A very small Voldemort POV and Izar and his rather childish games… *sigh*
Thanks for taking the time to review last chapter! Also, a special thanks to Phaenilix for gifting me with a drawing of Izar ;)

Warning: Grammar errors. Lots and lots of them *evil laughter*

Chapter Twenty-Five

"And who are you impressing today, Mr. Black?"

Izar smirked at his pocket watch, studying the second hand as it slowly ticked away the moments. A lazy hand rested in the pocket of his black slacks while his other hand carelessly snapped the pocket watch shut. He thought he looked rather brilliant today, no arrogance intended. Black slacks matched the dressy, yet informal suit vest he wore over a casual white shirt with its sleeves rolled messily to the middle of his forearms. No robes or cloaks were worn today.

While it wasn't unusual that wizards excluded robes from their wardrobe, it wasn't done frequently by him. His state of dress was recognizable and that was exactly what he wanted.

"You, Lucius," Izar purred. Turning, he tucked his pocket watch into his vest. "Is it working?"

Lucius had on a cool smile but his eyes were smoldering with delight. "Undoubtedly." The man swept his silver cane in the opposite hand as he reached out and placed his gloved hand between Izar's shoulder blades. "Come, our festivities are soon coming to a close. You must appease Bella and sit with her for breakfast."

Izar scoffed. "Has she been unbearable?"

Malfoy offered Izar a raised eyebrow. "If only you knew. She is much easier to handle if she has you to distract her."

The two made their way into the back of the manor. The grounds were quiet and cold as the trampled snow glittered off the sun's rays. It was unusually quiet in the backyard as many of the guests either left for the holiday or were too exhausted from last night to face the morning sun. Izar quietly mused that if things went accordingly last night, he would still be wrapped in the luxurious sheets Lucius provided for his guests.

But things hadn't been what he expected. Izar had seen Voldemort's weakness and vulnerability for the first time. It had been awkward on both their behalves but Izar had recovered faster than the Dark Lord had. He had brushed it off as something that was human, something that every person went through. It was silly of him to think it could be done so simply. Voldemort wouldn't and couldn't forget what transpired and he pushed Izar away as a result.

Things would never be simple between the two of them. Izar knew that with clarity. What he didn't understand is why Voldemort believed he would always be seen as a divinity in Izar's eyes. They were closer than any other had ever gotten to them before. They would remain close and Izar knew Voldemort had to finally face that last night.

Surely the man had stayed up all night, musing over the incident. Izar could see him pacing or brooding darkly in his unlit rooms. He liked to think that he knew Voldemort enough to know the man was debating his next step.

In the beginning, when Izar was just fourteen and they had met at the Ministry ball, Voldemort most likely debated what path to take. He could have either ignored Izar, keeping a heavy watch over his safety anonymously, or he could have approached him. The man chose the latter, must likely out of possessiveness and arrogance and had foolishly turned a blind eye to the consequences down his chosen path. Did the man truly think they wouldn't grow closer over the years?

Whatever the man's track of mind back then, Voldemort had come to the sudden conclusion that they were destined to know one another from the inside out. And in turn, Voldemort had two decisions to make.

He would distance himself from Izar, slowly and slyly cutting ties before it consumed them both. Or he would pull Izar harder, growing more protective and possessive over the one individual that held the secrets to his downfall.

Personally, Izar hadn't analyzed his feelings over the two different outcomes. He conveniently pushed away what his emotions were in order to gauge what Voldemort was thinking.

Another one of his weaknesses, he supposed. He refused to think on issues that dealt with his unstable emotions. It took him a long while to finally come to terms with Lily and his… odd devotion of her. He had to work past his forgiveness of her and what she had done to realize that he held a somewhat glimmer of affection beneath his bitterness.

"Most of the Inner-Circle members are not too pleased with you," Lucius murmured softly as the climbed the stairs to the First Tier platform.

The Dark Lord was present, his face a perfect mask of indifference. Around him, his loyal subjects grew quiet when they noticed his approach with Lucius. Luckily, all thirteen were not present. The Lestranges, Barty Crouch Jr., Evelyn Mulciber, and the eldest McNair were the few who were making appraisal of Izar.

"I don't know why this surprises you, Lucius," Izar mused in pleasure. "What did I do now?"

"You will be informed shortly, I'm sure. The Dark Lord has already addressed it with the Inner-Circle." Lucius otherwise remained tight-lipped on the subject, yet there was a greedy curl to his lips.

Izar let it pass, only because they had come to a stop in front of the tense and silent table. "My Lord," Izar greeted with a quick bow, avoiding eye contact. An odd sensation rippled through his stomach now that he was in the man's presence once again. It was similar to anger, he realized, for being treated so dismissively last night.

"Mr. Black," Voldemort murmured back in greeting but otherwise remained unemotional. The eyes were boring into the side of his head, relentlessly peeling back Izar's defenses and seeing everything beneath.

