Warnings: Very light torture, grammar errors, and… well… egh.

Thanks for reading/reviews.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The first thing to establish in getting past Voldemort's dominating hold and meeting the Potters?

A diversion.

A diversion, while elementary and predictable, was exactly what Izar needed to fool Voldemort with so he could escape the Malfoy's wards. However, this diversion needed to be plausible. Something that Voldemort believed Izar would focus his intention on without having an underhanded motive beneath.

"Hello, love," Izar whispered into her ear that morning.

Daphne's lashes flattened against her flushed cheeks before opening wide and offering Izar a glower. "I don't remember you ever greeting me so appropriately, Mr. Black." Despite her efforts, a smile creased her perfectly painted lips. "Please, sit." She pulled out the empty chair next to her. "That is, if the Inner-Circle is through with you today." Her moss-green eyes glanced over Izar's shoulder at the Inner-Circle platform.

Izar had just entered the back of the Malfoy Manor as soon as Sirius left, his mind in disarray with his plan of manipulation. He had deliberately ignored looking in Voldemort's direction, too miffed with the man to make eye contact.

"Have you seen the Dark Lord's serpent?" Daphne continued, her mind likely telling her to look away from Voldemort and Nagini but her eyes unwilling to obey. "It's… unbelievably frightening and large. Not that I have anything against serpents." She quickly turned away, flustered.

"No, I haven't noticed," Izar replied airily, finding himself the subject of many curious and inquisitive glances.

"Good to see you graced us with your majestic presence, Black," Pansy drawled. "Fancy that you would sink so low and step in the Third Tier boundaries." The black-haired witch was sitting gracefully across the table next to a silent and bored-looking Draco Malfoy.

"Pansy," Daphne began breathlessly. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Pansy exhaled nosily, her arms tightly crossed over her ample chest. "I belong here, unlike some others."

Izar reached over and grasped Daphne's arm in order to silence her as she prepared herself for a rebuttal. Instead, the Black heir offered Pansy a handsome smirk as he leaned across the table toward her. "You're more than welcome to stay here, Pansy. In fact, I'd be honored with your presence. I haven't seen you since our days at Hogwarts when your nose was permanently stuck to the high ceilings."

It had the desired effect. Pansy sat stiffly for a few passing seconds, challenging Izar with a deep glare. The Black heir just stared back, more amused than insulted with her persistence. Eventually, she pushed her chair back and angrily walked to another table of young Death Eaters. Izar noticed there were very few new Hogwarts students in the fold. In fact, Izar was the youngest and it appeared as if the Dark Lord hadn't marked anymore teens.

It made sense. There weren't any more Slytherin students whose parents were loyal Death Eaters.

"Brilliant, Izar," Daphne began. "Now if you could only get rid of Malfoy."

"Don't be silly," Izar drawled. "He's the reason why I'm sitting here." He leaned against his chair, tapping the clothed table with the tips of his fingers. "Draco came to me this morning. I'm sure you're aware of what we spoke of." Izar caught the flash of recognition behind Daphne's eyes.

So she knew. Did this mean that Draco and Daphne were becoming closer? Was Izar's plan of pushing the two together on the right path?

Draco leaned forward, his mercury eyes sweeping the area around them. "Do you really think it's wise to speak about this here? You don't understand, Black, that I want this strictly between the three of us. If anyone else finds out…"

Izar chuckled, carefree. Little did Malfoy know that Izar wanted the Dark Lord to be suspicious of their conversation. A small part of Izar felt slightly guilty for using Draco like this to get the best of Voldemort, but, it was only a small part he could smother easily.

"Then I suggest you continue to lean forward and lower your voice, Draco. While you're at it, perhaps you can increase your shifty assessment of the backyard," Izar reprimanded dryly. "Your actions are a dead giveaway. Anyone with a right mind will know we're discussing something of importance with just one look your way."

Malfoy hissed through his parted lips, leaning back in his chair and feigning nonchalance.

"Better," Daphne appraised.

"As if you're qualified to pass judgment, Greengrass."

Izar ignored the two as his eyes caught sight of a familiar face. Or, rather, a face that had matured in the course of a year.

Theodore Nott. The same Slytherin Izar assisted last year in obtaining revenge for his father's imprisonment. Nott Senior had been put into Azkaban last year due to being caught hoarding a few Dark artifacts. Izar accepted Nott's plea in finding Appleton, the man who put Nott Senior into Azkaban for two years. The mission hadn't been the greatest success, but Izar remembered it with clarity.

Sadly, Theodore's father had been terminally ill and passed away in Azkaban not too long after. With his father's passing, Izar could clearly see the maturity settle across Theodore's face. After all, with his father and mother gone, Theodore was the Head of the Nott family. From what Izar heard, Theodore dropped his schooling and decided to work within the Ministry.

Other than those rumors, Izar hadn't heard or seen the boy since their days at Hogwarts. It was slightly surprising to note that Theodore Nott was standing with a few other Death Eaters from the Second Tier.

