Warnings: Torture. Not overly heavy, but torture nonetheless. Grammar mistakes as well.
Notes: I apologize for taking so long to update. Life has been a bit hectic. But it has slowed down considerably. There aren't many chapters left (or so I hope), but I doubt I can finish in time for my next semester to begin. Anyway, thank you all very much for your patience and your continued support.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Izar lay rigidly against the steel table. The black bag over his head was meant to intimidate him, to frighten him. It only served to irritate him. He was alone in the heavily secured room. Through the black cloth, he was aware of the single bright light shining down on him. Metal cuffs kept his arms out to the side and his hands in place. The same went for his ankles. To make matters even better, he was stripped down to his boxers.
He would be an idiot if he couldn't foresee what was about to transpire. The Ministry was always clean to the public, completely hands off when it came to the prisoners it kept. But Izar knew that when the public wasn't involved, the Ministry got its questions one way or the other. If it was through torture, so be it.
Izar closed his eyes beneath the black bag, calculating his next step. He could escape. He could tear apart the metal around his wrists with his creature strength and drain the magic from the guards outside his door. The only problem with that plan, however, was the fact that he was heavily guarded. He could hear their steps outside the room; he could feel the strong magic humming around the closed door; and he could smell the many bodies. Realistically, if he was to escape, he could probably drain four men before he was attacked by the others surrounding him. After all, he was wandless.
At any rate, he wanted to keep his status of a creature as quiet as possible. Already having Dumbledore, Regulus, and Severus know was enough. If the Ministry knew, Izar would have more on his hands than he could handle.
No, he couldn't escape the torture. He had a high pain tolerance as a human and he had an even higher pain tolerance as a creature. The only problem was that he was fast healing. If this torture was executed in order to get answers out of him, it was intended to be painful and bloody. If he healed drastically, the one enforcing the pain would surely notice their work disappearing.
Breathing out of habit more than necessity, Izar calmed himself and his mind. He was smart. He had to think.
Cooperating was out of the question. Not only would they not believe him, but Rufus would identify it as a slip of character. Izar was known to be stubborn, clever… it wouldn't be in his character to blurt out answers as if he were afraid of pain.
Pursing his lips, his mind brought him back to that day at the Ministry when Cygnus had possessed him. The man had attacked Voldemort and cut off the Dark Lord's magical core. What Cygnus hadn't known at the time, was that Voldemort was a creature, thus, having two cores. If Cygnus had squeezed Voldemort's creature core and his Wizarding core at the same time, the Dark Lord would have died.
Izar could only assume that the same would be applied to himself. However, if he pinched his creature core to the point of almost nonexistence, he was sure he could survive as long as he did not close it completely. It would be a struggle to remain focused on his own core and the interrogation at the same time, but it was the only option he had. By suffocating his creature, he would lose many characteristics of it, such as his eyesight, his smell, his healing.
A risk, but a needed risk.
If he struggled through this session, they would likely throw him behind bars and leave him to bask in his pain. They would loosen their security around him and he could escape at that time. He just hoped Voldemort would heel long enough for Izar to make his escape. It would be unwise for the Dark Lord to attack the Ministry for many reasons. Surely the man wouldn't allow Izar's capture to activate his immense possessiveness. This kidnapping was not only to get answers from Izar, but it was a direct challenge from Rufus to the Dark Lord.
"Remarkable," a voice mused from the opening door. "All the others we captured were killed through the Dark Mark. As always, it seems as if you are an exception, Mr. Black."
Izar clenched his teeth together, making an audible cracking sound. "Of course, Rufus, why would it be any other way? Strangely enough, everyone finds me irresistible." He turned his head away from the two humans who entered the room. He could hear their heartbeats, their uneven footsteps… "Though, to be fair, it burns like hell."
And it did.
For a long while, the Dark Mark had remained impassive, only a heavy weight on his forearm as he waited for Voldemort to be informed of his… inconvenient absence. For what had seemed like forever, Izar's Dark Mark had suddenly flared, mirroring the unstable temper of the Dark Lord. The man was a damned drama queen. Izar's only regret was that he wasn't there to witness the undoubtedly creative punishment for the man's followers. Otherwise, he didn't mind his position in the slightest. Perhaps, though, that would change shortly.
Someone reached forward and ripped off the cloth-bag from his head. Izar calmly turned his head around, staring at the man before him. The wizard who leered before him was not Rufus, but a greying blond. Izar couldn't pinpoint the wizard's identity, but he took special care to remember the face. There were a few wrinkles at the corners of his eyelids and lips while the eyes that gazed down at Izar were a pale blue.
"A pretty boy," the man scoffed in exasperation. "I didn't expect one so young."
Izar leaned his head further against the table, squinting his eyes against the harsh light. "Judging from the air of narcissism around you and the muscles you see fit to reveal, I would wager that you're my tormentor. It's a pleasure, surely." Izar flattened his plump bottom lip and turned to the shadowy figure in the background. "Can you not even collect the courage to torture me yourself, Rufus? My, you've been disappointing—"
A backhand snapped Izar's head to the side, silencing him instantly. The burn was sharp and he closed his eyes for a moment, reaching inward toward his magical core. Because he spent a good few hours looking for his magic-sensitivity after he turned immortal, finding his cores were no trouble.
