{Notes} Thanks everyone for your reviews, they mean a lot to me ;) Also, thanks to Contaku for the Fan Art! I uploaded it with the others if you want to go see it.
And no, this is not the last chapter :D It also holds many grammar mistakes. It's late and I have early class tomorrow. I didn't take much time to reread it.
Chapter Thirty Two
Lucius sat pompously on the ornate chair. His hands were cupped politely on top the solid table as he watched the clock tick across from him. Blond hair was effortlessly parted to the side, falling to his shoulders in silky straight strands. The black and silver robes decorating his body appeared finely spun with crushed velvet residing at the hems. Next to him, standing at the railing, Narcissa matched his patient and cool expression. Her feminine and lean body leaned against the sculptured banister, radiating an uncanny resemblance to the marble statues in the gardens.
"Will they will come?" Narcissa inquired softly.
"If Izar claims they will. They will," Lucius responded in a raspy whisper.
While he had recovered from Moody's attack, his deformity had not. He was unable to wear glamours on his face just yet, for they would react toxically with the healing charms. The thick and ugly scar ran from his lips down to his groin. If he moved too quickly, he would stretch the healing skin. And when he spoke, it was no better. In order to avoid discomfort, Lucius had to whisper or murmur whenever someone addressed him.
It was a disability, but it was also a vivid reminder that he would have died that day if it hadn't been for Izar.
"Is this wise?" Narcissa pressed. "Abandoning the Manor—"
"The Manor will be fine without us, Narcissa." Lucius tapped his fingertips against the table, continuing to look forward. "As soon as we leave, they will find themselves unwelcomed by the Manor's wards. It will be here when the war is over."
Her brooding silence did not bode well for Lucius' steady confidence.
"Not only about the Manor, Lucius, but our allegiance. Are you sure we should remain with the Dark Lord? While his aspirations are grand, the Light Army has gained velocity. And Draco is enamored with that school of his; he is far too young to make decisions like this."
Lucius stared at the clock in growing displeasure. "Draco is old enough to shape his own path in life, Cissy." He caressed the wood, smiling gently. "My life belongs to Izar now. I follow where he wishes to lead me. Malfoy's do not go back on their vows." Cold silver eyes swept formally to where she stood. "And I know Black's don't either."
Narcissa pushed away from the banister as soon as the wards whirled in alarm and the front door opened. Lucius watched her calmly from the corner of his eye, taking deep inhales to compose himself. It appeared as if his guests would arrive, right on Izar's schedule.
"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, we have a warrant to search your property. If the evidence reveals to be present, you are under arrest," Shacklebolt announced his presence, stalking inside the manor with a team of Aurors behind him.
Lucius cocked his head to the side, staring at the group with barely hidden contempt. Searching the group, his sharp eyes settled on the man standing next to Shacklebolt. Alastor Moody grunted as he came into position at the front of the team, his beady blue eyes surveying Lucius in blatant repugnance. Lucius met that expression with superior nonchalance. Only his eyes delivered the cold promise of vengeance. Then again, he wouldn't be surprised if the mindless Auror was oblivious to Lucius' fevered determination.
Moody grunted, a sneer marring the unblemished face. When Lucius was through with the man, it wouldn't be so flawless.
"I see you somehow managed to wiggle yourself away from your rightful spot in the Malfoy grave," Moody growled.
Lucius stared at him coolly before turning his attention on Shacklebolt. "What is it that you're… searching for?" Blond eyebrows rose to his hairline in question.
"If we find it, you'll be the first to know." Shacklebolt motioned for his team to follow him down the steps of the manor.
Lucius took special care watching as they retreated down the staircase. It was going exactly as Izar had planned. Even to the point of frightening accuracy. They arrived at the indicated time, bringing with them a team of Aurors that were, indeed, also allied with the Order. The ones that were in the Order followed Moody and Shacklebolt down the stairs, already experts in the field of searching for the Dark Lord's Horcruxes.
And Lucius knew that the diary Izar sent him was the Dark Lord's Horcrux. Or, a fake Horcrux. Izar indicated that they were sprinkling fake Horcruxes for the Light Wizards to hunt. It was an ingenious plan. Let the lot think that they were slowly killing the Dark Lord, but in reality, he had all his Horcruxes carefully hidden. The Dark Lord wouldn't be so stupid to place his Horcruxes for others to find them.
Lucius also knew that Izar had trusted him with this valuable information. The blond wizard reassured the Black heir that he wouldn't tell a soul unless instructed to do so. He consented to a mind barrier, a fence against any Legilimens who forced their way inside his head to find any information on the Horcruxes. They would only find a blurry blockade in their quest for answers.
"I think it may be time, Cissy." Lucius stood up slowly from his position in the chair. It would not do for the Aurors who stayed behind to stun him before they could get away.
"Time for what, my dear?" Narcissa inquired, playing her part beautifully. She smiled softly, reaching out a hand to assist Lucius as he stood.
"My medication. The dressing on the wound should also be replaced." Lucius positioned a hand over his robes where the long lesion sat, feigning fatigue. "I'm afraid we may have to do so quickly, for Azkaban will not take my condition seriously."
The Aurors snickered behind him, the fools that they were. Izar had single-handedly killed twenty three Aurors yesterday in his escape of the Ministry. From what Lucius knew, Tom Marvolo Riddle was currently meeting with the press to dance his way in the public's good graces. Undoubtedly, Undersecretary Riddle was already a favorite among the public, but there needed to be more push before Tom Riddle would be elected as the new Minister and allowed the change society from the inside out.