So, the boy must have been promoted…

Hardened blue eyes turned and caught Izar's intense stare. Nott blinked before breaking out in a hearty grin. But Merlin, the boy was still gangly and his features still resembled a rabbit—a mature rabbit, mind.

Izar was most interested in assessing the boy's tall and thin frame. Theodore strode across the platform and down the steps to the Third Tier's dais. The Black heir grew eager when he noticed the boy was about the same height as himself, albeit not as graceful in the way he moved. Nonetheless, Nott would and will do.

"Izar Black," Nott greeted welcomingly. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Izar stood gracefully from his chair and caught Nott's hand with his own. Nott pulled at Izar, leaning forward and patting the younger across the back. Izar kept a solid grin on his face, despite the repugnance at being greeted so… casually.

Another thing he hated?

Small talk.

"It's been more than a year," Izar agreed. Mentally, he measured Nott. A few hairs taller than himself and a bit fuller too, but incredibly close. Now all that was needed was to manipulate the conversation in his favor. "The last time we were in proximity of one another, you were on the other end of the Dark Lord's wand. Now it looks as if you were deemed loyal enough to jump to Second Tier."

Nott grinned tightly, his pride evident on his face. "I can say the same for you, Black. From the whispers, you're always stepping on our Lord's temper, yet we all made wagers that you'll get inducted into the Inner-Circle before the end of this year."

Izar just offered a negative shake of his head before he smoothly twisted their positions around. Nott was now facing Draco with his back to the Dark Lord. Izar didn't know the extent to Nott's intelligence, but he wouldn't risk the Dark Lord spying Theodore's expression when Izar eventually got to his intended topic of conversation.

"I never did thank you properly," Nott began, oblivious to Izar's scheme. "For helping me last year with… with my situation."

Izar kept his face neutral. "Don't think anything of it. After all, things didn't exactly go smoothly." Would Theodore take the bait? Or would he disappoint Izar and change the topic?

"No it didn't," Nott chuckled. "But you were the most logical head out of all of us. I owe you one, Black. You saved all of our arses back there, the least I can do is give you something in return. A life debt… anything."

It was difficult to smother the hungry glint in his eyes, but Izar was confident that he kept his expression in check. "I wouldn't take a life debt for something that transpired in your hour of desperation, Nott." Izar gave a necessary pause. "But… now that you mention it, I would gladly accept your help with something of importance."

Nott's raised eyebrows were exactly why Izar reversed their positions. It didn't matter that the Dark Lord was engaged in a conversation with his Inner-Circle, the man had eyes everywhere. With Nott facing the woods, not many people would spy the boy's surprise. Nonetheless, Nott recovered quickly when he noticed Izar's act of detachment.

"Of course," Nott replied softly, understanding that Izar wanted things to remain confidential. "I expect you'll contact me?"

Izar smirked in answer. "It was nice touching base with you again, Nott."

The two eyed each other, both knowing Izar was using the older boy. In fact, Izar would have been disappointed in Theodore if the boy hadn't picked up on Izar's manipulation. It didn't bother the Black heir to be using Nott, simply because the boy did owe Izar for last year. Nott had used Izar for his intelligence and Izar would use Nott for… well… his plan of escaping the Malfoy Manor undetected and meeting the Potters.

Theodore winked before bowing at the waist and dancing away.

"What—?"

"Where were we?" Izar murmured, cutting off Daphne before she could form a coherent question. The two couldn't have heard the conversation, as Izar made sure his and Nott's volume was at its minimum. "Ah," he eyed a suspicious Draco. "Our plan of going to Knockturn and visiting Borgin and Burkes."

Daphne suddenly leaned forward, pulling at Izar's sleeve and causing the wizard to bend toward her. "I know you will not be allowed out in public, Izar. What do you think you're playing at?"

Izar raised his eyebrows as he gazed across the table at a suspicious Malfoy. "I'm assisting Malfoy just like you intended, Daphne." His eyes then sought hers. "Weren't you the one to suggest to Draco for him to come to me for assistance?"

She huffed, her cheeks coloring slightly. "I would have thought you would go to the Dark Lord and ask permission to go to Knockturn with Draco. That way, you would have more time and more protection."

"The Dark Lord cannot know this, Greengrass," Draco hissed lethally.

Daphne surveyed the two wizards with mild irritation. "Men," she spat, "are incredibly stubborn and completely illogical." She unclutched Izar's sleeve and ran her hand through her pixie-like hair. "I just hope this doesn't backfire on the two of you like it did last year with Theodore's plan of revenge."

"I think you meant to say you don't want this to backfire on the three of us," Izar murmured innocently. He smiled at her flabbergasted expression and happened to glance above her head toward the Inner-Circle platform.

His smirk died down when his eyes narrowed on Severus Snape bowing at the waist before the Dark Lord and presenting an unsteady Rookwood. Relief washed through Izar when he noticed Augustus had survived the Unspeakable raid and his deep wound was now healed. But that relief soon turned into abhorrence as Izar focused on the man most likely responsible for Rookwood's recovery.