The hand descended again, but before it made contact, Izar had already successfully pinched his creature-core to the point of near extinction. Izar grunted as his cheekbone bounced off the steel table as the second punch turned his vision black just briefly. With his loss of the creature, Izar felt strangely naked—exposed. The confidence he usually felt seemed to drain considerably, but he grabbed hold of himself and tried to push away the ugly sensations. He didn't want to rely on his creature, not when he lived sixteen years without it. Who knew he had depended on it so much when he usually wasn't even conscious of it. There were times when Izar had to remind himself that he was no longer human. But now that his creature was smothered, he definitely felt a significant loss.
"I was told you had cheek. Others may think it's cute, I think it's uncouth."
Izar took a moment to gather himself and his usual arrogance. He struggled to breathe, not understanding the sudden need to inhale oxygen. Surely, just because he smothered his creature, didn't mean he had to take in oxygen to breathe? His lips thinned as he calmed himself. He found out a second later that, no, he didn't need oxygen. The sudden urge for oxygen came from his anxiety at having his immortality powered down to precarious levels. He needed to calm if he didn't want a panic attack on the table.
It was a challenge to try to keep up his glamours, remain from pinching his creature-core completely, and keeping face. He had been through much worse than this. If he couldn't succeed in this trial, then he didn't deserve his position in this war.
"Uncouth?" Izar inquired dryly, a smile slowly beginning to stretch across his lips. "Not only do you appear incredibly dim, but you're also a hypocrite."
The greying man brought down his elbow. "Stop," Rufus Scrimgeour ordered sharply, successfully stopping the elbow inches from Izar's nose. "You will do well to remember who is in charge and what your job is. Do not fall into the boy's manipulation. He is only goading you."
Izar gave a lop-sided grin toward the man, taunting him with his eyes. The man was nothing but a dog obeying his master. There was an inner struggle in the tormentor's expression, one that Izar was familiar with. It was what many men and women faced when they found themselves in position under a more powerful order. They believed they had better judgment than their superiors, better knowledge, but they were forced to follow commands nonetheless. Izar also noticed Rufus was doing an excellent job avoiding addressing the man by a name.
Rufus moved forward and Izar could pick up the limp in his step. The overhead light cast deep shadows across the Minister's face as he peered down at his prisoner. Izar gazed back unblinkingly, a frown tugging at his lips. Rufus appeared the same. His stringy, curly hair was a bit more greasy than usual and his eyebrows were brooding heavily over tired but fierce eyes.
A strong and weathered hand reached forward and placed itself over Izar's brows. "I've finally got you," the man announced hoarsely. "It was a mistake to let you go those many nights ago."
Izar huffed through his nose, remembering the night of the Unspeakable attack vividly. At first it had surprised Izar to learn that Rufus and Dumbledore had worked together. But when he came to terms with it, he knew the two most likely had different plans for Izar in the end. Dumbledore had wanted to place Izar inside the Unspeakable invention while Rufus wanted to make Izar suffer and watch as his comrades' magic were eaten alive. In turn, Izar would have nowhere to turn but with the Ministry. Pity it didn't turn out the way Rufus Scrimgeour had envisioned it. Izar would give the man credit for working slyly behind the scenes, but in the end, both Izar and Lord Voldemort would always overcome their obstacles.
"Hmm, it's never a good idea to think you can tame a restless body," Izar murmured smugly. "Though, your scheme was very Slytherin. Using Conner Oran as your puppet was almost heartless. Did you see his face when you tried to pass the invention as my doing? If I hadn't stopped the invention from activating, I can confidently say that the Death Eaters would have blamed me and it is possible that I would have stayed with the Ministry."
Rufus' fingers tightened over Izar's forehead as the man leaned forward. "You would have been great," the Minister breathed passionately. Yellow eyes caught Izar's, holding them captive just as dominantly as his bindings. "You let that egoistic fool manipulate you. He is only suffocating you and your potential."
"Sir…" Izar whispered, intentionally making the Minister lean in further. Steadily locking eyes with the man, Izar said in all seriousness, "You're making me blush."
Rufus released his head abruptly, his expression darkening into one of irritable rage. Izar tipped back his head and laughed loudly. He couldn't help it. The man was far too easy to get riled up and mock. Hell, he didn't know if he had this much fun tormenting the Death Eaters as he did a single Minister.
Before Scrimgeour could continue, there was a sharp rap at the door. A head popped in uninvited and looked between a smirking Izar and a furious Scrimgeour. "Excuse my interruption, Minister, but would you like me to owl Dumbledore? He expressed the need to be contacted immediately if we were ever to obtain Black—"
"That will not be necessary," Rufus barked. The Minister wasted no time in waving his wand sharply toward the door and slamming it on the face of the onlooker.
Izar's smirk died down, yet he remained watching the Minister closely. It would seem as if Dumbledore and Scrimgeour were struggling to cooperate together. It was likely that Scrimgeour was possessive of his Ministry and didn't want a Light Lord to run his territory or have a hand in his actions. It was a typical issue seen between two powerful males, especially when they both held a position of power. Though, what Izar found most interesting is Dumbledore's request.