The Ministry had been exploited by a sixteen-year-old. Riddle would have a field day picking apart Scrimgeour's lack of ability to protect not only the people of Britain but also his own powerhouse. Lucius knew the Dark Lord was nearing his goal. The public was so close to booting Rufus Scrimgeour from office, but there needed to be larger momentum to fuel their anger. And Lucius wondered what the Dark Lord… or Izar had in mind.
Before he had a chance to consider the options, there was a tremble of magic coming from downstairs. The Aurors standing near the blond couple could only ponder at the sudden explosion, their attention leaving Lucius and his wife just briefly. But Izar had urged Lucius to take that marginal second and flee.
With a heavy heart, Lucius looped his arm around Narcissa and they Disapparated from their home.
{Death of Today}
He just wanted a damn shower… really… was that too much to ask?
Izar stared at the flaming ceiling, wondering why his life was so… so fucked up. "Feel free to come down here. Anytime, really," he called to an empty room. "I'll even take a chance on you, Rufus. Or you, Albus."
He was presently hiding underneath the library table where Voldemort and he had… coupled earlier this morning. Around him, the shelves of books had self-destructed in time of the attack. Voldemort had charmed a selected few items and objects to self-destruct if there was ever a breach of security. That way, his enemies wouldn't get their hands on anything he once possessed. Other objects, the most important things, were charmed to transport elsewhere for safekeeping. It was bittersweet to watch everything go up in flames and knowing that the library wasn't the only room affected by the break-in.
From what Izar could hear, the Light Army was mingling near the front of the base and slowly disappearing. They were probably expecting Voldemort's forces to be lined up inside the base and ready to battle. Except, there were only a few Death Eaters present at the moment, and all of them were fugitives to the law. They most likely already Disapparated when the Aurors attacked, finding no reason to stay behind.
The Dark Lord wasn't even present to welcome them to his base. The man was currently out mingling with the press as his other half, Tom Riddle. Seeing his absence, Izar had decided to make the second Horcrux with Lucius' assistance despite Voldemort's anticipated disproval. Izar hadn't wanted Voldemort to hover around him when he made the Horcrux. He hated being mothered, especially by the Dark Lord.
He realized that his defiance really didn't get him anywhere this time. All it got him was a weakened body and depleted magic in the face of destruction. Well, if Lucius succeeded, Izar also accomplished another major death within Dumbledore's Order.
Currently, Izar was using all his energy to stay conscious, but other than that, he couldn't do anything else. He couldn't Disapparate, he couldn't construct a Port-key, and he couldn't put out the flames around him. Izar clenched his jaw, glaring up at the underbelly of the table. His stomach muscles clenched as he sat up and he ignored how the world spun. He didn't want to die this way. He hadn't even touched the Gaunt ring as of yet. And if he wanted to destroy it, he would have to survive the burning inferno around him.
Getting on his hands in knees, Izar crawled out from underneath the table and made his way carefully and slowly toward the exit. His limbs cried in protest, begging him to stop and rest.
Izar pressed his lips together before bursting out in laughter as he fell on his belly, unable to go any further. He stared sideways at the flames, mentally calculating the time it would take to consume him. Would he even die if he was burned?
Well, he was eager to find out.
{Death of Today}
"… do you think the Dark Lord was present?" Narcissa breathed next to Lucius, holding her neck in a gesture of vulnerability. Though, her expression was hard as she stared at the base currently up in flames. "Bellatrix as well?"
"The Dark Lord is still scheduled to be at his press conference," Lucius responded, knowing her first inquiry wasn't asked out of concern for the Dark Lord, but concern for them and their recent run from the law. As for the second request, he knew his wife held a surprising amount of admiration for her sister. "As for Bellatrix, let's hope she had enough sense to run with the others."
Lucius carefully concealed his presence within the thick forestry. He watched coolly as the Aurors and Order members slowly emerged from the base, conversing with one another before steadily leaving the scene. The wards around the base were torn and ripped apart due to the Light's forced entry. While the Dark Lord built the wards himself, there were trained professionals that dealt with wards and their properties. It didn't surprise Lucius that they were able to force their way, albeit sloppily, past the man's spellwork.
His only concern was the Dark Lord's current plan of action. By now, Tom Riddle would be alerted by the break-in. What would the Dark Lord do in response? Where would he bring his army?
"Point me, Bellatrix Lestrange!" Narcissa whispered fiercely, her wand settled in her palm.
Lucius watched from the corner of his eye as her wand spun north-east, a good distance left of the base. Next to him, Narcissa sighed softly, tightening her fingers over her wand before allowing them to relax. "Point me, Izar Black!"
Lucius blinked, pondering why Narcissa would consider tracking Izar. The boy was likely the first one out of the base or…
He paled when he watched the wand continued to circle, as if it were confused which direction to turn before it finally came to a stop. Her wand was pointing directly at the base, indicating the boy was still inside. Impossible. Izar would never be caught behind.
Suddenly, a loud crack sounded beside Lucius. He could barely track the cloaked figure as it jogged past the two blonds and toward the base. The only characteristic that made the figure identifiable was the crackling and poignant magic surrounding the man. Lucius often found himself feeling sorry for Izar and his gift of magic-sensitivity. If normal wizards and witches could sense the Dark Lord's magic, Lucius could only imagine what a magic-sensitive would feel to be constantly surrounded by someone of Voldemort's caliber.
Lucius only hesitated long enough to pull out his wand before he followed at the Dark Lord's heels. He didn't bother telling Narcissa to stay behind and keep hidden. It would have been an insult to both of them. He would never find a suitable wife in a woman who couldn't defend herself properly. Narcissa, while being the most level-headed Black out of the bunch, was still a force to be reckoned with. When there was something worth fighting for, Narcissa grew almost vicious in her attacks.