Izar swallowed, keeping his eyes on Snape's back but addressing the two blonds sitting at the table. "We will leave the night after the Wild Hunt. Meet me near the gardens at ten. Until then, we will not touch on this again."

He was dimly aware of Daphne asking after his well-being, but he paid her no heed. Above, on the First Tier dais, Voldemort dismissed Snape with a wave of his hand and the Potions Master turned to walk down the steps of the platform. Though, as if sensing Izar's fierce stare, Snape paused on the bottom footstep and snapped his head around, locking gazes with the Black heir. Black strands of slick hair fell in the man's eyes as they narrowed in deliberation.

Izar straightened from his bowed position, attempting to hide his trembling hands as he focused all his animosity into his stare. That is, until Snape snapped his cloak around him and hurried toward the entrance to the manor.

Running just made Snape appear like a prey in Izar's eyes. And how could he pass up a chase?

Following Snape with the same pace and elegance, Izar crossed the threshold of the Second Tier platform and easily slithered through the bodies in his way. Everything around him seemed of little consequence but those flowing black robes in front of him. His intent was to catch Snape and he'd do so with simplicity and without interference.

Moments after Snape passed through the threshold of the backyard and into the manor, Izar began to follow quicker, finally relieved of the unwanted attention. His strides were reaching their maximum as he entered the dim manor. Dancing through the corridors, he couldn't help but to compare them to a complex labyrinth.

"Why are you running, professor?" Izar taunted silkily in the dark. He entered another sitting room and saw a cloak disappear around the opposite exit.

The Black heir waltzed across the dim room and paused at the threshold leading out into the corridor. He bowed his neck forward, around the corner of the door, feigning interest in the separate corridors in front of him. "Right or left…" Izar mused in consideration. A lipless smile flattened his mouth as he made a step out of the room before spinning on his heel and leaping back into the dark room.

His fingers sought the crisp collar that was seemingly one with the wall before he slammed the older man into the bookshelves. "You can't fool me," Izar hissed, pushing his forearm against Snape's throat. Fury tickled his belly and his eyes were eagerly drinking in Snape's narrowed gaze. "You may have fooled the Dark Lord and my father, but you will not fool me."

For his credit, Severus didn't gasp for breath and he did not struggle. His eyes only offered Izar a cool assessment as his nose flared dramatically to get the required oxygen.

"I used to respect you," Izar declared, lessening the force against the man's throat. "I even found myself looking up to you as the leading male figure in my life. When Regulus claimed he loved you, I was wary at first only because I believed you were a heartless bastard, but eventually, I accepted Regulus' infatuation."

Izar pushed Snape's throat harder before he dropped his arm. The Potion's Master gave a few coughs, but otherwise retained his composure.

"I accepted whatever sick relationship you have with my father," Izar continued icily. "But I will not accept you corrupting his mind. When he was in a coma, I trusted you enough to aid him in his mental recovery. I did not expect him to wake up a new man, renouncing his loyalties!"

Snape's eyes narrowed to slits and he took an advancing step forward. With a long finger, he poked at Izar's chest. "I marvel at your sense of reasoning, Mr. Black. You believe I have done something to your father's mind? I pity you. You are no longer your father's main propriety in life, as he is now able to see he has a life of his own. He no longer makes decisions based on your happiness, but his and yours. And you think that I tampered with his mentality? I fixed it."

Izar curled his cold fingers around Snape's wrist, keeping the finger in place, but being the one in control of it. "I do not claim to be put down over his decisions, Severus. You think me a spoiled child who needs his father?" Keeping Snape's hand rooted on the spot, the Black heir stepped in close, crowding the man's personal space. "I do not need Regulus. But I take his safety seriously and that includes his mental health. If you so much touch his mind again—"

Snape ripped his hand away from Izar's loose grip and pushed the younger wizard against the doorframe rather violently. Anger welled up in the onyx eyes as he leered down at Izar. "Everything I do, I do it to protect Regulus—damn the consequences to you." Strands of hair clung to the man's face as he thrust his face closer to Izar's. "Do you understand me, boy?"

A hissing sounded between the tension and both wizards looked down to see Nagini winding between the two of them.

"Playing nice, children?"

The voice would have likely sent chills down Izar's spine if he hadn't been as angry as he was. He kept his eyes narrowed on Snape as the Potions Master leaned back, straightening his robes. "Forgive me, Master. I have acted out of turn," Severus bowed low at his waist before Voldemort. "If I may take my leave?"

Izar leaned heavily against the doorframe once Snape swept from the room. He placed his arms across his chest in order to hide the obvious tremors of anxiety. "I don't trust him," Izar breathed deeply. "I don't trust him at all."

"Neither do I, child, yet you do not see me cornering him in dark rooms."