The old fool wanted to be notified if Izar was ever imprisoned? Obviously, Rufus would have none of it and wouldn't be owling Dumbledore anytime soon. Clearly, the old Headmaster hadn't told Scrimgeour about Izar's immortality. If he had, Izar would likely be in a completely different situation than he was at the current moment. But then what purpose would Dumbledore serve for knowing Izar was captured? And when did the old man request such a bold demand?
Nonetheless, this was information Izar would have to fold and put away for later. If Rufus Scrimgeour and Albus Dumbledore were not working and communicating properly, it could be used against them.
"Truth Serum will not be used during our session, I'm afraid," Rufus began once again. This time, he was settling in the back of the room, cloaking himself in the shadows. "It is easily manipulated by powerful Occlumens and I will not waste my time on it with you. Luckily, we have an alternative method to get answers out of you."
Izar rolled his neck, staring at the ceiling and past the light. "If you wanted answers, Rufus, I wouldn't mind sitting down with you over a freshly brewed pot of tea." Izar threw the enforcer a glance, noting the man's crimson face. It would see as if Izar was angering the stranger more than his intended prey.
"Your charm will not help you today, Mr. Black, no matter how tempting the idea may sound," Rufus drawled, setting down two objects nearby. "This is a revised version of a Sneakoscope and a Secrecy Sensor. I'm sure you are aware of what they do when they detect deceit or lies. I'm trying to keep this as simple as possible. Your sharp mind may not be so clear within the next few hours. I plan to take full advantage over that." With that, Scrimgeour gave a sharp nod toward the enforcer.
Izar tensed as the brute man came closer. The Black heir was familiar with towering height from Voldemort, but the Dark Lord was just as thin as he was tall. The greying man across from Izar was all muscle and girth.
"Let's start off easy, shall we? What is your name?"
The Black heir closed his eyes in order to block the sight of the hovering enforcer. It was a cruel game—what Rufus was playing. If Rufus was as smart as Izar, he would lead Izar to believe the answers would be explanations. Izar would then start answering them, perhaps mockingly, but then the answers would turn to yes and no answers. If Izar remained silent after answering the previous questions, Rufus would take the silence as answer. And he couldn't lie, due to the Sneakoscope and Secrecy Sensor placed so close. With his concentration on holding up his glamours and pinching his creature-core, he could not successfully drain the Dark Detectors of their magic.
Izar wouldn't fall into the trap. He slowly opened his eyes. "You won't even get my name out of me, Rufus dear."
It was the enforcer who answered. "I was hoping you would say that."
The wand of the enforcer touched Izar's skin and the younger wizard's eyes rolled backwards in pain.
{Death of Today}
James ducked out of the room, searching out Lily. It didn't take long to see a painfully thin figure leaning against the wall, arms crossed across her stomach protectively. It was dark in the Longbottom household, yet the sliver of the moon washed Lily's porcelain skin in bright shadows. The petite witch didn't turn at his approach. Instead, she continued to gaze outside, her expression dark and clouded.
For a long moment, James stood in silence, assessing his long love. At times he found it almost unbearable watching as she slowly deteriorated throughout the years. This wasn't the same woman he fell in love with. But then again, they had all grown up from their days at Hogwarts. James found it his duty to continue to stand by Lily, no matter the nauseating mistakes she committed in the past. He could see the regret in her, the suffering. She tried to hide it well, but James knew. He knew she had depression and there were days he thought she had a multi-personality disorder. She was cold. Almost lifeless at times. Her caresses seemed almost false to him and it pained him with each passing day.
"They're talking about him," Lily whispered hoarsely. "Izar."
James sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Not only did he suffer from Lily's deteriorating health, but also the confusion the war brought him. His loyalty would always be with the Light, there was no doubt about that. However, with Lily having a son on the other side of the battlefield, it made things complicated. Especially when Lily continued to express concern for his well-being. It took James a long while to swallow his disgust and anger over Lily having an affair with Regulus Black and producing a child. His jealousy later cooled into horror at what Lily had done to Sirius' brother and her own son.
When he eventually accepted it, James found himself standing behind Lily as a solid pillar.
"Yes," James admitted. The Order was settled in the large gathering room behind closed doors. Lily had been asked to excuse herself and James had even felt the eyes on him as he stubbornly stayed behind to listen to Dumbledore. "It's rumored that he has been captured by the Ministry."
Lily narrowed her eyes against the window's reflection before they relaxed into an impassive and tired stare. "If what the rumors say are true, and that Izar is Riddle's right-hand man, then I'm certain he will find a way out of the Ministry within the week." Her spidery hands tightened around her stomach. "I find it amusing that I am seen as an enemy here, among my friends, my comrades. They treat me as if I wear the brand of the Dark Lord. To kick me out…after everything that I have done and sacrificed for the Light…"
James took a step forward, reaching for her, but his hand fell back to his side. "It is only to protect you. When we discuss Izar, I agree, it's best if you were not present."
She exhaled softly past her parted lips. "He's my child."