Ahead, the Dark Lord didn't even falter as a couple Aurors came running toward him. With a wave of the Dark Wizard's wand, all three of them were brutally gutted. They fell to their knees as Voldemort passed, the man never losing stride. His long black cloak snapped and flowed behind him, rivaling the appearance of approaching storm clouds. Lucius could only admire as the man phased through the flames and into the base.
The Aurors and Order members who were left behind were barely a concern for Lucius as the Dark Lord took care of any human standing in their way. The blood and gore was explicit, but Lucius wasn't a veteran Death Eater just as a result of loyalty. He was experienced in the finer art of human torture. Though, he was envious at how quick the Dark Lord slaughtered his enemies.
"Did the boy send you the diary?"
Lucius, startled at the sudden inquiry, took a moment to answer. "Yes, My Lord. He discussed it with me earlier this morning. He single-handedly manipulated Dumbledore's group to the Manor by creating a falsified owl through post."
Studying the man's stiffening shoulders, Lucius wondered if he was supposed to keep Izar's plot a secret. It was times like these when Lucius grew bemused at Izar and the Dark Lord's relationship. He knew it was a sexual relationship, something he was most pleased with. Not only because Lucius knew something the other Death Eaters did not, but because two powerful men like Izar and the Dark Lord were enticing to watch interact. However, he pondered on the depth of it.
Obviously, they hid their emotions well. But if Izar could easily compose things behind the Dark Lord's back without punishment, then their… relationship was based on more than just sex. An interesting notion, Lucius thought as he followed the man further down the corridor.
His line of thinking brought him to a complex question. Did his loyalty lean more heavily toward Izar or the Dark Lord? He owed his life to Izar, and yet, he owed his undying loyalty to the Dark Lord. For now, he was content that the two wizards were on the same side.
Fascinating… A part of Lucius pondered on a distant future. What if they were on different sides of the battlefield or if they were two Lords that had their separate armies but were both Dark? He amused himself with debating who would be the better Lord. Both Izar and Lord Voldemort had their own weaknesses and strengths.
Izar was not on the same power-level as Lord Voldemort, he never would be, and he certainly wasn't as experienced as the older wizard. Their ages varied from sixteen to… seventy? However, Izar had a prodigy mind. He was smarter, intellectually-wise, than Lord Voldemort and he learned quickly. And while the Dark Lord controlled the Dark, Izar also had a fond relationship with the wild magic. Or, magic in general. The boy created his own spells, his own inventions…
If it came down to who would win in a duel within a decade, Lucius was at odds. Would it be Lord Voldemort with his unnatural strength? Or would it be Izar's quick and intelligent mind?
When it came to charisma and seducing others to their cause, Lucius was also at loss of who would succeed. If he had to choose one, he would choose Izar. While Lord Voldemort had his strong aura and political charisma that appealed to many, the man was also intimidating and relied on fear to motivate most. Izar, on the other hand, was simply irresistible. The boy's sarcastic and dry tone would likely put others at arms-length, but only those who did not find it amusing. Izar had more of a… sympathetic note to him than Lord Voldemort.
"Foolish child," the Dark Lord hissed, bringing Lucius out of his musings. "He becomes extremely weakened after constructing one of those inventions."
Lucius' eyes only widened a fraction to show his surprise. It was obvious the man was speaking about the fake Horcrux. His words were ambiguous because of Narcissa's presence. Nonetheless, it didn't stop the concern that flared at the mention of Izar being weakened.
Before Lucius could ask how the Dark Lord knew Izar was still inside the base, he was forced to stop when the tall figure in front of him came to a halt. The further they ventured inside the base, the less populated it was of Aurors and more heavily populated by fire.
Lucius studied the Dark Lord, noticing the man was oddly still as he stared at the ground. Following the man's line of sight, Lucius blinked down at the two burned corpses. One was that of a human, its skull black with burnt skin and tissue hanging off its frame. The other was obviously a beheaded serpent… a serpent that typically shadowed the Dark Lord. What was it? Nagini?
The blond wizard pursed his lips, peering back up to discern the Dark Lord's mood at seeing his dead familiar. Only, the Dark Lord had already turned his heel and moved on.
It didn't take too long before they stumbled near the library. Lucius was quick to see the lithe form lying motionless on the ground. His line of vision was blocked by the Dark Lord as the man crouched down in front of the boy, casting his wand over the body. Lucius frowned, wondering why the secrecy. Was the boy dead?
"I…" a raspy voice started. "I can find my own way out of here… anyone but you…"
Lucius' lips twitched and he stepped away from the two wizards. He shared a look with Narcissa, not surprised to see she wasn't as humored as Lucius currently was. Trust Izar to refuse the Dark Lord's assistance.
"Fine. You wish to find your own way out, than I cannot argue," Voldemort retorted sharply. The Dark Lord, having Izar half-way in his arms, dropped the boy to the ground dangerously near the flames.
Next to Lucius, Narcissa issued a concerned gasp and moved forward to help Izar's prone body as his cloak slowly caught aflame. Before the Dark Lord could take notice of her interference, Lucius caught her around the waist, grimacing tightly as his freshly scarred wound stretched at the action. "You must trust me, Narcissa. You don't want to step between those two." He turned back to the scene, finding sick glee as he watched the two wizards stare each other down.
