Warning: Grammar mistakes.
Chapter Twenty-Three
As soon as he entered the expansive room, he was abruptly pushed against the wall by Voldemort. Strong arms caged him against the wall on either side of his body, unwavering and unmoving. Izar couldn't wipe the ridiculous grin off his lips as he stared at the looming face of the Dark Lord. The man's eyes were narrowed as they traced every line and curve of Izar's face.
The temptation was too strong. Izar found himself indolently reaching up and brushing his fingertips across Voldemort's cheek. The Dark Lord didn't move away from the caress, instead, his lashes fluttered just briefly before his eyes sharpened. The tension was there, the same static-like sensation dancing and crackling between them. He leaned closer, his lips a mere breath away from Voldemort's. Izar wanted it, but he knew it couldn't be this easy for the man.
With an impish smirk, Izar ducked beneath Voldemort's arm and danced away from the wall. "It's been so long," Izar admitted softly. "I almost forgot that I'm supposed to deny you what you want." He strode toward the end of the room, well aware of the hungry and perceptive eyes watching his every move.
"I don't feel too dismayed about that," Voldemort commented smartly. "Simply because I know you're denying yourself at the same time."
Izar threw a raised eyebrow over his shoulder. "Don't be too sure of that."
Voldemort considered Izar for a lengthy second. "You wanted to impress me tonight," Voldemort guessed assertively. The snake-like eyes assessed his fitting robes of rich and elegant material. "While they flatter you, I would prefer white. You know this, child."
"My, someone is full of themselves tonight," Izar breathed. He turned around fully, finding himself unhealthily enthralled with the man's presence. "I wouldn't do something as silly as trying to impress you by dressing attractively." He was a liar. And they both knew it.
Voldemort offered him a twisted smile in return.
Izar sighed lightly, showing his back to the Dark Lord once again in order to stare at the mahogany table full of luxurious foods and desserts. "He's not serious, is he? Lucius?" Izar inquired, taking another step toward the table full of food. Everything was laid out in precise position. Strawberries were deep ruby, mangos were a sinuous orange, the fruits were plump, and the chocolates were elegantly decorated with rivulets of dark and light drizzles.
"Of course," Voldemort drawled, "only the best for me." He paused for just a moment, as if considering. "Perhaps it would be practical for you to take a leaf from Lucius' book of how to treat me."
The younger wizard scoffed at the idea. "No," he murmured, leaning closer to inspect which dessert appealed to him most. "I only enjoy taking advantage of being so close to you." Izar finally reached for the strawberry and took a greedy bite. "Besides, pampering you would be too much work. Where is the fun in that?"
"Indeed," Voldemort answered dryly. "We wouldn't want you to work too hard."
Izar glanced at the Dark Lord, wondering how he should proceed. The teasing aside, they both had things to address and things to demand and ask. He didn't know what was more agreeable. Teasing Voldemort or arguing. Both were rather thrilling in their own right.
The Black heir turned around fully, putting some of his weight against the table behind him. "I have a gift for you," Izar confessed, putting his strategy in motion. It was better to dangle a prize in front of the Dark Lord before demanding things from him.
Crimson eyes lightened to a blood-red. "Is that so? A Yuletide gift?"
Izar cocked his head in contemplation. "It could be considered a Yuletide gift, but I prefer it to be for your birthday. I know it's at the end of December." He cleared his throat, trying to stifle his amusement. "Eighty this year, correct? Or are you pushing ninety?"
Voldemort remained impassive, not even flinching at the attempted jab. He was still positioned near the wall and didn't seem inclined to move. "I must confess that your cheek and exasperating comments were rather missed," he said in all seriousness. "But don't let that go to your head. It wasn't a compliment by any means, only a statement." Voldemort brushed aside his comment airily, finally pushing off from the wall and approaching Izar slowly.
Izar hoped he controlled his expression in time with Voldemort's raw confession. It was unlike the man to admit something of that vulnerability. Nonetheless, it was greatly desired. They both missed one another's presence. And while they weren't exactly easy to get along with, they were familiar and comfortable with one another. They enjoyed each other's challenges… or… in Izar's case, attempted challenges.
"The gift?" Voldemort prompted, successfully turning the conversation around.
"The gift," Izar repeated, snapping himself to attention. "Will be presented to you after we address a few things. Much needed things."
Voldemort stopped his advance short, examining Izar closely. Cruel amusement smoldered the man's gaze. "Of course, how silly of me to think you were gratified without an issue to bring up."
Izar offered the man a scathing look. "I want to know if you're satisfied." When Voldemort raised his eyebrows in question, Izar expanded. "With my loyalty. I want to know if you're satisfied that I am loyal to you," he demanded contemptuously. "That test you put me through with Scrimgeour, it was exceptionally insulting to me. I gave up many things for you and you can't even accept the weight of my sacrifices?"
"It was necessary," Voldemort explained calmly, seemingly blind to Izar's anger over the issue. "But it was not just a test, I can assure you. What we discussed at St. Mungo's after your father's attack was nothing but the truth. You were weak. And I suspended you from the Death Eaters because of it. I do not regret my decision of putting a ban on your involvement and I will do it again if faced with the same consequences."
The statement was a warning disguised as a simple reference. If Izar had another meltdown, Voldemort would pull him out of the army and make him reconstruct himself. It made Izar feel like a petulant child. Hadn't Voldemort's views on Izar changed over the course of the year, if only a little? Izar thought he improved since last year, but perhaps he hadn't.