It was said so dully, so lifelessly, James wondered if Lily would ever feel passion again. He wondered if the potions she was ingesting for her depression were even aiding her in her suffering. How could they when she was but a corpse of her old self? And yet, there were times when she was lively and warm… but those flashes came and went too quick for James to really appreciate. "He's also the enemy. A very strong enemy."
Emerald eyes turned to look at him through lank red hair. She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to.
"Izar is powerful, Lily. He has the Dark Lord's favor… he will prevail."
Was it wrong for him to put so much faith in the enemy's well-being? James would admit to anyone that Izar Black was a rarity. He was a genius, yet he was still a child. He was Dark, yet he possessed a staggering amount of loyalty and mercy. He had been raised in an orphanage, yet he took the protection of his family seriously. The boy had good ideals, but he had a Dark Lord breathing down his neck. James saw a tragedy when he looked at Lily's son.
He reached toward her, slowly curling his arm around her back. She came in his arms almost immediately, placing her cheek against his chest and looking up at him. "You would tell me if Albus came up with a plan to destroy Izar, wouldn't you? Why else would they make me leave the room?"
James barely contained a flinch at the direct question. His mind brought him back to their meeting, their plans for Izar… what Dumbledore planned. Should he warn Lily? No. Not only would it alert the Order to James' disloyalty, but it would place Lily in danger.
He stared down at her, feeling the hair rise on the nape of his neck. Her emerald eyes were watching him closely, seeing right through him. Lily was an incredibly powerful witch and she was smart. It wouldn't surprise James if Lily had her own ways of finding out what went on in the Order's meeting. And quite frankly, he didn't want to know the lengths she would go to protect her son. Because, if he knew those lengths, he might just have to accept the fact that Lily would discard his own safety just for a son she would always regret conceiving out of blackmail.
Instead of answering the question directly, James closed his eyes and placed his face in the crimson hair. "I think you know the answer to that, Lily."
Thin arms wrapped around his torso in return.
{Death of Today}
"Simon."
Simon looked up at his partner. The Auror next to him then motioned toward the two figures sauntering down the corridor. Both of them were dressed richly in crisp black robes and cloaks which fell past their heels. One figure was significantly taller than his companion and wore a black fedora that cast most his face in shadows. The other had his dark hair slicked back, revealing familiar, yet unidentified features.
"Good evening, gentlemen," the taller greeted silkily.
Simon stood at attention and he felt Phillip mimic his stance beside him. "I'm afraid you are not permitted to be down this corridor. Please, let me escort you back to the main—" Simon tapered off when the tall wizard adjusted his hat, revealing thin glasses and distinguished features. "Mr. Riddle!" he exclaimed suddenly, feeling his chest tighten in apprehension. There were whispers among the Department that Tom Marvolo Riddle had a hand in the war, yet there were other murmurs that praised the man standing before him.
The ex-Undersecretary cocked his head to the side in acknowledgement. "I'm afraid I must be curt with you tonight, Mr…"
"Westly, sir. Simon Westly," he introduced himself formally. He clasped his hands in front of his body, motioning his chin toward his companion. "And this is my partner, Phillip Morsal."
"Pleasure," Riddle smiled thinly.
Simon tried to control the shiver that tickled down his back. In the back of his mind, he strained to remember Tom Riddle speaking in the past. How could he forget that the man had a voice that could freeze the blood rushing hotly through his veins? There was a slight hissing quality to it, something that could be heard from a snake.
"Sadly, I must be rather frank with you. You see, this is Barty Crouch Jr., my lawyer." Riddle placed a leather-gloved hand on the other man's shoulder. "It is common knowledge that Izar Black is my political heir, therefore, Barty not only represents me, but also my ward. I think it would be wise if you allow your Minister to know we are here." The torches on the corridor wall caught and held the startling white teeth that flashed from Riddle's smile. "Before he does something he may regret."
It was an abundant amount of information for Simon to take in. He took in the appearance of the other wizard, realizing why the man looked slightly familiar. Bartemius Crouch was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—and a damned good one. It was he who made it possible for Aurors to kill the Death Eaters rather than take them captive. Simon respect Crouch and he could see the father mirroring in the eyes of his son.
But there was only a slight resemblance. Crouch Junior took after his mother considerably and there was a cruel iciness to his gaze. Simon had known Bartemius Crouch had a son and that he was in the law aspect of the Ministry, he just hadn't known the specifics. And there was also talk about Crouch Junior—not all of it was as positive as his father.
"Izar Black?" Phillip spoke before Simon could gather his thoughts. "I'm afraid you must be mistaken, sir. We do not have an Izar Black in custody."
At the sudden change of atmosphere, Simon brushed his forearm with his fingers where he kept his wand hidden in a holster. Riddle's jaw muscle clenched, yet the man remained silent. It was Bartemius' son that responded first.
"It is prudent that you understand the length of your statement," Crouch Junior whispered softly. The thin man took an advancing step forward, putting the two Aurors at the ready. "You claim you do not have a minor currently in your custody? The consequence of keeping a minor captive without representation is against the Wizarding laws." Suddenly, Crouch Junior leaned in even forward, widening his mouth into an unnerving smile. "The consequence of torturing said minor is an even greater felony that would destroy the Ministry if word ever got out to the press..."
