-Warnings: Again: Blood, not-so-much gore, death, emotional stuff, and grammar mistakes. Much of those. :D
Thanks to all of you who reviewed last chapter. "How many chapters are left?" *Smirk* Well, if I told you that, I might give things away. You'll know when it's over when the end of the chapter says 'End'. ALSO, I know it's been a rocky updating schedule and there are things you (and I) might have forgotten in the course of the chapters. One thing I want to remind you of is that Voldemort's Horcruxes are not real. The only people who know they aren't real are Izar, Lucius, and Voldemort (I think…) Most of them have already been destroyed, the Gaunt Ring is the most important Horcrux in this story. Well, besides Lily's Horcrux (the only real Horcrux in the story) that no one knew about but her own son.
Chapter Thirty Five
"…you're an idiot if you think I'm going to let you do this, Hermione."
Draco pressed his back into the corner of the room, staring unseeingly at the darkness surrounding him. Just around the sharp corner and past the junk piled on top of each other, two Gryffindor's were standing in front of a piece of jewelry. A diadem, to be exact. If Draco closed his eyes hard enough, his mind could give him an accurate picture of what the diadem looked like. He spent hours staring at it after he received it from Izar. He knew the place of each sapphire and each diamond as they aligned the metal. And he also remembered exactly what it felt like.
He rolled his neck and stared up at the ceiling. The dark was getting familiar to him now. It had been almost an hour since the lights and the magic had been smothered out of the castle, leaving the building cold and eerie. The students had been in an uproar with the sudden feeling of vulnerability and witnessing the battle outside the shattered windows, but the professors had begun to transport the students out of Hogwarts and into a safe location. Now that there were no wards or magic surrounding the castle, people were free to Disapparate if needed.
It was a mess, but it was also Izar's work. Draco could think of no other who had the power to rip apart the wards of an ancient castle. The immobile staircases, the empty picture frames, the extinguished candles, everything was dead and gone. While it was difficult for Draco to see all the destruction, with the windows broken and the enchantments gone, he was also thankful… of Izar. The Death Eaters stayed away from the castle and didn't see it worth their time tormenting students when the castle was already in shambles. There would be no unnecessary deaths when it came to the students unless they were foolish enough to join the fray at the bottom of the hill.
War made him feel ill and disconcerted. The Mark on his left forearm declared his loyalty and duty to fight with his comrades. Instead, he found himself staying away. Thinking on it, Draco thought back to that morning he spoke to Izar at the Malfoy Manor during Yuletide. He had heatedly denied being a Death Eater just because Lucius wanted him to be. But naturally, like everything else, Izar was right.
Draco freely admitted that he was not meant to be a Death Eater. He still wanted to make his father proud, yes, but within the last few months, he felt as if his maturity had come to a completion. Impressing his father wasn't all that mattered in the world. His father loved him and would rather see Draco happy than doing something that made him miserable.
Lucius had a playmate with Izar when it came to battles and wars. Draco could share his father with another, especially when he already owed so much to the younger Black. But when the battles stopped, Lucius would always come back to Draco with no grudge against his son's lack of interest in the war.
Last night, Draco and Daphne had assumed they would fight in the battle. In fact, they believed it so much that they had to be comforted by the other in order to fend off the apprehension.
His cheeks reddened and he gave a wicked smirk in the dark, paying little attention to the two behind him as they bickered. Last night had been… bloody brilliant. And when this was all over, the war, the deaths, he would take the proper steps with Daphne in order to complete the courting ritual. Or, at least he intended to.
When the professors began evacuating the students, Draco convinced Daphne to leave with them. Unsurprisingly, her temper had flared and they had argued long and hard. It was only when Draco agreed to come with her that she reluctantly decided to escape Hogwarts with the others.
There was just one little errand he had to take care of before he met her in the Great Hall.
"You know… you know what happened to my father when he went after Voldemort's serpent," the boy sniffed and Draco raised his eyebrows. He had heard Arthur Weasley had died. He just hadn't known the details.
"Ron," the witch soothed. "We need to destroy this. I need to. I'm well aware of what happens to the one who destroys the Horcrux. As part of the Order, it's our duty to destroy them and, in turn, destroy the Dark Lord."
A Horcrux? What the bloody hell was that? Whatever it was, it wasn't a bloody crown. Draco might have been oblivious to what the object was, but he remembered specifically that Izar told him it was important to the Dark Lord. And that's why Draco was here.
