Chapter 18
Minutes sitting in the sterile and rigid chair morphed into hours. Izar sat as still as a statue, staring into his own mind as he attempted to block out the ticking clock hung in the waiting room. He didn't know what was worse, the clock reminding him how long Regulus had been in surgery, or Severus' and Lucius' constant breathing.
They were merely bodyguards, Izar knew. Voldemort assigned them to watch over him. Perhaps to prevent him from running into the hospital room and trying to give Regulus the curse of immortality. Or maybe to put a collar on his anger.
"He was slaughtered in battle?" Izar persisted calmly, staring ahead of him and away from Lucius and Severus. Earlier, they had tried to explain what had happened to Regulus but Izar had turned a deaf ear on everything but "he is alive".
Dressed in wrinkled slacks and a plain black shirt, Izar appeared just as disorderly as the two Inner-Circle Death Eaters next to him. They had just come from the raid in France. Apparently, from the bits of information Izar listened to, Voldemort had brought his army of Death Eaters to France and slaughtered countless of wizards and witches in his anger before bringing them to Britain and continuing their run. The Dark Lord had a temper. An explosive temper. And at times, he did things that weren't well thought out. Initiating a raid in France wasn't something Izar would have suggested. Not only did it give Marjolaine the initiative to attack Britain, but it struck fear in the other countries of Europe.
"Fool," Izar hissed, forgetting himself and his surroundings. "You're a bloody fool."
When the other countries of Europe heard about Britain's rising Dark Lord, they had decided to stay far away from the conflict as possible. But now that Voldemort made a foolish mistake of attacking another country, there could be a possible alliance between the other Europe Ministries and Britain. They would form an alliance out of fear, fear that the Death Eaters may come to them. And if an alliance took place, Izar knew the Death Eaters didn't stand a chance.
Lucius and Severus glanced at one another before calmly turning away as if they hadn't noticed Izar's outburst. And before one of them could respond to Izar's inquiry about Regulus, the door to the waiting room opened and Undersecretary Riddle made his damned entrance.
Izar sat hunched forward, stubbornly staring forward while clenching and unclenching his fists. It was early morning. Perhaps around three or four. Izar had left Aiden at Grimmauld under Kreacher's care. The child had woken up crying after a vision involving Regulus. A part of Izar knew he should have reassured Aiden before he left, but his worry for his father had outweighed his guilt at leaving Aiden alone with his tears.
A lukewarm hand wrapped around the nape of Izar's neck, squeezing. The smell of Riddle's soap was strong in the sterile environment of the waiting room. "How is he?" Riddle questioned softly, mindful of the few other visitors in the room.
"I wouldn't know," Izar replied shortly. "He's still in surgery."
"For the past two hours," Lucius expanded, a bit wearily.
Izar shook off the hand on his neck, unable to stomach Riddle's touch until he knew the exact details of what caused Regulus' current condition. Add that to the fact Izar hadn't been happy with the Dark Lord beforehand. "I am not forcing you to stay here, Lucius. You are more than welcome to leave."
Malfoy seemed taken aback at Izar's short temper but recovered smoothly. "I am here to give you support."
The Black heir shook his head, raking his fingers through his scalp. He wouldn't put Snape on the spot like he had with Lucius, simply because he knew the Potions Master wanted to stay. His reason was not to give Izar support, but to hear the diagnosis on Regulus. The man cared for Izar's father, yet he was stubbornly trying to mask it.
"He fell by a French wizard's wand," Severus suddenly confessed. "I didn't get a good look at the wizard, but he wouldn't stop tearing your father apart…" the Potions Master trailed off, his voice suddenly dry. The man cleared his throat. "By the time I got to your father, he was barely breathing. I had to act quickly. I attempted to heal most of the major wounds, but found his injury too extensive for my limited knowledge."
With his head still in his hands, Izar's eyes snapped open at Snape's recount. "So…" he gave a bitter laugh. "Anyone could have attacked him?" Izar looked up from his hands, giving Riddle a concentrated stare.
The Undersecretary, sitting calmly on the chair, simply raised his eyebrows at Izar's jab.
It was possible that Voldemort could have cast the Imperious Curse on someone and attacked Regulus in the heat of battle. It would be the man's tactic to do so. It was sneaky and underhanded, a perfect opportunity to destroy Regulus and then feign innocence. There was nothing that would trace back to Voldemort. It was a clean kill.
Izar shook his head, turning away from the Undersecretary. Rather touching Riddle was here at the hospital… almost if the man cared.
"Mr. Black?"
Glancing up, Izar watched as a Healer made his way over to him. The grey-haired man had a balding scalp and glasses that seemed to be slipping down his nose. Steady beads of perspiration dotted the man's forehead and around his brow. Judging from the man's expression, Izar gathered things were not as well as they should be.
"Your father successfully made it out of surgery," the Healer informed gently, as if Izar were a small child. "Most of the burns and lesions were healed remarkably well, as were the broken bones in both legs and torso. We got his heart rate under control and his vitals are in order."
Izar inhaled nosily through his nose, offering the man a withering stare. "Don't sugarcoat his condition, doctor. What's wrong with him? What did you fail to accomplish?"