Izar gave an ironic chuckle, looking up at the ceiling in order to gather his bearings. "If you do not trust him, then why keep him around? He is only a hazard to us."

"Would you like me to kill him for you?" Voldemort inquired silkily, curiously.

Izar's eyes snapped across the darkened room toward the cloaked figure of the Dark Lord. He stood calmly, proudly, as Nagini circled near his feet. His unruly hair was tied back once again, bringing attention to the porcelain skin and sharp cheekbones. Crimson eyes watched Izar almost lovingly, yet there was a dark emotion behind those eyes—a mixture of fascination, obsession, and amusement. A moment later, they were blank with the exception of taunting arrogance.

It frightened Izar to see those emotions in Voldemort's face, only because if Izar let his own walls down, his eyes would mirror those of the Dark Lord's. It was easier to pretend they didn't hold anything remotely similar to love and passed it off as cool nonchalance. If they were ever to examine their true feelings…

Izar pushed his thoughts away irritably. "Don't play with me," Izar grounded out. He pushed off the doorframe and walked the outer-edge of the unused sitting room. "You wouldn't kill him, simply because you have a use for him."

"That is true," Voldemort agreed lightly. "Yet if it is something you want so badly that you tremble with it, I am inclined to gift you with it. Severus is useful for many things, but he is also replaceable. He will be dead in a matter of minutes upon your request."

He didn't know whether to believe Voldemort was testing him or if it was a genuine offer. "The offer is generous, but I can handle my weaknesses." He wanted to press the topic of Snape's usefulness to the Dark Lord, but at the moment, he couldn't bring himself to think about the man he had looked up to as a child. The very same man who, in some way, had a hand in Regulus' changing loyalties.

"If that is what you wish…" Voldemort trailed off, watching Izar closely.

The man then stealthily walked away from the center of the room and seemed to become one with the large chair. No lights had been lit, no fire. It was if Voldemort wanted to throw Izar off balance.

"Nonetheless, you and I need to speak about recent events."

The younger placed his palm against the solid wood of the bookcase. From Nagini's hissing laugh, Izar knew exactly what caused a decrease in temperature in the room. The Dark Lord was angry and he wanted answers regarding Izar's choice of draining his life force into Nagini.

Izar scoffed, trying to veer away from the intended topic. "Are you certain you wish to speak about last night? How you failed to perform?"

Voldemort issued a low and long hiss between his teeth. "You are a fool. Do you believe a night's sleep gave you the energy you have today? Hm? I think not." The man ignored Izar entirely. "While you were drooling across your bed, I fed you a few drops of my blood."

The Black heir's lips pursed, both intrigued and irritated.

"Explain," Voldemort continued. "Without your cheeky comments, explain to me why you did something so foolish!"

"Foolish? I did nothing foolish," Izar growled angrily. "I already told you my intent to create her." He threw an arm in the general direction of a watchful Nagini. "The Dark Curses inside of her kept self-destructing when meshed tightly together. I tried eliminating as many of the Dark spells as I could, but I need all of them in order to create a believable Horcrux." Izar turned his back on Voldemort, examining the many books on the shelves. "I came to the conclusion that I needed a Light spell to balance out the Dark. It needed to be a powerful Light spell, like love, or a shard of soul, or… a portion of my life force."

Voldemort tsked. "And you did so without thinking."

"I did so after thinking long and hard, My Lord. Perhaps you are in the wrong about this. I created something that will destroy many key members to Dumbledore's army."

"But you did so incorrectly," Voldemort began as soon as Izar got his last word out. "You were on the run, child. What would have happened if the Ministry got a hold of you in your weakened state? We are in the middle of a war. You cannot do these things without a proper head."

Izar placed both hands on the ledge of the bookshelf, leaning forward to gather himself. The Dark Lord had a point and Izar hated to admit it. He had been too thrilled with the prospect of finding out the long mystery to the fake Horcrux that he hadn't realized he was in an awkward position to perform the ritual.

"You may be right," Izar spat out bitterly. "But I will need to perform the ritual a few more times. I need more ideas for Horcruxes, My Lord. They need to be artifacts Tom Riddle can be associated with, ones that Dumbledore may have an idea about." He turned in time to catch an acrimonious sneer cross the Dark Lord's face. "Like that ring, for example."

Spidery fingers closed around the black ring possessively. Izar bit his tongue, furious over the man's reluctance when it was Izar who had done all the work. "Fine then," Izar whispered hoarsely. "We can forgo this plan and continue to wrestle with the Dumbledore's Army because you cannot sacrifice a bloody ring."

He made a move to exit the room, but Voldemort's fingernails hitched deeply into Izar's wrist, pulling him down suddenly. Equally sharp nails scratched his thin neck as the man pulled his face down for a bruising kiss. Arousal burned hotly in Izar's stomach as the smell of Voldemort consumed him. Though, it didn't last long as Voldemort pulled away quickly, smirking to himself.

Ah yes, the man was playing hard to get in retribution of Izar's rejection last night.

