Egh. Very difficult to write. Also has a bit of torture and gore.
Thanks for the reviews/reading. And a special thanks to Master of Slanted Edges for the wonderful fan art (a link is posted on my profile).

Chapter Sixteen

"You must have something to report," Riddle snarled lowly.

The man before Undersecretary Riddle lowered his chin in quick submission. "Forgive me," he whispered. His only saving grace was his current location. The Ministry. The Dark Lord would likely save his temper for another day, away from the political scene. "But he put a ward up."

"But he put up a ward?" the man repeated back at him in dry amusement. "And you could not break it?"

"No, sir," Mark said in all honesty. It would do no good to lie to the Dark Lord. The wizard could taste lies just as well as serpents could taste their prey. "He had an incredible shield up. For being nonverbal, he did a remarkable job—"A pale hand was held up, halting Mark as he expressed his approval over Izar Black's spell work.

"I sent you, in particular, so you could break any charm or ward. Isn't that what you're accomplished at? Curse Breaking?"

Mark chose not to answer, knowing that it had been a weary statement instead of a true inquiry. He cursed himself for not trying harder to break Izar Black's ward. Mark was only twenty, fresh out of Hogwarts and nearing completion with his Cure Breaking lessons. It had been a surprise when the Dark Lord contacted him for his aid. An even bigger surprise when the Dark Lord remembered him and his talents.

It was flattering and overwhelming. Mark could barely lift his chin in the man's presence. And the Dark Lord wasn't even in his true form! It had been a year, perhaps more, since the Dark Lord courted him as a member of his army. It seemed like forever ago, being in the man's close proximity, being the Dark Lord's interest, but it was still fresh in his mind. And ever since that day, Mark had only salivated at the thought of being in the Dark Lord's eyes once again.

He had his chance and he ruined it. Yet… the Dark Lord might remember Mark just as clearly for failing. In fact, the Dark Lord may hold on to this memory so he could avoid using Mark again. It didn't matter that his Lord thought ill of him. As long as Mark was inside the wizard's mind, that was all that mattered. Mark would just need to try harder to impress his Lord.

Anything. Anything.

He closed his eyes, trying in vain to inhale and etch the scent of the man into his memory.

"Though, it shouldn't come to a surprise," his Lord murmured silkily. Goose bumps rose across Mark's skin. "Izar Black is a truly talented young man."

Jealousy, hot and thick, warped and twisted Mark's stomach. He opened his eyes, careful to look up but not meet his Lord's eyes. "Despite my failure, sir, I did observe that they seemed rather infatuated with one another. Almost obsessively." He couldn't call Undersecretary Riddle 'my lord' simply because the Dark Mark on his forearm forbid him to speak of Riddle and the Dark Lord as the same person.

"Oh?" the Dark Lord raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Mark drove on, hoping to dirty Izar Black's image in his Lord's mind. Despite the fact that Lucius Malfoy had been the one to show more interest, he wanted Black to be his Lord's target. "Cozy, almost."

The Dark Lord leaned back, a small smile crossing his face as he ran his eyes across Mark's expression. "And what, Mr. Lavern, would give you the impression that I actually cared about how interested they seemed in one another? Hmm?"

Blood rushed to Mark's cheeks in embarrassment. "I…" he stammered and glanced down again. "I- I thought you wanted to know anything that transpired."

"Indeed," was the only response from the man.

Before Mark could open his mouth to correct himself, a knock sounded at the door. The younger wizard stood awkwardly as the Undersecretary invited the unknown visitor inside. A redheaded man, around Mark's age, stepped inside.

"Mr. Riddle, sir, a message for you." The man held out a single parchment, sealed with a wax crest. Mark tried to squint at the Family crest on the back, but found he couldn't study it quick enough before the Dark Lord snatched it.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," the Dark Lord dismissed.

Mark watched, curious, as the man opened the letter. It was slanted in such a way that Mark could clearly see the thick and bold letters sprawled across the parchment.

He is in France.

-R.A.B

Who was R.A.B? Mark frowned, feeling another bout of jealousy. Was it a more experienced and noteworthy spy for the Dark Lord? And who, exactly, was the man in France? Was it Izar Black? Impossible. Why would the boy travel to France? What purpose did it hold?