The Healer looked taken aback by Izar's cold words. "He… he has experienced magical shock. He will remain in a coma for a few hours, perhaps days, in order for his magic to replenish and attempt to heal his mind."
"Attempt?" Izar prompted, eyes narrowing.
"There is a chance that Mr. Black may not awaken the same man he was before. Memory loss or mental retardation may result if Mr. Black awakens too early or does not properly heal." The Healer paused before continuing quickly. "The chance of such an occurrence is slim, but I must warn you of the possibilities." The wizard's lips thinned. "I must also inform you that we were unable to properly heal the spinal cord. The damage done to his nervous system was extensive—"
"He can't walk," Izar cut the man off impassively.
"In simpler terms, yes," the wizard admitted. "The Dark magic surrounding the spinal cord was too widespread. It…"
The man continued speaking medical terms and Izar found himself blanking out. It had been such a relief when he heard that Regulus was alive but all this that accompanied the news was too much. Mental retardation and paralysis? If that truly came to pass, it would be crushing to see Regulus like that. His father was strong-willed and independent… to have him so dependent on others would be difficult to watch. His father would be a different man, a man that Izar could not relate to anymore. Izar would never feel pure affection coming from another human being again. His father was always the one who had shown Izar that it was possible to love and still be strong.
Paralysis was rare in the Wizarding world. So why did it have to be his father?
Izar bit his bottom lip, struggling to remain calm. Fury, so strong and hot, curdled his stomach. His fingernails broke his skin but he hardly paid any heed as he narrowed his eyes up at the Healer.
"You…" Izar began hoarsely. "Are a Healer, yes?" At the man's hesitant nod, Izar stood from his chair. He had a small advantage of height and he took great pleasure in looking down his nose at the man. "Healers are supposed to heal. Is that not your job?" He didn't care if his voice was rising in volume or that the other patients turned in his direction. "You have an unlimited knowledge of the human body and magic to assist you. How can you not heal a simple torn spinal cord?"
Anger swelled inside him and Izar reached out, grabbing the Healer by the collar. He lifted the man off the ground, seething. "I am an inventor," Izar boosted. "I invent things. Just as a Healer heals things. I will invent a cure for paralysis despite my lack of knowledge on the human body." Izar thrust his face closer to the Healer's wide eyes. "And after I destroy your spine slowly and painfully… I will use you as my lab rat and enjoy every minute of it!"
"Stop this, child," Riddle scolded, pulling Izar away from the Healer. An arm caged across Izar's neck and shoulders, confining him against Riddle's chest. "They are just empty threats," Riddle explained to the shell-shocked Healer with a smile on his face. "He does not mean them. You must understand he is just upset over his father's condition."
"Take caution, Healer," Izar hissed, his teeth exposed in a scowl. He could not control himself as he looked at the man. His usual calm when dealing with people had slipped through his fingers. "They are not empty threats. I will hunt you dow—"
Riddle's arm pressed roughly into Izar's throat, cutting off any more threats. Lucius stood up from his position on the chair and gently consulted the Healer. "Perhaps it would be prudent if you gave Mr. Black his father's room number?"
The Healer attempted to straighten his collar, throwing Izar an uncertain glance. "43B," the man whispered.
"I don't need a damned babysitter," Izar murmured softly, trying to get himself under control as Riddle kept a restraining hand on his shoulder. They swept down the long corridor and toward the stairs that would led them to the fourth level of the hospital. "Unless, of course," he began with a growl. "You came here to complete the task you hadn't had the chance to succeed at tonight."
From the sharp look Izar received from Riddle, he understood that, perhaps, in his ire, it wasn't his best idea to entice a response out of the Dark Lord. Because if there was a small chance Voldemort had no knowledge of Regulus' discovery of Izar's immortality, the man would be suspicious as to why Izar thought he would try to kill his father.
As if reading his mind, Riddle took control of Izar's neck, and in turn, his legs, and tugged him into a supply room before closing the door sharply behind him. "And what task would that be, child?" Riddle breathed as he flattened his palms against Izar's chest and nudged him against the wall. The Undersecretary crowded him, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Punishing you for disobeying my order?"
"Obviously," Izar breathed back, fibbing. "Have you come here to mock me over my loss of control? Stand over Regulus' bedside and jeer?"
The dark supply room was lightened considerably by Izar's ability to see in dim atmospheres. Still, Riddle's eyes seemed to darken significantly. The man lifted his lip, sneering, before reaching up and grabbing Izar around the jaw.
"Lies," he hissed. "You believe I attacked your father, do you not?" The man shook his head softly, his eyes never leaving Izar's impassive face. "My, my," Riddle tsked. "You truly have fallen hard these past few days."
Izar stiffened, zeroing his gaze on the Dark Lord. His fury had yet to calm and he knew it was dangerous to harbor it when the Dark Lord was feeling particularly sadistic.
"Tell me," Voldemort murmured. "Do you feel as lost as you appear? Because I can assure you that you rival the image of a child lost and frightened. Accusing me of your father's accident is ridiculous and rather insulting. If I wanted your father dead, you can be rest assured that he wouldn't be laying in a hospital bed but in his grave next to his mother and father." The man cocked his head to the side, his glasses askew. "Though, your accusation does raise my suspicions. Why would you believe I would attack your father?"