"Why can't we bring it toDumbledore, Hermione?" the boy pressed passionately. "He never told us we had to destroy anything. He just told us to keep our eyes open for anything suspicious. When we saw Malfoy carry it in here, we were doing our duty. Bringing the Horcrux to Dumbledore is our duty. Destroying it is not our duty." The boy remained silent for a long while and Draco clutched his wand. "Please, Hermione. I can't lose you too. I already lost my father when he destroyed the serpent and Bill when he went after the cup in Gringotts. Not you too."
The girl seemed to hesitate and Draco scoffed lightly. Poor Weasel. A father and brother dead. It was war and with a family that disgustingly large, there would obviously be some casualties. The Weasley's made up half the Wizarding population, for Merlin's sake.
"A-alright," she conceded. "We'll take the diadem with us and when the battle is over, assuming Dumbledore survives, we'll bring him the Horcrux."
And… enter Draco.
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that." Draco turned the corner, watching in the dim lighting as the two jumped and pointed their wands at him. "You see, I was assigned to protect that. I can't let you walk out of here with it." For good measure, Draco locked the door leading out to the Room of Requirement. Just as quickly, he blocked Granger's hex as it came flying across the space between them.
"Please, Malfoy," she begged. "You don't understand—"
Maybe a few weeks ago Draco would be affected by her pleading. Instead, he envisioned his father's hope for the future with the Dark Lord leading the people. Her pleading resonated off his ears, affecting him very little. It was surprising that he was able to tune her out. After years of sniffing after her and imagining different futures with her, she paled in comparison to a certain blond witch.
"No, I do understand, Mudblood. Get your filthy fingers off it."
Suddenly, Weasley took the box from Granger and sprinted toward the exit. Draco blinked, scoffing at the redhead before ducking behind a pile of rubbish in order to avoid Granger's hexes. With renowned vigor, Draco took careful aim at the sprinting Weasley. In wicked anticipation, Draco threw a slicing hex, catching the boy's ankle. For a moment, he watched in wide-eyed wonder as blood splattered everywhere. Weasley went down, crying out hoarsely and clutching the stub of his leg.
"Ron!" Granger cried.
Draco leaped out from behind the pile of junk, intent on making her bleed just as well. But she wasn't standing where he'd left her. And without much warning, the pile of trinkets in front of him exploded from Granger's curse as she ran past him and toward the fallen form of Weasley. Draco barely had time to cover his head before the large pile cascaded on top of him. He hissed, blasting the objects out of his way before charging at the two Gryffindors as they neared the exit.
He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but Granger had quick reflexes. As soon as Draco was able to stand on solid ground, she whipped around, a nasty curse already leaving her wand. She was able to defend herself and remain sharp, all the while supporting a whimpering Weasley with the other arm. She was a clever and strong witch, but Draco was capable enough to meet her onslaught. After all, he'd been taught by the notorious Lucius Malfoy.
Bracing himself in a defensive stance, Draco absorbed her Expelliarmus and Cleoreso hex into his rebounding shield. It had taken him a whole year to perfect this shield and even so, this was the first time putting it to the test.
Draco gave a grunt as he expelled his arms outward, throwing the curses back at Granger. She appeared startled and taken aback as Draco succeeded in the rebounding shield. With as much dignity as she could muster, she attempted to conjure her own shield. Though, she wasn't fast enough. Draco watched as she was thrown backward, losing her wand in the process. He reached out, grabbing the flying wand and smirking as a large table full of trinkets caught Granger's fall. The witch fell unconscious, looking as if she wouldn't wake up anytime soon.
Turning to Weasley, Draco pointed both wands at the fallen boy, pausing for just a minute as he contemplated on killing the boy. He could… couldn't he? Draco hesitated, pursing his lips and his eyebrows furrowing. Years of training, years of boosting that he would be like his father, years of claiming he had killed before… they all seemed like a foolish way to waste his time. He couldn't kill like this. He couldn't. Weasley's eyes were large as he stared dumbly back at Draco. They had hated each other since First Year. How could Draco just stand there like an idiot?
Instead, Draco focused his attention on the box Weasley clutched. The two stared at one another before looking at the box the crown laid in.
"Accio diadem!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Draco grimaced as both wands were torn from his grasp, but eased when he realized they landed perfectly in between Weasley and himself. And just as well, the box the diadem rested inside spun to a stop near the two wands. It appeared as if both spells cancelled out one another, or as much as they could given the circumstances.
