Thanks to those of you who reviewed last chapter.

Another note: A couple of people realized they skipped chapter 39. I did post 39 and 40 relatively close together—I just wanted to tell you all in case you hadn't read it. (Though, if you forgot to read the chapter and didn't notice any missing information, then maybe it isn't a chapter important enough to read) ;)

Chapter Eleven

It was Sunday—the day of rest and relaxation, the day that most Muggles would consider sacred. It was also the day before the new Minister was announced. And to the ignorant population of Britain, this Sunday was also the day before the Dark Lord Voldemort rose to power and wreaked havoc across the country.

Izar could almost taste Voldemort's eagerness, a cruel and tangy flavor of sadistic glee. The Dark wizard hid it well, but Izar knew the man too well to turn the other cheek. It was humorous to see Voldemort so excited about something. Though, perhaps excitement wasn't the best word for it. Anticipation, pleasure, were better words to correlate to what the man was feeling.

And Izar could understand the man's emotions, for he felt them as well.

The Dark Lord's base was busier then it had ever been, save the nights in which initiations were held. Izar remembered his own initiation as a Death Eater at the age of fifteen. He had wondered, what, exactly, he had gotten himself into. Odd, and almost cruel, how things could change in such a short time period.

"I need to talk to you," a voice snagged Izar's attention and held him in place.

He turned leisurely, his human glamours already put in place as soon as he had left the Dark Lord's private wing. There was a Death Eater meeting being held—full attendance. Voldemort would be informing his followers of the raid tomorrow, but would keep their location undisclosed until Monday night. The man was skeptical of his followers, and rightfully so. Izar would be disappointed if the man relied too heavily on his servants.

Izar's lips curled upward as he spotted Draco Malfoy leaning against a crook in the dark corridor, reeking of expensive cologne. They were both dressed in their black Death Eater robes, holding their respective masks lazily in their fingers. Izar held his silver mask while Draco clutched his charcoal mask.

"Draco," Izar murmured in quiet greeting. He stepped closer to the blond boy, using the darkness to shade them from prying eyes. "What is it that you'd like to speak to me about?" Unnecessarily, he stepped even closer, dwarfing the shorter wizard with his height.

The Malfoy heir grimaced lightly before his pure-blood mask held firm. "I'd like to clear some things up, between you and I." Draco lifted his chin haughtily, ignoring Izar's mocking smile. "Last year, during Christmas, that kiss between us meant nothing to me."

Izar chuckled low in his throat, leaning close and teasing Draco's face with his cool breath. "Good," Izar breathed. "Because it didn't mean anything to me either. Is that all?"

Just as he was about to turn away, a hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder, halting him. "I want to make sure that you understand my reasons for pursuing you romantically." Draco's pale silver eyes traced Izar's expressionless face. "I'm not gay," the boy blurted out quietly. "My father took an interest in you and I thought that if I… snagged you, he would look at me with some respect."

Izar's lips quirked. He had his suspicions that Draco hadn't been gay, thus his surprise for the boy's sudden kiss last Christmas. "Your father is not a homosexual, Draco," Izar murmured, pushing of Draco's hand on his shoulder. "And neither am I," he bluffed lightly.

It was clear from the boy's expression that Draco did not believe him. "I'm not blind. I see the way my father looks at you and I see the way you play on it," Draco growled.

"Your mother, Narcissa, is an impressive woman," Izar continued as if he hadn't heard Draco's interruption. "Lucius would be a fool to destroy such an unyielding relationship with her, and he knows this well. He admires physical beauty, whether it is a man or a woman. But that doesn't mean he would ever pursue a sexual relationship with his interest, just as he would never betray Narcissa in such a way. Let me reassure you, Draco, that your father and I would never see each other romantically. It's just a cruel game we like to play."

And it was true. Izar knew Lucius was not gay and he probably would never touch anyone other than Narcissa. The man admired beauty and gave off a sexual excitement when he found an interesting specimen. It was similar to Izar's interests; only, his reactions never came across like Lucius' did. Lucius just reeked of seduction and sexual energy.

But Draco's confession finally shed light on his possessiveness over Izar at Hogwarts. The boy wanted to be close to him, perhaps out of curiosity and mostly out of the drive to prove to his father that he had acceptable friends.