Whatever it was, Mark most definitely didn't want to be the boy. He watched as the Dark Lord's eyes flashed crimson underneath his glamour. Mark took a step back, catching sight of the Dark Lord as the man caressed the silver Celtic ring on his finger.

"Dismissed, Mr. Lavern."

Mark all but ran from the room, frightened of the man's darkening aura.

{Death of Today}

"Having second thoughts?" Lucius questioned smoothly. "You seem awfully quiet this evening."

Izar offered Lucius a cool glance as they walked up the brick steps, leading to the expansive castle-like manor. "Just wondering how I can ever act like a sixteen-year-old," he fibbed lightly. "Though, I suppose being close to your son has helped in that regard." Lucius appeared affronted, yet he recovered quickly before Izar could savor the raw emotion.

The Black heir wasn't apprehensive about acting his age. No, that was the easy part. What still troubled Izar was Aiden's vision before he left. The thought of Izar failing had sent a cruel sensation across his belly. This mission was supposed to be a benefit to him. He was supposed to get revenge from a Dark Lord who played his strings throughout the course of last year.

When he heard Aiden's prediction, he had denied it heatedly, pushing it off as nothing but Acelin Morel's blood. Not his blood. It couldn't be his. Though, even as he brushed it off, there had been a nagging sensation in the back of his head. And the closer he came to France, the more it increased. If it was any other man Izar hunted, or any other time, he would have postponed his attack until he was more prepared, more likely to gain the approval of Voldemort.

Revenge was what made him dismiss his younger brother's vision. Voldemort didn't care about Izar's drive for revenge. The Dark Lord would just assign another Death Eater this mission. There was no other way around it. Lord Morel needed to be taken care of now. And Izar would be the one to accomplish it.

So, he took Aiden's vision as a warning. He would need to be cautious and submissive until the time came to strike. After all, Voldemort said Morel had no power. Izar just hoped the man was correct. He didn't want to be the one to witness Voldemort's mistake of underestimation.

Izar tugged on his high collar as the doorman took Lucius' invitation. Nonchalantly, Izar glanced over his shoulder and toward the woods. The sky in France was cloudy this afternoon, a few sprinkles of snow floating from the clouds. It was late November, certainly normal to see snow. Already, the ground had a few inches. In Britain, there was a heat wave. Not a sprinkle of snow as of yet. It was almost if the weather were affected by the brewing war.

When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he spotted two dark figures seemingly becoming one with the trees. Barty Crouch Jr. and Bellatrix Lestrange. Charming. Both Death Eaters were insane and weren't likely to bow back on Izar's word. Nonetheless, he would make them bow. They would need to remain in the background until Izar called for them. It only took a simple charm to connect their Dark Mark's to the gold bracelet he received from the Ministry this morning. All he had to do was tap his wand against the piece of jewelry and they had the ability to Apparate to him wherever he was situated.

"And your name?" the man at the door barked with a thick French accent.

Izar turned back, assessing the doorman icily. "Harrison," he hesitated just briefly. "Potter."

Next to him, Lucius placed a glove hand over his mouth to cover his smile. "My guest," Lucius supplied for the doorman with an air of innocence. "It said I may bring someone to accompany me, correct?"

The doorman offered them a strained smile. "Of course. Enjoy your evening." The wizard bowed low, causing the doors behind him to open with a subtle, yet noticeable creak.

Izar bit his tongue as he was forced to walk behind Lucius, allowing the man take the lead. It was to create appearances, but Lucius seemed a bit too smug to be leading Izar around. The younger wizard narrowed his eyes on Malfoy's shoulders. He wondered the extent to Lucius' inquiry this afternoon at the pub.

A mutiny. Izar repressed a snort in disdain at the possibility of taking over Voldemort's army. It was absolutely ridiculous.

Had Lucius been testing him? On Voldemort's order? Or his own? It was doubtful that Lucius would follow Izar if he was ever crazy enough to challenge Voldemort's position as Dark Lord. If Izar had plans for a mutiny, Lucius would likely support him just out of crazy glee to see what transpired between Izar and Voldemort. His support wouldn't last long, for the man kissed the ground Voldemort walked upon.