"I will present you with six more artifacts to construct into Horcruxes before the end of this week. I wish to lure Dumbledore and his army with a Horcrux before the New Year. If… that is adequate for you?" Voldemort questioned, offering a loving stroke to his ring.

"More than adequate," Izar agreed, suddenly very excited over the prospect of a battle before the end of the year. "Will we create them here or at your base? I will need a few days of rest after creating them—"

"You will either get someone else to offer their life force or you will not participate in the battle."

Izar reared his head back, furious. "Good luck with that, My Lord. You can create your own bloody Horcrux because I will not assist you if I cannot participate in the battle." He kept his face neutral as Voldemort turned an icy stare in his direction. Izar may have sounded like a child, but he needed a battle. He needed release. "Offering a life force needs to be done willingly. And the Death Eaters cannot have any suspicions that the Horcruxes are not real. I need to be the one to do this, but I will not go through with it if I cannot participate."

Voldemort suddenly gave a thin smile. "My, my, child. Hungry for a little blood shed?" His long fingers finally ceased their petting of the ring and instead curled around Izar's skinny wrists. "The Wild Hunt will be tomorrow night. I will have a surprise for you then."

Izar grimaced. "I hope the surprise will be something other than white robes?"

The Dark Lord flashed a toothy grin in response. "Indeed it will. I expect you will be ready for a chase."

"Between you and me or my intended victim?" He had meant it sarcastically but Voldemort surprised him with the answer.

"Both," the man promised darkly before standing. His fingers raked pleasantly across the thin skin at Izar's wrists. "As for the Horcruxes, we will straighten something out in order for you to participate in the battle. I have plans for you."

"Someone is being awfully agreeable today," Izar cooed. "What is it that you want?"

Voldemort raised Izar's chin with a single finger, resting the very tip of his nail at the edge of the jaw. Leaning forward, Voldemort's crimson eyes seemed to radiate ominously. "You," he breathed deeply before sweeping away.

Izar stood stupidly for a moment before narrowing his eyes.

"By the way, child," Voldemort called from the exit. Nagini was already maneuvering her large bulk across the room in hypnotizing waves. "I find it rather amiable that you are formulating a plan to escape the premises with your little blond pets. But if you go through with it, I'm afraid your hopes in participating in the battle at the end of the year will be smothered."

The Black heir listened carefully as the Dark Lord walked the twisting corridors before giving a sly smile. Voldemort claimed Izar would be banned from contributing in the battle if he chose to escape the premises with Draco and Daphne. And Izar was more than sure the man would go through with it. However, Izar had no intention of going to Knockturn Alley with Malfoy. No, his plans laid elsewhere. And in turn, it would not qualify under Voldemort's threat.

Words could be twisted so easily and implied so differently.

Izar loved it.

{Death of Today}

The night was just as beautiful as it was last year. The snow wasn't as deep as last year's but there was enough to cover the dead grass beneath. And just like last year, the magic out tonight was stunning. Izar eyed the small golden orbs as they emerged from the ground and floated upward into the luminous stars. Izar reached out to touch one magic orb, smiling as it tickled his skin and passed through his body.

The magic in the air was the source of the boisterousness coursing through the wizards and witches. For just this one night, they were honored with feeling the overpowering sensation of magic—something Izar could feel every day. And yet, he never took it for granted. Magic was something he had always respected, no matter the use, and no matter if it was Light or Dark.

He lowered his arm, staring at the Yule log up in flames. The vivid purple and orange flames were almost as tall as the tree branches, yet were in no danger of burning down the forest. The Death Eaters were talking amongst themselves, cheering wickedly at the sight of three dozen or so wizards with bags over their heads. From the wild rumors going around, Voldemort and a few of his trusted followers had kidnapped well-known wizards in Britain.

It was said that Amelia Bones was among the captives, a few worthy Aurors, and of course, some older men from the Wizengamot among other prominent figures. It was no wonder why the Death Eaters kept pushing themselves to get in the front of the line. Only the powerful and fittest got their meal, correct?

"I don't intend to hold you here long. The evening is young and we have more than enough prey for the worthy Death Eaters," Voldemort announced his presence regally. At his arrival, the Death Eaters toned down their murmuring but continued to whisper amongst each other—far too high in the magic to become silent.

Izar took quick note of the dark red robes of the Dark Lord. Of course, none of the other Death Eaters would take much notice of the Dark Lord's ensemble; their attention was on the man's radiant aura and the prey lined vulnerably to the side of the clearing. The captives' auras were pulsating with fear and adrenaline, fit and ready to run.

"Last year," the Dark Lord continued quietly. "We hunted here in secret, with useless Muggles as our intended prey. Tonight we have dignified and privileged enemies who can fight back. With an anti-apparition ward surrounding the woods, you will have more than enough fun for as long as you wish it. It is just but a small gift I can present to all of you."