"At any rate," Izar drawled. "I believe your father would be more disappointed in you if he found out about what happened between you and I. Which is why you need to stop this shifty behavior. Do you understand?" He curled his fingers around Draco's heavy cloak, pushing him into the wall. "I don't want your pathetic display of emotion reflecting back on me."

Draco seethed, his cheeks burning pink as Izar threatened him. "You may have grown a few inches this summer, Izar, but I'm still the one leading."

It was a bluff, a feeble one at that, and Izar raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Is that so?" He dropped his hands from Draco, allowing the blond some time to gather himself. "Have you ever considered Daphne Greengrass as a bride?" he asked abruptly.

As predicted, the boy flinched, a dramatic grimace crossing his features. "Greengrass? If anything, her younger sister may be passable. Greengrass is far too outspoken for a woman."

The blond was playing right into Izar's trap. He turned his shoulder on Draco, humming lowly. "I thought so," Izar intoned.

"What do you mean, you thought so?" Draco asked sourly, suspiciously. He did not see the pleased smile stretching across Izar's face.

With an air of superiority, Izar looked coolly at Draco over his shoulder. "Well, simply that you are not up to the challenge." He shrugged lightly at Draco's wide-eyed surprise.

The boy really was coddled, spoiled. Did Narcissa pamper her son too much? Did Lucius? Were the Malfoys a more affectionate family than what the paraded to the world? Izar would have thought Lucius' son would take after his father, but the boy seemed almost sheltered. Which is why he believed Daphne would benefit from marrying Draco. She could easily walk over him if needed.

"Daphne is a very influential woman, very… much like your mother. She would make a suitable Malfoy wife. Lucius had to work for Narcissa; it would only be logical that you would have to work as well to get someone worthwhile."

Draco's eyes narrowed in consideration at his words, just as Izar had planned. The boy wouldn't back down from a challenge, and on the way, his pursuit of Daphne would open his eyes to her true character. And soon, little blond Malfoys would be running through the halls of the Malfoy Manor.

Izar felt a brief stab of sorrow before he angrily pushed it away. Daphne was the only female he could relate to, one that understood him and his tics. She teased him for always being absorbed in books and projects, but she understood his need to crave his curiosity, his need for privacy. It was difficult to ever come across someone like that, but Izar knew this was necessary.

Sometimes, sacrifices would be painful, but in the end, they were indispensable.

"But," Izar continued airily. He angled his body, placing on his silver mask and pulling up his hood. His charmed green and charcoal eyes sought Draco's through the slits of the mask. "I can understand if it would be too difficult for you. After all, who would want to go through so much effort for the future mother of their children? Or the woman who would control half of the Malfoy vaults?"

He left the crook of the corridor, blending in with the sea of other black robed Death Eaters. His Dark Mark was a constant burn, alerting him that Voldemort was calling his servants. Those who did not know the location of Voldemort's base were able to apparate directly here if their Marks were activated. It was useful, and Izar had to marvel at the Dark Lord's brilliance when he created the Dark Mark.

Izar entered the cold chamber with its tall, arched ceilings and darkened ambiance. There were two tall candles on either side of Voldemort, but their flames were barely bright enough to cast light across the length of the room.

Just like at his initiation, the Death Eaters were evenly placed in their hierocracy ranking. The twelve Inner-Circle Death Eaters were before the Dark Lord, shaped in a tight and unified semi-circle. They were still, motionless, as their knees and faces pressed against the ground before them.

To the observer, they brought forth a glorified image of power and a sense of self-importance.

Bowing directly behind the First tier, the silver-masked Death Eaters were assembled just as flawlessly. Izar made his way through the slew of bodies, catching Voldemort's eye briefly before turning away indifferently. The man looked like the royal pain in the arse he was—sitting so majestically on his chair, watching Izar like a predator would watch his prey.

Kneeling on the cold and hard ground, Izar reluctantly leaned forward, placing his palms on the ground in front of him and his masked forehead between them. He could feel the countless of bodies behind him as the charcoal masks lined up at the back of the room.

It felt like hours. But it was only minutes until the commotion settled down. After all, the Death Eaters would not make Voldemort wait. Izar wondered how the Dark Lord could possibly know if all his followers were present. After all, there may be some Hogwarts students who hadn't left Hogwarts during the weekend and were not present. Most of them wouldn't be present for the attack on Monday, either.

It was for the best.

"Welcome," Voldemort's voice washed down their backs, similar to that of a slippery ice cube. "You may be at ease."