Turning his attention back on the hall in front of him, Izar thought it was stunning. Gold leaf painted the walls and ceilings, making the expansive hall look more like a cathedral than anything less. Scenes from Wizarding history painted the ceilings. In one panel in particular, Izar could see a Goblin war, the peach-colored creatures moving slowly, yet brining attention to the shimmering paint that was used. And then there was Merlin and his blowing metallic grey cloak. It wasn't surprising to see Morgan le Fay opposite of him, looking especially stunning and remarkably similar to Bellatrix Lestrange.

It was spectacular. Even the pure gold around the stain-glass windows were etched creatively with swirls and small carvings.

"If you keep up that expression, you'll fit right into your age group," Lucius murmured in amusement.

Izar snapped his neck back down, glowering at the man. "It's breathtaking. I've never seen anything like it before," he defended himself calmly.

"The Wizarding world in Britain has a few cathedrals, but nothing like this," Lucius whispered as they swept deeper into the throng of guests. "Perhaps, after our Lord rebuilds Britain, you can convince him to build a few buildings such as this."

Izar thought back to Tom Riddle's summer home at the undisclosed location. It had been stunning with all of its windows and effortless architecture. A part of him wished he was back there, with all the simplicity and peacefulness.

"I would have thought there would be more people attending," Izar whispered as they stopped near the refreshment table. His eyes swept across the hall, noticing the small number of attendees. Most of the guests were mingling and dancing, but there were a few who were sitting down and eating food that was no bigger than Izar's palm.

France wasn't incredibly different from Britain, but somehow, the atmosphere felt… more elegant? If not graceful. But then again, these guests were most likely pure-bloods. And even in Britain, pure-bloods gave off an air of poise that even half-bloods struggled to imitate. It was something Regulus needed to work hard at with Aiden.

"Acelin Morel is notorious for his parties. He holds them almost every week and most attendees choose to come sparsely. Considering he keeps his private location disclosed, these events are his only means of courting others into his circle and keeping in touch with his followers. He invites the most notorious politicians across Europe, hoping to snag them as his own," the man breathed in his ear.

Lucius was facing the hall while Izar favored looking at the different glasses of champagne. The man was standing incredibly close and Izar wondered if it was fear that was making the blond yearn his proximity or something far more sensual. Lucius had already expressed his opinion on Izar's hair color, saying it should be permanent.

"It would seem as if he has already found his prey for the evening," Lucius murmured in slight disappointment. "Though, she most certainly doesn't hold a flame to you."

Izar finally turned from the refreshment bar, looking over his shoulder toward the large table. At the head, a man Izar knew to be Acelin Morel sat with a silvery-blond woman. She looked older than Morel's rumored preference, perhaps in her late forties, early fifties, but just as beautiful as any Veela. However, Izar found himself bypassing her in favor of the wizard. His stomach tightened in tentative and wary coils as he stared at Acelin. Izar's magic-sensitivity bucked before dissolving, leaving him in the dark about the man's magical capability.

There was something about this man… and Izar knew he needed to proceed with caution. Acelin may have looked like a bloody pansy with his golden-blond hair falling around his face and those dark eyes slanted in merriment over what his date whispered in his ear. But Izar was rarely ever wrong about someone. And he knew this man deserved more credit than what Voldemort had given him.

Morel's sharp eyes glanced up, roaming the hall before they fell on Lucius. The man raised an eyebrow, as if pleasantly surprised Malfoy had shown up. Izar braced himself, knowing he was next in the man's line of sight.

What should he do? Pucker his lips? Bat his lashes? Moan the man's name from across the hall like a wanton whore? It was an appealing idea, but one he would never lower himself to do if only for his own amusement.

What he hadn't planned was standing there stupidly as the dark gaze fell on his own. Izar turned from the man, bracing himself against the table in front of him. The air was thick with forewarning; alerting him that something was not right.

"You sense something?" Lucius murmured, turning closer to Izar and placing a hand on the younger wizard's neck. It seemed as if the man were taking advantage of their undercover identities. "Would you like to retreat and get larger reinforcements? You are a brilliant mind, Izar, you can think of something far better than tonight's proceedings. Tonight had only been a suggestion, one I hadn't thought you'd want to—"

The man faltered and Izar knew why. His own Dark Mark seared on his forearm, clearly expressing Voldemort's displeasure and fury. It took Izar most of his restraint to keep from clutching at it in pain and agony. He shared a look with Lucius, noticing the tightening around the man's mouth and the strain he was putting on his jaw.