Before Izar could sit between Lucius and Bellatrix, a wrinkled Prophet slid across the table, coming to a crooked stop in front of him. His eyes absorbed a photograph on page four of his father and, oddly enough, Aiden. It was a small article, one that most likely didn't have enough information to gather a juicer story. Apparently, Regulus had formally adopted Aiden.

"You forgot to mention your little brother," Mulciber chuckled coldly.

Izar flicked the paper back at Mulciber and sat down uncaringly as the Prophet spun and sloshed the man's tea. "I suppose it must have slipped my mind…" He ignored the many eyes on him as he took a piece of warm toast and plucked the knife up. He smirked as he applied a generous amount of butter.

"A Mudblood," Rabastan picked up the interrogation. He was usually a silent spectator, but this morning, his aura seemed unnaturally peeved. In fact, most the members around the table were tense and ruffled. "Does this mean you're going to have to give up that ring on your finger?"

Izar paused in slathering his butter in order to gaze at the Black ring on his finger. The dark azure sapphires sparkled amongst charcoal-like gems as they surrounded the Black crest. It was a handsome ring and it differed from the other Black family rings due to the fact that it was worn by the heir of the family.

"Don't be silly, Rabastan," Bellatrix answered her brother-in-law. A warm hand wrapped around Izar's neck as Bellatrix pulled him closer and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. "Izar is the first Black in his family to carry the name with pride. You're not a true Black until you're wanted by the law. Isn't that right, nephew?"

The Black heir spun the rack of jam noisily, taking his sweet time in picking out a flavor. "Actually, while I do agree with you, Bella, I plan on presenting this ring to Aiden when he's old enough to hold the title. I deemed him acceptable enough to pass on our line. My interests lie elsewhere than securing a functional family." He gave a satisfied grunt when he stopped the rack and pulled out the strawberry jam.

Bellatrix's hand removed itself from his neck as she sat back, disgusted. They wouldn't understand. They couldn't. Even if his situation was different and he didn't have an overbearing Dark Lord as a lover, he probably wouldn't have settled down with a wife to make a family. He was too unstable—too interested in inventions and his own well-being. He didn't want to be like Cygnus and ignore his children unless he needed them as lab rats.

"I find your logic rather refreshing," a surprising Death Eater spoke up.

Izar glanced at Barty Crouch Jr. from the corner of his eye, noticing the handsome man was picking apart a buttered croissant. There was mutual dislike between Izar and Barty. But there was also a new sentiment in Crouch's eyes as he met Izar's stare. The dislike was still there, yet there was also grudging respect.

"You would be a terrible father," Barty concluded as reasoning.

Izar bit greedily into his toast in order to smother a chuckle. He knew damn well that Barty and the man's father were at the other end of the battlefield. Barty Crouch Senior was a work-relented man. It was likely that he was never around for his son when the boy was growing up. And from what Izar heard, Barty's mother had a terminal illness and died when her son was young.

While Izar knew Barty's real reason for agreeing with his declaration of not having a family, he kept it silent.

"Nonetheless," Rabastan picked up from where he left off. "You must have been one large embarrassment to your father for him to choose a Mudblood as his successor." The man gave a sick smile. "Have the many years of interbreeding in the Black line finally caught up to your lot? Are you so infertile that you had to get fresh sperm from a Mudblood boy?"

"Rabastan," Lucius spat, growing pink at the cheekbones.

It was a very large insult to pure-bloods when their fertility was in question. Izar was a half-blood and hadn't been raised by Regulus, and yet, it still stung his pride. "My sperm is fresh enough," Izar drawled, seemingly not at all insulted. He set down his piece of toast and opened the strawberry jam again.

Rather brutally, he stabbed the jam and slathered the red substance more heavily across his defenseless toast.

"Then that only leaves one other option," the man continued. "You must be a fag, hmm? A pretty boy such as yourself must enjoy cock…"

Fingers tapped harshly on the table, bringing attention to a surly Dark Lord. Red eyes were narrowed into slits as they watched Rabastan hungrily. "Our previous discussion before Mr. Black arrived should be fresh in your mind, Rabastan. Do not think that just because I have chosen Dolohov as the unfortunate member that I cannot change my decision. Your words are not only vulgar, but your sense of maturity leaves much to be desired. If you insult, do so with dignity."

Rabastan paled dramatically, his eyes dilating in fear. "No, no, My Lord—"

"There is no need to scream in order to get your intentions heard, Rabastan," Izar hissed darkly. He placed his knife down and stood up gracefully.

He didn't want to deal with this, he didn't need to. With the Dark Lord being a stubborn prick and Lestrange a jealous idiot, Izar found it rather tiresome. His intention for this morning was already accomplished; he felt no need to stick around.

As he circled the table to exit the platform, he paused to lean down next Rabastan's ear. Dark amusement guided Izar's hand to cover Rabastan's cheek as his lips brushed scarcely across the man's ear. "If you just wanted a rump in the sheets with me, you could have approached me in private," he whispered quietly. With glee, he watched as the man's cheeks stained red. Straightening, he continued in a louder tone. "It hasn't escaped my attention that you are not married."