No sighs were dared issued, but the room felt lighter as the Death Eaters sat up on their knees.

Izar looked up at Voldemort through the bodies in front of him, noticing the man now stood in the center of his Inner-Circle. His position was intentional, Izar knew. Most Death Eaters wanted to be close to the Dark Lord, to be imperative enough to be in constant proximity. And Voldemort was using their desires to tease them. He stood next to his favored followers to show the other servants that this could be them someday if they proved their worth and loyalty.

"Before we begin, we have a new member to induct to our team."

Team.

Izar scoffed, ignoring the look from the Death Eater kneeling next to him.

"Regulus Black."

The weight of his mask was of no consequence as Izar turned sharply, watching as his father was escorted inside the room by two silver-masked Death Eaters. Despite the heavy black robes and bare feet, Regulus carried himself with pride. Izar just hoped Voldemort wouldn't knock down that pride anymore then necessary. His father would need to suffer for his betrayal, yes, but hopefully by a quick Crucio and nothing more.

If his father was twisted beyond recognition, Izar would turn his back on Voldemort without hesitation. Voldemort was aware of this as well. The man had every right to kill Regulus—the Dark Lord should kill Regulus for what the man did. But because of Izar, the Dark Lord had to keep in mind that Regulus was someone who held position without having to do anything.

Izar leaned forward; his fingers caressing the concrete floor as Regulus kneeled before the Dark Lord. Behind his father, a woman shrieked out in laughter and everyone knew it was Bellatrix Lestrange. Only she would find humor in such a solemn situation.

"A few years too late, but nonetheless, you are brave… and foolish enough to come back to me." Voldemort was speaking to Regulus and the Inner-Circle next to him. The words should not have reached Izar's ears, but because of his enhanced hearing, they did. "Because I am a merciful Lord, I will allow you a second chance of redemption. Until that time, you will be punished for your betrayal. As will you Severus, for aiding him."

An unexpected move on the Dark Lord's behalf, but it was comprehensible. Izar rocked back on his heels, hunching in on himself as he watched Severus Snape move forward from his position at the Inner-Circle.

The Dark Lord's aura sparked and Izar was left breathless at its twisted beauty. He leeched on the moment of feeling magic once again, and not just the Dark Lord's aura, but everyone around him. Izar lowered his head, gasping in exhilaration the same moment his father and Snape screamed out. The screams were horrible and piercing to his ears, but the magic surrounding him comforted him and gave him strength.

It took a couple minutes for Izar to push away the distractions and close his eyes. His core had been split since the accident, if he could just pinpoint his magic-sensitivity…

And then it was gone. As were the screams.

Unhappy with the turnout, Izar glanced back up, watching as his father twitched uncontrollably on the floor. Snape was no better as he slowly moved back in position. Even with a Muscle Relaxer, both men wouldn't be the same for a few days. Lord Voldemort's Crucio was rumored the worse next to Bellatrix's.

Voldemort crouched down next to Regulus, taking hold of his arm and branding him with the Dark Mark. Regulus stifled his scream of pain and Izar remembered his own marking. Izar hadn't screamed, and in return, he had been denied the salve out of Voldemort's spite.

Through the slits of his mask, Izar watched as Snape shakily poured the salve over his father's arm. "Welcome to my ranks, Mr. Black," Voldemort purred, offering the charcoal mask to Regulus with a smug smile.

His father was in the Third tier. An obvious insult.

Izar pursed his lips, averting his eyes from his father as the man thanked the Dark Lord through gritted teeth and struggled to stand up. It was difficult to see Regulus so vulnerable, and because of that, Izar was too coward to watch. Even if his attention was averted to the floor, he could hear Regulus gasp for breath as the man passed him and toward the back of the room.

"I have called you all together to inform you that our time is now here. Tomorrow."

Murmurs spread throughout the crowd, the excitement almost as tangible as Voldemort's sadistic glee. Izar kept his head bowed, staring at the floor in boredom. Now that he was so close to the Dark Lord, the man charming a crowd was nothing compared to their usual banter. But he could sympathize with the Death Eaters. They were starved for any sort of attention from Voldemort. Hearing the man's voice reach out to them sated their need before a much stronger desire would take place.

"Tomorrow will be the day Britain will fear the Death Eaters," the Dark Lord continued. "We will be armed with nothing more than our wands and our goals…to destroy, to slaughter, and strike terror in those who oppose us." The words were strong, leaving the Death Eaters silent in its wake. "From here, we will stop at nothing to obtain the world we have desired, a world where Dark magic is just as accepted as Light magic, a world where Muggles are cut off completely from us—the superior beings."

