Enjoy. Thanks for reviewing and reading.
Chapter Fourteen
As karma would have it, Izar Apparated right next to Voldemort on the streets of Godric's Hollow. He knew this was Fate's cruel way of punishing him for taking home a Muggle boy. He was beginning to believe Voldemort was Fate. The man was all-knowing and cruel like that.
His noisy arrival was noted quickly by the surrounding Death Eaters. They crouched down low, pointing their wands in his direction. Izar held up his own wand lazily, a sloppy grin unseen from behind his mask. "I forgot my wand back at the base," he offered as a meager excuse. He waved his wand around carelessly in small circles and waves. "No need to believe I'm Rufus Scrimgeour dressed up in Death Eater garb. Black isn't his color."
Disgusted sighs and grumbles answered him as the Death Eaters relaxed their stance and lowered their wands. Voldemort offered a stare full of contempt before turning his shoulder on Izar and walking away. Izar knew the man didn't believe his excuse, in fact, Izar hoped no one believed he left his wand back at the base. If they had, Izar would be concerned Voldemort had recruited some incredibly thick men and women.
He knew he would eventually have to come up with a reasonable excuse for his short absence during the raid. That is, if Voldemort didn't know the reason already. Judging from the furious look the man had given him, Izar believed Voldemort might have heard rumors of his escape with a Muggle.
Sighing, Izar looked down, suddenly catching sight of his feet. He had Apparated right on top of a dead corpse, its intestinal organs covering his shoes.
Yes. Karma was a bitch.
With a revolted grunt, Izar lifted his feet from the dead body's remains and wiped them on a patch of clean grass. Around Godric's Hollow, the chaos hadn't showed signs of dying down from the few minutes Izar had disappeared. The screams seemed to have quieted a fraction, but the flames were just as hot and soaring as earlier, if not more. The fire highlighted the sky and the streets in an orange glow, allowing the Death Eaters to spot any wandering or hiding victims between the houses or in bushes.
And still no Ministry. Granted, it had only been ten or twenty minutes since the Death Eaters invaded Godric's Hollow, surely not enough time to gather the Aurors together. However, he knew it would be soon. This was the Death Eaters' first full raid, but it was not Rufus Scrimgeour's first battle against Dark wizards.
Standing on the front yard, he gazed at nothing in particular. His unnecessary breathing hitched shallowly as he listened to the endless screams of tortured victims. Grimacing, Izar rolled his head from side to side, trying to loosen his rising anxiety. His fingers on both hands began to twitch and tremble with unease. This pent-up energy and adrenaline was climbing to dangerous heights. Soon, he wouldn't care about his reluctance to torture defenseless victims and find his own family of Muggles.
As soon as his thoughts danced the border of no return, cracks of Apparation sounded just outside the gates of Godric's Hollow.
Death Eaters yelled in anticipation as they sprinted from their victim's homes and toward the gates. Izar made a step toward the entrance, detesting that he was one of the farthest from the gates, but he paused as his magic-sensitivity sparked back to life. Adrenaline was the trigger to his hidden gift, and at the moment, his adrenaline levels were at their highest.
Even as the Death Eaters ran past him, Izar felt his legs lock in place. Tipping back his neck, he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes blissfully when he felt the waves of magic coming from the backside of Godric's Hollow, almost feet from where he currently stood.
Rufus was good.
Very good.
The ex-Auror had thrown the sound of their Apparation across the neighborhood to divert his enemies from their real location. In the mean time, they would take the Death Eaters by surprise from the back.
Unfortunate for them, Izar wasn't fooled.
With an exaggerated swagger, Izar walked into the center of the road, facing the cloaked and shadowed figures. Eagerly, he watched as their blurry features slowly became crisper, clearer. A delirious snicker escaped Izar's lips as he stood tall and firm. One lonely Death Eater against the Department of Aurors.
Now this is what he lived for. This rush was exhilarating. This was his torture. This was where he was meant to stand. Every little problem and detail in his personal life was whisked away to the back of his mind like ashes in the fierce winds. He wouldn't have this any other way.
The Aurors, dressed professionally in their blue and grey robes, raised their wands simultaneously and fire roared forth, rivaling the sight of a super nova. Izar's eyes widened before he laughed in glee, crouching down and preparing himself as the fire raced toward him. They weren't going for the capture. They were going for the kill—a swift kill to as many Death Eaters they could hit with the fire. And that only made this even more stimulating.
A hoarse and shrill "No!" sounded behind him as the fire washed over and around Izar. But not before Izar raised a Water Shield, a spell that formed around him like a form-fitting bubble. He crouched down, his skin screaming with the proximity of the flames. His vision burned and he blinked, trying to bring moisture to his scorching eyeballs. A sea of flame was the only thing around him. For a second, he became dizzy, believing he was in a whole different environment.