Rabastan scrambled out of his chair, his cold eyes hot in fury. Izar remained motionless, raising his chin in defiance as the man advanced closer. Neither of them got to throw any curses, for a delicate hand wrapped around Izar's wrist and pulled him quickly off the platform.

"It would be best not to infuriate the Dark Lord any more than necessary," Bellatrix informed sharply. "He is not in a very good mood today."

"I can't imagine why," Izar mused dryly. "He is always in a good mood."

The two continued to walk out from the weather-protected deck and onto the crisp snow. Izar found himself stepping into an old track of footsteps as they neared the tree line. Bellatrix continued to lead him, her curly black locks being teased by the light wind. Her high-heeled boots easily tunneled a path through the snow as she ignored the already worn-out path.

Before Izar could insist where they were going, she stopped. They were a good distance away from the others but not far enough to be unseen.

She kept her back turned to Izar as she dropped his wrist. He eyed her tightening fists and knew where this was heading. Aiden.

"I don't know whether to believe if the Black reputation was better off without you and Regulus making an entrance or if it's thriving with your sudden existence two years ago." She offered Izar a look of disdain over her bony shoulder. "I find it insulting to our family what you did. You think me foolish? I know that… child was the product of our Lord's fury the night during the raid at Godric's Hollow."

Izar stood in silence. It was tempting to tell Bellatrix it was none of her business. In fact, he found himself leaning in that direction but decided he needed some allies within the Dark Lord's rank. Bellatrix wasn't the best witch to have standing opposite of him. Besides, he enjoyed her too much.

"Cygnus' Curse never turned out to be necromancy, Bellatrix." Izar began. "It turned out to be a way for Cygnus to possess me and use my body as means as immortality. The only reason I survived the possession is because our Lord performed Legilimency on me and forced Cygnus out from my mind. Cygnus' spirit is still functional. If I continue on the Black line, one of my children or grandchildren could be possessed by Cygnus. I cannot have that. Hence the reason why Regulus adopted a child."

He watched her carefully and she veiled her expression just as carefully. Though, Izar was sharp enough to catch the slight intrigue and wicked humor dancing in Bellatrix's eyes. He knew she would find Cygnus' acts as acceptable, if not entertaining. Izar would have if he hadn't been the intended victim.

"A generous act from the Dark Lord to save you," Bellatrix agreed. "But I don't approve of the Mudblood."

Izar placed his fists into his pockets, slouching in a way that it appeared arrogant. "Naturally," he quipped. "However, the boy has gifts that will aid our cause if needed. And he was also treated unfairly by his family. Despite the fact that he is a Mudblood, he will grow to despise Muggles. A child's mind can be so easily poisoned with our beliefs."

Bellatrix sighed dramatically and slowly turned her heel to circle Izar. Her arms then suddenly wrapped around his waist, pulling his back against her ample chest. Placing her cheek against his shoulder blades, Bellatrix chuckled. "You are ingenious, my nephew. I don't like this, but I will keep quiet in my contempt."

He was stiff in her arms, finding little enjoyment in the physical touch. Looking over his shoulder, he met her eyes. The onyx gaze was watching him in mischief. "Is there something you are forbidden to tell me but are finding it difficult to keep it secret?" Izar asked in false boredom.

"Yes," Bellatrix gave a loud cackle, reaching up to caress Izar's cheeks with her long fingernails. There was a possessive gleam in her eyes. "It's only what you rightfully deserve. After your father's abandonment, we need to stick together, Izar…" she purred in a raspy whisper. "Blacks are far more powerful with their kin at their back. Remember that, my sweet."

She wouldn't indulge in the secret, he knew. If Voldemort had asked Bellatrix to keep it quiet, she would do so loyally. Her loyalty to the Dark Lord knew no bounds and Izar knew when it was a lost cause to pry.

He would know eventually. And in the meantime, he needed to get things organized for tonight.

Charmed green and charcoal eyes clashed with onyx. Both Blacks shared a twisted smile.

{Death of Today}

Draco stood stiffly in the gardens of his manor, aware of Greengrass standing uncomfortably behind him. It was ten o'clock and Black had yet to show his face. The boy had a brilliant mind, though, Draco would admit to that. He knew Black was forbidden to leave the Manor grounds and, in turn, the younger wizard had come up with a plan that would make security busy with the number of people entering and exiting.

Upstairs, near the parlor, there was currently a party going on for a number of Hogwarts students. Draco had contacted as many students as he could think of to allow on the Malfoy perimeter for a gathering. Lucius hadn't been too thrilled with the arrangement, but his father hadn't been able to do anything about it before it was too late.

Daphne and he had snuck out from the party, escaping into the gardens undetected.

"He's not coming," Draco murmured softly. "This was a set-up for him to escape the property himself. By himself."

"Hush," Daphne scolded, motioning toward the cloaked figure quietly moving toward them.