The man would change the world, Izar didn't doubt that. It didn't matter if Voldemort didn't succeed; he would still have a hand at altering the way the wizarding world functioned. But the man had schemed, planned, and manipulated too long to fail.

And Izar was eager to see the carefully twisted world the man would assemble.

"And all of you, who kneel before me, will have the honor of being part of building this new world. You will be remembered as the wizards and witches who fought for the society your children and grandchildren will grow up in. But in order to construct this world, sacrifices must be made and lives must be relinquished. It is a difficult path to travel, but in the end, we will finally get what we rightfully deserve."

None of the Death Eaters made a sound as Voldemort's words resonated off the chamber walls. They kneeled in the dark, drowning in both excitement and fear. Even the lesser wizards knew this moment was the calm before the storm, the air swollen and thick with the upcoming war. It would be a difficult war, with many sacrifices and deaths.

Izar knew terror would be racing through the younger Death Eaters because of the heavy atmosphere of anticipation and dread. They would begin to second-guess their decision on joining ranks with a Dark Lord. But that hesitation would turn to a sense of duty and a sense of desire for wanting to change the perspective of the wizarding world.

The older Death Eaters, who had been with Voldemort the longest, would only feel burning relief and vicious glee. After all, they had watched most of the initiations and had seen Voldemort's army grow from a fledging group to a remarkable sized force.

But no one had waited as long as Tom Riddle had. After years, upon years of patience and careful scheming—his time was now here.

"Monday night we will strike," the Dark Lord continued, lowering the power he used in his voice. "The location will be disclosed the night of. Ready yourselves. And tonight, think of what you're fighting for."

Izar finally glanced up, watching as the man glided toward his chair and sat down. With a wave of his hand, he opened the doors to the chamber. "You are dismissed."

As soon as Izar stood, his Mark burned fiercely, making him hesitate. Black-clad wizards bumped past him, exiting the chamber, seemingly not affected by the burning Mark. Further up the room, the twelve members of the Inner-Circle were back in position of a full bow, staying immobile. Two other silver-masked Death Eaters were bowing down low, likely asked to stay behind through their Marks.

Pushing past his pride, Izar dropped back to his knees, leaning forward and giving the concrete floor his full attention once again. He could hear curious murmurs in the doorway as the Death Eaters took notice of the Death Eaters left behind. Drama. Humans were drawn to drama like a moth to flame. Rather amusing, really, and so predictable.

The door slammed shut once again, drowning the remaining Death Eaters in silence. Izar was a few meters away from the thrown, swaddled in shadows, but he could hear the flickering flames of the torches next to Voldemort and the Inner-Circle.

"I've asked you to stay behind to remedy a… situation," Voldemort purred. "It has come to my attention that I have twelve Inner-Circle members. I like to have thirteen. With Nott's death in Azkaban last year, I would like to name his successor."

Izar knew he wouldn't be chosen to become an Inner-Circle member. He was too young, too inexperienced, and the Death Eaters would be suspicious of his jump in ranks. He had yet to prove himself to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Still, he was curious as to why he was present.

"Crouch, please step forward."

Izar eyes widened at the name, angling his head in such a way that would permit him to watch a lithe figure stand up and approach the Dark Lord. Barty Crouch? As in the high-ranking Ministry official?

No, it couldn't be. The figure was too slim, too young. From the over-confident steps, Izar assumed this figure was Barty Crouch's only son. There wasn't much known about Barty Crouch Jr., only that he wasn't as deep in politics as his father.

"My Lord," the man whispered out in devotion. "I… this is the greatest honor. You have blessed me; I give you my undying loyalty and allegiance in return."

Izar snorted into the ground, turning his head away as the man kissed Voldemort's feet and obtained a gold mask. It was clear from the young man's voice that he was a bit off his rocker. Insanity seemed to run in the Black line, no matter how distant it was. From what Izar knew, Charis Black was the young man's grandmother.

"I now have thirteen Inner-Circle members, and yet, we have two Second tier Death Eaters left with us," Voldemort spoke after placating Crouch Jr. "One will receive a gift, while the other will need to make a vital decision." The Dark Lord paused unnecessarily before tapping his fingers on his armrest. "Izar Black, step forward."