Forcibly, he grounded himself, already planning his next step in the attack. Judging from the shout of denial behind him, Izar knew the Death Eaters were already alerted that the Aurors were behind them and not where the sounds of Apparation originally came from. But they had to be just as distracted with the flames as Izar was. He knew some of them probably hadn't cast a spell or dodged in time.
Finally, as the flames died down, Izar leaped from his crouched position and danced on the balls of his feet. "Altisonus," he murmured. His wand weaved through the air and he used the grace of his body to loop the spell into a wider range.
The spell vibrated through the air, looking similar to trembling mirages. The Altisonus was a spell that would allow the caster to target a wide-range of victims. Inside each vibration carried sounds so loud and damaging that it would blow the eardrums from the victims. And in some cases, the closer the victim stood, and the stronger the caster's magic, the chance that a few heads could explode from the sharp force of it.
It was the ideal spell; especially because it didn't harm the caster or others behind the caster. Only a slight, piercing echo was heard from those behind the spell's shadow.
The Aurors scrambled to protect themselves against the incoming vibrations. Some of them were lucky, while others cried out, going to their knees and clutching their palms to their bleeding ears. Izar grew ecstatic when the closest two Aurors faltered in their attack, their heads abruptly exploding before their bodies gave way to the ground. The mass of thick gore on the ground seemed oddly remarkable in Izar's eyes.
He was forced to end the spell and defend himself as a Slicing Hex came inches from his neck. His shield diverted the majority of the force, but a sliver cut through his defenses and nicked him across the throat. Izar grunted, bending his knees and hurriedly transforming the pebbles at his feet into mirrors for the Reflection Charm. As the Aurors surrounded him tightly, the mirrors went up just in time. Most of the hexes hit Izar's Reflection Charm, rebounding back into the crowd and inflicting mayhem.
Countless of Aurors dropped to the ground near Izar, caught off guard by the mirrored charm and getting the other end of their own destructive curse.
Hastily, Izar wiped away the blood leaking from his already healed neck before slashing his wand heatedly across his chest. The mirrors bulged before shattering outwardly. Throwing his will behind the hit, Izar pushed the shards of glass outward with a powerful thrust and watched as they embedded in a few victims. His eyes narrowed behind his mask as he watched one man in particular fall to the ground with a glass splinter sticking proudly between his eyes.
Suddenly, a high-pitched laugh sounded across Godric's Hollow. Izar grinned, feeling his amusement rise the closer the source of the laugh came.
Bellatrix Apparated right behind him, pressing her shoulders against his back. "Come now, dear nephew," she breathed from behind her gold-plated mask. "Let's see who can collect the largest body count tonight."
Izar grinned spitefully, slashing his wand and cutting off an Auror's head as the man's defenses failed. "You have a long way to go before you catch up," he taunted back to her. While Bellatrix had an earlier start with killing Muggles, Izar had the advantage of killing large groups of Aurors before the Death Eaters had arrived.
And he could tell the Death Eaters were finally here. Izar wasn't being targeted by the entire group of Aurors anymore. Instead, he could focus on one opponent at a time before another one took its place.
Bellatrix and Izar danced together in the heat of the battle, both using the other as means of warning and advantage. When Bellatrix ducked, Izar ducked, and vice versa. They were a good pair. Their fighting styles mimicked one another reasonably well. They were both quick on their feet and they were both vicious. Playing with their victim wasn't as taste-savoring as going on to the next victim. As soon as their opponent fell, they would move to the next one before their earlier adversary had even hit the ground.
They were creating a noticeable perimeter. It was clear that they were the strongest threat in the group of Death Eaters, save for Voldemort. Together, they were crafting a decent amount of Auror corpses, enraging the Ministry and encouraging the Death Eaters.
Bellatrix ducked, bringing Izar down with her. Her Auror opponent's spell zoomed right above Izar's head and struck another Auror across from him. The man went flying with a deep gash across his chest.
She cackled, her madness seeping into Izar's pores and he found himself chuckling alongside her. His vision grew red and he stood up, hungry to take more. In the distance, further from where he stood, Izar could see wizards in ordinary robes fighting alongside the Aurors. Contemplating quickly, he assumed they were Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Izar hadn't seen Albus Dumbledore for a few months, but the old man was here, dueling ferociously against Voldemort.
Both of them favored nonverbal incantations that focused primarily on force rather than creativity. They were equally matched, both blinded by their own weaknesses to excel over the other. Dumbledore underestimated Voldemort's sanity and Voldemort was too arrogant—sightless— to Dumbledore's real and true power. That there might be someone just as powerful as him.