The only problem? Draco was standing in front of an armed Weasley, completely defenseless.
Knowing Weasley wouldn't have enough guts to kill him, Draco threw all his trepidations behind and raced toward the two wands and the diadem. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Weasley struggled to sit up in the blood-bath surrounding him.
He could make it. He could—
Oh… fuck.
Draco stopped in his tracks, staring in horror as the uncontrollable flames exploded from Weasley's wand and toward him and the diadem. The boy most likely wanted to destroy the diadem but he didn't have enough control over the Fiendfyre Curse to keep it under reign.
Draco gave a hoarse cry as he turned his heel and sprinted as quickly as he could away from the flames. Behind him, he could hear the distinctive sound of Weasley screaming. His mind was in chaos as he sobbed in distress. He didn't have a wand and he was running away from the exit. The flames were licking at his heels. He knew. He knew what this would come to. Never before had he experienced this amount of fear and terror.
At least his death would be for a worthy cause. While the Dark Lord's Horcrux had been destroyed, Draco had done his very best to protect it. Hopefully his father would see it as that much.
As the flames crawled up his robes, Draco squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his cheeks. He barely had time to imagine his family before the heat overwhelmed him and sent him in a state of obliviousness. In the darkness, he imagined himself being cascaded with cool water, a sweet reprieve from the prodigious heat.
{Death of Today}
The long and tapered hand caressed Izar's back in agonizing slowness as he and Voldemort spun around each other in order to trade places. Behind his mask, Izar smirked, well aware of the Dark Lord's possessive and overprotective manner tonight. It had to do with Voldemort's suspicions of Izar's upcoming death, but who said it hadn't already happened and Lily had been the one to save him?
No matter, now wasn't the time to think on it. He had never battled with Voldemort as his partner before. It had always been Bellatrix. And if there was one thing every Death Eater knew, it was that Izar and Bellatrix were meant to be partners. They were both in sync, they were both ruthless, and they were quick. And if one of them were shot down, it wouldn't slow the other down with an onslaught of emotional distress.
And yet, Bellatrix was trained by the Dark Lord to duel and battle. If anything, Voldemort should mirror her and be a decent partner with Izar. But he wasn't. He was better than Bellatrix. It had taken Izar a few minutes to adapt to Voldemort's style, but as soon as he adjusted, the two were able to cooperate together as if they were a single entity. Izar would easily say that thiswas the only time he and Voldemort were ever this in tune with one another for a common goal. There was no arrogance and no stubbornness getting in their way as they worked together. Together.
It was exhilarating. Voldemort challenged Izar by opening up more senses than he ever used in battle before. With Voldemort, Izar found himself being distinctively attentive of the man's actions at his back. He was aware of the wizards wanting to attack Voldemort at all angles, even the cowardly ones who lunged at the Dark Lord's blind spot. It may have been a downside to dueling with Voldemort for that very same reason, but the Dark Lord made up for it by being just as aware. If Izar ever stopped the enemy coming at Voldemort's vulnerable side and failed to see a curse coming in his direction, the Dark Lord would somehow be able to stop it before it even reached Izar.
Another positive attribute about being partners on a battlefield with a Dark Lord was that the prey approached them. They were drawn to the Dark Lord like a moth to flame. It should have been the other way around, with Aurors too frightened to approach the Lord, but they were smart enough to realize that if they destroyed the leader, then they destroyed the army.
Too bad they didn't realize the Dark Lord was being protected by a magic-sensitive.
Izar threw his elbow back, attempting to connect it with an Auror's face. He considered the current battle. It wasn't like anything Hogwarts taught at school. Sure, professors would organize dueling tournaments or in-class demonstrations, but no one ever broached the topic of war. There was no respectful distance opponents gave each other, there was no etiquette as one waited for the other to take their turn casting curses, and there definitely wasn't a professor standing close by, alert and ready in case someone were to get injured.
Instead, bodies littered the ground. So much that Izar found himself having to pay closer attention to where he stepped. The toe of his boots would sometimes land in a corpse's face, catching him off balance and sending both his and the Dark Lord's rhythm off balance. Izar found it bitterly ironic that the corpses on the ground were an overwhelming sight for some and only an inconvenience for others.