"I understand that perfectly. What I don't understand is why you went to Scrimgeour and suggested he attempt to manipulate me."
"Attempt?" Voldemort whispered back gleefully. "If I saw things correctly, he succeeded rather well considering his incapacity in regards to subtly."
"I knew damn well he was trying to manipulate me as soon as he switched tactics. And I knew right away that you were the one to hiss in his ear, you bloody bastard," Izar hissed, his vision beginning to blur once again. "The only reason he succeeded is because I underestimated him and Oran. For being hot-headed, Scrimgeour was rather patient and discreet about his plans. But that's only because Dumbledore dipped his gnarly beard in the mix."
Izar breathed deeply, out of habit, to control his rising temper. The angrier he was, the more lightheaded he became. His exhaustion from creating the Horcrux was taking its toll.
"Have I touched a nerve?" Voldemort mused delicately. "It's exactly what I warned you about, isn't it? Just like a kitten… you and your curiosity. Your fascination with people and things is not healthy."
Pushing away from the table, Izar began to pace. "You admit that you gave Scrimgeour the idea of manipulating me just to test my loyalties. But then you claim you wanted to teach me a lesson, a lesson that cautioned me that even the most predictable people have surprises up their sleeve." He clasped his hands behind his back, subconsciously running his fingers across the black Celtic band. "So what is it, My Lord? Why, exactly, did you aid Scrimgeour to spite me?"
The Dark Lord slowly sat down on the leather armchair, appearing, as usual, indifferent. "Who said I couldn't have done it for more than one reason? Admittedly, even I was surprised at how well wrapped the package was." The man's voice dripped of arrogance. "Not only was I keeping Scrimgeour from throwing you out of the Department of Mysteries a month too early, but I also tested your loyalties, and taught you a valuable lesson."
Izar guffawed, somehow not surprised at the man's attitude toward the situation. "I wonder," he began suspiciously, "If you're actually the type of wizard who does things on the fly without thinking about it. The results just appear as if you've carefully calculated each step and turn. But in reality, you were recklessly going with the tide of events." Izar watched a careful smirk cross the man's mouth. "And of course, at the end of the day, you sit with your tumbler of whiskey and think how you can make it appear as if you planned everything all along."
Voldemort only offered Izar a shake of his head. "I guess you'll never know, child."
"I will," Izar vowed fervently. "Someday… someday I'll know you from the inside out." He took a proceeding step toward Voldemort, continuing before the Dark Lord could convince him otherwise. "But you still haven't answered my question. Are you satisfied of my loyalty?"
For a long moment, Voldemort considered Izar. His longer fingertips tapped against one another near the bottom of his chin. "I think you know the answer to that, child."
Izar came to a stop in front of Voldemort, his knees brushing against those of the other man. The younger stood at his full height, enjoying the awareness of standing in Voldemort's presence while the Dark Lord remained sitting. Naturally, the man made it appear as if he had the higher ground despite his current level.
The Black heir leaned forward, placing his hands on either armrest. "I thought I knew the answer to that when I lost my mind to the Dementors for you. If not that, then I thought I knew the answer to that when I gave up my mortality for you. And if those weren't answer enough, perhaps… when I walked away from my family for you." Their faces were inches apart, their eyes unwavering from the other. "I've made many sacrifices for you, sacrifices I know I can never take back no matter how much I wish. When will you start to see that I am loyal? That you can trust me?"
Voldemort's strike was as quick as an angered serpent. Lukewarm hands curled sharply around Izar's throat, pulling him close. Izar was forced to look at the wall over Voldemort's shoulder while the man breathed in his scent and brushed his lips across the tender and exposed skin.
"The trust I give you is not the same kind of trust I would give a Death Eater. And your loyalty is by no means comparable to that of a common follower." Teeth nipped his neck, surprisingly not sharp enough to draw blood. "These tests, these sacrifices were necessary. No matter how painful they were for you."
Izar drew away, squeezing the man's wrists painfully until the man let go of his neck. "Do I have your trust?" he repeated boldly.
Voldemort's gaze darkened sinisterly. "Yes."
Despite Izar's small victory at getting Voldemort to admit, they both knew very well that his trust could crumble instantly. There was a warning in Voldemort's eyes, a warning that whispered promises of consequences if Izar was ever to abuse that trust or break it.
The younger wizard had no intention of ever committing that act.
"You're a wanted criminal," Voldemort continued flawlessly as if he hadn't just confessed a vulnerability.
It was obvious the man was uncomfortable with the topic at hand and Izar couldn't blame him. It had been uncomfortable for him to even ask, but he needed to know Voldemort's petty tests of loyalty were over. Granted, there would still be challenges, and Izar would look forward to them, but there would no longer be any tests that would insult Izar and his past sacrifices.
"Despite your impressive show of power that night of the attack, you made one grave error."
Izar raised his chin, immediately becoming on guard. "Why would you say that? I had no other choice. It was either divulge my status as a Death Eater or allow most of the Death Eaters to get their magic stripped."
"I'm not talking about your reveal. I'm referring to your hunt afterwards." At seeing Izar's slightly taken aback look, Voldemort smirked menacingly. "You didn't think I was oblivious to your doings, were you? I knew Unspeakables were going missing, dying before the public had the chance to learn of it. You went hunting for those who had a hand in creating the invention. The only problem? You forgot the most important wizard involved."
"Oran," Izar spat the name in disgust. "He is of no consequence." He turned his back on the sitting Dark Lord, fully attentive of the calculating glare directed at the back of his head. The man's magic tickled at Izar's senses, both a welcoming nudge and a warning. Always a warning.