"How would I know the purpose of you actions anymore?" Izar successfully sidestepped the question; evading the mention that Regulus discovered Izar's 'death'. "Everything you've done these past few days has been lies under lies as you played me like a bloody fiddle."
Izar curled his fingers around Riddle's wrist and moved the Dark Lord's hand away from his chin. With his free hand, Izar suddenly reached forward and touched Riddle's cheek. "I will be the first to admit," Izar began softly. "That I enjoy the games we play with one another. But there needs to be limitations. And you have crossed them far too many times."
Riddle remained silent and surprisingly quiet. Izar took it as initiation to continue. Keeping one hand curled around Riddle's lowered wrist and the other cupping the man's face, Izar moved closer, hating that he could still feel the overwhelming tension between him and the Dark Lord. Riddle must have felt it as well, for he bared his neck slightly, allowing Izar's hand to slide further down along his throat.
"Sometimes," Izar continued. "I find it hard to believe that you don't have a Horcrux. You don't harbor any emotion besides anger and sadistic amusement." His finger lightly tapped the man's Adam apple. "Can you even feel adoration? A sense of compassion? Love?" Izar dared softly. "I don't even expect love from you, but a little respect could go a long way." Suddenly, Izar's eyes flashed as he pulled away from the Dark Lord. "Are you sincere when you express the desire to be with me romantically? Or… am I a simple amusement for you to pass the time?"
"I apologize," Riddle spoke stiffly.
Izar leaned against the wall, veiling his surprise at the man's apology. He couldn't remember the last time the Dark Lord had apologized for anything.
"I was out of turn when I demanded you to get rid of the Muggle child." Riddle's shoulders were stiff as he gazed down at Izar. "Though, I will stand by my opinion. It was an unwise decision on your part. Not only leaving in the middle of the raid by also taking a Mudblood child." The man suddenly swooped forward, caging Izar against the wall with two solid arms on either side of his body. "But that is all I will apologize for."
Izar clicked his teeth together, snarling at the man. "And what of Acelin Morel? And his bloody lover? And what of Regulus?"
"You are completely unstable," Riddle breathed in mock amazement. He pulled away from Izar, pacing the small storage room as he considered his next choice of words.
Izar watched the man pace, feeling his fury and temper rise. Was the man just planning on more manipulations? Izar was becoming impatient with the amount of time Riddle was taking to respond. He needed to get to Regulus before…
"You are unstable," Riddle began again as if to come to terms with it. He turned slightly to eye Izar against the wall. "Someone has harmed the one you love," he said snidely. "You are frantic with… worry and anger. You need someone to blame besides a nameless French man. So, you are distrusting my word that I had no hand in your father's condition just so you can put the guilt on someone."
"That's ridiculous—"
"It is," Riddle agreed. "It does not surprise me that you find little trust in me. I have given you no reason to think otherwise. You only have my continued word that I never wish to see harm befall you." He turned fully toward Izar. "Nevertheless, I tire of your constant blame. And your constant… childish temper. Where is your proof that I attacked your father? Where the proof that I knew Acelin Morel was a vampire and his lover the Dark Lady of France? Until you have such proof, you may act accordingly. Though, acting accordingly does not involve throwing tantrums and cold shoulders. You get even with me."
Izar suddenly felt cold realization stain his gut and chest. He had been doing just as the Dark Lord accused him of. Tantrums. Cold shoulders. Like he was some bloody Hufflepuff who jumped to conclusions.
If he thought deeply about it, Voldemort gained nothing by keeping Lady Marjolaine a secret. And if the Dark Lord was responsible for attacking Regulus, the man would have finished the job. Regulus would be dead. Not struggling for his life.
When Voldemort angered him, Izar usually thought of ways to spite the man. For instance, last night after the raid, when the Dark Lord forbid Izar any interaction with the Death Eaters over his decision to keep Aiden, Izar had gotten back at the man by going to France today. Izar hadn't seen anything wrong with his relationship with the Dark Lord then. But now, now he was growing weak and vulnerable in front of the Dark Lord. Wanting the man to show love and fairness? While he wanted more respect from the man, he wouldn't achieve that by expressing unfairness.
What had changed since this morning?
The answer came to him quickly. Acelin and Regulus' attack happened.
"The vampire twisted you as easily as one would wind up a Muggle toy." Voldemort confirmed Izar's silent and mental assumptions. "He found your buried vulnerabilities and laid them out in front of you. The man wasn't even married or romantically attached to Marjolaine."
The man spoke the truth. Despite Izar's reassurance to himself tonight, before Regulus' attack, the vampire's words had cut deeply in him. Izar held a sliver of doubt when it came to Voldemort and his relationship and Morel had played on it remarkably well.
Izar felt ashamed for even taking the man's words seriously. He bowed his head slightly before catching his submission and quickly looking back up. "I slipped," he murmured. "Just this once, I slipped and allowed my enemy to get the better of me. It won't happen again," he vowed with heated intensity, knowing that he spoke the truth, that he would never be slighted again. Ever.