The distance between opponents was also something professors hadn't warned the students about in the classroom. Presently, there was barely a foot between everyone as they swam threw the swarm of bodies and sought their next opponent. It was an endless sea of chaos, an overcrowded flock of wizards who could all but reach their enemy with a touch of their fingertips. It came down to who had the quickest reflexes and the best defensive spells. It was also about the wizard who could create a larger perimeter around himself. The larger the perimeter, the more free range he was granted with and the better chance of not being caught off-guard.
And too, the close-range fighting meant that physical combat was needed on occasion.
Izar's eyes widened as his arm was taken by the Auror he intended to elbow in the face. Apparently he had to pick better targets when he decided to fight physically. This wizard had combat skills. Most definitely.
The man swiped at his legs quickly, twisting around Izar's arm in place, snapping it. The Black heir grinned bitterly as he dropped to the ground. He only avoided the Killing Curse by rolling away and flushing his body up close and personal to Voldemort's earlier victim. Through his mask, Izar considered the corpse, noticing the gruesome and quick way Voldemort had killed his prey. The Dark Lord had grown bored of the Avada Kedavra about five Aurors into the battle and decided to try his best at killing creatively.
Izar pondered if the Dark Lord really was as bored as he claimed with the Killing Curse, or if he had just wanted to try to impress Izar with his show of power and inventiveness.
"I'm not impressed," Izar growled up at the Dark Lord as the man gutted the Auror whom Izar had earlier battled with. "You keep taking my kill!"
Red eyes briefly appraised his sprawled out form before turning to his next opponent. "I apologize, I should have known by your current position that you had things under control."
Smart arse. Izar pushed himself up fluidly and pressed himself against the Dark Lord's back as a French man charged at him. He easily batted away the man's attacks, both irritated and amused with Voldemort. The Dark Lord was piling up his body count with ridiculous ease. Half of the bodies were because he kept a close eye on Izar's prey, waiting for the younger wizard to weaken them before jumping in and slaughtering them with a simple wave of his wand.
It was simple entertainment for the Dark Lord, and an endless cycle of exasperation from Izar's perspective. Though, he understood the man's need for amusement. These wizards battling him were just nuisances. They weren't real threats to a Lord of Voldemort's caliber. If most of them were easy for Izar, then he could only imagine what Voldemort was feeling. Dumbledore was Voldemort's only source of challenge and Izar found that hard to swallow.
He wondered what it would be like to duel Voldemort. Would he hold up longer than the Aurors were currently? Izar liked to think so. He had improved vastly and was even able to hold his own against Dumbledore. He wanted to experience dueling Voldemort and he wanted to be able to do it without making a fool of himself.
The man's magic was overwhelmingly tantalizing. Despite the cold atmosphere with the strong winds and constant snowfall, the Dark Lord seemed to radiate a muggy heat that warmed the perimeter around him. There was no snow beneath their feet, nothing but blood, gore, and intoxicating power that assumed the form of knee-depth fog. Izar could only invoke fabricated dreams of being as powerful as Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore.
Experiencing a bout of intense jealousy, Izar snarled, bending the French wizard's knee backward and taking a step forward for the kill. Only, Voldemort reached over Izar's head and took aim, exploding the man's chest from the inside out.
Rage colored Izar's vision and he gave a sound of immense displeasure. "If you keep taking my kills, I'll be extremely unhappy because I haven't worn off my repressed energy. You don't want to deal with me when I'm like that." He irritably brushed away his jealousy, knowing full-well that's what caused wizards to go mad. They strived to be something they weren't, that they couldn't possibly be. And their failure ended up destroying them.
"I know exactly what you can do to remedy that pent-up energy," the man implied huskily. "And it has nothing to do with the battle."
Izar scowled. "As if I would give you the satisfaction, you bloody bastard."
"It would be far more productive and enjoyable than this," he continued as if he hadn't heard Izar. The tall man then bowed, intentionally causing a curse to fly past Izar's ear.
Not even hesitating, the younger wizard threw up his arm, swinging it around and batting the curse back over Voldemort's head. He exhaled loudly in satisfaction when he heard the sound of an Auror issuing a startled and pained cry. Casting an exasperated look at Voldemort, Izar turned back around. "Don't flatter yourself."
A pleased chuckle escaped from the Dark Lord as he slowly slithered around the Black heir, pressing a hand against Izar's back. "I enjoy playing with you, child. Your presence will always be a source of enjoyment for me."