Izar's finely sculptured face scrunched up at the Dark Lord in both anger and determination. In turn, the Dark Lord's hooded face was bowed toward the ground in order to meet Izar's stare. By now, the flames were nearing the point of reaching Izar's body and the boy still had not made a move. Did the creation of the fake Horcruxes really take that much out of the boy? What exactly did he put into the inventions?
"Fine," Izar spat in icy defeat, his eyelids becoming heavy.
Still, the Dark Lord did not move. Lucius knew the man was waiting for more out of Izar's mouth. Despite Narcissa's cold anger at the scene, Lucius understood the complexity of it. He couldn't fault the Dark Lord's actions, simply because Izar all but asked for it as he denied the Dark Lord's assistance earlier.
"Please, help me…" the boy then hissed something unrecognizable to Lucius' ears, but it made the Dark Lord chuckle.
With quick reflexes, Voldemort doused the flames and swept Izar in his arms. From what Lucius could see, Izar allowed his head to fall on the Dark Lord's shoulder before falling unconscious.
"Lucius," the Dark Lord addressed the blond at his back. The man all but held the boy possessively, not allowing Lucius or Narcissa anymore glimpses at the Black heir. "Take hold of Narcissa." With that, the Dark Lord vanished with a quiet crack.
His parting words were met with a blank stare. But as soon as Lucius' Dark Mark began to act up, he barely had a chance to grasp Narcissa's arm before they were forced to Disapparate under the Dark Lord's discretion.
{Death of Today}
The fingers that pressed into his neck were warm, a far contrast to his ice-cold skin. Izar kept his eyes closed, knowing by the smell and aura of this man that it was Lucius crouching in front of him. The Dark Lord would label Izar's actions as foolish and unwise, but Izar disagreed full-heartedly. If Dumbledore already knew of Izar's creature-status, and Severus and Regulus, then Izar was perfectly alright with Lucius finding out.
Who knew how long Dumbledore would keep Izar's immortality a secret? At any rate, there were times when Izar trusted Lucius just as much as he trusted Regulus. And considering he saved the blonde's life, Lucius owed him a life debt. But Izar knew he would never have to worry about blackmailing Lucius with a life debt dangling over his head. Lucius was enamored with him. Ever since he was eleven, Lucius seemed to take notice of him when no one ever had.
And who knew? Lucius' knowledge of his immortality might actually benefit him one day. And it could be so fun.
Lucius pressed more firmly into Izar's neck, searching for a pulse that would never be there. It took all of Izar's restraint not to smirk or chuckle.
"I should have known," Lucius whispered softly. His fingers gently stroked up Izar's neck and across his cheekbone. "No human could be as alluring as you."
"I'll take that as a compliment, Lucius." Izar opened his eyes, staring tiredly across from him. He was laid out on a black sofa with a crimson pillow underneath his head. Next to him, Lucius crouched, his scarred mouth turned upward in quiet mirth.
"When?" Lucius inquired, his hands still lazily tracing Izar's features. His liquid silver eyes were warm and rather intense as they stared back at Izar.
Izar's lips parted, finding his arm too heavy to bat away Lucius' hand. Even if he was able to push Lucius away, he didn't know if he wanted the warm touch to cease. It was by no means sexual to him, just something calm and reassuring. What it was to Lucius, however, Izar was unsure. The man exuded sexual air all the time.
"That, I will not be divulging." Izar closed his eyes briefly. "I trust you realize this is meant to be kept between the two of us?"
Lucius gave a hum. Before he could respond in kind, the door opened. Izar kept his eyes shut, already feeling the displeasure radiating off Voldemort in waves. It was far too amusing to keep off a silly grin. Voldemort always got his knickers in a twist whenever Lucius was anywhere near Izar. It proved that while Voldemort like to boast he did not get jealous, he was insecure about their relationship and grew miffed whenever someone took a liking to Izar.
In Izar's vocabulary, that defined jealousy.
"Lucius," Voldemort hissed darkly. "While your assistance was helpful this evening, I believe Izar can rest without any additional aid."
Lucius hands moved away from Izar and the man's robes rustled as he stood. "Of course, My Lord."
Izar listened as Lucius moved to the exit. "Who was it?" Izar asked drowsily. Even without looking, he knew Lucius raised an eyebrow at his lack of explanation. "Who destroyed the diary?"
"I am unsure," Lucius responded briskly. "Both Moody and Shacklebolt arrived at the manor. Though, there were a handful of other Order members accompanying them. It could have been anyone, I just hope it wasn't Moody."
The Black heir buried his face into the pillow, smiling. "I'm almost positive it wasn't Moody, Lucius. You'll get your revenge shortly."
"I am confident things will turn out for the best," the blond continued, although, his voice was fading. "After all, the great Arthur Weasley was killed today during the attack at the base. Apparently he was the one that destroyed the Dark Lord's familiar."
A green and charcoal eye snapped open to survey the moderately bright face of Lucius before turning to the grim Dark Lord. "Nagini was killed?" his voice cracked unevenly at the end of his inquiry. He cleared his throat, closing his eyes once more. Voldemort had loved that damned serpent. Nagini had been vastly irritating, and yet, Izar had also grown an attachment to her. But he knew from the start she was bred in order to be killed.
He listened as Lucius took his leave, the blond most likely budding with barely suppressed curiosity.
"They're getting stronger," Izar felt inclined to break the silence first.
"You are being exceptionally vague today, child," Voldemort admonished. The man was silent as he closed in on Izar's prone form. The couch then dipped from Voldemort's weight before equally cold hands wrapped around Izar's neck, pulling the lithe body up by a sharp tug.
The younger wizard gave a groan of fierce disagreement as he wrapped his hands weakly around Voldemort's wrists. The hands encircling his throat did not let up, seemingly only tightening in response. Izar became slack; the only source anchoring his body in a sitting position was the hand around his throat.