For a crazy moment, Izar itched to step into their duel to shake thing up for the two wizards and to sate his own hunger that most of these Aurors couldn't satisfy. He figured Voldemort wouldn't be too happy about that. The man was already furious over Izar's slight absence earlier.
Reaching behind him, Izar's left hand sought Bellatrix's arm before curling around it and twirling her. He needed to change positions for a fresh scene and a hope that these opponents were better than his half. Bellatrix went compliantly with his alteration, stepping into the change with ease.
Izar swatted a fiery red curse away from his face before cutting off his opponent's ankles and killing him as soon as the man hit the ground. Without a pause, he set his fallen opponent on fire, successfully spreading it on the Auror who stepped over the body. With the blond Aurors' distraction of extinguishing her burning robes, Izar aimed for the woman's pretty blue eyes, nonverbally discharging them from their sockets.
She screamed in horror and agonizing pain, but surprisingly, she kept her stance defensive and tried her best to guard herself against Izar. Her Auror partner was already dead at her feet, his scent fanning the air with burning skin.
The Black heir took no pity on her as he flicked his wand near her feet where her shield was the weakest. Grabbing her by the ankles, he hoisted her upside down in the air and twirled her around and around. Without her sight, she grew frightened and ill. Vomit leaked from her puckered lips, dropping in her nose and momentarily choking her.
Before he could assist her with her troubles, a curse came flying at him. Izar would have never noticed it if it hadn't been for his magic-sensitivity. It was directed at his turned profile, not even in a place where Bellatrix could see it.
It had been a well-planned attack, if not a bit underhanded for a Light Auror.
Izar spun both himself and Bellatrix around, using his quick reflexes to successfully avoid the green hex he knew to be the Killing curse. Growling, Izar glanced up at the Auror who had distracted him from his prey, barely comprehending the man's identity through his blood-lust.
Sirius Black.
And just beyond his uncle's shoulders, Izar could see James and Lily Potter. An Auror uniform donned Mr. Potter while his wife had on her customary dark robes, a sign that she was still in the Order of the Phoenix. Her expression was impassive as she dueled a Death Eater, her crimson hair resembling a unified banner of flames.
Izar hissed softly, holding his wand between his thumb and forefinger before flicking a harmless hex toward his uncle. Of course Sirius blocked it and flew an even stronger and darker spell in his direction. Izar sidestepped it with his reflexes, bringing Bellatrix with him at his back once again. Sirius' eyes narrowed in suspicion as Izar seemed to hesitate with throwing anything Darker his way.
"Izar?" the man whispered, his expression sobering into one of emotional pain.
Izar tipped his head back, laughing in frustration. Any other time, he would try to duel Sirius and try to keep up false pretenses. But right now, he was in a blood-lust haze. He needed a real and challenging fight. Dueling with Sirius would either bring his adrenaline back down because he knew he wouldn't be able to harm Sirius, or it was possible that he would hurt the man.
"It's time for me to hunt bigger prey, Bellatrix…" Izar whispered to the woman behind him.
"And leave me by my lonesome?" she simpered with an exaggerated pout.
He looked over his shoulder at the dozen or more dead Aurors by Bellatrix's hand. "I think you can handle yourself perfectly fine."
Her dark eyes met his briefly behind her gold mask. With a loving hand, she stroked his mask. "Go have some fun." She gave a loud cackle, pushing at his chest violently. Izar stumbled, but before he fell on his arse, he Disapparated with a loud crack.
Izar grunted as he landed in a lethal crouch on top of a roof. He used his strength in his legs to balance on the sloping and steep roof. Below, he watched the battle through eager and critical eyes. He bypassed many worthy Aurors, such as Kingsley, Moody, and Potter… all for him.
"Yes," Izar hissed, his fingers caressing the rough shingles of the roof as he spotted his intended target.
Raising his wand, he sent a simple Stunner down toward the tall and muscular man. The man, almost as if he was bred with sensors, quickly ducked despite his back being turned toward Izar. With a snarl, the man turned up and locked eyes with Izar.
Izar had successfully angered the lion.
The question was, had he snared the predator's full attention?
With a swirl of blue robes, his target Disapparated.
Without turning, Izar smiled darkly as he heard the crack sound directly behind him.
{Death of Today}
There was something eerily familiar about the long and thin figure across from him, Rufus thought as he balanced awkwardly on the slanted roof. It wasn't just the stature of the cloaked figure, but the way the wizard moved. Grace entwined through his limbs, making his movements fluid and flowing. Scrimgeour had his suspicions of course, and they were likely correct, but now wasn't the time to dwell on the Death Eater's identify.