Riddle had long since stopped inches from Izar and now leaned forward. "You will have plenty of time to prepare yourself."
Izar frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I will reevaluate your mental health at Yuletide. If you prove that you are ready to continue participating logically in this war, I will allow you back into my ranks."
Izar reared his head back, hissing. Yuletide wasn't too far away, a couple of weeks, but… "I am perfectly fine to continue now. If you think Acelin truly twisted me that much, you are mistaken—"
The younger remained rigid as Riddle ran a hand across his hips before pulling Izar against his thin chest. Izar clenched his teeth in fury, unable to move even as Riddle ran his fingers through his hair. The caress through his scalp wasn't tender by any means. Long fingers tugged almost painfully at the roots, causing his already unruly waves to stand on end at the pain and manipulation.
"You have learned your lesson well with Morel. You are lucky to learn such a lesson with an enemy so easily defeated, and defeated, you did well."
The man became silent again, but Izar kept his tongue in check. If he spoke, he knew he would lose control and Riddle would only consider Izar as unstable. His rebuff would only serve as proof for the Dark Lord to keep Izar away from the war. He would not give the man the satisfaction of acting up.
Riddle continued to cradle Izar against him, almost purring at having him so submissive in his arms. But they both knew Izar was just a coiled serpent, ready to strike if the situation proved to worsen.
"The reason you will be pulled from my ranks is so you will be able to recover from your father's… condition. He will not recover successfully. And in your concern over him, you are unbalanced. I will not have one of my top Death Eaters slip. Be lucky it is so early in the war and that I am giving you time to recover. It would not be possible if we were in the midst of a conclusion."
"He will recover," Izar retorted stiffly. "And I need war to distract me." Despite only being banned from the Death Eaters for two full days, Izar already missed being part of the army.
"So you can lose control like you did in the waiting room? I will not allow you to lose your footing when you are so unstable. Your father is destined to die before you, it was only a matter of time before this happened." The man wasn't trying to be cold. Voldemort actually believed that he was being relatively gentle with Izar.
He couldn't help it. Izar raked his fingernails down Riddle's robes, ripping them at the chest. "You are a heartless bastard," he growled.
Riddle's mouth quirked before he lunged, grabbing Izar by the face and connecting their lips together fiercely. Izar squeezed his eyes closed, hating himself for pushing back against the Dark Lord. He blamed it on his volatility. He blamed it on his Black genes that bred insanity deep within his bones. He blamed it on Regulus for allowing someone to get the better of him during battle.
Merlin… Voldemort was an intoxication. Both an unwanted and wanted intoxication.
Izar knew the Dark Lord was clueless about Regulus' knowledge of Izar's death. The Dark Lord had not attacked his father in battle and Izar's mood had lifted with the conclusion. Though, he knew he would need to hide it from the Dark Lord. Oddly enough, the idea of hiding Regulus' discovery from the Dark Lord appealed to him more than it should have.
Their kiss grew heated with the irritation coming from Izar and the smugness emitting from Riddle. There was something rather disquieting and alluring about kissing the older Undersecretary Riddle. When the Dark Lord was in this form, Izar felt as if he had more of a chance at domination.
His fingers embedded forcibly at Riddle's neck, pushing the man deeper into the kiss. But when Riddle took it as an invitation to do the same to Izar, the Black heir pulled away, glowering.
Riddle chuckled, his eyes alight. "This doesn't mean you are allowed back in the ranks. Yuletide, child. Then you may show me that you're ready." The man pulled away, appearing almost… reluctant.
"I will not appease you by coming to your office during the week," Izar declared. "If I cannot participate in battle, then I will not participate in your dull politics."
The Undersecretary waved a hand lazily. "I was going to suggest it," he replied flippantly. "Enjoy the extra hours with your mother at the Department of Mysteries."
Izar's fingers curled at his sides. He knew the Dark Lord viewed him as weak at the moment and wouldn't want Izar around him until he recovered. Any show of emotion, especially grief and misery was frowned upon. And Izar full heartedly agreed. But he couldn't stop himself grieving over Regulus. He could, however, try to prove to Voldemort that he was capable of playing even when his father struggled for his life.
Through lowered lashes, he watched as Riddle reached for the door to the supply room. "Did you know of Acelin and Marjolaine?" His question came through as measured and commanding.
Riddle paused, turning ever so slightly toward Izar. The man's gaze pierced through Izar, chilling him. "Ask and you shall always receive, child. Within reason," Riddle whispered silkily. "I had my suspicions about Marjolaine, yes, but I could not confirm them until your foolish flight to France. As for Acelin Morel, no. I did not know he was a vampire. I believed his narcissism was what kept him young."
There was so much more Izar wanted to ask, so much more he needed to speak with to Voldemort. But he knew now wasn't the time nor the place. He was still unhappy with the Dark Lord, but the weight of Acelin's words seemed to disappear. Truly disappear this time.
There was no longer any lingering doubt of his relationship with Voldemort. Simply because Voldemort did manipulate and deceive him at times and Izar welcomed it with open arms. For he would watch the Dark Lord closely and absorb the man's techniques. And when the time came, Izar would, one day, conquer the Dark Lord with his own manipulations. The day had not yet come, but Izar was positive that he would level their playing field.