"What, exactly, did you not tell me, Mr. Black?" Lucius inquired. "Why is he angry? You did tell him of our plans tonight, correct?"

Izar took a deep breath out of habit and offered Lucius an unruffled stare. "You're more than welcome to leave, Lucius." The Black heir straightened from his bowed position before turning to watch as Morel stood up from the head table.

"You're playing with fire," Lucius hissed, his usual ice-like demeanor melting into one of frustration and anxiety.

Lips thinning, Izar cast a side-long glance at the man. "Do you think I don't know that?" The younger wizard stepped closer to the man, grinning bitterly. "Sometimes, Lucius, I would like to do something without approval or permission. There are days I like to remind myself that I am not completely owned and that I'm my own person without someone pulling my strings. Unlike you, I don't have an escape from Lord Voldemort. While you only see our Lord when you are called, I have to deal with him constantly. Everything I do, everything I say, is observed by him."

He paused, searching Lucius as the man's face cleared once again into its marble-like façade. "I need my revenge. This is mine. He cannot take it away. I won't hold it against you if you take your leave, Lucius. After all, I pulled you into something without his permission."

Lucius' eyes danced across Izar's face. "I understand," the man began tranquilly. "You are not meant to be tamed and tied to a master." The man seemed pleased by this. "Despite the consequences, I would like to stay and see the results of tonight's proceedings."

Izar held his tongue in response. He watched as Morel approached them from across the hall with his fitting robes snapping around his ankles.

"Bon soir," Acelin greeted in French. His silky voice rivaled the texture of his hair. "I find myself pleasantly surprised to see you've accepted my invitation, Lucius. And you've brought a guest, I see."

Izar looked down, moving his body closer to Lucius as if to appear vulnerable. It was a struggle for him not to meet the man's eyes, but he was already standing on thin ice. Any abrupt or challenging move on his part would shatter the ice and make Morel suspicious.

Though, it was surprising that Acelin came over here so quickly. How long had the man tried to get Lucius to come to France? It couldn't be Izar's appearance that set the man in motion. One could not be that hungry for sex.

Could they?

"Good evening, Lord Morel," Lucius greeted back, placing a hand on Izar's shoulder. "I would like to introduce to you, my distant nephew, Harrison Potter. He has expressed an interest in coming to France. I thought your invitation would be the perfect opportunity to show him around."

Sadistic glee twisted his stomach as Izar glanced shyly up at Morel. Playing with people had always been a bright point for him. And yet, he knew it could have been even more fun if he didn't have to be so cautious about it. Aiden's prediction was still fresh in his mind as he locked eyes with the Dark Lord.

"It's very nice to meet you, Lord Morel," Izar spoke lightly, holding out his hand in greeting.

A predatory smile creased the man's handsome face. He couldn't be a day over thirty-five, which made Izar guarded. How could such an influential politic be so young? And one that ruffled Tom Riddle's feathers?

"And you," the man murmured back. He grasped Izar's hand and kissed his knuckles. "What is such a young wizard doing in France on a school night, hmm?"

Izar couldn't force himself to blush, but he lowered his lashes as Morel's lips lingered across his fingers. The black Celtic ring on his opposite finger seared, reminding Izar that Voldemort was perfectly aware when he was being unfaithful. He didn't know what was worse. The burning ring or the searing Dark Mark. Though, as soon as his ring acted up, the Dark Mark suddenly became silent in its fury.

"I don't go to a Wizarding school. I have a private tutor. He is currently teaching me about France," Izar explained softly, pulling his hand away as if he were a bit ruffled with the contact. He kept looking anywhere but Morel's deep eyes, knowing that most wizards his age lacked confidence and became submissive around their betters. "What better way to understand France's Wizarding society than visiting it in person?"

Morel chuckled. Poor Lucius. The man was left forgotten behind Izar.

"And your uncle signed up as the chauffeur?" Acelin teased, stepping closer to Izar before eyeing Lucius. "It's a surprise you were able to slip past Riddle's disproval, Lucius, for being so close to the man. The Undersecretary has declined my invitation each time I hold a gathering. Merlin forbid, I have no idea why," the man sneered before brightening. "But I would be honored to show Mr. Potter around France's more elite landmarks if you would allow me."

It was just as how Izar had hoped it would work. The man played right into Izar's corner.