Rufus sneered, throwing a Blasting Curse in hopes of knocking the figure off the roof. Instead of throwing up a shield like Rufus assumed the figure would, the Death Eater did a quick cartwheel, balancing with ease on the arch of the roof.
"Flashy," Rufus growled, lifting his lip and exposing his teeth in a feral sneer. He despised flashy duelers. Many of his Aurors took a liking to flamboyant styles of combat, but none of them succeeded without years of practice. On the other hand, the Death Eater across from him appeared as if he were born with elegance—making the flashy style appear natural and not forced.
The Death Eater across form him crouched down low, staring at him. The silver mask glistened off the flames from the neighboring houses, veiling his features. Rufus rumbled disapprovingly in his chest, becoming suspicious as to why the very atmosphere around this Death Eater was familiar. It was too dark to see the color of the eyes and the figure was of average height for most males, if not on the tall side.
And he knew many men that fit that category.
"And you are blunt and rather boring."
The whispered voice didn't give anything away besides the fact that Rufus was now certain it was male.
Setting his shoulders, Rufus raised his wand once again, watching as the figure remained crouched and watchful. A determined smile marred Rufus' face as he realized the Death Eater brought him up here just to play with him.
"Elidere!" Rufus snarled, the orange cruse twisting with a bright yellow as it made its way to the Death Eater with deadly accuracy. The Death Eater believed he was boring? This curse would make his rival see sparks.
The Death Eater maneuvered with one foot, twirling away from the curse with simplicity. But Rufus' opponent hadn't been prepared for the orange and yellow curse to curve back around in his direction. Rufus watched, smug, as the Death Eater raised a clumsy shield that exposed his surprise. And just as expected, once the Elidere hit the shield, it set of an explosion of bright flames and loud blasts.
Rufus shielded his eyes from the bright flash and crouched down to brace himself against the detonation. His slick hair was manipulated cruelly by the after-affects of the explosion's force and his hands in front of his face grew warm with the flames.
Finally, when the hot air died down, Rufus removed his arm, staring at the empty and scorching position the Death Eater had just occupied. It was impossible the Death Eater had a chance to defend himself against the second attack of the explosion. The man had been taken off-guard by the spell, it would be astonishing if the Death Eater made it out alive.
"Incubitum!"
Rufus started as the Death Eater came jumping forward in mid-incantation. The purple hex hit Rufus, startling him with the unexpected and sudden attack. His bad leg began to grow heavier and his pulse brought a painful throb in his thigh. He clenched his teeth, quickly raising a shield as another hex came his way.
It rebounded and Rufus pushed past the pain in his leg and shifted closer to the Death Eater.
But before any of them could invoke the other, another acidic green skull and serpent was blast into the smoky and hazy sky. Cracks of Disapparation sounded throughout the neighborhood, signaling that the Death Eaters were retreating.
No.
The Death Eater was not going anywhere. Rufus was determined to either kill the man or capture him. Either one would do. It was not an option to allow this Dark wizard to walk as a free man in society, unaware. Too many of his men died today, fighting these disgraceful wizards.
Rufus lunged forward, effectively exploding the brick chimney on the roof he stood upon. The bricks spun rapidly around the Death Eater in a small twister, knocking him first on the shoulder and then a couple of times across his chest and head. His opponent went down hard, hitting the roof awkwardly and sliding down the other side of the house. Rufus breathed heavily, slowly walking toward the edge of the roof and looking down.
He expected to see a bloody and broken body below. Instead, innocent bushes and manicured flowers met his inspection.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood. He quickly turned, raising his wand, but the Death Eater behind him was quicker. Much quicker. Rufus went flying off the roof, sailing across the space between houses before crashing on top of the next roof. He rolled down the slope, dazed and out of breath from the impact. He must have broken a few ribs, perhaps an arm and leg. Nonetheless, he dug his wand into the shingles of the roof, stopping his descent before he hit the ground.
Anger swelled up through his chest. He snapped his head around, hungry to take revenge, but the Death Eater was already gone.
Something told Rufus this wouldn't be the last time he would encounter his quick opponent.
{Death of Today}
It hadn't been his best duel. With Scrimgeour, that was. Izar believed he had already been worn out by his previous duels with the Aurors. Because of that, his duel with Scrimgeour hadn't been as thrilling as he imagined it would be. The same went for Scrimgeour himself. Izar had been a bit disappointed the ex-Auror hadn't been more of a challenge. But by the time Rufus had arrived on the roof, Izar remembered almost tasting Scrimgeour's weariness.
Next time would be better. And longer.