The Death Eaters began physically elbowing one another in glee. Izar stood at the far back, watching the exchanges with open amusement. Keeping them any longer and Voldemort will have Death Eaters down by their own comrades' wands.

"On my word, you may hunt as you please," Voldemort chuckled as he released the prisoners' restraints and bags over their heads.

Izar caught an eyeful of recognizable wizards, but they ran before he could take proper note. Exactly what the Death Eaters wanted. Izar found his legs jerking in the direction of the sprinting wizards, finding it slightly appealing to go after them. Unlike the Muggles last year, these wizards and witches had a way to defend themselves. A chase could be fun, but Voldemort had his own plans for Izar tonight.

"Go."

Voldemort enjoyed the sight before him far too much as the Death Eaters scrambled after the running prey. Izar caught sight of a blond ponytail disappearing into the thick trees and wished he could watch the aristocratic Lucius Malfoy torture his victims. The man was said to be brutal and creative, an enemy no one wished to have opposite them.

Izar clenched and unclenched his fingers as he now stood opposite of a leering Dark Lord. The man's hair was loose tonight, wild and untamed in the mild breeze. The blue-black waves were manipulated skillfully by the wind to veil most of the man's expression, save for the hungry red eyes and the thin lips parted in a dangerous smile. Slowly, the two began to circle one another.

"I want you," Voldemort hissed hoarsely as his eyes drilled holes into Izar's face. His lithe body was coiled, ready to pounce on command, yet he remained on his side of the circle.

Izar only offered the man a coy smile in return, enjoying the effect he had on the Dark Lord.

"But I cannot be so selfish. I intended to present my gift to you, so I shall." Voldemort forcibly pulled his predatorily posture together, standing still and stiff. He clasped his hands behind his back but continued to watch Izar with a heated stare. "Do you not smell it, Izar? That fear? The complete sense of solemnity?"

The Black heir stood opposite of Voldemort, hesitantly inhaling the air. Now that the multiple of bodies had left, Izar could clearly smell Voldemort and…

He shot around, squinting into the woods surrounding the clearing. A lone body stood next to a tree trunk, shaking with fear and hopelessness. The bag was still over the head, but Izar knew exactly who stood near him. "Impossible," Izar breathed, turning back to look at the smug Dark Lord. "But I thought he was hidden by the Ministry."

"He would have been if I hadn't abducted him the night of the Unspeakable attack." Within an instant, Voldemort was standing beside Conner Oran, taking off the black sack around the boy's head.

Oran blinked open his eyes, offering a strangled cry when he spied Voldemort leaning in close. Izar slowly approached the two, both impressed with Voldemort for thinking so far advanced and thrilled at having Oran here. Yet, the boy looked pathetic, wretched. There was no fight in that awkward body as it tried to arch as far as it could away from the Dark Lord. It was a slight turnoff for Izar to imagine torturing the boy. No matter how screwed up the boy was for creating a device to strip magic, he had been twisted and pulled by both Scrimgeour and Dumbledore.

"The boy has an interesting mind, really," Voldemort mused, reaching forward and grasping Oran's chin. "A mind of a remarkably intelligent man, but not yet a mind of a prodigy. If anything, a mind of a growing child—too immature to be considered an adult. He has all these ideas inside his head but he doesn't use them to their fullest potential. It's just as you claimed, Izar. He needs to be pulled by the hand."

Voldemort smiled thinly at Conner and then to an observant Izar. "And then there are the desires I've stumbled across so easily. Desires that are far from a child's mind and more like a twisted and sick man."

Here, Oran struggled harder against Voldemort, trying to rip his head from the spidery fingers. The human was breathing harshly through his nose, hate clouding his eyes. Izar had a premonition where this was going and steeled himself. Voldemort was a possessive man and his desire to torture Oran was most likely far stronger than Izar's.

"Oh yes," Voldemort chuckled menacingly. "How he wants you, child."

"I'm aware," Izar interrupted. Voldemort's smile faltered and he sneered at Izar, his fingers still clutching Oran's chin. "I'd rather not hear the details." It was if Izar sucked out all the fun in Voldemort's demeanor that the man slowly turned cold and volatile.

"Is that so?" Voldemort turned back to Conner, assessing the boy closely. "You were aware of how he touched himself to the thought of you beneath him? He did so quite frequently, Izar. In fact, he had fantasies about fucking you from behind in the Department of Mysteries. He grew gleeful at the thought of your reputation as a respectable Black tarnishing by sleeping with a Mudblood."

Izar breathed deeply, realizing that Voldemort was too far gone in his quench for spilling blood. Actually, Conner Oran had debuted as Izar's gift but the boy was quickly turning into Voldemort's prize. Rather amusing, really. Izar couldn't care a less about Oran or about who killed him. As long as the boy was dead, it didn't matter who slashed the wand and finished the deed. Though, he was a bit insulted at how engrossed Voldemort was with the boy and seemed to all but ignore him.

"You have outdone yourself, My Lord," Izar noted, his tone dripping in sarcasm. "Why don't you kill him in my stead? You'd do a far better job of it than I would."