Draco recognized the black slacks and black vest of Izar's ensemble from today. Though, there was now a cloak clasped around his neck with the hood drawn. Before Draco could snarl at the boy for keeping him waiting, Black placed a finger to his lips to silence them.

Arrogant bastard.

Draco breathed harshly through his nose as he reluctantly followed the tall wizard toward the woods. Obviously, they were going to try to get past the guards and to the Apparition point. He just hoped they would get past undetected. Black had to have an ingenious plan.

Didn't he?

{Death of Today}

Izar sneezed wetly in his hand as he approached the two guards standing on either side of the gate. Lucius Malfoy wasn't allowing anyone to enter or exit without identification. While Izar could have stunned a fellow student from Draco's party and disguised himself as them, he found that plan far too risky. He had no Polyjuice Potion and creating a false identification card in the Wizarding World was almost impossible—and incredibly time-consuming.

So, he had come up with a decent alternative. After watching the two guards change rotation at the front gate, Izar had made his move.

"Identification," one of the guards drawled in immense boredom as Izar advanced. They were Death Eaters dressed in normal civilian clothes, lacking their metallic masks and tempers for the night. It was amusing, really, to know they had to act as babysitters for the guests coming inside and out. Around the woods, Izar was aware of the heavy security. All of them were warned to keep a look out for Izar Black.

In fact, Voldemort would have likely prevented Izar from escaping if the man wasn't hiding in his rooms, sulking. It would have made everything so much more fun if the Dark Lord was sharp and prepared. Instead, he sent his men to do the work.

Pity.

Izar pulled at his bright red hair as he dug through his jean pockets. A yellow sweater dressed his thin body, clashing horribly against his charmed hair. He sniffed loudly, wetly, well aware of the disgusted eyes on him as he searched his pockets.

"I…" Izar paused, pushing up his thick glasses. He breathed horribly through his nose, imitating a boy who had severe allergies. "I have it here somewhere." He searched his pockets again, not pausing to cover his mouth as he forced a sneeze.

Where the hell were they?

He gazed into the woods near the manor, trying to search for the three figures that were oddly absent.

"Here it is!" Izar claimed in triumph as he passed the plastic card toward the Death Eater on the right.

The man grimaced as he looked at the card, not inclined to take if from his hands. Just before the other Death Eater on the left made a grab for it, Izar pulled it back, offering a heaving chuckle. "No, sorry, that's not it." He grinned crookedly at the guards, his shoulders slumped self-consciously. "That's my girlfriend's photo. A pretty model."

"Identification," the man growled impatiently.

They were both too easy. Izar knew the Death Eaters would find it as an insult to keep track of adolescents who entered and exited the gates of the Malfoy Manor. They would also underestimate him if he was to act harmless. And above all else, they would also believe Izar Black would never use the front gate.

The Death Eaters must hate him tonight.

Izar just found it thrilling.

He bowed his head, turning inside his pockets and watching as a snotty handkerchief fell to the sidewalk. Ungracefully, he fell to his knees, dropping his glasses in the process. To the right, he could hear sudden scuffling and curses emerging from the woods. He hid his smile as he watched Draco, Daphne, and Nott being dragged from the trees. Thankfully, Nott's hood was still drawn, veiling his features from the Death Eaters. They would all believe Theodore Nott to be Izar, dressed smartly and in the company of Draco and Daphne.

The Death Eaters standing near the gates chuckled nastily, catching sight of the three teens being hauled into the manor.

"Get up off the ground," the brown-haired man growled. He toed Izar's shoulder with his boot.

Izar gave a hopeless groan. "I know I have my identification someplace. I… I know…" he stood up and pushed up his glasses with a single finger.

"Get out," a Death Eater growled, taking him by the sweater and tossing him past the threshold. After all, they saw Izar Black being dragged into the Malfoy Manor. It wasn't possible that this redhead wizard was the proud and sophisticated Black heir.

Izar stumbled on the toe of his worn sneakers, throwing out his hands for balance. The Death Eaters chuckled heartlessly behind him, making snide and cruel comments. Izar only continued down the sidewalk, a wicked smile stretching his lips painfully.

That had been exciting, he supposed. But also a bit disappointing.

He just hoped Lily and James proved more of a challenge tonight, even if it was just conversational.

{Death of Today}

"Enter," Voldemort ordered after the sharp rap sounded on his door. His musings were calmly collected and set aside in order to concentrate on the task at hand.

Pushing himself away from the balcony railing, he turned to watch Severus Snape enter his rooms. Brilliant red eyes narrowed sharply. The dark-haired man was anxious tonight. Because it was Severus, Voldemort had to look closely at the tense shoulders and the fingers that twitched ever-so slightly.

"My Lord," Severus greeted in control. He bowed deeply at the waist, holding his position until he deemed it respectable enough before straightening. "I have come to inform you of a grave discovery." Severus reached up and pushed away the two oil-streaked bangs from his face. "Izar Black stands in the middle of it."