Izar hated himself for reaching up to rub the back of his neck and smiling so pathetically. "I wouldn't want to bother you, Lord Morel. I know you must be a busy man…" he trailed off pitifully, glancing at Lucius as if to ask the man for assistance.

All that he got was a slight wide-eyed look from Malfoy. So much for the man's acting.

"Nonsense," Lord Morel laughed. He reached out, placing a hand on Izar's shoulder. "I'll have the boy back by eleven tonight, Lucius."

Lucius recovered smoothly, offering a light smile. "Thank you, Lord Morel. That is very generous of you." His light grey eyes danced to Izar, silently asking him if he still wanted to go through with the attack.

Izar cocked his head to the side in response before being forcibly turned away by Acelin's hand. Even if he wanted to get out of this, he couldn't do it now. Everything was going so fast, so quickly. And while Izar had planned for Morel to take him away from Lucius, he didn't think the Dark Lord would do it so quickly.

He gave Morel a sidelong glance, surveying the man suspiciously. Did the man somehow know? Izar hadn't thought Acelin would recognize him. He had been in the tabloids only about three times, and back then, he had been a few inches shorter and less matured.

Morel caught his eyes, smiling thinly. "Vous êtes très beau."

Izar offered a bemused smile in return, feigning naivety. "I'm afraid I don't know much French," Izar bowed his head slightly, well aware the man just called him beautiful. "But it's a very beautiful language."

"That it is," Morel agreed. "You would sound exquisite speaking my tongue."

"I'll keep practicing," Izar murmured dryly. He walked stiffly underneath Morel's hand that was lying so superiorly on his shoulder. They were heading toward the head table Morel had occupied earlier and Izar found himself eyeing the woman who was sitting next to Morel's empty seat. The blond witch watched as they approached, her expression etched of hard lines and even harder eyes.

"My wife," Acelin whispered in Izar's ear when he caught the blond witch watching their approach.

"Your wife?" Izar allowed his disbelief to come through in his tone. Lucius never mentioned that Acelin was married, to an older woman, no less. He knew Acelin was married once before, to an Asian woman. And that marriage produced Airi, the young woman who rivaled Snape in the knowledge of poisons and potions and later killed by Voldemort. The same woman who carried out Acelin's plans of attacking Izar at the Tournament.

It was all difficult to grasp. Airi's mother died shortly after giving birth and she was raised by Acelin Morel. But their ages... Acelin didn't look a day over thirty-five and Airi had been at least in her middle twenties by the time of her death. And if Morel was currently married to this older blond, then what was Morel doing leaving with blond men and women? Izar wasn't naïve. He knew that some couples committed infidelity, but when Acelin was known for taking home others… why was his wife standing for such embarrassment?

Her honey brown eyes were sharp and intelligent, almost too intelligent. Her posture was regal and confident, similar to Narcissa Malfoy but far more powerful and less delicate. Her beauty just seemed to be an accessory to her.

As he approached closer, his puzzlement and suspicion only heightened when she gave him a once over before sharing a secretive look with Acelin.

Izar didn't have all the facts here. And he knew he would pay dearly for it.

"Yes," Acelin chuckled as he came to a stop next to the blond woman. His hand was still curled around Izar's shoulder, caging him in and cutting off any chance of escape. That is, if Izar wanted to escape. "Harrison Potter, I would like for you to meet my wife, Marjolaine."

She was even more beautiful up close, but the smile that crossed her face was all predatory. Izar itched to offer his own smirk, as if to reassure her that his wand could go plenty of places, particularly up her pert arse. He despised adults. Especially when they thought they were above the younger generation only because they had the wrinkles and years to prove it.

Nonetheless, Izar's eyes widened a fraction to keep up appearances. Even if Morel somehow knew Izar was not Harrison Potter, it was better to be safe and keep up his act.

"Enchante, Harrison Potter," she whispered in French, setting down her champagne glass and offering Izar her hand.

Izar bowed slightly at the waist, cupping her manicured hand and kissing her knuckles. "It's a pleasure, Madam." Once he straightened up, he was quick enough to catch Marjolaine watching Acelin over his head. Subconsciously, Izar brushed his wand through his robes to reassure himself that it was still there.

"I will be showing Mr. Potter around France for the remainder of the evening," Morel informed his older wife. "Will you be fine without me?"

Her dark lashes lowered in amusement. "How many?"

Izar's brows furrowed.