As for the other part of their relationship, Izar knew it was there but they both hid it well. They both desired one another and they both… cared for and admired one another despite their preferred way of keeping each other on their toes. Perhaps, one day, it may turn to love—a deep-seated love that would scarcely be expressed—but it would be there.
Riddle's blinding smile brought Izar quickly back to the present. The Black heir crossed his arms over his chest, on guard just in case Riddle planned another verbal attack before he departed.
"I must express my relief that Acelin was a vampire," the Undersecretary admitted, his lethal smile still in place. "I took great enjoyment of putting his head back in place and reviving him after you departed. He paid dearly for touching what is mine." Riddle's eyes ran down the length of Izar.
Izar was not impressed with the fierce possessiveness in the man's tone. "Your twisted sense of romantic expressions always manages to make my frozen heart flutter," he drawled.
Riddle's gaze finally tore away from his body and back on his face. A shadow of a smile crossed the man's lips before he turned his back on Izar. "My door is always open, child."
With that, the man departed with as much grace as possible for exiting a storage room. Izar was left behind, his eyes blankly staring at the position that was just occupied by Undersecretary Riddle. In all ways, the man's parting words was simply an invitation for Izar to seek out his support if he was ever in need.
The Black heir bowed his head tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. While he still felt weary and irritated at the Dark Lord, he also felt sturdier after his conversation with Voldemort. Somehow, the man always assisted Izar in putting back up his shields and pushing him back on the very tips of his toes. The man was all-knowing… he knew just how to push and prod Izar in order to straighten him back up.
Sadly, it didn't last long when he finally had the chance to see Regulus.
{Death of Today}
The first few days, Izar had proved Riddle correct and stayed stubbornly, weakly, by Regulus' bedside. He dismissed the slight burn in his Dark Mark when the Death Eaters went on another raid a few days later and he ignored his warming Ministry bracelet. As far as Izar knew, the world continued to spin around him despite his stillness.
The Daily Prophet reported on the Death Eater attack the night of Regulus' attack, but they never mentioned anything about the Death Eaters uprooting France. Voldemort must not have left his Mark in France which Izar was eternally grateful for. It turned out the man had some common sense after all.
The only thing reported in the Prophet about France was Acelin Morel's disappearance.
Undersecretary Riddle was also seen being quoted in the Prophet, a rarity. Izar knew the man was slowly emerging from the shadows and making his voice known. Riddle expressed his condolences for the victims of the latest Death Eater attack, but remained otherwise silent. Soon, the man would begin convincing the public of changes. The public would rebuttal against the outrageous changes Riddle had to offer, but when Rufus Scrimgeour began to fail to keep Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters at bay, the public would eventually become desperate for something and agree to Riddle's suggestions.
But that would still be a few months away—a long way to go. And there may be unmoving obstacles that landed in the way of Voldemort's goal. Time was ever changing.
Sirius Black had stopped by once at St. Mungo's when he heard of Regulus' condition. Izar made certain Regulus' state of health was hushed as best as it could be. There was no way in hell he would allow the Prophet to get their greedy hands on the Head of the Black family's vulnerability.
Nonetheless, Izar hadn't emerged from his haziness when Sirius had been present. He distinctively remembered Sirius expressing his condolences before leaving at Izar's continued silence. After all, the man wouldn't want to stay close, for there was another occupant who sat beside Regulus almost as often as Izar.
Severus Snape.
The man would return everyday after classes at Hogwarts and sit silently beside Regulus. Izar would always watch the Potions Master wordlessly, knowing the man was using Legilimency on Regulus. Snape had come up with the idea of using Legilimency to make sure Regulus stayed in his coma long enough to heal… to make certain he didn't awaken with any mental damage. At the time, Izar hadn't thought much about Snape's plan, his eyes and attention absorbed on watching Regulus' thin chest rise and fall.
The day Izar snapped out of his hazy reverie was the day Snape finally spoke to him.
"He doesn't want you dwelling over him," the man had suddenly spoken after a few hours inside Regulus' mind.
Izar had torn his eyes from Regulus' scarred face and stared blankly at Snape. After a couple of days, the blood-red lesions on Regulus' face had had lightened and healed, but a few scars had taken permanent residence across his cheeks and forehead.
"Excuse me?" Izar's voice had croaked with the lack of use.
The onyx eyes of Snape had pierced him across Regulus' prone body. "He tells me you have a duty to uphold. He sends his gratitude over your concern for him, but expressed his disappointment that you have not been continuing on your duties."
Regulus expressed his disappointment….
Just like Voldemort, Regulus had been disappointed in Izar.
After Snape admitted Regulus' inner-thoughts, Izar had stood up numbly from the chair and stiffly walked out of St. Mungo's with his mind racing.
How could he not sit beside Regulus and feel grief over the image before him? His father would never walk again and he would carry scars that marred his handsome face. Seeing his father lying on the bed so vulnerably and unresponsively made something inside Izar shatter.