Voldemort schooled his features with ease. "When doesn't he, Severus?" he asked in amusement.

Severus bowed his head before falling to his knees. "Dumbledore has reason to suspect that Izar Black is a vampire."

Ah, yes. It was expected to come out eventually, no matter the tight restrain he put on the matter. "Is that so?" he mused softly. "And just how did the old man come to that… contemptible conclusion?" Half his mind watched Severus while the other began racing with possible moves, possible steps of the game, and possible leaks. Surely Izar hadn't confided in another about his status of a creature.

Unless… the boy's father. Voldemort hissed softly, a cruel hunger cooling his stomach. His eyes absorbed Severus obsessively, more amused with the man than anything as he looked for signs that would prove his suspicions. This revelation was not surprising. Dumbledore would have eventually begun to suspect Izar Black was not a normal human. Though, no matter how anticipated this was, it was not welcome.

By any means.

"Acelin Morel," Severus answered, his head bowed. "I have reason to believe the Dark Lady Marjolaine informed Dumbledore that Morel turned Izar the night of the boy's failed assassination attack in France."

"The boy did not fail, Severus." Voldemort whispered lethally. He then chuckled. "When did the old fool believe that Izar Black did not kill Acelin Morel? If what you say is true and Marjolaine did contact Dumbledore with the story you claim, then I can accept as much. However. If this story is fabricated, I can only imagine where it derived from." He leaned down, lifting the young wizard's chin. "Are you loyal to me or Dumbledore, Severus?"

"You, My Lord," the boy responded without hesitation.

Voldemort smiled thinly. He couldn't sense any lies coming from the boy, but a skilled Occlumens had the ability to hide from Voldemort. "That may be true, and I believe it to be true." He gazed into the younger man's stoic eyes. "Then answer this. Are you loyal to me or Regulus Black?"

He didn't let the boy answer.

"I consider you loyal to me, Severus. But you never got over the fact that I ordered Regulus Black to be executed those many years ago, did you? You may have been loyal sixteen years ago, but you went out of your way to assist Black in escaping—going against my orders. I believe you have committed another detour from your loyalty by assisting Black before his knowledge destroyed him."

Voldemort continued to grip the man's jaw, his temper getting the better of him. "You witnessed Black's mind when he was in a healing coma and spied the information. You knew if I was aware of the information he obtained that I would kill him. Therefore, you go to Dumbledore and spill the information, hoping that I would believe Morel had a hand in this, not Regulus Black. Sadly, you underestimated me, Severus. And you have disappointed me greatly."

A sharp knock sounded. Voldemort snarled, throwing Severus away with a sickened shove. The door to his rooms opened at his will, allowing six figures entrance. The Dark Lord stood stiffly as he observed the two blondes and a figure dressed in Izar's earlier ensemble.

He was not fooled, nor amused.

"My Lord," one of the Death Eaters gasped. "We have captured these three at your command. They were nearing the border—"

Voldemort reached forward, ripping the hood off the middle figure to reveal the anxious face of Theodore Nott.

"My Lord," Nott whispered pathetically, his hand trembling as he reached into his pocket. "I… we were only going to the Weird Sisters concert."

Voldemort ignored the three tickets thrust toward him, his eyes staring blankly at the young Nott. Izar had accomplished what he promised. His child vowed to escape the wards, to retain his independence. And he did so expertly.

A sinister chuckle somehow managed to escape past his suffocating anger. Trust the boy to take advantage of their current situation and play on Voldemort's absence.

Doubts be damned, he was raising the boy well.

{Death of Today}

Izar stumbled into the ice cream parlor. He sniffed, pushing up his glasses under the watchful eyes of the occupants. There weren't many customers inside, as it was past ten, but there were three main people he was drawn to.

Polyjuice Potion was likely used for the three, as Izar couldn't detect any strong glamours coming from them. The only reason he knew who they were was by their familiar auras. Unsurprisingly, Sirius chose to go the exasperating route and pose as an elderly woman. His uncle patted his graying bun, winking at Izar with endearment. He was currently sitting across from another woman, Lily, who had short blond hair. Her eyes seemed to soften at the sight of him, but otherwise, she remained indifferent.

The two 'women' sat together at one table, directly behind the table of a lone man. James Potter sat hunched over a half-eaten sundae, scratching the thick beard on his face. His pale eyes were focused on a Prophet while his long black hair partially veiled his face.

Izar stuffed his hands into his pockets, shuffling toward the ice cream counter. He offered the pretty girl on the other side a shy smile, grinning broadly when she offered him only a grimace in return. It was rather fun playing someone other than his usual self. Considering Sirius' choice of disguise, he assumed his uncle felt the same.

"A scoop of chocolate, please."

She snapped her gum, taking her time to scoop out a rather small spoonful of chocolate. He slapped the coins down on the counter, taking the offered tray and turning back to his intended targets. Nonchalantly, he sat across from the disguised James Potter. The Auror never glanced up from the rumpled Prophet.