Pushing off from his knees, Izar reluctantly walked forward. His eyes challenged Voldemort's as he noticed the pleased smirk across the man's face. They both knew Izar was too compliant in this role to ever challenge the man noticeably. It was too public, too out of place.

Bellatrix wheezed with laughter, reaching toward the Dark Lord but only caressing the floor. "Gift him, My Lord, please!"

Voldemort flashed a smile full of teeth as his attention never wavered from Izar's approaching figure. "I'm afraid Mr. Black is not ready to advance in his ranks yet, Bella." The Dark Lord cocked his head to the side, considering Izar. "But he will assist me with making an imperative decision."

"Anything for you, my Master," Izar spoke dryly, sarcastically. He came to a stop next to the Inner-Circle and kept standing until the man would force him to his knees.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, his smile twisting cruelly before he turned to assess his Inner-Circle members. "You all may be favored among my ranks, but let me remind you that your high ranking does not give you the right to go against my orders or twist them into your own favor." All amusement was gone from the man as his eyes drilled one Death Eater in particular. "Such a betrayal is unforgivable among my Inner-Circle."

Izar stiffened, having an inclination as to where this was going and who the Dark Lord was speaking of.

"Avery, stand up."

There was an intake of air before the tall figure of Read Avery stood up. Izar became engrossed as his attention zeroed in on the man standing. Hate twisted and warmed his insides as he remembered the man during the Third Task last year. Back then, Avery was under the guise of Lukas Steinar.

"Don't be modest, Avery, remove your mask. Show Izar what he has done to your face."

Avery Senior dropped his shoulders, knowing all too well that he was under the Dark Lord's wrath. With heavy reluctance weighing his arms, Avery removed his gold mask and revealed his…

Well...

Izar couldn't really label it a 'face' if there wasn't one, now could he?

Some of the other members of the Inner-Circle snickered at Read Avery's misfortune. The right side of Avery's face was gone, revealing only a fine layer of torn muscle and bone. The eyeball that had rolled at Izar's feet during the Third Task obviously hadn't been recovered, revealing an empty socket that showed a lot more of Avery than Izar would've liked to see. Because there was no cheek, Izar could make out the pink jaw muscle and the countless of missing teeth. It was a stomach-weakening sight, but Izar also felt pleasure in seeing it.

"It fits you well," Izar murmured, catching the left eye of Avery watching him in vehemence. Yes, the man was beyond angry.

"Bastard," the man spat out, sounding just as disfigured as he appeared.

Voldemort tsked, sitting lazily on his chair. His posture may be calm and indifferent, but Izar knew the man was bubbling with sick humor. The Dark Lord had something up his sleeve, and Izar could only ponder on what it was. "Now, Avery, the child wasn't the one who disregarded my orders." Red eyes turned to Izar. "I will give you the choice of demoting Avery to the Third tier or… killing him. Choose wisely."

"My Lord!" Avery cried, dropping to his knees. "I played around with the boy. That is all! I would never go against your order for anything of significance."

Izar sneered behind his mask. It was a pathetic attempt to save his hide, and one that Voldemort wouldn't look highly upon…

"Anything of significance?" Voldemort spoke softly. "You almost succeeded in killing Tom Riddle's political heir, Avery. That is significance enough." The Dark Lord turned back to Izar, his humor gone. "Choose."

There was a reason Voldemort was giving Izar the choice. Perhaps it was out of devotion, a sense of wanting to offer something to Izar as a gift—a gift only a Dark Lord would be capable of offering his lover. It could also be to test Izar's morals. The man already claimed Izar had too many morals when it came to war, to life in general. Voldemort thought this decision would stretch Izar's ethics.

But it wouldn't. The choice was easy. Izar felt enough anger over the consequences of Avery's assault and he also believed that the man would grow bitter and disloyal if he were placed in the Third tier.

Izar raised his chin, green and charcoal eyes meeting observant crimson. "Kill him, My Lord."

"Tom," Avery gasped out. "I have been your loyal follower since our days at Hogwarts. What does the boy have that I don't?"

"A face, obviously," Izar murmured dryly—quietly. He was stunned that Avery had the backbone to call the Dark Lord by his Muggle name here, in the throne room.