"Three landmarks," Acelin replied simply, smoothly. He smiled at Izar. "Three," he repeated softly.

Izar nodded while keeping an eye on Marjolaine as she flicked her wrist in dismissal. White teeth, whiter than Riddle could possibly get his own, clenched in a vicious smile. "Then enjoy," she murmured. To Izar, she whispered, "And have fun."

The Black heir leveled her with a confident stare. "I will."

Morel bowed low to his wife. "Vous et nul autre," he sighed deeply, giving her a heated stare.

Izar tried to quickly translate it, knowing it meant something along the lines of 'you and no other'. His suspicion grew a tenfold, but he hardly had time to contemplate before he was pulled away from the guests and toward the back exit. Marjolaine's laugh followed at Izar's heels, surprisingly chilling him. Only a rare few could get under his skin like that. Even Acelin Morel had not distressed Izar as much as she did.

Before Izar was pulled fully from the room, he caught Lucius' eye and mouthed, he knows.

Lucius took a step forward, but the rest of the blonde's actions were hidden as Izar disappeared through the back of the manor. It was risky to call the alarm so early, but Izar's instincts were hardly ever wrong. Acelin didn't seem to mask his own suspicions and his conversation with his wife had only been the deciding factor.

The intense and passionate emotion in Acelin's eyes as he looked upon his wife only meant true admiration and affection. It did not mean infidelity.

So why, then, would Acelin be known for bringing home young blondes?

Three landmarks. Three. Three Death Eaters were accompanying Izar.

"Amusing," Izar drawled when he put together what had transpired between Acelin and his wife. His cover was blown. If he ever had a bloody cover. He attempted to pull from the Dark Lord's hold, but found Acelin holding on tightly. "You must think I'm rather thick."

"No," Morel tsked. "You think I am thick. That was your first mistake, thus making you truly an idiot."

"Playing on your vulnerabilities is not a mistake," Izar countered as they rushed through the kitchens and empty dinning rooms at a fast pace. "You enjoy young blondes. Yet appear devoted to your wife. Why?" He needed to know in order to sate his curiosity, a curiosity that Voldemort always warned him about. It killed the cat, after all.

Though, Izar needed not to have worried. Acelin didn't respond to Izar's inquiry. His golden blond hair became windswept as he quickly pulled Izar through the maze that was the manor. The Black heir allowed the action, choosing not to draw attention from the room full of guests. Still, even with his rising adrenaline, Izar could not get his magic sensitivity to work properly. For now, Acelin Morel was a dangerous enigma.

Suddenly, Izar was taken by the shoulders and pushed against the wall. Acelin's dark eyes glittered in malicious hilarity. "I have never betrayed my wife before and never thought of such deceit. But you… you are rather easy on the eyes and full of fervor. And better yet? Riddle sent you. The Dark Lord of Britain. It will be delicious to taste you and violate every inch of you before I kill you."

Izar remained impassive. Despite the threat, the most alarming thing Acelin confessed in his heated French accent was the fact that the man knew Riddle was the Dark Lord of Britain. "Riddle?" Izar pressed with a slight laugh. "I will admit that the Dark Lord sent me, yes, but the old man Riddle had nothing to do with me being here."

Morel licked his bottom lip, leaning in close to Izar. "Don't play coy. It does not suit you well, little one." A long fingernail traced Izar's jaw line and then across his upper lip. "And neither does blond hair, Mr. Black."

It suddenly fell down all around him. His plans, his desire for revenge, his pride… they all shattered at the floor near his polished shoes.

Izar gave a roar in denial, rearing back his head before bringing it forward and crushing it against Morel's bowed forehead. A satisfying clunk was heard and Morel stumbled backward, giving a shout of surprise and pain. Dodging the man's lunge, Izar got a good fist in Morel's nose before he was taken by the collar and thrown into the table of silver pots and pans. The few House-elves inside the kitchen scampered away, their ears drooping in fear and anxiety.

The young wizard picked himself up from the fallen table, eyeing Acelin through lowered lids. The Dark Lord nursed his bloody nose. "Why did the Dark Lord send you? He kills my daughter, yet doesn't have the audacity to come after me himself. Is he frightened?" The man breathed darkly, appearing a bit ruffled if Izar had anything to say about it. "And what are you—"

Lucius took that moment to act as the heroic blond and rush into the kitchens. His wand was drawn and the scorch mark that blasted the wall near Acelin's head would have been spot on if the French Dark Lord hadn't dodged in time. But behind Lucius came Acelin's own forces.