"Good to see you again," James murmured in greeting. "I was surprised you made it."

Izar caught the man's wand movement underneath the table and a privacy ward encircled their table and the one behind them. "I never go back on my word," Izar replied, stirring the chocolate ice cream with his plastic spoon. "My absence will be noted shortly. I don't have much time to dance around the topic."

James finally looked up from the Prophet and calculated Izar closely. "Then we should get right to the point, shouldn't we?" Behind him, Lily and Sirius remained silent, listening closely yet not being obvious in their intentions. "A few of us have the advantage of knowing the Dark Lord is Tom Riddle. We've been following his moves closely as of late. As soon as he was removed from his position as Undersecretary, in fact."

"Who is we?" Izar inquired, continuing to give his attention on the soupy bowl of ice cream.

"A few members of the Order."

"Dumbledore's Order," Izar mumbled.

"Yes," James confirmed. "There aren't many who are as outspoken as Lily and me, but they have expressed a reluctant understanding in Riddle's motives. We would like to form a negotiation."

Izar scoffed. "I'm failing to understand where you're going with this. How can you possibly understand Riddle's motives? You're of the Light—" Warm hands reached over and curled around Izar's wrists. The young wizard tore his attention away from his uneaten dessert to stare levelly in the man's ice-blue eyes.

"I've told you once, Izar, that not all Light Wizards are close-minded. I believe the world needs to adapt to the changing times. It needs to extend their approval of different magics and practices. I know that's what the Dark Lord is striving for and I know he's using his Tom Riddle persona in order to change the world's perspective. There are already citizens who doubt Scrimgeour and his abilities. With Riddle's continued appearances in the Prophet, wizards and witches are slowly beginning to sway to his preaching."

"So you're smarter than I give you credit for," Izar acknowledged. The man was clever enough to realize that Lord Voldemort was not the one who would change the Wizarding World. It was Tom Riddle who would sway the people. "What does this have to do with a negotiation?"

James' rugged features cracked a light smile. "We wish to form a negotiation. There are only a few of us in Dumbledore's Order who believe in Riddle's perspective of advancing our society, but if we outspokenly side with Tom Riddle, I can reassure you, more prominent Light figures will follow. This war will not need to continue if you have our support."

Izar smiled thinly, leaning across the table in order to get closer to the captivating man. "You make a good point in addressing our benefits to this negotiation, but lack what you get in return."

Potter gave a light laugh, the skin wrinkling at the corners of his eyes. "Our benefits would be, of course, what Riddle can do with our society. It may be difficult to accept Dark Arts as legalized for some, but we can put restrictions on its usage. And we will swallow the thought of a much stronger division between Muggles and Wizards."

"Yes, yes," Izar waved the man's words away. "But what do you get out of this negotiation?"

James sat back, staring at Izar carefully. "All we want is for the destruction to end. We want the deaths and raids to come to a halt. There are many innocents dying in this war, we wish it to stop." James paused, as if debating on his next step in the negotiation. "I would also like two figures, one from the Light and one from the Dark, to form a set of statutes regarding the new government. There needs to be restrictions to the Dark Arts. No chaos, no bias regarding crimes."

Izar blinked at the man before closing his eyes. "I don't know whether to think of you as a fool or a fearless bastard." He breathed heavily to calm his racing mind. "There are many negatives to your plan, Potter. For one thing, do you truly believe Dumbledore will take this lying down? The old fool is just as black and white as any other egoistic bastard, but he has power to back up his beliefs. You might like to think you can form a group behind you, but I can assure you, Dumbledore will have a group twice the size of yours following him."

His eyes snapped open as he held up a second finger. "Also, do you think Voldemort will agree to your terms? As much as I am loyal to him, I can reassure you that he enjoys screwing people over. What's saying he won't use your aid to get what he wants and then turn the tables at the last moment?"

"I would be willing to take that risk."

"Then you are an idiot." Izar slapped his arm back on the table, appearing nonchalant in his actions despite his irritation. "Do you think the Dark Lord would be willing to take that risk? He is far from a trusting man. He doesn't even trust his Inner-Circle members. He wouldn't trust you."

"We would all be taking risks then. There are ways to insure trust. An Unbreakable Vow, for instance. I am willing to perform an Unbreakable Vow with the Dark Lord. Or you. There are rumors that you are the Dark Lord's right-hand man."

"Rumors," Izar scoffed. "Are just rumors."

Silence spread between them and Izar studied the man. He decided that this disguise of Potter's fit the man's personality far more than the geeky glasses and ridiculously messy hair. Potter might have been a Light Wizard with high hopes and a strong sense of naivety, but he was also open-minded and capable of viewing other sides of the board.

"I'll speak to him," Izar broke the silence, taking pity on the man. He looked over the man's shoulder at Lily. The woman gazed back, her emotions skillfully veiled. Izar's lips thinned before he turned his attention back on James. "But I would count on him refusing." Izar chuckled. "In the meantime, try to pretend as if you don't believe your side is going to crumble. This negotiation will make the Dark Lord believe you find little faith in the Light's success in the war."