"Oran is a pathetic little boy who needs powerful figures like Dumbledore and Scrimgeour to pull him by the hand," Izar tried to defend himself. He hated that he felt flustered at Voldemort's comment. And he hated the real reason why he hadn't killed Conner Oran yet. "He needed the team of Unspeakables to assist him with the invention. He will be too frightened to consider making another."
"You wanted to save him for last," the Dark Lord murmured. "To make him aware of all the deaths of his fellow employees. You needed him to know that he was next. A rather selfish and childish thing to do, Izar. Especially when he was the brains behind the invention." Voldemort called Izar's bluff and he did so effortlessly.
The ridicule was too much. Mainly after all the struggles Izar had to go through by himself, he didn't want to hear Voldemort's opinion on the matter. "Don't patronize me, My Lord," Izar whispered lethally. He faced the Dark Lord, finding little reason to take the man's words to heart. "It is rather hypocritical of you to lecture me about my guilty pleasures. After all, you are the one that has a one-track mind when it comes to torture."
As soon as he said it, Izar realized it wasn't the best thing to say. There were times he could teasingly pick apart Voldemort's weaknesses, but with his tone of voice he had just used, it was incredibly disrespectful. Despite their growing relationship and the trust between them, Izar had to remember that Voldemort was a Dark Lord and his Master. There were boundaries he needed to be aware of.
And he just crossed one.
Shadows seemed to hug Voldemort's form as he stood, making the Dark Lord appear taller and more sinister than usual. Izar's magic-sensitivity could pick up the man's aura as it circled around the man in livid waves.
"And you will never again patronize me," Voldemort hissed forebodingly.
Izar pursed his lips before turning away in submission. He wondered if Voldemort was only this angry because Izar had pointed out a true weakness. The man most likely believed he didn't have vulnerabilities and refused to have someone shine a light on them.
The subject of Voldemort's fascination with torture also brought up the concerns that Izar had about the war and the future, their endless future.
There were manythings he wanted to address with Voldemort, but Izar knew the night was only so long and the Dark Lord was never really patient for long conversations.
"It's true I just wanted him to be frightened of my arrival," Izar admitted quietly. "But I will get to him. I'm sure Lucius can find out where the Ministry is holding Oran. No ward can stop me." It might have been arrogance talking, but now that Izar's magic-sensitivity was back, wards would be easy to peel away and remove.
The dark chuckle from the Dark Lord made Izar snap his head around and glare suspiciously at the man.
"You are humorous, child," Voldemort drawled. "Do you really believe I am going to allow you to leave my protection now that you're a wanted criminal? Your freedom is gone. Whenever you leave this Manor or my base, you will need my permission and, essentially, my protection."
And suddenly, the independence and freedom Izar had enjoyed so much this past month was ripped from underneath him. He was in Voldemort's webbing again, a web that enclosed four sturdy walls around him and prevented any movementwithout Voldemort's strict approval.
Izar bowed his head and began to quietly snicker. Steadily, the chuckles turned into booming laughs. Hysterical laughing. "I don't even know why I try with you," he breathed through the hysteria. He unexpectedly felt enclosed, claustrophobic. The fact that he didn't need oxygen but was finding it difficult to breathe obviously said something about his emotional and mental condition.
Unable to stand in the room any longer, Izar pushed past Voldemort and into the corridor. The darkness residing in the halls consumed him and he found himself submitting. His shoulders dropped and his neck bent forward. Sluggishly, the world spun and Izar placed a palm against the stone corridor to steady himself. While he used the shadows to veil his weakening expression, he knew Voldemort, who was following behind him at a leisure pace, would spy his deteriorated resolve.
Was this what it would be like from now on? The Dark Lord's eyes on him at all times?
Of course not.
What was wrong with him? Simply because he was unstable at the moment from creating the artificial Horcrux didn't mean he had to lose his common sense.
Izar straightened his shoulders, forcing away his grogginess. Getting Voldemort's knickers in a bundle was what he lived for. Izar knew he would have just as much independence as before, simply because he would make it that way. Voldemort could try to keep Izar grounded, but the Black heir would try just as hard to break free. Sneaking out of the Malfoy Manor or the Dark Lord's base couldn't be too difficult. He'd make sure of it.
His steps were soundless as he walked up the flight of stairs, intent on going to the room that housed him last year during Yuletide. Already, the Dark spells Izar put on Nagini lured him closer.
Izar decided he wouldn't withhold Nagini from Voldemort just because they had another disagreement. The man was a bastard and it was to be expected. At any rate, Izar needed Nagini out of his hair and he could go to sleep soon after presenting her to Voldemort.
"You don't deserve it," Izar felt inclined to speak to the stalking shadow behind him. "But it's prudent that you receive the gift as quickly as possible."
It was a relief to see that the room he used last year was, indeed, his room this year. He spotted his trunk at the base of the large bed. Behind him, as soon as Voldemort snuck inside, Izar slammed the door shut with a wave of his wand.
The man stayed silent as Izar kneeled in front of his trunk. Waving his wand over the locks, they turned before snapping open. Izar gave a crooked smile, proud of himself when he felt the draw toward Nagini's basket multiply. If Voldemort felt it as well, he didn't say.
"Here," Izar invited. Picking up the basket, he offered it to the Dark Lord, content he had thought to put a charm on the basket to make the small space expansive on the inside and weightless to the wizard holding it.