He had never experienced loss before. Though, he had never loved someone as much as he loved his father. Suddenly, he understood why attachments were viewed as weak. When an attachment passed away, it tore at one's resolve until they could not focus on anything but the grief and the onslaught of memories that they could no longer experience again. Izar was proof enough of such a weakness. He had spent a week beside his father's side, ignoring the world and everyone living in it.
And Regulus wasn't even dead. But sitting in the uncomfortable chair beside his father, Izar realized that he wasn't mourning Regulus' condition as much as he was thinking about the future. They would be exactly like this one day. Only, while Izar would remain untouched by time, Regulus would have deep wrinkles and silver hair. Izar would be sitting beside his father, watching as the man took one last intake of air before all was still. And then Izar would be assaulted with a loss many times stronger then what he was feeling currently.
He began to question himself if it would be prudent to distance himself from Regulus before that time came. Would it lessen the feeling of utter helplessness?
As Izar pondered on attachments, he wondered if it was worth sacrificing the admiration and memories just so he wouldn't feel pain in the end. No. It was not worth it. Izar would rather know his father and create memories with him rather than alienating the man just because he was afraid of losing him.
When he realized this, he finally snapped from his haze.
While his chest was still heavy with worry for Regulus, Izar's mind had sharpened and lapsed back to its usual state. It was the weekend, which meant Izar had two full days before he returned to the Ministry and the Unspeakables.
With that in mind, Izar chose to begin on a project he had both dreaded and salivated over.
Voldemort's fake Horcruxes—the very same invention Izar planned on being the turning point of the war. He wanted to create an artifact that would mimic the affect of a Horcrux. If Dumbledore was so set on believing Voldemort had a Horcrux, or seven, then Izar would appease the old man. Only, Izar would make sure that whoever destroyed the Horcrux would also be destroyed in the process. A few main leaders of the Light would be hunting the Horcruxes. Their death would be a relief to the Dark side.
It was an incredibly challenging task, one he found himself reading about on Saturday afternoon. He wanted to make his invention somewhat believable to those who hunted them.
In Grimmauld's basement, Izar clutched a dusty tome as he scanned the brief section of what was known about Horcruxes. There wasn't much written about the Dark artifact, but he did find detailed instructions of how to create one. The procedure wasn't at all Dark as it was rumored to be. A sacrifice— a killing. Izar did it with ease during every battle. But the more he read on the Horcrux, the more his mind unwillingly centered on his mother.
For someone of the Light, it was, in all ways, a gory and unforgivable act. It was more than just a kill… it was more intimate and explicit. Lily had risked much to create a Horcrux.
He shook his head. Now was not the time to think of his estranged mother. He would like to have at least one of Voldemort's fake Horcruxes done by Yuletide. If not more. He believed, if he found out how to create one, then the other six would be relatively easy to manipulate.
Izar wished he could come in contact with a real Horcrux so he could examine the aura it gave off and the feelings it inflicted on a human being in close proximity. After which, he could mimic its influence onto his invention.
The Black heir sat against the dusty armchair and mused. Across the room, the portrait of Cygnus Black hung. Izar took great pleasure in silencing the man and hanging him up today. What better way to get revenge on his ancestor by making sure Cygnus saw how his experiment of immortality failed?
Cygnus' dark eyes narrowed on Izar, his mouth moving but no words escaping.
Izar pursed his lips, tsking. "Now, now, Cygnus, you've had your fair share of attention."
Tapping his fingertips against his book, his mind brought him back to Lily. This time, he didn't examine the confusion her sacrifice brought him, but what he had felt around her Horcrux. He remembered being drawn to her… or it… and being allured. There was a strange lightness around her that Izar had wanted to touch and possess.
It could not be the same for someone like Voldemort. If the Dark Lord created a Horcrux, his would not possess a lightness. But it could hold an allure. And a darkness Lily's hadn't possessed.
Izar leaned forward, frowning. If a Horcrux somehow reflected its owner's state of mind and magic when it was created, would it be possible that if Voldemort created Horcruxes when he was younger, it would give off more of a lightness than his latter Horcruxes? If Tom Riddle created a Horcrux as young as seventeen or eighteen, surely the Horcrux, as a result, would secrete more of an innocence than one that would be made in his late thirties?
He gave a light snort. Tom Riddle was probably a bloody bastard at the young age of five, certainly not innocent by any means. Most probably viewed him as a devil's child. In reality, he was just the Heir of Slytherin. Equally as worse.
Nonetheless, Izar could make the Horcruxes vary in the amount of darkness they held.
Which left the question of what the form of the Horcruxes should take. Lily manipulated her Horcrux to be a spiritual form, one that attached onto Cygnus behind the Veil. Voldemort's fake Horcruxes needed to be solid, easier for his enemies to destroy.
But what?
Izar glanced down at his fingers, staring at the black Celtic band on his hand. A ring was realistic enough, but would the great Lord Voldemort have a bloody ring carry a piece of his soul? It was unlikely, but Izar distinctively remembered the black-stone ring on Riddle's fingers. He had never questioned what the ring stood for, but it could be a piece of Voldemort's past, something he held onto with a modest amount of attachment.
The Horcruxes needed to be objects that were a part of Voldemort's history, possessions that defined the Dark Lord. It would be even better if Dumbledore knew of any of those objects.