It was difficult viewing Izar Black as a minor. Simon was well aware that the boy was young, but he was even more aware of the crimes he had committed. The majority of the Unspeakables following Minister Scrimgeour had been hunted down and killed ruthlessly by the minor. It was unforgivable and Simon found little pity for the boy currently in the interrogation room. Though, he reluctantly understood Crouch Junior's words. If the public ever got wind of this situation, chaos would break out. The Ministry was already on unstable legs in the eyes of the public and their nonstop questioning regarding Rufus Scrimgeour's leadership… And it was all due to the man currently standing in front of Simon.
Suddenly, a hair-rising scream echoed throughout the corridors. It was more of a laugh than anything else—a desperate and crazed laugh. Simon shifted uncomfortably. He knew exactly who issued that laugh. It was a running sport for the Aurors to intentionally forget the Silencing Charms around the interrogation room in order to bask in the prisoner's screams. It was little compensation for all their comrades who were killed by those son-of-a-bitches.
But it had been over half-an-hour since Black was taken in. And this was the first Simon heard out of him.
Simon's lips thinned as he avoided the sharp eyes of the two men. "I will go alert Minister Scrimgeour of your arrival."
As he turned his heel, he was unfortunate enough to catch the smug smirk settling across Riddle's lips. "Good boy," the man whispered. It seemed to be for Simon's ears only, for the mocking praise followed him down the dark corridor.
{Death of Today}
The third finger on his left hand was ripped backward, joining the other two limp fingers beside it. Izar trembled fiercely, biting his tongue but stubbornly remaining silent. His right hand was already a mangled mess, crooked from the sharp breaks and stained red from the dried blood that cascaded down from the torn and mutilated skin tissue. The enforcer seemed to favor cutting and probing. There was something oddly painful about cold metal coming in contact with revealed muscle and bloody flesh.
Luckily, Voldemort made good on his promise of creating a creature that mirrored humans. Izar bled normally. He cut easily. And he seemed to have the same nerve endings as before. If he wasn't currently cutting off his creature-core, Izar was sure he wouldn't be feeling as much as this torture as he was currently.
Being in this state felt surreal to him. He did not enjoy it, no, but strangely enough, he felt reassured that he felt and experienced pain again. He felt human once again. Only, he didn't have a heartbeat. He didn't need to breathe. And he would never die from something as mundane as human torture. If something were to happen first, it would be his slip of concentration. He would either close off his creature-core completely or he would lose his hold and heal incredibly fast—most likely dropping his glamours while he was in a bemused state.
"You were involved with the slaughter of Unspeakables, were you not?" Scrimgeour pressed hotly. "How did you release the Death Eaters from Conner Oran's invention? Did you and your mother implant a weakness?"
"My name, Rufus, what is my name?" Izar breathed out, laughing beneath his breath. "We haven't even gotten past the first question!"
Rufus had been growing agitated for the past hour, pacing and growling to himself at the end of the room. If Izar wasn't so preoccupied with the enforcer, he would have taken great pleasure of watching the strong-willed Minister slowly unravel with frustration. Izar hadn't answered any of the man's questions thus far, only opening his mouth to taunt the man into a blinding rage.
The enforcer remained silent as he pressed the tip of the blade to Izar's already bruised and bloody legs. With pronounced glee, the greying man pressed the edge into Izar's calf and sliced the skin apart agonizingly slow. Izar whimpered, squinting his eyes closed against the blinding light above him. So far, the cutting never hit close to the muscle. The cold blade would always just tease the muscles, making Izar grate his teeth from the sensation.
Though, both Minister and enforcer seemed to be at wits end, for the knife plunged into his calf muscle. Izar let out a shrill yelp, jerking his leg on reflex. Unfortunately, his action caused the blade to embed deeper in the muscle. Izar turned his head to the side, gagging instinctively. The enforcer continued to carve at the muscle, causing Izar an unexplainable agony.
"You think you can get past the interrogation by passing the time?" the enforcer breathed. "I have news for you, kid. This isn't just one session. This can go on for weeks. You'll eventually crack. I'll make sure you crack like the pussy-boy you look like."
Izar cracked his eyes open, watching as the enforcer leered above him. He had to hand it to the man. The enforcer knew what he was doing. He cut in a specific way that would cause a great deal of pain, yet cut down on the blood-loss. There was even a spell on Izar that would limit the amount of blood loss he experienced.
"I know just the type of torture you need," the man continued, pulling out the blade from Izar's leg and reaching forward. "You're an arrogant fuck. Prideful." A gloved-hand slid up and between his legs, clutching at Izar's inner thighs. "A little pounding will do you some good."
"There are many techniques to recycle before we come to that method," Rufus barked from the shadows. "We have only just begun."
Izar pressed his lips into a thin line at the invading hand and tried to move his legs. Not only did the cuff around his ankle tighten, but the wound from his calf seared hotly up his spine. Throwing his head back, Izar tried to calm himself. The last thing he needed was to lose control.
"Oh?" the enforcer snarled. "I've found his weakness. And you refuse to exploit it?"
"Yes," Rufus commanded forcibly, the topic obviously closed for discussion.