James' eyes widened before they narrowed. "Quite the contrary, actually."

"Indeed," Izar responded lightly.

He took hold of the soupy ice cream and swirled it gently before tipping it back and draining the liquid. As he set down the plastic bowl, he caught the eyes of the server's behind the bar. He smacked his lips, grinning as she sneered and looked away.

"It's been fun." Izar stood from his stool. "But I must be off."

Potter frowned, nodding nonetheless. "Be safe," he whispered at Izar's back.

The Black heir refused to turn back around and acknowledge the man's discreet words. Instead, he escaped the warm atmosphere of the ice cream parlor and emerged into the chilly night. He made a show of shivering, wrapping his arms around his waist as he surveyed the streets. The number of shoppers lingering around the streets was limited to older folk. Their moods were obvious to Izar.

Now that there was a Dark Lord, the level of cautiousness and attentiveness were at their highest. Guardians refused to allow their children out past dark or without a chaperone. Men accompanied woman, their attention on passing wizards and the shadows of the alleyways. Their hands were always free, available if they needed to reach their wand quickly.

Izar gave a deep hum, watching the Aurors roaming the streets. A sadistic part of Izar enjoyed this change in the Wizarding World. It had always been sickening for him to watch families walk around, oblivious to real world troubles and anguish. Now everyone was aware. They couldn't walk around with their eyes closed and ignorant.

He turned, meeting eyes with himself. A tiny smirk lifted the corner of his mouth as he appraised the flyer warranting for his arrest. Pity they had to use a photograph of him that was taken during the Triwizard Tournament. It had only been a year ago, yet he had changed dramatically since then. He wondered… perhaps he could play with Rufus tonight. He needed a new photograph taken, did he not?

"Rufus and his hunt for Izar Black," a woman breathed over his shoulder.

Izar turned to raise an eyebrow at the hovering Sirius. "Not very successful, is he?" Izar drawled, turning his heel and making his way toward Knockturn Alley. Sirius followed with a voluptuous swagger in his high heels, causing the younger to pause abruptly. "I don't know whether to be concerned that you know how to walk so well in those shoes or amused."

The disguised Sirius, tutted, batting his lashes. "A skilled player knows how to walk in a woman's shoes, dear child of mine." He pursed his thickly painted lips at Izar.

Izar chuckled lowly, enjoying his uncle's tactics despite his better judgment. "You're enjoying this far too much, I'm afraid."

Sirius gave a wolfish grin, reaching up to adjust his..er.. her breasts. "I have no idea what you're talking about." The man tossed his hair, despite the fact that it was already pinned tightly in a bun. "You and I need to have a heart to heart." He reached over to wrap his arm around Izar's shoulders while his mood suddenly took a grim turn. "Rufus has become quite determined to find you. I would argue that he's on a one-track mind, but many would say he's only bringing his fist down harder on reining in the Death Eaters."

They slowly made their way to Knockturn Alley, well aware of the possible eyes following. Izar kept his magic-sensitivity wide open to detect any listening charms planted near them. If anyone tried to pry, he would sense it.

"It doesn't surprise me," Izar murmured quietly. "Rufus was bested. It's unlike him to take it lying down."

"Then you promise me not to do something foolish. Like search him out." Sirius gave Izar a stern look.

It was Izar's turn to blink innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Flashing a toothy grin at his uncle, Izar led them around the corner, nearing the entrance of Knockturn. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't plan on doing anything tonight."

Sirius sighed, his face obviously troubled despite the foolish grin he was trying to pass off.

"What's wrong?" Izar felt inclined to ask. If it was anyone else, he probably wouldn't have pushed the topic, simply because he wouldn't have cared. But Sirius… the man was family and so ridiculous that Izar couldn't help but to feel a bit of affection for.

"I got into the Order," Sirius whispered hoarsely. "I have nothing to report to you yet, only that Dumbledore seems very distant as of late. Somber, really. And that's odd for him. He hardly even touches his lemon drops."

Izar narrowed his eyes, peeling away Sirius' defenses in order to look deeper into his uncle's distress. "You don't think they trust you." He didn't ask it, only because he could see it in Sirius' eyes. There was fear and guilt in those charcoal eyes. The man was a mess. While Sirius' spirit would always rightfully belong to the Dark, his undying loyalties were to the Light. The man was too afraid of what the Dark could do to him, and yet, he was also strong enough to ignore the call of the wild.

Sirius was only spying on the Order for Izar. The man did not support the Dark Lord. In fact, Potter might have supported Voldemort's ideals more than Sirius did. The man made a commitment at a young age to follow the path of the Light. Spying for Izar was going against his past sacrifices, his beliefs. And yet, he did it because he… he cared for Izar.

Izar's lips thinned as he stared at his uncle. He had planted the manipulations in Sirius' head, the guilt. And it was a bitter victory.