Voldemort surveyed the basket suspiciously, refusing to take it. It was obvious the man could feel the power dripping from the object inside. The split-crimson eyes then jumped to Izar's face, studying it closely. Frowning deeply, Voldemort slowly sat at the edge of Izar's bed and opened his hands as acceptance. "Will I need to arm myself?"
Izar glowered at the man. "Open it."
The Dark Lord took the basket and placed it on his lap. Cautiously, he opened the lid and Izar leaned forward, diligently watching the Dark Lord's reaction.
Nagini, as if frustrated for being cooped in her cage all day, shot out rapidly. Voldemort matched her reflexes even quicker and enclosed his hand around her open mouth. He held her firmly by the snout, controlling her movements. Both snake and man surveyed each other, their eyes only inches apart. The stare was interested on Voldemort's behalf and wary on Nagini's.
"A serpent," Voldemort mused in wicked pleasure. "A very attractive serpent." His nostrils flared as he inhaled her. "She's also the female I smelt on you."
Izar placed his forehead against the trunk in exasperation. "Fool," he murmured in tender reprehension. "Is that all you think she is?"
Voldemort offered Nagini one last appraising look before he forced her back in the basket. Izar watched, half amused and half concerned for Nagini's sanity. Her eyes accused Izar from inside her cage before Voldemort pushed the lid closed.
"She was looking forward to speaking to you." Izar felt inclined to defend the large serpent.
"That can wait until later," Voldemort replied hastily before leaning down and grabbing Izar's collar. And just as quickly as he stopped Nagini's lunge, Voldemort pulled Izar off the floor and onto the bed.
Before Izar could make much sense of their positioning, long fingers curled at the roots of his hair and pulled his head backward to expose his throat. Lips then pressed to his neck possessively.
"It's my Horcrux," Voldemort answered Izar's earlier inquiry. "It's impressive. You're impressive," the man whispered huskily against the wet skin of Izar's throat.
Now this was something Izar could get used to. The man could keep going if he wished...
He moaned softly, never feeling as exhilarated as he did at this point. He was on topof Voldemort. Sadly? He couldn't find it in himself to become aroused. The exhaustion and fatigue weighed heavily in his head while his vision became hot. His eyes weren't any better off as they prayed for a relief. Izar struggled to make himself rise to the occasion— the very same occasion Izar knew he would probably never be granted again.
Control. Here he was, on top of an appreciative Dark Lord and all he could think about was how delectable those pillows looked against the headboard.
Voldemort seemed to pick up on Izar's lack of arousal and turned their positions around abruptly. The Dark Lord was hard and heavy, the proof pressing down on Izar's leg. The younger wizard breathed in surprise, pondering about their position just briefly.
This was the first time Voldemort had ever laid on top of Izar fully. The weight was crushing and the posture was possessive and dominant. If Izar wished, he could have struggled from underneath him, but he found himself content with the current position. The mattress was incredibly soft at his back…
He closed his eyes, feigning bliss as Voldemort rubbed his manhood through his robes in attempt to arouse him.
The day had been a success, Izar thought. He had appeared in front of the Death Eaters after a long and suspicious absence, he had killed off one of the last Unspeakables that had a hand in Connor's invention, he successfully constructed the Horcrux the Light Wizards would hunt, and he held his own well enough against Voldemort.
With that in mind, Izar promptly fell asleep.
{Death of Today}
"Black."
The call was quiet enough and Izar fell back in a deep slumber. Until the call persisted…
"Black!"
Izar jerked awake, drowsy and bemused. Drool caked the corner of his mouth and the heavy blanket beneath him. For a moment, he stared at his fully clothed body—dress robes wrinkled and kinked. His shoes were still on as his feet as they dangled off the edge of the bed.
And then it all came back to him.
His eyes sharpened as they shot to the man sitting lazily in the chair next to the bed. Voldemort had on new robes, proof that he had not spent the night in Izar's room and that it was a new day. Nagini was draped contently across the Dark Lord's shoulders, all but purring as the man stroked the sensitive area under her chin. Both were staring at him in displeasure, both for different reasons.
"By all means," Voldemort murmured calmly. "Invite your guest inside. I'm eager to hear what young Mr. Malfoy has to say."
Izar sat up, placing his palms against his eyes in aggregation. Already, the day wasn't looking too bright. Waking up to a displeased Dark Lord and a desperate Malfoy? At least his exhaustion had diminished somewhat, leaving him only disorientated with the long slumber he had most likely gone through last night and late this morning.
"As long as you make yourself scarce," Izar countered sullenly. The young wizard slowly stood from his bed at another loud knock at his door. He didn't know if he could muster up the patience for Draco Malfoy.
"For bloody sake, Black, open this—"
Having faith that the Dark Lord would make himself scarce, Izar threw open the door, offering Malfoy a deep scowl. "I would like to inform you that you've accomplished your goal," Izar hissed darkly.
Draco gave an once-over at Izar's appearance before welcoming himself in the room. "And what is that?" the blond countered regally. "Waking your lazy arse up?"
"No," Izar replied simply before shutting the door. "Making me believe you are an impossible brat to get along with."
With eyes mirroring the color of his father, Draco glanced around the room. Thankfully, both the Dark Lord and Nagini were nowhere in sight. All that was left behind was an untidy, yet unslept-in bed. Seeing the mattress, Izar couldn't help but to remember what transpired last night.