The Minister had the enforcer around the leash and Izar enjoyed it immensely. Men were so easily controlled when it came to power and ranking. The enforcer was nothing but the Minister's dog. Izar grinned tightly, meeting the enforcer's eyes with his own. "Heel, boy." He pursed his spit-covered lips and tsked mockingly.
The hand slapped him across the face, drawing blood from the nails digging across his cheek.
"This is only the beginning, eh?" the enforcer growled. "Then I look forward to it."
Suddenly, the blade impaled itself at the bottom of his foot and into his sole. Izar's eyes opened wide and he gave a scream of agony that steadily turned into a desperate laugh. The feet were known to have a number of sensors. It was no surprise the enforcer seemed to favor that part of his anatomy.
"You won't be walking out of here anytime soon." The bulk-like man withdrew the blade painfully slow. "Anymore smart-arse comments from you?" The tip of the blade tickled Izar's other foot that was already twitching from the calf muscle being brutally attacked. "Nothing?" the enforcer taunted as Izar shook fiercely on the interrogation table. "Pity."
As the blade neared the point of entering the sole of his foot, they were interrupted once again by the door. Rufus murmured something under his breath and Izar struggled to catch it. His senses were slowly dimming as he forced his mind to concentrate on his cores. His sight was dimming and his hearing dulled to that of an elderly human. Through half-closed eyes, he watched as Rufus answered the door and quietly conversed with the individual on the other side.
The laugh that issued from Scrimgeour was cold and amused. "Finally. I had expected him to arrive as soon as we brought him in." Rufus then turned to the enforcer. "We're finished for the night. Prepare him for our second session."
The last thing Izar was physically aware of before he dropped into a self-inflicted meditation was the blade slashing at his sole.
{Death of Today}
Surprisingly, or—not so surprisingly, Riddle was standing calmly with someone leaning against the wall next to him. Rufus had been informed that Riddle had brought along a lawyer, he was just surprised to note it was Barty Crouch's only son who also happened to be on Rufus' list of targeted Death Eaters. Many would consider the justice system to be unjust and unfair. Rufus found it a pain in the arse and worthless at times. It was a challenge to incriminate criminals he knew were Death Eaters but finding it impossible if he didn't have the evidence to support it.
Being on the right side of the law was more mind-challenging than the wrong side of the law. People like Riddle liked to claim themselves as brilliant and a skilled manipulator. But Rufus found that to be entirely untrue. The Light side always prevailed and they were also smarter than their enemies. How else could they fight within the laws and eliminate their opponents while said opponents could just slaughter without staying in the lines?
It was one of the reasons he respected Crouch so much. The man legalized Auror killing methods against Death Eaters. The Ministry now had more of an equal ground against their enemies.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?" Rufus asked in mock politeness. The Minister knew he had a spring to his step, but he did nothing to hide it as he approached the ex-Undersecretary and his minion. True, his interrogation seemed to have gotten nowhere, but in reality, Rufus had expected as such. Despite being so young, Izar Black was stubborn and strong-willed. A simple torture session would not crack the boy.
But he would eventually crack Izar. There was a part of Rufus that wanted to tear the boy apart and rebuild him into the perfect ally. Black had so much potential and intelligence. However, that part of him had been proved wrong during the Unspeakable attack. Dumbledore had wanted to kill the boy instantly while Rufus had wanted to turn the boy. His decision resulted in the Death Eaters escaping and a quarter of the Unspeakables slain.
It was Crouch Junior who spoke first. "I believe you have something of ours," the boy started, pushing himself from the wall. Dark eyes mirrored his fathers as they looked into Rufus. "A mere sixteen-year-old is being held captive without representation. Not only that, but if I'm correct in assuming, he's being interrogated by methods of torture."
The Minister smiled thinly, placing his hands in his pockets. "Izar Black is a war criminal." A pause. "There are plenty of eye-witnesses who can vouch for this."
"No matter, that still does not warrant torture or interrogation without representation. He is a minor."
Rufus cocked his head to the side, considering this. "Black may only be sixteen, but I'm confident that the court would see him as an emancipated minor. After all, wasn't it you, Riddle, who began the paperwork to grant Black emancipation? If I remember correctly, it was right before the custody battle between Lily Potter and Regulus Black that never took place." Rufus turned his attention on Riddle, noting the unusual silence.
His question was answered when he noticed Riddle staring coldly down the corridor and toward the greying enforcer. The enforcer, James Schrill, was peeling off his bloody gloves, taunting Riddle with smug eyes and an equally satisfied smile. Rufus withheld a sigh, knowing it was pointless to tell Schrill off. Arrogant men were always blind to the bigger prey. And at the moment, Riddle had his jaws wide open, ready to swallow Schrill whole.
Crouch Junior stepped forward. "Mr. Riddle never completed those papers. Black's emancipation is not legally recognized by the courts."
"Your persistence is admirable, Mr. Crouch, but unwarranted. Times have changed now that a war is at a climax. You see, Mr. Black is a special exception. A high-ranking individual in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement made it possible for us to retain Izar Black and get answers out of him as long as we do not kill. Age be damned. He's a dangerous criminal that will aid to our success."
Both father and son had a cruel and cold determination that seemed to make their bottomless eyes sparkle. "Oh? And who might that individual be?"