"The Light Army is getting stronger," Izar whispered, still finding it hard to open his eyes. He must not have been unconscious for very long. "A group went to Lucius' manor, a second group went to the base, and I'm sure there was a group that went to Gringotts to destroy the cup in Bellatrix's vault. The Ministry and Order of the Phoenix have joined forces, finally."
Voldemort was silent for a long moment before he pressed something against Izar's lips. "Drink," the man ordered. His spider-like hands dropped from Izar's throat and encircled around Izar's waist. "It would be best if you could regenerate your strength as soon as possible. After doing something as foolish as creating another Horcrux without my supervision, you'll have to do as I say."
"You act as if that's something new," Izar quipped darkly. Nonetheless, he curled his hands around the goblet and began to drink the blood. "How did your public appearance go with the press?" he asked between swallows. "Do you think it will be long until Rufus is kicked out of office and Tom Riddle replaces him?" When he opened his eyes, he spied Voldemort's expression darkening steadily.
"Yes," the man replied simply.
Izar lowered his lids. "Who did you say was being vague today?" he asked tartly.
The Dark Lord had his mind elsewhere. His crimson eyes studied the far wall and his arm was still subconsciously wrapped around Izar's waist. A steady frown ceased both his mouth and brows, bringing attention to the darkening aura around the man. "As soon as you're able, we will be attacking Hogwarts. That will be the final push. Scrimgeour will be out of office; Tom Riddle will take over, racing to rescue the public from the Dark Lord Voldemort. And we'll change society the way it is meant to be."
Despite Izar's sluggish mind, he knew exactly what Voldemort wasn't expressing. The man was furious that his base was attacked and he was furious that the Order and the Ministry had teamed up. In the end, no matter how they looked at it, the Light had gotten stronger. Could it be possible that the Dark Lord was… concerned that taking over Britain wouldn't be as easy as he had anticipated?
It was a challenge. Certainly Voldemort enjoyed challenges more than he did an easy conquest. Then again, perhaps it wasn't about the Light growing in strength. It had been a direct insult to Voldemort that his base had been attacked. The man was taking this personally. If it wasn't for Izar's weakened state, the man would be marching to Hogwarts right now.
For once in his existence, Izar was thankful for being weak. The Dark Lord had a habit of going into something headfirst before he had time to think over his steps.
"I'm all for it after discussing a plan of attack," Izar murmured. "Although, I still have one more Horcrux to construct before I'm able to tear down Hogwarts' wards…" he trailed off, reaching down to brush his fingers against Voldemort's Gaunt ring.
The Dark Lord flinched away from the invasion. Izar stared in growing unease as Voldemort held his hand up to his face, staring at the Gaunt ring in deep consideration. The split-crimson eyes then turned in Izar's direction, gazing at his face just as intensely.
Izar sipped at his blood, wondering if Voldemort learned Legilimency without causing pain to the victim, but he knew that wasn't the case. And yet, with the intensity of his stare, Izar was beginning to falter and lose his mask.
Voldemort parted his lips in a delighted smile, reaching over to brush a stray piece of hair away from Izar's face. "Perhaps, if the Hogwarts raid goes accordingly, we will not need to construct a Horcrux."
And then Izar knew that Voldemort somehow found out about Izar's plan. Or…Voldemort had an idea. Both of which were always difficult to work with. Anything Izar said or expressed would be calculated closely and then reevaluated as the Dark Lord pieced together what he was missing. Voldemort was dangerous to dance around on eggshells. It took all of Izar's willpower not to drop into a defensive rant. Their eyes dueled penetratingly, both of them gauging the other's next move.
Izar plastered a bemused expression, keeping the goblet near his face. "I don't understand," he murmured silkily. "I thought the whole reason we were creating the Horcruxes was to lure Dumbledore toward the Gaunt ring."
"It is," the Dark Lord agreed. "But if he's destroyed during the battle of Hogwarts, there is no need to go through the process of creating a Horcrux."
Fascinating…
Izar turned, sipping at the thick liquid that replenished itself after reaching a certain volume. If what Voldemort said was true, then Izar had to look at this from a different standpoint. Seer and their visions were always subjective and could change quickly. However, if Izar treaded carefully and kept his mind open for possibilities, he was sure he could track the progress of the vision.
Earlier today, he thought he would die at the base when the Ministry attacked. But it hadn't happened. Would he die in the battle of Hogwarts? It was unlikely. But it was possible. Though… when he thought back to the vision, he remembered seeing an old shack and trees surrounding him. It had been quick and choppy, but he remembered the scene made him feel vulnerable. It wasn't Hogwarts. Which meant he still had more time. Perhaps not much, but he would make sure he would get his hands on the ring right after the battle at Hogwarts.
"Tell me," Voldemort began coolly. "What has your mind preoccupied so?"
Izar shrugged carelessly, feigning fatigue. "I just don't see why you're so protective over that damned ring. You know that we're not going to use it as the Horcrux, we're going to duplicate it." And then Izar realized an easy way to destroy the ring.
Why not have Dumbledore do it for him?
His mind ran. He could make a duplicate, but then give Voldemort the duplicate and have Dumbledore destroy the real ring. Better yet, why not make three? It would be complicated magic to construct if he didn't want Voldemort to be able to tell the difference between the rings.
"You know why I'm protective over it," Voldemort retorted.
"And you know my thoughts on resurrection." There, he said it. Let Voldemort think Izar wasn't afraid to broach the topic they were both dancing around. While his declaration might not make Voldemort change courses, it would make the Dark Lord second-guess Izar intentions and his suspicions.