Voldemort barely spared Izar a glance as he turned his full attention back on a struggling Oran. Suddenly, the boy became limp and his nose began to bleed. Izar took a step back, watching in curiosity as Voldemort carried out his revenge.

Oran suddenly began screaming piercingly, his eyes wide and focused on unforeseeable enemies. The Dark Lord was doing some sort of Legilimency, destroying the boy's mind cruelly. Izar had always found himself jealous over Snape and the Dark Lord and their flawless Legilimency and Occlumency. After the Cygnus attack, Izar found out why he couldn't be a Master of the Mind and it both upset and relieved him.

Voldemort chuckled, dropping Oran to the ground. The boy lay in a curled ball, weeping and pleading. Izar sneered at the sight, finding it distasteful. How could anyone enjoy torture on such vulnerable and pathetic creatures like this? Izar's motive for dealing with weak wizards like Conner would be a quick death. Other wizards who fought until their last dying breath would deserve a slower and more painful death. It was perhaps a backwards logic. But the more Izar's enemy fought him and challenged him, the more excited the Black heir grew over the idea of bloodshed.

But this?

He gave a sidelong glance at Voldemort, realizing the man was delighted. He had his wand out, seemingly debating which method of torture he'd like to use next.

Before Izar could stop the proceedings, Voldemort jerked his wand upward, causing a sharp snap to sound from Oran's back. The boy gagged as his rib broke and he whimpered. But the Dark Lord was far from finished. With another twitch of his wand, Oran's neck was forced back and his mouth shot open forcibly. The boy's tongue began to slowly creep out under Voldemort's influence.

Izar considered this. The Dark Lord was performing nonverbal magic. In fact, the man's aura was thrumming with an overwhelming quantity of power—it was suffocating. It seemed when Voldemort was focused and determined, his magic peaked. But his focus wasn't under control. It was dangerously focused, blind to his surroundings. Izar had pointed out this fault to the Dark Lord once and the man had icily dismissed it.

The proof was all here.

Oran gave a muffled scream as his tongue detached itself, blood pouring from the sides of his mouth. The tongue lay uselessly next to him and Izar eyed it, thinking it would have been longer.

Voldemort then made a deep abrasion across Oran's torso, revealing the innards and intestines. Izar finally had enough when the foul smell hit him. "My Lord," he called. The man only chuckled in response.

Izar reached forward, catching the man's jaw with his fingers. "I grow tired of this," he whispered, inching closer to the powerful body. Voldemort made a move to push away from Izar, but the younger wizard held on tighter. "It's me you want, isn't it?" he stroked Voldemort's jawline, smiling in delight as the crimson eyes slowly turned from Conner's bleeding form and on to him. "Yes…" Izar purred, leaning in close to the man's ear. Attentively, he stroked the outer shell of the earlobe with his tongue but quickly backed up as Voldemort made a move to grab him.

The Dark Lord, still in his lust for torture, growled harshly. "Don't play with me." The man took another grab at Izar, but the smaller moved out of the way once again.

"You can't have everything so easily, can you?" Izar mocked. "Besides, I need my fun tonight. When you're done with him, perhaps you can find me."

Knowing it was a risky move to make, Izar turned his back on the Dark Lord and lazily made his way deeper into the woods. He was well aware of the eyes watching his every move and adjusted his ears to stay open for a possible attack from behind.

As soon as he heard the sharp crack from Oran's neck, Izar took off quickly. It was difficult to hear, but he was conscious of Voldemort following him quickly. While they were bred from the same creatures, they both had a different creature dominating their features and qualities. Voldemort had the majority of the Basilisk, making him stronger than Izar, while Izar had the quickness of the Fae.

Izar dodged through the trees, his mind bringing him back to last year. It had been similar then, only, Voldemort and he had been on two completely different levels. Izar had been human and slightly uncomfortable with being Voldemort's center of attention. Now though, they were familiar with one another. They knew the other better than anyone else could ever hope to.

The chuckle following at his heels confirmed that Voldemort was still in his bloodlust haze. Which meant that Izar had a chance of reversing this chase and he would do so in order to prove to Voldemort how foolish he was when he tortured. After all, it was their job to keep the other on their toes, was it not?

He slipped out his wand as he turned a sharp corner and hastily cast a revised Mirroring Charm at himself. Placing his back against the tree bark, Izar watched as a figure wearing white robes continued to sprint in the woods. Soon after, Izar watched closely as Voldemort ran after it.

"Fool," Izar whispered before taking off after the Dark Lord. His eyes dilated with pleasure at the prey now before him. This chase was better than any gift Voldemort could possible imagine giving.

Pushing himself quicker, Izar came within touching distance of the Dark Lord. Before the man could hear him, Izar leaped, a wide grin stretching his lips. His claws exposed from their glamour, embedding in Voldemort's shoulders.