His conclusion left a blank in his mind. Just what should Izar use as the Horcruxes? How would he know what possessions linked the Dark Lord to his past? Izar knew little about Tom Riddle's past. The only few things he did know about the Dark Lord was that he was raised in an orphanage and that his Muggle father had abandoned his pregnant mother. From the trophies at Hogwarts, Izar knew Tom Riddle was also a model student…
While the knowledge he possessed about Tom Riddle was more than most Death Eaters, it wasn't enough. It left Izar at a crossroad. Did he go behind Voldemort's back and investigate his childhood? Or did he confront the man upfront and inquire? The latter was more favorable, especially because it offered Izar more time to get the Horcruxes finished. But Voldemort guarded his past selfishly. It would be a struggle to twist information out from the man.
A sniffle sounded behind Izar, causing the Black heir to quickly turn. His sharp eyesight permitted him to see a small form huddled at the foot of the stairs.
"What are you crying about?" Izar demanded warily, seeing the tears stain the boy's cheeks.
Truth be told, Aiden had been tossed to the back of his mind this past week. He was sure Kreacher had fed the boy, but otherwise, the Mudblood child had been alone at Grimmauld for the duration of Izar's stay at St. Mungo's.
Aiden wiped his dirty sleeve across his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Izar looked upward, wondering if his patience with the boy had run even thinner since Regulus' condition. "Tears do not make things better," he reprehended, looking back across the basement at Aiden. "If you truly wish to feel better, find a book and learn about the world you have found yourself thrust in. Or make yourself useful and dust." It probably wasn't the best thing to suggest to the boy. Grimmauld held a few nasty creatures buried in the crooks and shadows.
"I'm not sorry about my tears," Aiden retorted sharply, narrowing his eyes on Izar. "I'm sorry about Regulus."
At least the boy had a bit of fire to him, Izar thought as he narrowed his own gaze. "He will return shortly," he dismissed, turning his back on the boy and picking up his book.
"You're angry with me," Aiden persisted, sounding broken.
Izar placed his book back on his lap, closing his eyes in exasperation. Perhaps his tactic in pushing the boy away wasn't working. Maybe he should soothe the boy's fears and anxieties. It would allow Izar more time to work alone with the Horcruxes.
"I am not angry with you," Izar began, leveling his voice neutrally. He turned slightly, motioning the boy forward. "Come here."
Aiden scrambled ungracefully from the stairs and made his way over to Izar. The closer he came, Izar saw the mess the boy was in; dusty and dirty clothes, torn pants, a tear-streaked face, dark circles under his eyes, and far too pale of a face. Izar found his resolve breaking at the pathetic sight before him. The boy stunk.
"When was the last time you ate? Or bathed for that matter? Do you need someone to lead you by the hand all the time?" Izar reached forward, grabbing Aiden around the waist and dragging him forward until the boy's legs hit his knees. Reaching up, Izar brushed a greasy strand of dark blond hair away from the boy's swollen and blood-shot eyes.
"Kreacher's food is moldy and stale," Aiden confessed, bowing his head and subconsciously leaning forward, closer to Izar's hold.
"And when was the last time you bathed?" Izar repeated darkly.
Brown eyes quickly looked up at Izar before lowering in shame.
The Black heir sighed, sliding his hand off Aiden's waist and closing his book. "This behavior of yours is unbecoming of a Black. You must always look presentable no matter the consequences." He was such a bloody hypocrite. But he was not raised as the Black heir. Aiden would need to make a presentable Black in order to attract a pure-blood female and carry on the line. Izar did not. He just had to struggle with an overbearing Dark Lord.
Running his eyes across the child's face, Izar shook his head at the utter exhaustion coming off the boy. He hadn't thought Regulus' accident would affect Aiden as much as it did. The boy had only known Regulus for two days, but then again, Aiden had visions of Regulus all through his childhood.
Reluctantly, Izar touched the stained cheek of the boy. "Regulus has been greatly wounded, Aiden. Despite his wounds, he will return home. You have nothing to be upset about." He'd rather not tell the boy about Regulus' inability to walk again. He'd save that for Regulus to take care of when he came home.
"I should have seen him getting hurt before it happened," the boy argued pitifully. "Sometimes I don't even see things. And sometimes they come too late and I don't even remember having the visions. I should have known. Someone could have saved him before…"
Izar now understood what ailed the young boy. He had to swallow his dislike for children and Mudbloods as he put himself in Aiden's shoes. The boy was just a child, and yet, he was assaulted with vivid visions of pain and suffering, of blood and death. It would eventually take a toll on the boy's sanity and Izar knew he had to reassure the child now before it could destroy the boy's mind.
Izar curled his fingers around Aiden's chin and made the boy look up at him. "You have a gift, Aiden, which most wizards would envy you for. A gift of foresight. But with this gift comes a curse. You see the future before others. And the future you see may be full of suffering." He paused, wondering if he was speaking in words small enough for Aiden to understand. Seeing the boy's sharp eyes on him, Izar realized Aiden was smart enough to follow.