Currently, he was climbing up the stairs to his bedroom at Grimmauld. Voldemort would want him at his base tonight, so Izar had to act quickly. Which reminded him. He needed to come up with a reasonable excuse to give the Dark Lord for his unexpected absence during the raid tonight.
Lord Voldemort hadn't required his Death Eaters to gather at his base after the raid. Most of them went home after they retreated, while others chose to mingle at the base and trade stories of their success or bring aid to their fallen comrade's family.
And Izar chose to… come home to a Muggle. How quaint.
"Master Izar," Kreacher croaked with a stiff bow as soon as he spotted Izar emerging from the staircase. "The Mudblood remained in your room, just like you ordered."
"Good," Izar placed his gloved hand on Kreacher's head in praise. "Regulus will be home shortly. You can go see to his needs." He dismissed the House-elf without a second glance, entering his room with a heavy grimace.
Across the room, the dark blond boy was curled in on himself, trembling. The quivering was likely from the Crucio he underwent during the Death Eater raid. Izar probably should have given the boy a Muscle Relaxer, but he pushed the sentimental thought away hastily.
The boy looked up when Izar clattered his silver mask on the desk. "What is your name?" Izar ventured shortly. He assessed the boy through narrowed eyes, wondering why there was a certain attachment he harbored with this Muggle. It was pathetic and prohibited.
"Aiden."
Izar grunted, unimpressed with the boy's proud courage. "Come with me, Aiden. I'm going to bring you to the orphanage. Unless, you have family…"
"I have family," Aiden breathed passionately, sitting up despite the tremors washing through his body. In the lightened room, Izar noticed the boy's dark eyes were a muddy brown. "You're my family. You can't bring me to the orphanage because I already have you."
Leaning against the far wall, a decent and safe distance from the boy, Izar crossed his arms over his chest. "You don't even know me," he whispered darkly. The way the boy was watching him made Izar feel extremely uncomfortable. It was an adoring stare, as if he were the boy's one and only savior—his idol.
"I do," Aiden argued again. "I see you in my dreams."
Again with the dreams. The boy had to be a Seer, even if it was a diluted ability. "How often do you have these dreams?" he asked in all curiosity. He knew what he really should be doing was bringing the child to the orphanage and not growing more attached… if he could call it 'attachment'.
"Only sometimes," the boy frowned, furrowing his brows in frustration. "I don't remember them very much. But I remember dreaming about you. And Regulus. You and him are just like me. You make stuff happen. Magic stuff."
Izar noticed the boy had trouble pronouncing Regulus' name fluently. "Magic stuff?" Izar repeated, more to himself then the boy. Eloquent. But then again, the boy was only around six, possibly seven.
He leaned further into the wall, examining the boy who peered back at him with inquiring eyes. If what the boy said was true, then he really was a Mudblood. Or, quite possibly, his parents were a wizard and witch as well. It made Izar feel slightly better to know that the boy was magical adequate and not just a lowly Muggle. Still, a Mudblood wasn't a very far step above a Muggle.
"Your parents. Could they cast magic?"
Why, exactly, was he asking? He should turn his back, bring the boy out of Grimmauld before Regulus or Voldemort found out. And yet, he found himself standing stiffly, waiting for the boy to answer.
"No," Aiden replied, his expression darkening with past horrors.
"Did they hurt you because you were different?" Izar persisted.
Aiden looked down, frowning at the black and grey comforter on Izar's bed. "My father hit me sometimes, not often," he whispered. "But I could see that they didn't like me. Or love me. They never talked to me or touched me like any of the other parents did to their children. They always yelled. I'm always alone."
Perhaps it was the childish and innocent tone that chilled Izar. Or it could have been the story that ran parallels with Izar's childhood. He realized, suddenly, that he hadn't been drawn to the boy because he was a Seer or because he was a pathetic-looking child, but because he could see ghosts of his own past in the boy's eyes. Wizards did not belong in the Muggle world. Muggles feared power they couldn't control for themselves. And they took out their fear on the one who wielded it.
Izar sighed deeply, placing his fingertips to his forehead. Would he come across another abused Mudblood child and bring them home as well? He couldn't go around, bringing in orphans and taking pity on them just because they experienced the same thing he had.
But then again, Aiden was an exception. The boy had seen Izar in his dreams beforehand and he had seen Izar take him away from his abusive home. The child seemed to have grown an attachment to Izar before he had even met him. It was a dangerous thing to do, especially because Izar could easily kill him or bring him to the orphanage. But it was something a child would do—trust and love a stranger… trust a Dark wizard who had just slaughtered countless of men and women tonight.
And he trusted Izar only because he had taken him away from his home.