"Your father," Rufus said simply before turning his heel and coming to a stop directly in front of Riddle. "I'm afraid that Izar will be staying with me, Mr. Riddle. He is my prisoner. Mine. And I'll get what I want from him while taking away your crutch at the same time."
Riddle's eyes suddenly snapped away from Schrill and locked with Rufus'. There was an unnerving light that flickered beneath those innocent-looking brown eyes. "Is that a challenge, Minister?" the man whispered silkily.
Rufus could barely contain his grin. "A challenge for Tom Riddle or a challenge for Lord Voldemort?" he murmured in question. "Because, either way, yes, it is a direct and confident challenge. One you cannot hope to win."
Riddle chuckled lowly. "Your arrogance is admirable, Mr. Scrimgeour, but unwarranted." The man threw Rufus' earlier words to Crouch Junior back in his face. "I know what you're trying to accomplish with Izar. Out of pity, I will advise you not to waste your time. Just when you think you successfully twisted him into your new image, you'll find out, in the end, that he was the one doing the manipulating." The man's tongue clicked the back of his front teeth. "I all but raised him myself, Rufus. Don't be a fool."
There was something unsettling in those eyes and words, Rufus thought. He stood stiffly for a long moment, trying to collect himself. Finally settling for a grunt, Rufus turned on his heel. "You're welcome to press charges. And you're also welcome to pay a visit to your ward, just follow my men. In fact, I encourage you to visit your ward. Perhaps a visit from you will give him a second wind. I do enjoy Mr. Black's wit."
Before Rufus could disappear around the corner, Riddle's words found him.
"Do you forget that the Dark Lord can kill through the Dark Mark? If he does not obtain Black, do you think he will allow the boy to live? He does not share, Minister."
Rufus paused, once again, taken off-guard by the man's words. The words were something like a promise, yet there was a falsity to them. Voldemort would never willingly kill his crutch, Rufus knew this. Riddle… or rather, Voldemort's words were of no consequence. The Minister then narrowed his eyes and continued forward, never looking back.
{Death of Today}
"Black."
"Black!"
Izar slowly regained consciousness with the consistent call. He found himself suddenly aware of his wrists being tied above his head, causing his feet to dangle just barely above the freezing cold ground. It was a planned out position. The wounds on his feet would consistently rub against the ground and the wounds around his chest and torso would stretch painfully by his body being strung upward. Izar dangled uselessly, trying to lift his feet from the ground and curling them up toward his chest. His abdominal muscles screamed and it was only seconds until he had to drop his legs back down.
"Bloody… hell…" Izar hissed as the half-closed abrasions on his feet brushed the ground. His feet did a small jig as he tried to adjust them comfortably. But no matter how he angled his feet, there was always in discomfort.
"Black…" the voice called again from outside his cell.
And then Izar was painfully aware of how humiliating his current position was. He squinted toward the bars of his cell, unable to see anything past the bright light glaring at his face. "Who are you?" Someone scoffed in answer and Izar seethed, his temper already on a short leash.
"You're looking pretty good, Black," the voice taunted.
Izar tipped back his head and gave a yell of frustration and anger when he identified the man as Barty Crouch Jr.
"That is enough. Both of you," a particularly familiar voice interrupted Izar before he could lash out. "Falling into futility will do you no good, Izar. From what I can see, you need all the control you can get."
"Tom?" Izar whispered in question as he fell limp in his chains. His head bowed forward causing his hair to fall into his face, giving him a marginal inch of privacy. It was all he could do with the eyes watching him. He was powerless to adjust his position and image in their eyes. It was degrading.
"Among others," Riddle hinted that they were not alone and were likely heavily watched.
For a long moment, Izar concentrated on the sound of Barty's breathing while he pieced together his sanity. He had underestimated Rufus. Izar originally thought that security would lessen after the torture, but as he opened himself up, he could sense the multiple bodies outside his cell. Nonetheless, Rufus also underestimated Izar and the Minister was unaware of his magic-sensitivity.
"You look good in chains," Riddle suddenly announced.
Izar flinched. His shoulders tightened and he became on edge. It was difficult to tell for certain if this really was Riddle or not. They had the same voice, yes, but considering Izar was smothering his creature, he did not feel the familiar pull toward the man he usually did. Their link—their bond—was not present and Izar didn't feel as if he was on the same wave-length. Though, knowing Voldemort, Izar believed Riddle wouldn't draw attention to his sexual attraction for Izar in front of prying eyes and ears. It had to be an underlying meaning or opening for Izar to step in.
And he did. "They'll be off shortly." Meaning, he would make his move soon.
Riddle gave an engrossed sound in his throat. "Is that so?" the man asked in disbelief. A finger tapped the bars, reflecting Riddle's impatience and anger. "The Dark Lord could kill you, you know. He killed other Death Eaters through the Dark Mark. Some may even think you would find it easier to face death than the unjust torture."
"No!" Izar growled, his head shooting up from its bowed position. He knew exactly what the man implied. Izar could pretend that his Mark was acting up and then collapse. He would have no heartbeat and his skin would be cold to the touch. The Ministry would think him dead. But there were too many unknown factors with that plan. "He will not. I can handle this interrogation." He could handle his own escape and he didn't need Voldemort's aid.