"You can create the Horcrux after the battle of Hogwarts if Dumbledore still lives." The Dark Lord tracked a nail down Izar's jawline. "Until then, let's not speak of such things. They won't come to pass. My duty is to protect you."
Izar felt his lips press together before he gave a muffled laugh. "Even from yourself?"
Surprisingly, Voldemort smiled thinly in response. "I figure you have that ability if needed."
The Black heir shook his head, immensely amused at the man's response. "You're unbelievable." As much as Izar wanted to bury his face back in the pillow and sleep away the fatigue, he knew the blood he was drinking would begin to replenish his lack of energy. Plus, he still needed to take a shower. "Where are we?" he glanced around the room, changing the topic while he was at it. It was best not to keep the attention on the ring longer than needed. "Another base?"
"Yes," the man replied distractedly. "It's only temporary and it's less secure than the previous one. But it will do. Not much longer until the end."
Izar scrunched his face as Voldemort leaned forward and pressed his face in the crook of his neck. The man's fingers forcibly turned Izar's head closer to his own. "Did I mention you smell delicious today?"
Outrage burned hotly across Izar's stomach at the thought of his body giving off the odor of Voldemort. "You're a bastard!"
The Dark Lord chuckled in answer.
{Death of Today}
The twelve occupants sat lazily around the room, staring moodily at one another from the corners of their eyes. No one spoke; their concentration was on managing their cool façade and plotting clever insults they could use if they managed to slip one in during the meeting. One occupant saw this, of course, and could do nothing to wipe the smirk off his face. They all thought they were vital and entitled. And while Izar liked to think they were a driving factor for the Dark Army, they were also a mere plaything for the Dark Lord.
It had taken a handful of days to regenerate his strength. Voldemort had been overbearing, as usual. The man would thrust the goblet of blood into his hands at every opportunity he had. Izar found himself taking comfort in the bath at long hours at a time in order to get away. And there was also the unusual way Voldemort was acting. For the lack of a better word, the Dark Lord was… he was bloody clingy. Of course, this was defined as the Dark Lord's clingy. If anyone else were to act similar, it wouldn't be defined as clingy.
Nonetheless, Izar turned the other cheek, not liking the fact that the sexual tension between them was still at its highest. They had sex the day the base was attacked, which was only a few days ago. Izar refused to succumb to sexual demands. It would be long until his primal desirescontrolled him. At any rate, he didn't mind keeping his distance and making Voldemort suffer. But what Voldemort was doing was more than giving into the tension. The Dark Lord was… clingy… as if he…
Bloody hell, Izar didn't even know how to define it. It was so unlike the Dark Lord that Izar just pretended he didn't see it.
Izar straightened in his chair, crossing his legs elegantly. He stared across from him at the four Lestrange family members. Cene Lestrange sat between his two sons, looking just as bored as Izar. Next to Rodolphus, Bellatrix sat grinning. Her posture lacked the usual feminine grace most witches possessed. In its place, her shoulders were hunched forward and her forearms were resting on her legs, giving the wizards around the circle a glimpse of her generous cleavage if they so desired it.
And there were wizards who were staring in various degrees of interest. Walden McNair, for example, was openly ogling her. Next to Walden, Barty Crouch Junior tried to appear nonchalant in his assessment, but Izar could clearly see the thin smile warping the edges of his mouth, like that of a schoolboy who got caught with his hands down his pants. Of course, the most discreet individual was Evan Rosier. His hand was pressed to his mouth and he had a prime position of staring at the cleavage from the corner of his eye. Though, Izar wasn't the only one who noticed Evan's assessment. Next to Evan, his grandfather, Ayers Rosier, cleared his throat, casting an exasperated stare at his grandson.
For a moment, Izar scrutinized the Rosier pair. Ayers was one of the original Death Eaters, a mere schoolboy at the time of his pledged loyalty to Tom Riddle. They had shared a dorm together as Slytherin students. In a way, it was disquieting to be reminded of Voldemort's real age. Ayers showed his age of seventy by the heavy wrinkles and the bald head. And his grandson, Evan, was a few years older than Izar.
Izar scoffed softly. Voldemort could be his bloody grandfather. A wonderful and twisted relationship they shared, indeed.
Bellatrix picked apart her tattered dress hem at her knees, sighing before arching her back against the chair and flipping the mass of black curls over her shoulder. Her husband's bored look only intensified, if anything. Apparently, he wasn't fazed by his wife's display.
"She's a bloody siren," Augustus Rookwood whispered into Izar's ear. "Crazy bitch, but very appealing on the eyes."
"If you say so," Izar replied, his tone dry as he offered Rookwood an insufferable look.
The only two who seemed oblivious of Bellatrix's playtime was Lucius and Evelyn Mulciber. Though, the latter was reading a letter in his hands, dismissing the other Inner-Circle members with a practiced air. Lucius was sitting next to the empty chair, his eyes dancing between Augustus and Izar, ignoring Bellatrix with a decent amount of restraint. Though, if Izar had anything to say about it, Lucius' cock swung in the direction of men, no matter what beautiful blond woman he liked to hide himself behind.
Bellatrix leaned against her chair, her knees a bit too spread out for Izar's weak stomach. He was directly across from her. It was a sight he quickly averted his eyes away from. The woman tipped back her neck and laughed gleefully, breaking the sufferable silence in the room. This was all a game to her, judging from the pleased tremors in her aura.