Voldemort seemed just as displeased, but he hid it behind a wall of unimpressed acknowledgement. "Because you've been by my side for quite some time, I will grant you an act of mercy." The Death Eater at his feet gushed in relief. "A duel to the death between you and Izar Black. I will allow you both three minutes. If you, Read, should succeed in the amount of time given, you will be allowed to live another day as a third-ranking Death Eater. If you both are left standing in the course of three minutes, I will demote Mr. Black to his father's rank and kill Read myself. Is that clear?" Voldemort murmured, his fingers pressed to his cheek in boredom.

Izar's lips thinned and his eyes became hooded at the deal. The man was doing this as means as amusement and perhaps to show his Inner-Circle that there were consequences to not following his orders.

Read Avery stood up abruptly, his movements not hindered by the loss of one eye. "Yes, My Lord, very clear."

Izar gloomily dragged his feet further away from the throne and faced the eager and desperate man. Wasn't it obvious to Avery that Voldemort was just playing with him longer? It was comparable to dangling a piece of ripe chicken in front of a starving man before pulling it away. Izar wasn't inclined or favored to be a puppet during Voldemort's playtime, especially when they both knew this would not be a challenge.

On the positive side, he would have his revenge. His experience with the Dementors had torn his mind to shattered remnants. It was because of this man that Izar had to experience his life at the orphanage when those memories had been carefully and greedily buried away.

A transparent hourglass blinked into existence above Voldemort, the sand already running.

Avery made a frantic sound in his throat as he brought his right leg forward and attacked Izar with the Killing Curse.

This was his first time dueling as an immortal creature and it worked to his advantage. Izar could see the green curse fly toward him with clarity and a slowness that was never there before. Making certain his movements were slow enough to pass as a human, Izar pivoted, avoiding the curse as it hit the wall behind him. With a quick crouch, he avoided another spell aimed directly between his eyes.

He leaned forward, pressing his fingertips into the ground as he suddenly felt Avery's aura. He could see it with precision again, feel it, taste it. His magic-sensitivity seemed to be blinking back into existence more often now, or perhaps it was just when Izar's adrenaline was at its highest.

"Draw your wand, damnit!" Avery breathed. The magic around the man indicated that Avery was humiliated.

Izar smiled thinly behind his mask, taunting the man with his eyes as he rolled away from another killing blow. He remembered the man last year, during the Third Task, telling Izar how pathetic he was, how the Dark Lord's favoritism was unwarranted—wasted on him. But who was the pathetic one now? Avery couldn't even get a direct hit at Izar and he hadn't even drawn his wand yet.

"Make me draw it," Izar challenged back. Either way, if the three minutes were up and they were still alive, Avery would be dead by Voldemort's hand.

Avery gave a choked yell of frustration as Izar rolled to his knees and avoided another curse that exploded the concrete right next to him. Finally, the man seemed to comprehend that point-black spells would not work and decided to use Fiendfyre—a spell that covered a good distance and would make Izar react.

Quickly drawing his wand, Izar contemplated swiftly, knowing that Fiendfyre was Dark magic and would not be easily put out by a simple Aguamenti. Aqua Eructo would work better, but Izar wanted to try something a bit more risky and challenging now that he had his magic-sensitivity.

Focusing on the scorching flames coming at him, he gathered his magic and reached out toward Avery's unattractive aura before tugging. The man's control of the Fiendfyre was lost as it jumped to Izar's command.

The flames were uncomfortable to him as he gracefully maneuvered the flames away from his body, before circling it above his head, willing it grow. Avery took a shocked step back, his one eye wide.

Izar threw the fire back to its caster and Avery struggled with his wand before quickly casting the Aqua Eructo to extinguish the flames. Thick steam rose and Izar glanced at the hourglass, noticing he had less than a minute left.

Jumping to the man's left side, his vulnerable side, Izar caressed his wand lovingly as he concentrated on the spell he had invented up over the summer. It reeked of Dark magic, but it was oh so pleasing.

"Animus," Izar murmured, his wand growing a scorching hot as a golden light grow at the point. "Lapis!" He threw the spell at Avery the same time the man cast a slapdash Killing Curse. Izar dodged it at the last minute, hearing the hourglass run out of sand and Voldemort stand up.

As Izar crouched over the ground, he watched eagerly and apprehensively as his spell raced toward Avery's sloppy shield. The glowing gold spell resembled a bullet as it ate through the shield with ease before striking Avery. The man frowned in surprise, waiting for it to kill him, before he grinned up at Izar.