"Your gift will both aid and restrain you," he said softly, thinking of his own magic-sensitivity. "You must accept that you will not see everything. And you must accept that you cannot stop things from happening. Fate… Fate is your enemy; it will always be your enemy. It will try very hard to make things that are meant to happen, happen. There are times you may win against Fate and stop events which are about to occur and there are times, like with Regulus, that you are powerless to stop them."
Some of the tension around Aiden's face relaxed at Izar's words and the Black heir was just happy that the boy understood.
"Fate is my enemy," Aiden whispered to himself, peering into Izar's eyes. A small smile crossed his face. "I will try my hardest to win against Fate. Like you do with your enemies."
Izar's mouth twitched before he became impassive once again. "Just remember, if you ever lose against Fate, Regulus and I will never be angry with you. We know how difficult it must be to battle Fate."
Aiden's eyes suddenly became larger and warmer and Izar wondered if he had overly-reassured the boy.
Yes, Izar thought as Aiden lunched himself at him and curled his arms around his neck.
Izar hesitantly patted Aiden on the back, relieved that this was taken care of. His next issue to tackle before he could get to the Horcruxes would be Aiden's bath and breakfast. And maybe he should order Kreacher to get pass-worthy food for Grimmauld. Lucius would no doubt agree to that plan of action.
"Come," Izar broke the embrace, his nose assaulted with Aiden's stench for far too long. "A bath. And then breakfast."
He stood up from the chair, making his way over to the staircase. Before he reached the bottom step, a warm hand touched his fingers.
Looking down his nose, Izar watched as Aiden offered him a shy smile before curling his hand completely around Izar's fingers.
Bloody hell.
Voldemort would have a field day with this.
{Death of Today}
Daphne twirled a finger at the end of her short hair, gazing across the Slytherin Common Room at Draco Malfoy. As of late, the boy was constantly in a sour mood. He barked at his cronies and remained stubbornly silent in classes, even remaining impassive when the know-it-all Mudblood Granger raised her hand and earned the Ravenclaw house far more points than Slytherin.
The Greengrass heir withheld an irritated sigh, pushing off from the plush chair and silently making her way over to the irritating blond. Really. She missed Izar dearly. While it had only been a couple of weeks since she last saw him at the Ministry ball for the election of the Minister, she found herself needing to be near the boy. Izar always had a calming air about him, an air Daphne felt comfortable with.
But Izar hadn't made good on his promise to keep in contact with her. He had promised, after their dance at the Ministry ball, that he would keep in touch through owls.
She didn't blame him for slipping. A deep sadness spread across her chest as she heard news of Regulus Black's condition. She didn't know much about it, for Izar and Sirius Black were keeping Regulus' state hushed and covered. Hopefully Izar's father would recover. She could only hope.
Coming to a stop behind the gloomily silent Draco Malfoy, she crossed her arms and smirked. "What? No attempt at seduction today?" Sarcasm. She wasn't very good at it, but having Izar around her during his stay at Hogwarts made her privy to trying to mimic the Black heir's cynicism.
There was one thing Daphne wouldn't allow Izar to get away with. And that was encouraging Malfoy to court her. The pampered blond boy didn't admit to Izar's interference, but Daphne knew Malfoy well enough to know the boy wouldn't suddenly start courting her. No, it had to be Izar's idea.
"Go away, Daphne," Malfoy frowned, staring at the flames in the fireplace.
She mirrored his frown. From what she gathered, Draco had received a special 'project' from the Dark Lord. It was the envy among the close-knit Slytherin students. Quite frankly, Daphne hadn't believed it, for she turned up her nose at Draco's arrogance. The Dark Lord was too important, too skilled, to ask for assistance. Especially from Draco. But now she wasn't too sure.
"I'm not going to mock you if you need assistance, Draco," Daphne sniffed, reluctantly using the boy's given name. "I can offer you my help."
"You can't help me," Malfoy gave a bitter laugh, his face an unnatural shade of white with a hint of green.
She leaned her hip against the back of his couch, her eyes wandering the length of the empty Common Room before looking back at the Malfoy heir. "If you need help in your little project, why don't you ask Izar?"
Draco gave an intake of breath, leaning forward and rubbing his palms across his sweaty face. "I can't. This is my project. Besides, I can't ask him. His father is…"
Daphne became quiet, surveying the ill-looking Draco Malfoy. "I think Izar would welcome a distraction. And who knows? Maybe we would like to hear from you." Draco turned to look at her in disbelief and she shrugged. "You're right, he probably wouldn't be overjoyed at hearing from you. But if you aren't going to ask him, then I will. This is obviously tearing you apart—"
"No," Draco hissed, leaning forward and encircling her wrist with a constraining hand.
Daphne narrowed her eyes on the demanding hand until Draco reluctantly released her.
"I will ask him at Yuletide if I haven't already figured it out. A simple owl will not do. I need to see him face to face."
"Good," Daphne smirked, knowing she had won the upper-hand.
Draco sat back against the sofa, grinning at her. "Why so concerned, Daphne? Were you missing my attention this week?"
The petite blond huffed. "That is highly unlikely."
{Notes} Izar's *absence* from the Death Eaters will be relatively short. I have a few things in mind before I want him to fight for the Death Eaters again. And no worries. He won't be missing much action. There are still a lot of battles left before the end.