Izar crouched near the island in the middle of the kitchen, bowing his head in a moment of serenity. He and the Death Eaters were outnumbered. They were on unknown turf—the enemy's turf. And someone had tipped off Acelin Morel about Izar's possible attendance and his possible assassination attempt. But who? The only ones who knew about Izar's mission from the Dark Lord had been the Inner-Circle…

He hissed between his teeth, his abnormal strength denting the ground in which he clutched. They needed to retreat. Yes, Izar would have to keep his chin up when he got back to Britain against the mocking and the prejudice. And he would have to survive Voldemort's fury. But it would save the lives of three Inner-Circle Death Eaters.

Izar jumped up from his position and sprinted toward Lucius. Throwing out an arm, he caught the blond around the waist and spun them around toward the exit. "We need to retreat," Izar ordered, taking out his wand and aiming it at the ceiling. Nonverbally, he crashed the ceiling down on top the French wizards who had just entered the kitchen. For good measure, he started a fire directly behind them in order to slow their enemy down.

"That's the best plan I've heard all night, I'm afraid," Lucius agreed.

The two ran from the manor and into the snow. Their dress robes hindered their movements, but Bellatrix and Crouch Jr. met them halfway at the sound of the explosion.

"You already accomplished your task?" Barty exclaimed in question, raising his dark eyes toward the house. Next to him, Bellatrix stopped and stared in wonderment.

Izar grunted, pulling at Barty's collar and forcing the man further away from the manor. "Not exactly," he murmured. "There is a slight change of plans," he hissed. Over Barty's head, Izar caught Lucius' eye. "We need to retreat."

They were nearing the beginning of the forest, their pursuers finally coming out of the manor behind them. "Retreat?" Barty laughed. "You're joking. I didn't come all the way to France to accompany a child, a mere boy, just to run. Our Lord may see something worthy in you, Black, but I find you incredibly immature and oblivious when it comes to—"

Izar took Barty's face in both hands, squeezing the head with an added bit of pressure. It didn't matter that he stopped running from the French or that the spells and hexes aimed at him were inches from his skin. He wasn't going to allow Barty Crouch Jr. to walk over him.

The older wizard hissed at the pressure Izar was placing on his face before going down his knees. Izar's bowed at the waist, pressing his forehead against Crouch's. "I honestly couldn't care a less about your opinion of me. The French were tipped off at our arrival. We are outnumbered," Izar breathed in the man's face. "I am in command and you can either follow my orders, or I will gladly throw your arse across the field and use your body as moving projectile."

Before Izar could lose his temper and crush the man's skull, a delicate hand caressed his cheek. The Black heir turned, dropping Barty's head. Rage and humiliation at tonight's proceedings made his vision spin. Across from him stood Bellatrix, her lips pursed into a pout. She stepped closer, pressing her bosom into Izar's chest. Cool breath tickled his nose before she leaned closer, giving a quick lick to his cheek. "I think we can take them," she whispered in seductive glee. "Your power… it's coming off you in waves."

Izar turned his face away from her, catching Lucius eyes before surveying the approaching French army. There would be about ten wizards for every one of them. His body was thrumming with small shocks and magical trills.

His lips thinned in determination as he watched a hex make its way toward him and the other three Death Eaters. Leaning forward, he caught the hex with the tip of his wand and batted it back to the advancing wizards. It hit an unsuspecting man who was knocked off his feet.

Izar gave a purr of satisfaction. "We stay," he ordered before taking another step forward. Distantly, he was aware of Bellatrix's cackle of merriment. His awareness of the other three became vague and blurry as he immersed himself with the battle.

Blood. And a lot of it was spilt by Izar's hand. He had no pity, no mercy, as he slaughtered the French wizards coming at him. Because they were ordinary citizens, and mostly stuffy politics, they weren't trained in combat like the Aurors. Izar took advantage of that and pounced on them with great zeal. He found himself admiring the crimson-stained snow more than his enemy's facial expression when they realized they didn't stand a chance.