He couldn't believe he fell asleep while Voldemort was attempting to get him aroused. It had been an opportunity Izar shouldn't have passed up. He had been ready to have sex. And last night, Voldemort had been appreciated enough with Izar that the Dark Lord would have allowed Izar some control. One thing was for sure. Voldemort would be utterly unbearable the next time they got this far again.
"The feeling is mutual then," Draco agreed.
Izar's gaze shot from the bed to the shorter wizard next to him. Focusing on the Malfoy heir, Izar could see the turmoil the boy was going through. While Malfoy hid it well, Izar's sharp eye could see the dark circles, the blood-shot eyes, the sickly pallor… it was all signs of emotional distress. To give Izar even more proof of the boy's anguish, the aura around Malfoy was dim, giving off bright and desperate spasms before extinguishing once again.
Izar slowly turned his shoulder on the boy, pretending as if he hadn't taken notice. He was torn between telling Malfoy they should speak later, in private, but another part of him couldn't care a less about the Dark Lord overhearing.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" Izar questioned, all snark from his tone gone. "Is this related to what Daphne wanted to speak to me about last night?"
A weary sigh escaped the boy's mouth as he picked up an ordainment from the desk. Izar watched him closely, observing the stubbornness tightening around the blonde's mouth.
"I didn't want to come to you. But I had no other choice. Daphne convinced me you would assist."
"I'll assist if I can," Izar replied skeptically. "If I know what it is."
Draco continued to face away from Izar as he traced the dark swirls in the glass ordainment. "I was given a task by the Dark Lord."
Izar immediately straightened, ready to intervene, but Malfoy continued.
"It was a task, to prove my worthiness, my loyalty. If I succeed, I will be promoted to Second Tier. He said this. He said I was worthy enough to move within the ranks if I could complete this task. Like my father, I would someday be in the Inner-Circle." Draco turned around, staring at Izar with a fierce passion. "I want this more than anything, Black."
There were two types of Death Eaters. Ones like Lucius, the Lestranges, and Izar who were cruel—hard— and lacked a certain sanity. And then there were the other Death Eaters who went along with the tide because they either thought it was expected of them or they wanted to fit within the mold, a mold where rejects could feel welcome. Draco was the latter. He wanted his father to look highly upon him.
"Do you really?" Izar whispered softly. "Or do you believe your father wants it more than you?"
Draco stared at him before setting down the glass ordainment sharply on the table. "I knew you wouldn't help. I was foolish for coming here. Forget this happened, Black."
Izar looked upward, grasping as much patience as he could before reaching forward and stopping Draco around the wrist. "Stop pitying yourself, Malfoy," Izar scolded. "I said I would help you if I knew what it was. You have yet to tell me."
He wouldn't push the topic of Draco's involvement with the Death Eaters. The boy would make a very impressive politician, but his sole focused seemed to be on making an impression in the Death Eater army.
Draco sighed heavily between his teeth, offering Izar a look of contempt. "He wants me to find a way for the Death Eaters to get into Hogwarts."
Izar released Draco's wrist, surprise freezing his mind for a brief second. Voldemort would most likely be seething at the prospect of Draco speaking to someone about the task he presented the blond. Though, it was obvious from Malfoy's dispiriting appearance that the boy wasn't handling this well.
"There is a cabinet, two cabinets, really," Malfoy continued. "It is a passage way between two places—"
"The Vanishing Cabinet," Izar supplied, remembering reading about them in one of his books. Malfoy shot him a look of disdain for knowing the answer so easily. Izar brushed it off. "It is a rather brilliant idea. Where is it located in Hogwarts? Dumbledore hasn't removed it?"
Malfoy glanced down, tugging on his robes. "One is in the Room of Requirements and the other is in Burkes. The Headmaster doesn't realize the significance, not yet." Draco then looked up at Izar a bit desperately. "I've tried everything. Every time I put in an object, it returns to me either dead or… or bloody destroyed." The whites around Malfoy's eyes were showing as a deranged look crossed the boy's features.
Izar blinked before chuckling softly. It hadn't meant to escape past his lips, but it had and Malfoy heard it with clarity.
"You think this is funny?"
"Actually, I don't," Izar replied, controlling himself. He turned his back on Malfoy, smirking at the far wall in order to express his amusement. The boy was hysterical. There was nothing wrong with Izar finding humor in it. "I confess that I don't recognize all the properties with the Vanishing Cabinet. I will need to research the topic. But it sounds to me that it is having trouble on the receiving end at Burkes as it sends back the object or it could even be the Hogwarts cabinet as it transfers the object to Burkes."
He was simply musing to himself out-loud, wondering if it was possible to assist Malfoy if he couldn't see the Cabinet personally.
"Will you be able to assist me?" Draco inquired.
Good boy. The blond had recovered nicely from his desperation and was now showing off the cool pure-blood mask Lucius was credited for creating. And yet… there was something else in the boy's tone. Something Izar could pick up as hesitation.
"Perhaps," Izar began, "I may be able to travel to Borgin and Burkes and look at it more closely with you. But…" he turned around and narrowed his eyes on Draco. "Only if you tell me what else is bothering you."
Draco straightened, scoffing. "I don't know what you're on about."
Izar took an advancing step forward. "I think you do. Otherwise, if you won't tell me, you can go to our Lord and inform him that you cannot complete the task he has presented you with. I'm sure he will be pleased with you—"
"You're just like Bella," Draco accused sharply. "You both share that sweet façade and tone, but a lethal bitch is lurking beneath the insane twinkle."