"What am I going to do with you?" Izar murmured, looking up with a raised eyebrow. Aiden blinked at him, stubbornly trying to hide the tremors shaking his body. "Yet, I shouldn't be asking you. You probably already know the answer, I'm sure."
He couldn't keep the child. He didn't want to keep the child. Children wore on his patience and he didn't feel comfortable with giving them warmth or attention. Izar devoted himself to his inventions and bickering with the Dark Lord. A child would get in the way of his solitude. Especially a child that had been abused. Izar didn't have the required devotion and patience to give an mistreated child.
But there was one person who seemed lonely, one person who always wanted a family and complained about Izar growing up too fast.
Regulus.
Suddenly, Izar remembered his dream from the other night. He recalled having a descendant, a descendant that claimed relation to Regulus and Izar. But how would that be possible if Izar couldn't have children and Regulus was gay? The answer was simple and quite clear. Adoption.
Regulus expected Izar to pass on the Black name. However, Izar knew if he did have fertile sperm, Voldemort wouldn't allow him to conceive a child with another woman or even adopt a child. The Dark Lord was too possessive of Izar's attention. And who knew? Voldemort probably thought Izar would grow soft if he were to have his own child.
And Izar didn't want to become softer than he already was.
So that left one other option. Regulus could adopt the child and Aiden could pass on the Black name. Blood adoption was rare but extremely effective. Those who practiced it were usually pure-bloods. But because pure-bloods were rather stiff about conceiving their own child, blood adoption wasn't used very often. It would allow the child's features, along with other things, to morph into a more cohesive pattern that mimicked their adoptive family.
Deciding Aiden's fate wasn't as haphazard as it seemed. Izar had speculated about what he was going to do about continuing the Black line. And now that he had a child in front of him, why not ship it off to Regulus?
It would certainly get the boy away from him. The boy and those bloody adoring and trustworthy eyes. And a Seer would make a decent addition to both the Dark side and the Black family. Regulus would have someone to coddle and Izar didn't have to carry the headache that accompanied the problem of continuing the Black name.
The only problem with his ingenious plan? Convincing Regulus a Mudblood could pass off as a decent pure-blood and convincing Voldemort that he hadn't really left the raid for a Mudblood child. The former issue was quite simple, really. Izar would still be the Black heir. Aiden would just need to produce the sperm to carry on on the line. Plus the boy didn't have the blood or genes that would pass on Cygnus' Curse.
A bit of pushing and Regulus would come around.
Which left Voldemort….
Izar made a face toward the child across the room. The boy was smiling impishly back at him, as if he knew Izar's plans for him. But as soon as it came, the smile disappeared and Aiden hunched in on himself in fear. At first, Izar thought it was the Crucio acting up again, but dismissed that assumption when he saw the true horror.
"The man with red eyes," Aiden whispered.
Izar was about to tell the boy that the man with red eyes scared everyone and that he needed to toughen up. That was, until he felt the shift in atmosphere. Stiffening, Izar cautiously reached for the door, intent to leave the room before Voldemort was lured upstairs.
As he opened the door, he was met with narrowed red eyes. Abruptly, Izar slammed the door shut on the Dark Lord's face, not prepared to face him just yet but knowing it was inevitable. Turning, he motioned for Aiden to hide under the bed. But with the amount of noise the boy made as he shuffled to the ground, Izar was sure the Dark Lord could hear it outside the door.
"Don't even bother," Voldemort hissed as he walked inside the room, his attention lingering on the bed before zeroing on an innocent-looking Izar. Behind the Dark Lord's shoulder, Regulus lingered uncertainly, his charcoal eyes still bright from the battle tonight.
"I—"
Izar was cut off as Voldemort reached forward, curling his hand around Izar's thin throat and pinning him against the wall. The Black heir frowned, realizing that the Dark Lord was truly angry. The man stunk of charred flesh and cold blood, not repulsive to Izar's creature nose, but certainly not appetizing.
Voldemort leaned forward, his black hair escaping the tight confinements of his binder. "I've heard several accounts regarding your sudden absence from the raid," the man began with whispered cruelty. "However, I would very much like to hear your side of the story."
How generous. The Dark Lord was giving Izar the benefit of the doubt. Where was this mercy for the situations that Izar needed the benefit of the doubt?
Charmed green and charcoal eyes narrowed at Voldemort. The hand around his throat was incredibly painful. Izar knew, if he had been human, the force holding him would have snapped his neck and instantly killed him. "Securing the Black family jewels," he hissed in defiance.
Suddenly, he was pushed down and away from Voldemort. Izar stumbled without the force of Voldemort and caught his back against the wall with a sharp thud.He didn't get a chance to recover his dignity, for the Dark Lord loomed before him like a dark shadow, his crimson eyes bright and calculating.