He was weak. Voldemort would look down on him for what Izar was about to do. Izar was Dark, he was cruel and sadistic to his enemies, but he had to remember the Blacks were loyal to their family. It was time Izar realized he had to make sacrifices in order to make his family better off. No matter what he lost in return.

"I want you to stop this ruse," Izar whispered calmly. His emotions were tucked tightly away, refusing to show in the face of his uncle.

Sirius' eyebrows furrowed. "Iz—"

"You may be blind to the fact, but your aura is weighed down heavily for spying. I don't need your help, Sirius."

Sirius slumped, his stance in the high heels no longer vigorous. "I don't want you to think—"

"That my family abandoned me?" Izar cut the man off once again. "It was destined to happen. We're on the other side of the battlefield. You cannot turn Dark because of me and I cannot turn Light because of you." He kept his voice neutral, only because if he exaggerated coldness, Sirius might believe he was bluffing. "At any rate," Izar grinned. "You would have made a lousy spy."

Sirius gave a chuckle. "I would have to agree with you on that." He reached out and stroked Izar's cheek. "Keep safe, kid."

Izar only smirked in return as he turned and walked down Knockturn. He felt the weight of Sirius' eyes on him as he abandoned his uncle at the mouth of the alley.

The Black heir scoffed at himself, knowing that letting Sirius go was for the best. Truth be told, it would have never worked out smoothly. Sirius wasn't skilled in Legilimency or Occlumency and Dumbledore could have taken advantage of that. Sirius was also terrible at hiding things. He became shifty and overdid his humor when he was nervous. Izar was inclined to believe he released Sirius from his bonds out of logic, not out of sentimentality.

Though… it had been satisfying to pull his uncle's strings while it lasted.

Izar continued down the gloomy alleyways, coldly dismissing the figures leaning against the walls of the pubs and shops. With Sirius out of his mind, Izar was finally able to come back to himself. His mind sharpened and the delicious sensation of the Dark embraced and encompassed him. He welcomed it greedily, inhaling the strong scents of grimy and tainted magic.

A chuckle escaped past his lips as he became aware of the familiar aura stalking him. Voldemort was near and immensely angry, yet he was strangely staying away.

The young wizard pivoted on his heel, entering the begrimed shop of Borgin and Burkes. Borgin, the shop owner, smiled oily as he looked up, but frowned when he studied Izar's pathetic appearance. Izar had to admit, his yellow sweater clashed horribly against the dark hues of the store.

"We're closed," the man barked.

"Is that so?" Izar murmured, shrugging. "I will only take a second."

His attention zeroed on the tall cabinet standing innocently against the wall. He made his way over, reaching out a hand to run over the heavy wood. Izar closed his eyes, intrigued with the powerful aura coming from the piece of furniture. There didn't seem to be anything wrong in the pattern of magic, nothing to signal that Draco wouldn't be able to succeed in his task from the Dark Lord.

Izar opened his eyes, narrowing them on the observing shopkeeper.

"You're not the only one who's been eyeing it," Borgin drawled slippery. "A pair of kids came in here the other day."

Suspicion settled in Izar's mind. "What did they look like?"

The man seemed hesitant on offering something to Izar for nothing in return, but decided it wasn't worth it. "A redhead about your height and a bushy-haired witch," a curl stained the man's already grubby mouth. "A Mudblood, no doubt."

Immediately, Izar thought of Granger. He was unsure who the redhead would be, but had a few suspicions. The only question was why two Hogwarts students would come down to Knockturn Alley to inspect the Vanishing Cabinet. The two were clearly on the Light Side. Why would they take an interest in something housed in the dangerous parts of Diagon Alley?

Unless they were too curious for their own good. Draco wasn't exactly sly and his continued absence up to the Room of Requirements must have drawn the attention of Granger and her partner. Izar knew Granger was intelligent; she would connect the dots between the two Vanishing Cabinets.

Even if Draco had a chance of fixing the cabinet at Hogwarts, he was unable to do so now. Granger knew of the pair of cabinets and she was likely to go to Dumbledore with it. Draco would not be able to go anywhere near the Room of Requirements when he returned to Hogwarts after the break.

Izar was about to indulge his own curiosity and poke around in the Vanishing Cabinet until a hand grabbed his sweater from behind. With strength that could only belong to one person, Izar was hauled off his feet and dangled awkwardly in front of a hooded figure.

"Excuse me, sir," Izar exclaimed outrageously. "Do I know you?"

"You've had your fun for the day," Voldemort hissed darkly, dropping Izar before grabbing him roughly across the bicep. "Bask in your smugness, child, because you will be experiencing hell shortly."

Despite the agonizing pressure on his arm, Izar couldn't help but to smile wickedly. The man was just angry Izar finally got one up on him.


{Meh, This fall semester is a bit stressful. I can barely get a chapter out during the weekend with all my studying/homework. With that being said, there may be weekends where I'm a bit late with the chapter and I will also be unable to respond to reviews from time to time. You're all wonderful readers and I thank you for your patience and support.}