"My, my," Izar scolded softly. "It's one thing to accuse me of being a bitch, but another to allow your jealousy to run your tongue." Izar waved a dismissive hand at Draco's indignant look. "Sometimes, I believe you would have fit better on my side of the family. If we could have traded places…" he trailed off, wondering what life would be like if Lily had slept with Lucius instead of Regulus.
But then quickly pushed it aside.
While Draco would have fit in well with Regulus and Sirius and Izar with Lucius, both boys carried their burdens expertly. Izar with the Black insanity and Draco will accepting his mother and father's codling.
Malfoy shook his head, as if to clear out any confusion. "You're bloody ridiculous, Black. I have no idea what you're on about. Again."
Izar gave a lipless smile, pushing past Draco and toward the door. "I'm merely pointing out that you won't get my help unless you tell me what's truly bothering you, besides not being able to fix the Vanishing Cabinet." Leaning against the door, he offered the boy a sly smile. "Insults will get you nowhere."
As predicted, the boy seethed. The struggle to remain confident and flawless contradicted the hot-tempered and spoiled child. Izar knew how Lucius raised the boy wrong. Lucius preached what Draco should be, yet, in the privacy of their own home, Draco's father and mother constantly spoiled him—turning him into a wizard who got everything and did not learn from his mistakes and loses.
"I want…" Draco took a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hogwarts is my home away from the Malfoy Manor. I just wanted you to ask the Dark Lord if he could spare the castle in his attack and maybe most of the students…"
Izar could see that fixing the Vanishing Cabinet wasn't what was wearing down on Draco. It was the attack itself, what happened after he fixed the cabinet.
"You intrigue me," Izar whispered. "That you can care so much for the students you swore you hated." His fist tightened around the door handle as he watched Draco carefully. Those deep shadows in the boy's eyes must have been noticed by others. Izar had to admit that any other seventeen-year-old in Draco's position had the right to act similarly. They were children, albeit children of Dark Wizards, but children nonetheless. Death and destruction didn't come to them easily.
"Is it the student body that you want saved? Or one person in particular who doesn't support the Dark?" Izar pushed, watching the boy's reaction.
Malfoy bowed his head. "Don't make me answer that."
The boy's answer confirmed Izar's suspicions. The only question was who the boy wanted to save. Izar remembered Draco being focused primarily on his dislike for that Mudblood Granger in Ravenclaw and of course, the Weasley. Could that fierce hatred be the boy's way of hiding what he truly thought?
"You know I cannot ask the Dark Lord to do anything. Why do you think I can make him change his mind if he wants to destroy Hogwarts?" Izar decided not to push the topic of Malfoy's hidden desires.
"If any Death Eater can speak to the Dark Lord openly, it's you," Malfoy countered. "He has bloody stars in his eyes for you. You're his favorite. Do you honestly believe I'm thick not to see that?"
"I grow weary of this," Izar breathed. "I will inform you when we leave for Borgin and Burkes. Until then, you're free to leave."
Before he could open the door to emit Draco, the blond came to a stop directly in front of him. A warm hand placed itself on top of Izar's cold fist. "You're not as nearly as cruel and cold as you'd like to think." Draco leaned closer, trying in vain to add a few inches in height to meet Izar's eyes on equal level. "I know you favor a selected few wizards and witches and you'd do anything to protect them. A hero-complex, I suppose. And while I'm probably not in that category, I know you have some sort of soft spot for me. And I hope I never do anything to destroy that. I appreciate your assistance."
Removing his hand from Izar's, the blond stepped back. Izar recovered swiftly and opened the door for the older wizard, wondering if there was more to the Malfoy heir than he originally thought. The boy was on the verge of adulthood, losing some of his innocence. Perhaps in a few years, Izar could reevaluate Draco's true character and see more of a young Lucius rather than a spoiled Malfoy heir.
As Izar opened the door, he caught sight of another blond on the other side of the threshold. "I don't know how much more Malfoy interaction I can handle this morning…" Izar commented dryly, more thrilled with seeing Lucius than annoyed.
Lucius eyed his son sharply as Draco ducked out of the room and hurried down the hall. "Sadly, I did not come up here to speak to you," Lucius murmured, turning back to Izar and eyeing his state of disarray with a suspicious eye. "There is someone who wishes to speak to you. I tried hopelessly to get him off my property, but he insists…"
Izar's expression darkened when he saw Sirius, dressed in his Auror uniform, step into view. He offered his nephew a small grin, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Hey, kiddo."
"Sirius," Izar greeted ominously. His charmed charcoal and green eyes shot to Lucius. "Thank you, Lucius." It was meant to be a dismissal, but Lucius remained standing in place.
"I do not appreciate the influence the mutt has on you, nor the influence your father has," Lucius whispered sinisterly, his eyes shards of ice as he watched Sirius closely. "I agreed to show him you were faring well, only because he threatened a band of Aurors to take over my home. But I did not agree on any conversation between the two of you."
Izar only wished he had been there to see the two spar. What he didn't appreciate was constantly being watched over and babysat. "I respect your position as Lord Malfoy, Lucius, and that you have complete control over the wards. If you believe Sirius needs to be thrown out on his arse, feel free to do it. Otherwise, I would like to request a few minutes alone with him."
Sirius leaned against the doorframe, watching the interaction carefully. Like Draco, Sirius showed signs of emotional anxiety. Those seeds of doubt Izar planted in his uncle's mind must have taken affect. And to think Sirius had sought him rather than the other way around was proof that Izar had succeeded in manipulating his uncle.