"He's a Seer," Izar argued heatedly. "He could be an asset to us!" He lifted his chin in the face of Voldemort's anger, hating the dominant stance the Dark Lord was exuding. In front of his father, no less. Thankfully, Regulus was staying out of the room, likely ordered by Voldemort to stay out. But that didn't lessen his pride being stamped on.
Thinking on it now, it was rather surprising Voldemort was allowing the audience of not only the Mudblood boy under the bed, but Regulus as well. Izar could fight back and gain equal footing, but if he fought back, he would be using his creature strength as means to accomplish. He couldn't risk Regulus finding out about his relationship with the Dark Lord or his status of a creature. And that was what Voldemort had planned. He planned on Regulus' presence and thus, Izar's submission.
The man always seemed to be a step ahead of Izar. And it was both infuriating and alluring.
He hated this… this relationship between the both of them. He hated it because it wasn't healthy and it wasn't reasonable, yet he craved and thrived in it. Even now, when they were both glaring into each other's face in the heat of anger, the physical tension was still tangible and crisp. In fact, the anger only seemed to fuel the delicious tension. It wasn't normal, but it was what made them compatible. They both aimed to control the other, to manipulate and dominate.
Obviously, both of them were a bit off their rocker.
"Even if he was Merlin resurrected, it doesn't change the fact that he is a Mudblood, the very same parasite we slaughter," Voldemort whispered darkly. A thin smile curled the edges of his mouth, appearing as if he knew the train of Izar's thoughts. "You will never leave in the middle of the raid again. For a Muggle, no less. Is that clear?"
Izar jutted out his jaw, eyes flashing. "Yes, I understand."
Was this it? Anger was all but dancing beneath the Dark Lord's skin and reaching out toward Izar, and yet, the man did a remarkable job of concealing it. Which made Izar believe there was more to come.
A pale hand, stained crimson with fallen victims, reached out and caressed Izar's jaw line. "Then you can redeem yourself and kill the boy."
Beneath the bed, the child sucked in a breath. Even Izar could hear the trembling coming from the small body. Izar desperately wanted to agree with the Dark Lord, to raise his wand and erase his mistake he made tonight. It was tempting, especially when he knew keeping the boy alive would create a rift between him and Voldemort.
"I plan to adopt him into the family," Izar murmured stiffly. The weight of Voldemort's hand on his face became almost unbearable.
"I don't think so." Voldemort lifted his lip, his twisted smile still somehow staying in place. "Not only will adopting a Mudblood reflect poorly on your family, but it will reflect poorly on your status as a Death Eater. You will never move up in ranking at the rate you're going."
Izar raised his eyebrows, knocking away Voldemort's hand on his cheek. Fury laced through his chest. The man always seemed to run his life; his decisions; his future. Now Izar would keep the boy just to spite the Dark Lord. "You forbid me to marry Daphne," he started, his voice too low for Regulus or the child to hear. "You forced my hand at graduating Hogwarts early. You made me your political heir without my consent. And you turned me into an immortal creature without first giving me a warning or tutorial of what it entitled. You cannot and will not force my hand with this," Izar hissed.
Voldemort took a step back, his features impassive. "You will not be allowed back at my base until the boy is properly taken care of." Crimson eyes bore holes into Izar's. The man, in all his arrogance, turned his heel and made his way toward the door.
Izar pushed off from the wall, seething. "That," Izar spat at Voldemort's retreating back. "Is not such a horrible loss." He didn't know why he said it. Perhaps it was out of anger, but the thought of not being forced to live and sleep with Voldemort both frightened and intrigued him. He had gotten too reliable with Voldemort's presence. Maybe this absence would be a good thing until Voldemort realized he was in the wrong.
The Dark Lord suddenly turned, his expression pitiless. "If you insist of acting like a child, then I shall treat you as such and provide punishments. You will not be welcome at my base and you will not accompany the Death Eaters on any more raids until the boy is disposed."
"You can't do that," Izar argued at the man's back once again.
Voldemort dismissed him with a cold shoulder and walked from the room. Regulus stepped from the shadows, staring at Izar with confusion and uncertainty.
Izar exhaled through his clenched teeth, knowing Voldemort needed him. Things would get straightened out eventually. Voldemort just needed to heal his wounded pride.
{Death of Today}
The young boy was out cold in an extra bedroom, sated with Muscle Relaxer and a sleeping aid. Regulus had reluctantly helped Aiden from under the bed and saw to his physical and mental health. Meanwhile, Izar had closed himself away in his bedroom, not wanting anything to do with the boy or his father at the time.