"You stupid bastard, you think you can get lucky with your little spells twice?" Avery spat, his single eye deranged. "You're nothing but a—" he paused, his words coming out in a heavy gasp.

Izar stood up, glowing with accomplishment as he watched his spell slowly take over Avery's body. It started at the legs, hardening them and forcing them stay in place. Avery reached for his wand, but as the intangible curse ran up his arm, it too, froze in place. It wasn't long until the man stood, seemingly frozen in place. What was left of his face would forever reveal his shock.

"What…?" someone murmured in confusion.

Walking toward the statue, Izar reached forward, pushing his fingertips against the hard body before shoving it forward. Avery, as motionless as a board and frozen in position, fell to the floor. As soon as his body came in contact, it shattered. Heavy limbs separated from the body like an old and hollow rock would do upon impact.

The man was a living stone. His blood, soft tissues and organs had solidified, stopping the heart and the brain. It was one of his most destructive spells, but one of the most useful. A counter-curse was possible is someone got to the victim in time. But if the victim shattered… there wasn't a way to reassemble.

Izar looked up at the Dark Lord. "Is that all you would like from me, My Lord?"

He could see the surprise lingering around the Inner-Circle Death Eaters as they stared at Avery's broken body. Izar refused to show his own smugness and instead met Voldemort's predatory stare. "You may take your leave, Izar." But judging from the Dark Lord's clear arousal, the man was thinking of many things Izar could do to assist him.

Before Izar exited from the chamber, he heard the name of the next Inner-Circle member. "Evan Rosier, please step forward."

He pushed the door shut behind him, noticing the lone figure standing across from him in the corridor. "Regulus?" Izar murmured in question. Everything that happened in the chamber became a distant memory when he saw his father.

The man had his head bowed, his thick hair veiling his face. At Izar's questionable greeting, Regulus looked up, his tired charcoal eyes becoming alive. "Izar, my son," the man breathed, stepping forward. With shaky movements, he reached out to his son and embraced him.

Izar smiled lightly, hugging his father back with fervor. Seeing his father again reminded him of his dream last night, a dream that made Izar roll toward Voldemort for comfort. The man hadn't said anything about it this morning, but then again, the Dark Lord was probably preoccupied with the upcoming raid.

The dream itself was unusual, one that left Izar distressed and empty. He knew it was meant to personify his… fears and vulnerabilities in response to his immortality. Being the one out of two immortal souls, being forever sixteen, watching his family and classmates grow old and die… it had an impact on him. Izar would never admit this out loud, in fear of Voldemort's reaction. But last night, Izar had a suspicion that Voldemort knew exactly what he was feeling.

Izar pushed his thoughts away as Regulus pulled back, struggling to keep himself upright. Quickly wrapping his arm around his father's waist, Izar carried most of Regulus' weight as they walked down the cool corridor. "I have a Muscle Relaxer that may help you," Izar murmured, glad to have his Death Eater mask still firmly in place.

"You don't need to take care of me," Regulus admonished. "I'm your father, Izar." Yet, as he said this, his body leaned more heavily on Izar, allowing the younger Black to take the lead.

"And you're also unable to apparate safely home, father. Let me make you some tea and get you something for your uptight nerves and muscles." Izar looked at the grey walls, not bothering to mention that they would be 'recuperating' in Voldemort's personal wing. The Dark Lord wouldn't care.

"Izar," Regulus struggled to breathe properly. "What did you agree to? With Lily?"

Izar paused in his steps, eyeing Regulus in perplexity. "I don't understand. I haven't agreed to anything."

Regulus' face contorted in pain as a tremor swept through his thin frame. "Izar," the man whispered again. "Lily dropped the case. She dropped the custody battle this morning." Charcoal eyes looked back up at Izar, becoming almost black in their intensity. "What did you agree on?"

Izar stiffened, looking away from his father.

This was impossible.


{Long Note} *sigh*

There are many things I'd like to do different about this story… one of them being the custody battle. Because chapters are posted one at a time, I can't go back and alter the story as I'd like. Because of this, I realized that if I would have a custody battle now— it would, in all honesty, be an utter waste of time and completely unnecessary. If I wanted to do a custody battle, I should have done during Izar's last year at Hogwarts. I know that I'll disappoint some readers, but I cannot force the custody battle into the story.

However, just because it didn't fit into the story doesn't mean I'm dropping the subject of Lily. Or James, for that matter. They still have a part in the story. And Sirius.