"My dear, dear, nephew," she crooned. Rolling her neck around, the cracking of her joints was the only thing ruining the image of a seductive woman. Her dark eyes zeroed in on Izar, yet she was well aware of the other men's attention.
With a wiggle, she stood up and crossed the distance of the circle. Her long fingered hand reached out and pulled Rookwood from his chair. The man stumbled forward, bracing himself expertly before he could fall on his arse. He was left standing in the center of the circle as soon as Bellatrix took his chair.
Izar continued to gaze forward, not at all affected as his distant aunt curled an arm around his shoulders and stroked his hair. She set her breast against his arm and her opposite hand claimed his thigh. "You need a woman in your life, my sweet nephew. A real woman who can show you pleasures."
Lucius and the others were all staring openly at the scene.
The Black heir snapped his teeth in a large grin, turning to meet her hovering face. "Are you suggesting yourself?" he murmured in question. "Because, I'm certain no one could live up to my expectations quite like you can, Bella, dear," Izar returned dryly. "Your allure is just… overwhelming."
She pouted, noting his sarcastic tongue. Cupping his manhood, she squeezed the limp appendage and purred in pleasure. "Pity. Perhaps you prefer the senseless male gender over the fairer sex."
"That must be it," Izar conceded in amusement, not at all bothered by her wandering hands. Though, the black Celtic band on his finger seared fiercely. Apparently the ring did not distinguish between sexual advances from invited and uninvited suitors. "Because no one could resist you otherwise."
"Of course he's a fag," Rabastan murmured. "Have you seen his pretty face? It belongs pressed up against a mattress."
Outrage spread across the room and Izar only smiled with glee. They had gone through this once before during last Yuletide. "I already told you, Rabastan, that you do not have to act in such a disgraceful manner in order to get my attention. I'm open for invitations, love."
The older men in the circle only shook their heads in exasperation at Izar and Rabastan's interaction. Rabastan turned red, stewing in his chair across from Izar. "I'll take up that invitation," the man whispered. "I'll put that mouth of yours into good use."
Lucius hissed lowly, a heavy sneer in place. "Such vulgarity, Lestrange." The blond swept a graceful hand down his robes, as if to wipe off the filth of sitting so close to Rabastan.
Rabastan shrugged off his father's restraining hand, glowering across the space at Izar and his sister-in-law. "The brat deserves to be put to use for his intended purpose. Apparently the Dark Lord is the only one smart enough to see that."
Izar shook his head, settling against the chair in a content fashion as he watched chaos unfold. Next to him, Bellatrix leaped from her chair, but she wasn't the only one. The majority of the other Death Eater's yelled in outrage, the whites of their eyes showing in horror and rage. "You dare?" Bellatrix screeched. "You dare to spit on our Lord's image in such a fashion?"
The only others who appeared as outraged as Bellatrix were the three classmates of Tom Riddle.
"Don't act so surprised," Rabastan announced in hilarity. "He's the Dark Lord's whore. Don't you see it?"
Before the Death Eaters could curse Rabastan, a cool and collected voice spoke up. "Don't waste your time on him," Barty Crouch Jr. murmured in boredom. "It's his jealousy talking. The only reason he became a member of the Dark Lord's Inner-Circle was because of his father and brother. Black has climbed the ranks so quick, showing his genius ability, and our Lord praises him because of it. Naturally, Rabastan has drawn up fabricated excuses in order to explain Black's success."
Izar frowned doubtfully at Crouch Jr., watching as the second youngest Inner-Circle member picked at his nails nonchalantly before continuing. "Obviously Rabastan can only express his jealousy through a vulgar tongue and ridiculous notions." Barty gave a lipless smile toward Rabastan. "We should feel pity for our comrade and his insecurity, not curse him."
Rabastan was shaking, his teeth making a loud squelching noise across the room. "Jealousy? Eh? And what about you, Crouch? Our Lord doesn't cater to your hide any more like a father," the man mocked heavily, drawing a darkening expression from Barty. "Perhaps you're the one with the jealousy complex."
Crouch Junior laughed. "The difference between us, Lestrange, is that I know how to carry my jealousy with poise." The dark eyes of Barty glanced at Izar, challenging the younger with his eyes. And yet, there was a hint of grudging respect. "Besides, I give credit to where it's due. I'd like to see you try to escape the Ministry by your lonesome."
Izar offered a sharp nod to the young Death Eater, realizing it had taken a great deal of self-assurance and strength for the man to admit that in public. Barty only sniffed, going back to the mindless task of cleaning his nails.
This was what Izar wanted. When he had been first initiated into the Inner-Circle, he had been met with hostile and doubtful eyes. But with time, Izar had been able to give those cynical Death Eaters a reason to believe in his abilities. He had wanted to prove himself by himself. If his relationship with Voldemort had been public, he wouldn't have the respect he would have deserved. They all would have believed his advance in the ranks was out of sexual favoritism.
And while Rabastan was still doubtful, the others had certainly changed their perception of him. It proved to Izar that he did have the ability to impress others. It was a good learning experience for his future with—
He stopped his line of thinking, suddenly becoming ill. He didn't have a future with Voldemort. Not according to Aiden's vision.
You would if you let him resurrect you…
Izar stiffened. Before he could contemplate this issue further, the guest of honor finally showed his face. The Dark Lord strutted into the room, his expression schooled into the perfection of indifference. His hood was done, revealing his sharp features and heavy frown. Split-crimson eyes barely bothered assessing the standing Death Eaters before they settled on Izar. "What did you do this time, child?" he asked as he passed Izar's chair.
Izar only shrugged lightly, opting out of a sarcastic remark. Apparently that was out of character, for the Dark Lord faltered slightly before sitting down in his chair.