The two went down heavily. Izar chuckled with delight, placing his mouth on top of Voldemort's ear. "In where the predator becomes the prey," he sang, repeating the words Voldemort had used on him last year.

Voldemort lashed out, never resembling a hostile creature more than he did currently. Izar grunted as he got the brunt of the attack across his chest, landing a few yards away. He closed his eyes, realizing that it was partially his fault for encouraging Voldemort's bloodlust with the chase. And while Izar knew their sex would never be tender or soft, he didn't want this Voldemort to be the one in charge. It would be brutal and against his consent.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

He went limp and remained lying on his back, refusing to encourage this Voldemort any longer. His eyes took in the Dark Lord a few feet from him as the man crouched down low, staring at Izar but not seeing him.

The red eyes slowly began to change from the brutal Dark Lord to the intelligent man Izar knew him to be. Silence spread between the two, both understanding what had transpired but doing nothing to address it. Izar knew what it was like to uncover a weakness. He had done so countless of times throughout the years. It was mind-blowing, crushing, and uncomfortable. For the Dark Lord to come to terms with his weaknesses, it must be a blow to his ego.

Izar sat up, offering the Dark Lord an impish smirk. He could have rubbed salt on the man's wound, but chose to go the opposite route. And people claimed he was not considerate… "Are we finished for the night?" He stood up; brushing down the green and white robes Voldemort insisted he wear. "Because I have a few things to—"

A hand curled possessively around his ankle before pulling. Izar gave an intake of air as he found himself falling into the snow on his arse. The hand continued to pull at his ankle, bringing him closer to the dark figure of Voldemort. "I am not through with you yet, love."

Voldemort hovered above him, his hands now placed on either side of Izar's face before he leaned down to kiss him.

Izar opened his eyes in the kiss, not liking where this was going. The Dark Lord was almost awkward in his motions; he was far too gentle, far too lenient and safe, and trying in vain to make up for his bloodlust with tender conduct.

The Black heir violently hooked his legs around the Dark Lord's waist, twisting them around abruptly. He chuckled in Voldemort's face as he sat straddled on the man's lap. "I'm not going to lie down on my back again," he challenged conceitedly. His fingernails embedded in Voldemort's blood-red robes, ripping the material as he raked his hands down the thin body.

He was simply showing the Dark Lord that he was calling the shots. Having someone infringe on his control would make Voldemort snap out of his damned pity-party. And just as Izar was about to go any lower with his fingers, Voldemort reached out and encircled his wrists. "Tonight is not the night."

Izar blinked, startled forcibly from his thoughts. "Excuse me?"

Voldemort continued to keep Izar prisoner by the wrists and his eyes were closed to any emotion. "Neither of us is in the right temperament for this. You must see this. It cannot be forced lifelessly."

The Black heir stared. While he understood where the man was coming from, he found himself feeling somewhat rejected. Rejection wasn't something Izar had experienced for quite some time. They were both men, were they not? Voldemort was always in the mood for sex. And yet, there was no evidence of arousal coming from the Dark Lord. Quite frankly, Izar, too, was far from aroused.

"I thought you planned on this tonight," he spoke lightly, almost child-like.

The Dark Lord's lips twitched. "You cannot plan on something like this, child."

Humiliation spread hot across Izar, but he hid it remarkably well. "Of course not." He ripped his wrists from the overpowering hold and stood up. He did all he could to avoid the gaze leveled on his face as he turned and began to walk toward the Malfoy Manor.

Before he escaped completely, Izar turned his heel suddenly, pointing a finger at the rising Dark Lord. "You've seen me at my worst." Izar lowered his arm, throwing his shoulders back and lifting his chin like a proud pure-blood. "You know each and every weakness I have. It's normal that you would see all of my weaknesses first, as you are more experienced with spying them. But you had to realize the closer we became, the more weaknesses I would see of yours."

Voldemort eyed Izar with quiet disdain. It was proof enough that Voldemort had been distancing himself from Izar because he had been disgraced—something that Voldemort most likely hadn't experienced in his adult life.

"Don't think you can push me away because I saw your weakness firsthand tonight. You think it will make me forget? It will only serve to anger me." Izar took a step backward, irritated with the Dark Lord. "We have an eternity together, Tom. You've decided that. Tonight will, by no means, be the last time I see you at your worst. You must decide if this is what you want. Because if it isn't, I need to know so I can stop wasting my time and effort."

Izar challenged the man with his eyes, not backing down even at the receiving end of a hostile stare. "You are no god, My Lord. Stop believing you are invincible. Maybe then you can start obtaining everything you hoped to."

Making certain there would be no attack from the Dark Lord, Izar whirled around and began to make his way back to the Malfoy Manor.


{Notes} You've seen a vulnerable side of the Dark Lord. It was going to happen eventually. He *is* human… or… well, you know. Next chapter, Lily/James/Sirius interaction with Izar. Perhaps a bit of a Bellatrix/Izar conversation and maybe a bit of trouble on Izar's end from a hunting Rufus.