regulus that chance. Izar knew Regulus was emotionally upset about missing so much of his childhood and with the support Regulus had given him this summer, Izar would allow his father a chance at being a protective parental figure.
"I will likely inform the media after the new Minister is announced," Voldemort surveyed Izar. "And while the custody battle with Potter is just beginning."
Bellatrix made a disgusted noise in her throat. Izar assumed it was from the mere mention of the Mudblood and not from the moldy sandwich she just consumed.
He perked up at the change in topic, realizing that he had put Lily Potter in the back of his mind for the better part of his summer. However, even if he hadn't thought about her much, he had come up with a new solution to the whole custody battle. "Perhaps Regulus and I are going about the custody battle the wrong way," Izar began lightly. "We're using my independence as means to allow me to choose whom I live with. Why don't I file for emancipation? Regulus drops his bid for custody and allows me to go against her."
Lucius stroked his cane, musing. "Lily Potter and Albus Dumbledore have many contacts in the Ministry—almost as much as our Lord. I know for a fact that the judge who has been assigned your case is sympathetic toward mothers and their children. Just because you have graduated from Hogwarts does not mean you are eligible for emancipation."
Izar leaned forward, his lips thinning irritably. "I'm sixteen, only a year away from being considered an adult."
Lucius shook his head gently, silently informing Izar that his age wasn't enough to file for emancipation. Izar then glanced at the Dark Lord, noticing that the man appeared disinterested. Well… the man would soon become fascinated with the topic as soon as Izar suggestion his next scheme.
He tried to withhold the growing smirk, but he was afraid he failed. His smirk caught Lucius' attention and Izar could feel his father's curious stare.
"If I file for emancipation at the last moment, Lily will have to change her tactics quickly—without prior warning. She'll have to go from targeting Regulus to targeting my lack of independence. Most minors who are granted emancipation do it through financial self-sufficiency or obtaining a degree from a wizarding school. I've graduated from Hogwarts with top marks and I have a job with the Unspeakables…"
Izar paused, trying to control himself from snickering darkly. Instead of submitting to his urges, he held up a third finger. "There is also one other way a court could grant a minor emancipation. Marriage."
A thick silence stretched across the parlor. It was more from Voldemort's slowly darkening aura than anything else.
Lucius raised his eyebrows while Regulus nodded next to him. "And…" Lucius began softly. "Who do you plan to marry?"
Bellatrix seemed to be just as interested in his answers as the others. She most likely wanted to be reassured that it was a respectable pure-blood and not a Half-blood or Mudblood. It was the only reason she was taking notice.
"Daphne Greengrass, of course."
Lucius cocked his head in agreement. "She is a very worthy candidate. And I believe that your request for emancipation will be accepted. Though, you must dance carefully with the judge. Muggle emancipation cases are less strict than wizarding cases. We believe our young should be well taken care of until they are seventeen. Even after years of debating, many still believe that seventeen is too young to be declared a legal adult."
Izar grimaced lightly at that. Seventeen years was more than enough time to establish independence. Though, he was different than most others his age. He had been looking after himself ever since he was a child.
Charcoal-green eyes slowly glanced at the Dark Lord. The man's aura was icy and his stare was even colder. Izar's stomach clenched in fear at the man's expression. It was entirely closed off but the crimson eyes seemed to burn as they stared him down.
"I believe we are finished here for the day," Voldemort hissed. He unfolded his tall frame from the chair and stood tall.
Bellatrix wasn't too far behind, looking relieved to be rid of their company. She seemed to despise sitting quietly and patiently. Her walk toward the door was quick and antsy, her aura just as flashy as her mannerisms.
Izar nodded sharply to Lucius as the man bid Regulus and him a farewell.
He didn't feel guilty over the marriage he was considering with Daphne. It was a good way to claim independence and to cover up his real relationship with the Dark Lord. She would benefit, Izar would benefit, and so would Voldemort.
But when Izar caught the last stare Voldemort gave him, he suddenly feared for Daphne's well-being.
No matter, Izar would make Voldemort see it his way.
{Death of Today}
"He was my great-grandfather and I was always deathly afraid of the stories I heard about him…"
Regulus trailed off, pushing aside a thick spider-web that hung from the low ceiling. Izar grimaced at the dark and dingy basement of Grimmauld, trying not to breathe too deeply. His sleeve covered his mouth and nose, hoping his lungs would remain intact with all the dust floating about.