Izar smiled grimly behind his mask, unable to resist catching the split-crimson eyes with his own. He didn't get a chance to retort, for a desperate cry sounded besides them. Both wizards turned, watching as a red-faced Order member came charging at them, his eyes wide and deranged. Izar and Voldemort turned back to one another, pondering, before both stepping aside and causing the wizard to run past them. It wasn't long before a cackling Bellatrix came running after the Order member, her eyes just as wide and deranged as her target.
Izar barely had time to comprehend the situation before his wrist was taken by Bellatrix. He was pulled away from Voldemort, not pleased with the sense of vulnerability washing over him the further he distanced himself.
"Thank you, my dear," Izar crooned in gratitude as he followed his distant aunt. He was extremely pleased that Bellatrix pulled him away. Not only had he found himself being consumed with Voldemort's power, but he had also found himself becoming reliant on the solid body beside him. It was not a smart thing to become accustomed to, especially in the midst of battle. While it was true that they were particularly well-paired partners, it wasn't Izar's character to rely on someone so heavily.
She looked back at him, her dark eyes briefly revealing understanding before they brightened into one of excitement as she chased her prey. Izar followed, noticing the Order member they were chasing had no wand on him. Smirking and feeling his adrenaline rise to heightened levels, he followed in hot pursuit, finding it just as pleasing to attack the surrounding wizards on the run.
{Death of Today}
Lucius narrowed his eyes into the roaring winds, bracing himself against the environmental elements as he stared at Alastor Moody. It seemed like it had taken years to make his way through the thick crowd before he finally reached the man who had disfigured him—who had almost killed him.
Powerful in his own right, Moody had quite the pile of lifeless Death Eaters lying at his feet. Seeing his comrades so distastefully disposed of, Lucius raised his wand opposite of Moody's turned face and fired. The distracted Auror barely had time to fend off his other opponent, let alone block Lucius' curse. The spell caught Alastor's left eye. Lucius could only stare in suppressed elation as the Auror's eye came out from his socket and bounced once at his feet. Yes, Lucius' hit had been cowardly, but he so wanted to see Alastor as disfigured as himself.
For all their past duels, Lucius had been the underdog. Moody had been the one who held the upper hand. But not this time. This time, Lucius' need for revenge warmed his reflexes and improved the quickness of his wand. He was prepared to battle Moody until one of them could no longer duel.
Surprisingly, Moody only let out a howl of pain, squeezing his eyelid closed past the fountain of blood before finishing his duel with a Third Tier Death Eater. Before the Death Eater even hit the ground, Moody lunged toward Lucius, spitting curses in rapid succession. Lucius was in a state of controlled determination as he avoided the string of curses and even returned some of his own past his powerful shields.
This continued, as per usual. Neither of them was giving in to the other's traps or manipulations. Lucius had seen this all before, knowing and predicting exactly what Moody would do next—and vice versa. It was this reason why Lucius had decided to alter his tactics.
He remembered watching Izar duel before and he had also heard about the boy taking Dumbledore by surprise in their last duel. The Black heir truly was a remarkable dueler, especially toward opponents who challenged him. Izar did not go for the immediate kill, or a show of power, instead he used finesse and grace, all the while lulling his enemy into a false sense of confidence. It was almost as if Izar made his enemy comfortable with the pace of the duel before taking an abrupt change of course toward the end.
Also, Izar rarely ever gave into emotion when he dueled. The boy had a logic-framed mind. He was a man of theory and knowledge. Many say that those who wield the Dark Arts are more powerful when they experience emotion behind their attack. And while that may be true, it was also a downfall to dueling. One could become too clouded to enjoy what the art of dueling could really offer, a beautiful dance of the wits.
A Killing Curse followed after Moody's growing impatience and short temper. Lucius planted the toe of his boot into the snow before pivoting backwards, slashing his wand in front of his body and easily dodging the Avada Kedavra. His modified slicing hex left his wand, aiming toward Moody's head before taking a sharp dive and nearing the man's legs. As soon as Alastor diverted his shield to cover his legs, Lucius directed another slicing hex toward the man's face.
While his original hex was blocked, his second one almost caught Moody around the neck. Lucius seethed as the man maneuvered his body in a way that avoided his curse entirely. The only body part that wasn't as lucky was the tip of the man's nose. Watching as the appendage fell to the ground, Lucius snapped his heels together, trying to rein his frustration.
"No matter what you try to do, boy, you will never win," Moody barked. "Neither you or your army." The man gave a crooked smile. "I'm half-blind and I'm still holding the upper hand."