"I would like nothing more than to grant you that," Lucius replied, glancing down the corridor. "However, our Lord has specifically instructed me to escort Mr. Black off the premises once he sees you. No later. There are other Aurors circling the perimeter who thought they'd search my manor for you. Mr. Black convinced them he would be the one to search upstairs." Lucius grimaced. "How he managed such smooth manipulation is beyond me."
It shouldn't have surprised Izar that the Dark Lord would be behind this. Now that he expanded his magic-sensitivity, he could no longer feel Voldemort in or around the room. When had the man left? It was foolish of Izar not to constantly track the Dark Lord. And Merlin's beard, the man was impossible.
"I need to speak with you," Sirius interrupted the exchange. "About us. About Regulus and Lily… it's of dire importance."
Izar surveyed the two, noticing Lucius closing in on Sirius—ready to use force if necessary. Sighing, he turned his heel and began stripping. Lucius made a sound of disagreement in his throat, but Izar paid him no heed as he threw off his wrinkled dress robes and grabbed a plain black hooded robe. Hopefully the silver stitching was enough to satisfy Lucius' sharp eye for passable fashion.
"I will escort him off the premises, Lucius."
The blond made a motion to disagree, but held his tongue. With a short and angry bow at the waist, Lucius swept off. The man was rather protective of Izar. The man had never liked Regulus and believed his father was a bad influence on Izar.
"He's a pompous arse," Sirius growled deeply, watching Lucius go with a poignant grimace. "They treat you like a prisoner, Izar. I don't understand how you can put up with them."
Izar escaped his bedroom, taking Sirius by the elbow and leading him into the corridor. Despite being mid-morning, sunlight hadn't reached the depths of the manor. "And I will never understand why you insist on following a man whose morals are as wrinkled as his balls."
Sirius had no choice but to follow Izar's leading hand. The man stroked his growing beard with his opposite arm, an impish grin to his face. "I can't argue with you there, kid."
"The teasing aside, why did you come here, Sirius?" Izar persisted as he led his uncle down the dark and quiet corridor. The political guests staying at the Malfoy Manor for Yuletide were likely already up, enjoying a lavishing breakfast in the main hall while the Death Eaters were likely mingling in the backyard again.
Sirius' face crumbled and he looked pitifully down the hallway. "I don't want you to think you're whole family abandoned you. Regulus is pretty torn up, Izar. He's back in Grimmauld watching Aiden and hasn't brightened up since waking up."
"You're visiting him. That's good. And here I thought you've given up on your family."
Sirius suddenly took him by the shoulders, pushing Izar against the wall. Izar tried not to let his amusement show, but a small smirk lifted the corner of his mouth when he saw how frustrated Sirius appeared.
"I told you, family is important to me. Maybe I needed a wakeup call that day at the Ministry, I admit, but I need you to understand that you and Regulus will always mean very much to me. I don't know how to get through to you that I love you and that Regulus would do anything for you. He couldn't go on the run with you because he needed to uphold his innocence in case it could be beneficial to you later."
"I don't want to talk about Regulus," Izar began. "I want to talk about you. And why, exactly, you are here."
Sirius gave a hiss of frustration, pushing against Izar before turning away. The man placed a hand to his head, surveying the portraits on the dimmed walls. "You should know that your family loves you. I don't want Bellatrix to be the only Black in your life. With the Black insanity already threatening us each day, it is unwise to surround yourself with someone as unstable as Bellatrix. She will only bring out the worse in you."
Izar remained leaning against the wall, intrigued with the way things were working out with Sirius. And yet, there was also guilt. A strange sort of guilt Izar never felt when it came to getting his way. Sirius was always a proud wizard. To see him this distraught pulled slightly at Izar's chest. But only slightly.
"If showing you I support you means that I have to make sacrifices, I will," Sirius continued, pushing his hand from his forehead and turning to Izar. "I will never join the Death Eaters willingly. But I am prepared to act as a personal spy for you. I don't agree with Dumbledore and Rufus has become too power-hungry. Riddle is just as much as a turnoff as the others, but I support you. I believe you can somehow make this work."
"You're willing to spy for me?" Izar whispered softly.
Sirius looked down the corridor, on edge. "I need to leave, Izar. But we still have a lot more to talk about. Lily and James… they'd like to speak to you as well."
Speaking to the Potters should have put Izar off, but it didn't. Both of them were rather agreeable at times and it could pose as useful for the Dark. "When would you like to meet?" Izar murmured quietly. "Tomorrow night is the Wild Hunt and my absence will be noted. How about the night after?" He made sure he checked their surroundings for any lingering magical auras.
No one was near.
"It could work. Ten at night? Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor would probably be the ideal location. Everyone's homes are being watched lately, meeting in plain sight will most likely be the best resolution. Just a simple disguise will do."
Izar only nodded, wondering at the exact details of his escape from Malfoy Manor.
Sirius already began jogging slowly down the corridor before Izar could suggest another location. However, Izar wouldn't have Sirius leaving without an open threat.
"Sirius," Izar called to his uncle's back. The man turned expectedly. "I have a semblance of trust with you. Just know, if you try anything, I won't hesitate…" he trailed off, the warning heavy in the air for both wizards to take notice of.
The man lowered his head for a moment, his shoulders trembling and fists clenching. "It pains me to hear that. But I understand." Cloudy grey eyes looked up at Izar seriously. "I understand."
Offering a farewell nod, Sirius turned back around.