The immense humiliation and embarrassment he felt about his failed stealthy assassination was used to fuel the force behind his attacks. Skin was no barrier for him as he ripped it apart. Bones were manipulated to be used their own weapons to spear their owner's organs. Before, the air smelt strongly of ice and cold. Now, it was unrecognizable with the spilt blood and the odor of organs being spliced open.

It was delicious. And Izar was dimly aware of himself laughing. Laughing. It had become rare to him these days. With no Sirius around, silly humor was hard to come by. Tonight, his laughs weren't coming out because of ridiculous humor, but because he felt so good. Nothing could compare to the sensation he was feeling now. Sex. Love. Nothing was as strong as what he was experiencing. His insides were warm and they felt as if they were too large for his body to contain.

As his opponent dropped heavily to the ground with a hole blown through his forehead, Izar turned, wiping the thick liquid of blood off his face. One thing he missed about being human was feeling his heart pump quickly in his chest, a clear sign that he was pushing himself past his limits. But there would never be any more limits for Izar to push. And strangely enough, Izar mourned that loss.

He caught Lucius' stare, blinking when he realized the man was gazing at him with horror-struck awe. Izar flashed him a toothy grin, but it faltered when he heard the cracks of Apparation. Izar didn't know what he felt when he saw the Death Eaters immerge from the shadows of the woods surrounding them. It wasn't the full army, but still enough that Izar felt insulted that Voldemort thought he needed a great deal of aid.

Lord Voldemort stood before his army, his long hooded cloak veiling any emotion he might have shown.

The group stood a few paces behind Izar and the three others. They appeared like Muggle scarecrows, standing in alignment at the edge of the forest and remaining stiff as boards. Bellatrix and Izar caught each other's eye, both of them relaying the same message.

They didn't want to share. Already, they had slain over half the French wizards. The other half would come just as easily as the first half. Extra aid would only hinder their chance of satisfying their own cravings.

Ignoring the Death Eaters, Izar continued his assault. Considering he would have to work with the Unspeakables from now on, he would savor this attack as much as possible.

He dodged a Killing Curse aimed by a brunette wizard before pivoting on his foot and thrusting his elbow behind him into his opponent's nose. Wasting no time, Izar brought his arm back forward, using his wand as a spear and slamming it into another opponent's eyes socket in front of him. He drove the point of his wand as far back as it could go, enjoying the warm fountain of blood hitting his cheek.

Izar grinned sadistically as he met the man's only functioning eye. "Bombarda," he whispered sweetly.

The man was allowed a quick scream before he was cut off by Izar's curse taking affect. The man's head exploded, scattering skull and brain remains around the snow around him. Izar huffed, using his sleeve and wiping away the life liquid across his eyes, all the while, searching for his next victim.

Though, he didn't get very far.

A rustle through his hair was his only warning before something heavy collided with his stomach. Izar sucked in a shocked breath of air as he went flying a good few meters before collapsing heavily in the snow. He grunted, closing his eyes against the slight pain in his ribs. Magic hadn't hit him. But then what had?

He stood up gracefully, ignoring his rib as it readjusted itself crookedly. That was one negative to healing so fast. There were times it healed incorrectly and the only way to correct it would be breaking it once again in order to realign it.

Izar fumbled for his wand when he noticed a figure charging at him again with abnormal speed. The golden-blond hair was evidence enough that the suspiciously inactive Acelin Morel was coming at him. And the man's speed also confirmed Izar's suspicion that Acelin Morel was not human. Vampire. The man had to be vampire. And Izar could do nothing physical to defend himself under the watchful eyes of the Death Eaters.

He spun away from the charge, using his reflexes to avoid another collision. As he thrust out his wand, preparing to roast the Dark Lord's bloody arse, a leg came out and kicked his arm away. Izar gasped as his arm socket snapped, sending his wand flying and his balance to fail.

"You won't be needing magic," Morel mused snidely. "Just you. And your answers." Acelin leaned down, smiling thinly at Izar's glowering form. "You have a lot to answer for." The blond leaned in close, blowing air across Izar's face. "And I'm going to get those answers. But not here," the man chuckled. "Far away from possessive Dark Lords."

Izar only got a quick glance at the advancing Lord Voldemort before he was taken by the collar and forcibly Side-Along Apparating under Acelin Morel's control.

Well… bloody hell… who said Acelin got all the answers?


{Notes} Hopefully I can get the next chapter out before next weekend. Preferably the beginning or middle of the week.

Thanks!