Voldemort tapped his fingers on the armrest, glancing at the Death Eaters in the middle of the circle with an air of monotony. "Be seated," he ordered darkly, watching in suppressed glee as they flinched into action. "I have gathered you here in order to discuss our plans for tomorrow. But if you had other plans in mind…"
"No, My Lord," Lucius was the one to speak up. He bowed his head forward, speaking for everyone. "We are eager to serve you and even more eager to hear of your plans."
Izar was finding it hard not to put his finger in his mouth and gag. Next to him, Bellatrix settled back down in her seat, fortunately dropping her vixen act in respect for the Dark Lord. All the other Death Eaters settled back, their expressions cleared of their earlier anger, save for a brooding Rabastan.
Voldemort assessed each and every one of his Inner-Circle members, lingering on Rabastan and Bellatrix respectively. "Our time has come to attack Hogwarts."
Silence accompanied the Dark Lord's announcement before the Death Eaters broke out into different ranges of exhilaration. Izar sat stiffly in his chair, feeling an odd sort of sensation in his stomach. He had already known what Voldemort wanted to talk about with the Death Eaters, but it just dawned on him how close it was to the end. After the attack on Hogwarts, depending on how the Dark Army did, Tom Riddle would be voted into office and the Heir of Slytherin would take over society and change it his way.
After which, there would be no war, no battles, save for any rogue Death Eaters who wanted to taste torture and mayhem once again or the groups of Light Wizards who may start a revolt.
Other than that… it was over. As much as Izar wanted to declare how revealed he was, he couldn't. For the past few years, his entire focus had been centered on fighting for Voldemort's right to rule Britain. But now that it was finally here, Izar felt disheartened.
It was over.
And the future that lay after it was so uncertain, so bleak and equally depressing.
He didn't know how the battle at Hogwarts would turn out. Hell, for all he knew, he could be wrong in his assumptions of Aiden's vision and die during the attack. Voldemort could die. Lucius could die. Bellatrix could die. The Dark Army could be crushed under the Order and the Ministry's combined forces.
Izar was unnerved, but he also knew that he had to put his focus on the present.
"Mr. Black will be a prime factor in our attack," the Dark Lord continued. "He will be unraveling the anti-Apparation wards around the castle. Once he is successful, our goal is to create havoc. Make the Wizarding World fear us. After all, Hogwarts is looked upon as the safest stronghold. Children reside here. And we will take advantage of that."
Izar stiffened, placing his hand on his chin in order to hold his tongue. Certainty Voldemort did not mean the Death Eaters should target the children?
"I want you to tear down the wards to the Common Rooms, Izar. Make the chaos escalate without a safe place to hide," Voldemort ordered, his eyes drilling into Izar's turned head. The Dark Lord gave an interested noise in the back of his throat at Izar's continued stiffness. "Do you have any reservations about that?"
Sharing a look with Lucius, Izar placed his hand away from his face and cocked his head to the side. "To put it bluntly, My Lord, yes, I do have reservations about that. I don't think it's a good idea to involve the children."
Snickers were heard around the circle, with the exception of Lucius. The blond was the only one to really have a sturdy hold over his morals. The other Death Eaters couldn't care a less about eleven-year-olds getting slain by their own hands. Izar didn't like children, Muggle children especially, but he did have a soft spot for them. And these were Wizarding children.
"Is that so?" Voldemort leaned forward in his chair, assessing Izar closely. "The children are the future, Mr. Black. If they experience firsthand how ruthless and dark this war really is, they'll appreciate Tom Riddle even more for putting a stop to it. Don't you agree?"
"A very sound and reasonable theory, My Lord," Izar admitted numbly. It was a good theory. Izar just didn't have to agree with it. And the Dark Lord was well-aware of Izar's disagreement on the topic.
"We will straighten out the details of the children at a later date, Mr. Black," Voldemort promised darkly before he addressed the group as a whole. "As for our plan of attack, I am open for suggestions. Both the Ministry and Dumbledore's group have suspicions of our impending attack. They will likely have reinforcements around the wards, lying low and waiting for us to approach."
Izar lowered his chin against his chest and his eyelids fluttered as his mind ran. He was going through possible scenarios, possible solutions, all the while, keeping an ear open to the suggestions around him. Voldemort probably had his own plan of attack; he just wanted to give off the impression he valued his Inner-Circle members' propositions.
"The traditional method is only the best method, My Lord," Cene Lestrange spoke up. "A full blown attack. Black will have the backup he needs during his moment of weakness as he tears down the wards. The Ministry will not be prepared for such a sudden and strong attack. We'll take them off-guard."
Voices of agreement flooded the room, but Izar couldn't disagree more.
"The only ones who will be taken off-guard are us," he spoke softly, continuing to look downward. Silence and tension spread thick. "The number one mistake wizards make is underestimating your enemy." Izar blinked, lifting his chin and catching Cene Lestrange's eye. "We'll be surrounded and defenseless before I can even raise a hand to the wards."
"Then what do you suggest?" Cene hissed, his upper lip rising in order to reveal yellowed teeth.
Izar tapped his fingers once against the armrest, grinning. "Why not something a bit more… flashy?"
{Notes} I felt a bit rushed with this chapter (towards the end). I had two more scenes after this, but decided the chapter was getting too long to include them. So, Lily/James and Daphne/Draco scenes will be in next chapter—setting the mood for the start of the battle. Somehow, throughout the story, I found it acceptable to change my preference for writing a perfectly good length chapter (5,000 words) to a mammoth chapter (around 8,000+ words). *Sigh* my eyes burn.