"You appear to be handling it well," came the sarcastic response. "Nonetheless, there is nothing I can do at the moment." Nothing Riddle could do politically.
"And my Lord can do nothing," Izar added pointedly. "It would be unwise. Let me have my fun."
A hiss sounded. It was quiet to Izar's ears and he struggled to catch it. "You are an exceptional mind, child. You have thought out your steps correctly, though, I find little trust that you can accomplish this feat in the state you're in."
Izar just shook his head in response.
"Stubborn," Riddle tsked smoothly. The man then chuckled. "Mr. Crouch and I will be meeting with a legal representative within the hour. If we cannot figure something out by then, we may have to send word for extra aid. Political scenes nowadays seem only to be a ruse. Locking up minors and torturing them… it disgusts me."
With his current mental health, it took Izar a long moment to tear apart the man's words into the real meaning. Izar bowed his head, his brows furrowing as he pressed his large toes into the ground and pivoted his body around. The action left a trail of blood on the ground and it also opened up his wound on his calf. He paid it no heed as he faced the stone wall and showed the two wizards his back. His posterior was less wounded. He refused to look like a gutted fish in their eyes.
Lifting his chin and opening his eyes, Izar studied the grey and cold brick. "Only an hour?" he hissed quietly. "You don't give me much time." His Parseltongue wouldn't be picked up by anyone but Riddle with the man's sharp hearing.
"It will be a challenge," Riddle responded smugly. "…to get you out of here by legal means when the Minister has so much power. Though, I'm not a very patient man. It will happen as quickly as I can make it happen."
A challenge. Always a challenge with the Dark Lord. Though, the man's words were brilliant. The ones listening in would report this back to Rufus and Rufus would automatically think that Voldemort would be making the move. They would expect an attack from outside the Ministry, not inside.
The chains clinked together as Izar tried to move his hands. "I would have liked to stay and see where this went—the torture and questioning, that is. After a couple of more sessions, I'd even wager they would lessen their security even more than they have." Izar smiled thinly when he all but felt the man's displeasure. "Unfortunately, I cannot stay. The war is fast approaching the end and I need to construct the last of the Horcruxes."
By appearance and sound to the outsiders, it seemed as if Tom Riddle was having his own conversation. Izar was too silent for anyone to hear and he looked as if he were defeated, shameless—relying on his mentor's words and aid.
"Do not worry, my young charge. Barty and I will do all we can to lessen the legal obstacles in the way of your release. Despite his power as a Minister, Rufus will not stand a chance in the face of true justice."
Izar gave a breathless chuckle. "Don't insult me," he hissed arrogantly when he read the underlying message of the Dark Lord. Riddle would attempt to draw away some of the Aurors surrounding him. "I can handle as many guards as they place on me. With or without a damned wand."
Suddenly, Izar shifted focus and loosened his posture. Bowing his head, he swung back around and toward the bright light. He morphed his face into one of desperation. "Please…" Izar whispered loud enough for the humans to hear. "Tom… please hurry. I don't know how much more I can take." He offered a pitiful expression and he knew that it would appear genuine. Lamentably, it was difficult to come to terms with the fact that he had a pretty and innocent face. But then again, he could use it to his advantage.
He could almost hear the scoff coming from the guards.
"I will hurry," Riddle reassured. 'As will you', the words all but spoke themselves.
Izar listened with a bowed head as they left his holding cell. Adrenaline seemed to burn hotly inside Izar.
Oh, he couldn't wait.
{Death of Today}
"I apologize for my lapse of protection around the Hogwarts wards tonight, but does he honestly expect us to drop everything, sacrifice everything, just to save his worthless arse?" Barty Crouch Junior demanded softly as they sauntered down the corridor from the holding cell.
"Hmm…" Riddle began. "Something like that." The tall and powerful man tugged on a pair of stiff leather gloves. Flexing the fingers, brown eyes seemed to cloud crimson. "Your part has come to its closing. Take your leave and go back to the base."
Crouch watched as his Lord began to depart down the opposite direction. "That's all?" his voice seemed empty as it chased his Lord's back. "You don't want me to prepare the army—"
"No."
The younger wizard blinked. He began trying to piece together the events from tonight. Perhaps he hadn't analyzed his Lord closely enough when he interacted with Black. Was there something there he hadn't seen? Was it… Black he hadn't watched closely enough? Impossible. The brat was as subtle as a damned Hufflepuff.
But then, his Lord's words from tonight struck something deep within him. "I all but raised him, Rufus." Barty swallowed the sharp emotion of jealousy and suffered down the bitterness. When he was younger, the Dark Lord had always seemed to be there when Barty's father had not. With time, he slowly began seeing the powerful wizard as a sort of father-figure.
He had to accept the fact that Black also didn't have a father or mother growing up. And that their Lord preyed and fed off the vulnerabilities of both enemies and comrades alike. There would be others his Lord fabricated as being fond over...
"And you? What about you?"
His Lord continued down the corridor, his figure slowly becoming unidentifiable in the dark. "I have some unfinished business to attend to."