"Cygnus was brilliant," Regulus continued. His charcoal eyes seemed to gleam in the light of his wand. "Very much like you. Only, he was crazy. He always encouraged his children and grandchildren to follow in his footsteps in terms of inventions and experimenting. He didn't support the Unspeakables, but he was the only wizard to approach the Veil at the time. He kept his findings to himself and the Unspeakables despised him for it."
Izar eyed the wood crates in front of him. They were stacked on top of one another against a grey stone wall. His attention then focused back on Regulus. He and his father had disappeared down to the basement a few moments after Voldemort had left. The man appeared mentally stable from Bellatrix's earlier Crucio, but his limbs were still trembling. The Lumos at the end of his wand shook—casting the basement in flickering shadows.
"After the Second Task," Izar started. "Lily claimed you didn't know anything about Cygnus' Curse."
Regulus' shoulders stiffened and he cast an almost shy glance at Izar before turning back to the crates in front of him. "I…"
Izar's eyes became hooded and his lips thinned from behind his sleeve. "She was right, wasn't she?"
His father shook his head, sending a few strands of hair into his face. "I don't know exactly what it is, no." Before Izar could retort, Regulus continued briskly. "I do know that Cygnus was obsessed with death. He was obsessed with the life in between living and the dead. He wanted a way to control it…"
Izar didn't like where this was going. He enjoyed the Dark Arts, but he didn't particularly care for what he assumed was the Cygnus' Curse. "Necromancy?"
Regulus tore open one of the crate's lids and peered down at the contents. "Yes," he responded distractedly. "Cygnus was rather jealous of the tales of the necromancers. Necromancers are born with the talent to raise the dead. There is no way to obtain the powers later in life if you weren't born with it. But Cygnus was determined, nonetheless. He…" Regulus grunted as he pulled out an object from the crate.
"He experimented with his sperm, with his DNA, anything he could extract from his body. Eventually, from what I've heard, he began to run out of time. He decided to go with a route he knew he would succeed at—genetics. Cygnus began to manipulate his sperm and hoped to pass down the necromancy gene. When his children didn't inherit the gene, he turned his sight on his grandchildren, hoping they would inherit the magic sensitivity, the sign of the gene's success."
Here, Regulus turned to look at Izar. "My father before me explained that Cygnus became more and more deranged the older he became. He used to escort his grandchildren before the Veil, hoping to see a sign of his gene succeeding. He never did… He passed away before I was born and obviously before you were born."
Izar leaned back on his heels, feeling something dark twist in his stomach. Something just didn't fit.
Regulus brought back his hand and brushed the dust off the object in his hands. Izar peered closer, realizing it was a portrait of a middle-aged man. The man had dark black hair with graying temples. His face was contorted into a deep grimace as Regulus brushed off the rest of the dust. Immediately, Izar noticed the dark eyes. They looked eerily similar to Bellatrix's.
"I assume I'm needed?" The portrait spoke with a raspy whisper.
The voice sent chills down Izar's spine. Where had he heard that voice before? Nonetheless, Izar remained collected as he peered uninterestedly at the portrait.
"Hello grandfather," Regulus offered a tight grin. "I'm here to introduce you to Izar, your second great-grandson."
The man's eyes squinted at Izar before a tight, almost cruel smile stretched across his lips. "No one would have woken me unless my experiment had succeeded."
Izar sneered as he was referred to as an 'experiment'. He didn't get much chance to retort, for Cygnus blinked at him admiringly.
"Leave me with the boy," Cygnus demanded of Regulus. The portrait must have noticed Regulus' indecision, for the black eyes turned back to Izar's father. "This is a confidential discussion between the boy and I. If he wishes for you to know, he will tell you at a later date."
Izar felt a bit bad for Regulus as the man gave a terse nod. Cygnus hadn't even asked Regulus who he was and what his name was. It was almost if the portrait was programmed to just speak privately to Izar about this gift he'd been presented with. Hopefully the portrait wouldn't pick up on Izar's reluctance to use necromancy.
Regulus handed Izar the portrait before squeezing his shoulder and disappearing back up the stairs.