Now that the child was asleep and put away, Izar slithered from his room, walking down the rickety stairs. A light was on in the parlor, luring Izar forward. He could smell Regulus inside the room, nursing an alcoholic beverage of some sort. Regulus wasn't a regular drinker, which meant the man felt as if he needed a strong drink to get through the night.
"You should be sleeping," Izar spoke dryly, stopping in the doorframe.
Regulus started, quickly folding a letter and stuffing it in his inner-cloak pocket. Izar's sharp eyes were quick enough to track the letter, noticing the lengthy script as his mother's handwriting. The parchment was worn, almost as if Regulus folded and unfolded it numerous times during the day. Yet, it still appeared new. Izar wondered if this was the letter Lily owled Regulus the day she informed him she was dropping the case.
But Regulus just said she wrote to tell him about the dropped custody battle, nothing more. Obviously, that wasn't the case as Izar spied the lengthy letter. And Izar was reminded again that he still hadn't read her letter to him. It was currently at Voldemort's base in one of Izar's cloaks.
"Izar," Regulus greeted coolly. He reached for his drink, taking a large gulp. "How could I sleep when you have thrust a large issue into our home?"
Pursing his lips, Izar pushed off from the doorframe and ventured into the parlor. From the moment he stepped into the room, his attention had been directed toward his father. Now that he sat down, he noticed the Black tapestry across from him. His eyes widened a fraction when he noticed the healing tapestry. It wouldn't be impossible for Regulus to revive the Black tapestry, but it would require a lot of magic and patience, something Izar hoped Regulus would have little of now that Aiden was here.
"You didn't even consult me," his father started again. "On something as large as this… it's…"
"I'm infertile," Izar declared boldly. "I cannot have children." He didn't know that for certain, but he assumed he was unable to produce children now that he was undead. "I know I could have adopted a child, but quite frankly, I don't even like children. You do. I thought you would be the better candidate to take care of Aiden."
Regulus gave a dry laugh, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter that you are infertile, Izar. Merlin, I don't even care if I have to adopt another child to carry on the Black name. But Aiden is a Mudblood. A child born with Muggle parents. I cannot take him in as a Black."
"I'm a half-blood," Izar pointed out. "One of the first and only Black heirs to have such dirty blood. Do you agree that my unclean blood made me a lesser wizard? That I am not capable to keep up with the other Blacks in history?" Izar persisted, knowing this was an argument he could win. His father, despite his blood prejudice, was easy prey when it came to children, especially abused children.
Persuading people was becoming easier for Izar. Compared to Voldemort, anyone else was easy and open to Izar's advances. He supposed that was one positive to being so close with the Dark Lord.
Regulus ran a hand through his hair, pulling at it in frustration. "You know I don't believe that—"
"I would continue on being the Black heir until Aiden's children are old enough to hold the title. Which, then, I would become the Head of the Black family unless you are still alive." Izar paused, knowing he couldn't make promises about the future when it was too unclear. "Regulus, you can use blood adoption. He's more than capable of carrying the line."
His father leaned against his chair, gazing at Izar through half-lidded eyes. "Do you truly believe he's capable?"
Izar tried to keep his smugness from leaking through his voice. "I do," he murmured. "He's a Seer. And despite the fact he claims he doesn't remember many things, it doesn't mean we cannot come up with a way to record his dreams and visions." He paused, keeping his eyes locked on Regulus' as he laid out the bait. "He was abused at home, Regulus. His parents hated him because he showed abnormal abilities. I don't have the patience or the capability to heal the boy. Try your hand at raising him into a worthy pure-blood. If it doesn't work, you can always give him up."
He knew he had his father the moment those charcoal eyes softened in resignation. "Alright. I'll try my hand at raising him. If it doesn't work out though…"
"There is the orphanage," Izar agreed full-heartedly. "And no one needs to know he's a Muggleborn. We can manipulate a story that would involve him having at least one magical parent. Half-bloods aren't nearly as frowned upon in the pure-blood world as Mudbloods are."
Regulus leaned forward suddenly, searching Izar. "And what of the Dark Lord? I heard what he said tonight."
Izar's lips thinned. "I'll take care of him. He'll come around."
His father gave him a withering stare before turning back to his alcohol. Izar continued sitting in his chair, staring across the room at the destroyed Black tapestry. There were many problems he needed to ponder over, many solutions he needed to solve. But at the moment, he enjoyed the silence with his father and closed his eyes.
"You'll be around for Aiden at times, right? He seems to already have a liking for you."
Izar kept his eyes closed and murmured, "Of course."
He lied.
{Notes} I'm not sure what's in next chapter, as I have yet to write it. But I hope to get to the assassination in France. Voldemort, of course, will be oblivious to Izar's plans to go to France.