With half his face in the shadows, Izar watched his uncle go, a sick and dark smile twisting his face. While he felt sated that he had successfully changed Sirius' mind, Izar's thoughts centered primarily on his upcoming battle with Voldemort. It would be a battle of the mind and Izar had every intention of winning this time around.
Meeting with James, Lily, and Sirius wasn't so much about wanting to hear them out, it was the victory of getting past Voldemort's unyielding hold.
And Izar had a good idea as to where to start.
{Death of Today}
A wrinkled hand stroked the long beard and blue eyes narrowed in consideration.
"What you tell me is a very serious accusation, yet remarkably useful."
"It's not an accusation when it's the truth," the man across from Dumbledore murmured sourly. "Izar Black is, indeed, a vampire. I have given you my proof. Not many knew that Black traveled to France with his own band of Death Eaters to accompany him. While there, he challenged Acelin Morel. And we both know what creature Morel was before he died. By the Dark Lord's hand, mind you. Black failed in his attempted assassination which could only mean that he was on the other end of Morel's fangs."
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. He offered a long look at a slumbering Fawkes, finding the gold and crimson plumage peaceful. "But the other evidence…" Dumbledore turned back to the man across from him. "Are you certain this source's mind was sane enough to gather the needed facts?"
The dark figure leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of his face. "There could be a chance that Black is not a vampire, yes. But I highly doubt as much."
"For some reason, Tom has found his right hand man in the young Mr. Black." Dumbledore trailed off, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle presented to him. Granted, it was one of the most difficult puzzles he had to work with. Whenever it came to Tom Riddle, Dumbledore always found it hard to piece together in order to find out what the Dark Lord was scheming.
"The Dark Lord likes to keep Black under his sights, yet there is distance he likes to keep. In public."
"Which is surprising considering Tom is a possessive wizard." Dumbledore trailed the dancing swirl on his robes with his eyes. "Mr. Black is a prodigy," Albus reasoned. "He has a very sharp and observant mind for someone so young. And the handful of times I've interacted with him, I found him rather amusing and charming. It's no wonder Tom has taken a liking to the boy. In a way, Izar Black is very much like Tom Riddle." Dumbledore sighed forlornly. "Though, I see a lack of sadism in Mr. Black that Tom possesses. You say he is rather placated in the torture?"
The man nodded. "He doesn't enjoy torture, no. But don't get any ideas, Albus. You cannot turn the boy from the Dark. When he is faced with an opponent who wields means to defend themselves, he rivals the image of the Dark Lord like no one I've seen before."
"I wasn't thinking of turning the boy," Dumbledore shook his head. "I am only measuring his worth. It was I who tried to convince Rufus to place Mr. Black in the Unspeakable contraption in order to get dispose of him. Instead, Rufus wanted to toy with Mr. Black's mind by making the boy watch his subordinates suffer."
His fingers tapped on the heavy desk. Izar Black was a wizard Dumbledore knew he couldn't keep alive, despite the boy's rather honorable temperament to those weaker than him. The boy was dangerous in Tom's hands, especially because Tom knew how to play the boy to his fullest potential.
"I am trying to determine why Tom has taken a special interest in the boy. Is there only Mr. Black's mind that is valuable or is there more that we don't know about?" Though, how often was a prodigy born and willing to work with a Dark Lord? "No matter, Mr. Black is a dangerous target we need to focus our efforts on. While I find it hard to believe myself, losing Mr. Black may cripple Tom for a good while."
"Izar Black is only one individual. Do you truly believe he is such a benefit to the Dark Lord?"
Dumbledore gave a deep hum, his attention turning on the silver tray of lemon drops. He leaned forward, pushing aside the yellow orbs that didn't catch his eye. "I do. I truly believe that Tom is relying on Mr. Black with some semblance. Do I believe Black's death will destroy the Dark Side? No, of course not. But it will take Tom a lengthy amount of time to reevaluate his strategy and recover from losing his right hand."
"Ah," Dumbledore grabbed the largest lemon drop and sat back once again. He rolled it between his long fingers, staring at the piece of candy in deliberation. "Killing Black will be a challenge, but now that we are aware of his immorality, we can come up with a reasonable method."
The old Headmaster popped the lemon drop in his mouth and closed his eyes. Immortality. Albus chomped harshly down on the sweet as he began to speculate on Izar Black and Tom Riddle. Was it possible that Black was immortal before he faced Morel in France? If that were the case, someone would have needed to grant Mr. Black the curse of immortality.
Tom…
Alas, Tom couldn't be a vampire, could he?
No, of course not. What a silly thought. Tom Riddle viewed creatures as beneath him. Vampires had too many weaknesses and were easy to slay. The Dark Lord wouldn't risk being such an easy target.
"Now that Tom has finally taken the title of a Dark Lord, I believe it's time we start looking for his Horcruxes once more." Dumbledore cracked open an eye and looked at the man sitting in front of his desk. "Do you have any ideas where to start, Severus?"
Severus sneered. "I do not possess the time to rifle for unrevealed items, Albus. Until you have real need of me, I will be down in the lab."
Dumbledore watched the man go, waving away the negative air in the room with a flippant hand. He allowed his mind to center briefly around Tom Riddle and Izar Black before another lemon drop caught his attention.
{Notes} I apologize for my long absence. I've been having a personal issue for a while now. It's been… conveniently absent ever since I stopped posting a month ago and I hope it stays that way from now on. I will aim at updating each week, but if that issue pops up again, I cannot promise that.
See you next week (or perhaps earlier).
Thanks for reading/reviewing.