With his lightened wand, Izar carefully set the portrait on top one of the taller crates and peered down at his ancestor. The man continued his assessment of Izar. "It took three generations for my work to succeed…" Cygnus finally began. "I must have missed a lot in the world."
Izar frowned at the arbitrary comment before crouching down to put himself eye-level with the dark eyes. "Regulus, my father, claims that I have inherited a… gift, from you," Izar spoke dryly. "He believes its necromancy. I, however, don't seem inclined to believe him."
Cygnus barked in laughter. It wasn't like Sirius' laugh, no, this was a bit crueler. "I find it amusing how much a story warps through time. While you do have the potential for a few gifts, necromancy is not what I was aiming for."
Furrowing his brows, Izar leaned a bit closer. "Regulus said you were obsessed with necromancy—"
"No," Cygnus seethed with an angry snort. "I was not interested in raising the dead."
Izar stood up slowly, his hair once again standing on his arms. Cautiously, he looked around the dark basement, holding his light high in order to see if he was being watched. A few black spiders scampered away from his wand-light, not inclined to be hit with brightness after many years of darkness. The dust in the air seemed to glitter in his line of sight, bringing a hint of beauty to such a gloomy atmosphere.
"I was interested in my own death," Cygnus continued, snapping Izar out of his musings. "Immortality."
Throwing his wand at the portrait, Izar narrowed his eyes darkly. "I make no sense of your logic, portrait. What do you mean by immortality when you are clearly dead?"
Cygnus raised his eyebrows at the wand pointed at his face before the man looked back up at Izar. "You are too weak to attempt it now, do not ruin this for me."
Izar grimaced, realizing that Regulus had been right to declare this man insane. No wonder why people believed the Black family to be a bit… deranged. Cygnus was a perfect example of this with his raspy whispers and sparkling black eyes.
Before Izar could inform the portrait that he would be used as firewood, a voice spoke behind him.
"I have grown much stronger since I've escaped the Veil. We don't have much time. The boy has made an agreement with a Dark Lord to learn Occlumency. If his mind strengthens, we will no longer be able to use the boy as a vessel." It was the same raspy whisper as Cygnus' portrait.
As Izar turned, he caught sight of the familiar cloaked-apparition. His wand automatically pointed at the figure that had been haunting him since last Christmas. Only, the apparition seemed considerably denser, less blurry.
The figure dropped its hood, revealing distinct features of the man who was in the portrait behind Izar.
Izar held his arm steady as he glared. "What do you mean by escaping the Veil?"
Cygnus' spirit cocked his head to the side, a cruel smile lighting his features. "The day at the Ministry, Izar." This Cygnus seemed a lot darker, saner than the portrait at Izar's back. "When you touched the Veil, you released me. I spent over fifty years in that archway, waiting for my experiment to come to me. You see, you are my living vessel. You carry the gene that will allow my spirit to merge completely with you. Only you were the one who could release me from the Veil…"
"You're bloody insane," Izar whispered, taking a step backward.
Cygnus straightened his head, studying Izar with pity. "And here you thought you were going to inherit necromancy talents. Oh, don't get me wrong," Cygnus held up a pale grey hand. "You do have a few unique gifts because of my experimenting, but it's a pity you will never use them consciously. You see, you'll become nonexistent once I merge with you. Your mind isn't strong enough to overthrow me. Your body was meant to be my next host… my way of immortality."
Izar dropped his wand, glowering. He knew any spell cast at the apparition would go right through. He wouldn't run, he wouldn't scream, he would face his threat head on. "You underestimate my mind."
Cygnus chuckled. "It is misfortunate that you had to be intelligent. You could have been of use to me." The spirit took a step closer, almost purring at the proximity of Izar.
The Black heir lifted his chin, his eyes all but glowing in determination, stubbornness.
Cygnus paused as he reached toward Izar, his expression twisting into one of mock regret. "For what it's worth, I am sorry it had to be you. As an inventor yourself, Izar, you must understand that nothing can stand in my way of completing this experiment."
The hot burning touch of Cygnus almost made Izar faint. But he sharpened his mind and tried to protect himself as best he could. But nothing could compare to the utter violation and pain that sparked across his mind and body as Cygnus lunged inside him.
He tipped back his head, issuing a silent scream as his veins smoldered and bulged.
"Izar?" a voice questioned uncertainly.
Regulus…
"Izar?!"