And then Moody caught Lucius' elbow, exploding the joint. The blond cried out, clenching his teeth together with a mind-numbing force. His hand fell limp and he could barely keep a hold of his wand. His head bowed as he stumbled to avoid another Killing Curse from Alastor.
Think like Izar.
His temper was flaring, but he knew as soon as he let it go, this duel would end up like all the others; either in a stalemate or him on the ground. Moody was relying on Lucius to act out of rage, like he always did, but he wouldn't allow himself to stoop to that level.
Izar, he—
Lucius' mind froze and all he could remember was Bellatrix informing him about the duel between Dumbledore and Izar. More specifically, what Izar had done to catch the old Headmaster off-guard. The old man likely underestimated Izar, and in turn, Izar had taken him by surprise by a mirroring shield at the man's back.
Sending a silent apology toward Izar for stealing the boy's knowledge, Lucius bowed his shoulders forward, a show of fatigue. No Malfoy would ever show his weakness unless it was warranted. Moody knew this and Lucius took advantage of it. He barely avoided another Killing Curse before flicking his wand to the right, casting a nonverbal spell near Moody's head and intentionally missing. After all, his wand arm was essentially shattered at the elbow.
Moody paid no heed to the missed curse behind him and advanced closer. Lucius took a step back, almost salivating at the thought of ensnaring Alastor into one of his traps. He would only need to sacrifice his pride for a few moments and be on the defensive.
Shields were the only thing he could conjure. He made certain to cast off-course curses every once and a while, noticing Alastor had begun to get comfortable with Lucius' off-aim.
As soon as Moody's fourth Killing Curse brushed hotly past Lucius' cheek, the blond finally resorted to the last step in his ploy. He cast another nonverbal spell, this time, it was the mirroring shield that sped past Alastor's shoulder and took residence behind the old Auror. Lucius tried not to observe it for too long, not wanting to draw attention to it.
Alastor's eyes narrowed and he approached Lucius at a quick speed, his wand poised and ready. The blond knew what was coming and he knew he wouldn't be able to dodge it in time. With a calm and steady hand, he aimed over Moody's shoulder and sent the strongest nonverbal severing hex he could conjure past the man and toward the mirroring shield.
"Avada Kedavr—"
Lucius' eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat at the nearly completed curse. Only, the old Auror hadn't completed. A deafening squelching sound echoed in Lucius' ears and thick rivulets of blood squirted at him, covering him head to toe in crimson liquid. He flinched for a quick second, startled at the sensation of blood seeping past the holes of his mask and staining his face. Gore was nothing new to him, but he hadn't been expecting his curse to hit Moody so accurately. He had been taken unaware.
He straightened his shoulders and back, standing tall and proud over the fallen figure of Alastor Moody. His pale eyes assessed the twitching form of the Auror, observing the damage. The man's body was cut in half at the torso, sending shock-like twitches across Moody's body as his spinal cord failed him.
Lucius smiled thinly behind his mask, making certain he was the last thing Alastor saw before he died. The notorious Auror glared spitefully at Lucius with one eye before his chest stopped all movement.
Before Lucius had time to absorb his achievement, a loud explosion sounded behind him. He whirled around, staring at the castle in puzzlement. Wizards in green were attacking the castle exterior, trying to create as much destruction as possible. Lucius knew they were the French army. Or, should he say the Dark Lady's forces? Minister Scrimgeour was a fool for allying with Lady Marjolaine. Yes, it got him extra numbers, but it was clear that the Dark Lady had her own agenda. She wanted Britain to herself. She wanted the Dark Lord.
Lucius took a few steps back, observing the battle. Despite his recent accomplishment, he realized that the Death Eaters were on the losing end. They were greatly outnumbered and they were losing numbers quickly. He also noticed a shift of direction. Earlier, the battle had started off as a close-knit crowd, now it was greatly spread out across the grounds of Hogwarts.
He caught sight of two Death Eaters racing toward the French and knew instantly that it was Bellatrix and Izar. Interesting. The last time he caught sight of Izar, he had been battling with the Dark Lord. The two had made an incredible sight. It was a pity they were no longer in the center of the battle together. Though, the Dark Lord wasn't too far behind Izar now.
Lucius wiped his wand on his robes, smearing the blood away. He slowly made his way toward the trio of Dark Wizards, giving a quick glance at the dark castle. Certainly Draco had fled with the rest of the students and was no longer in any immediate danger.
It gave him vast strength knowing that his family was safe.
{Death of Today}
Izar leaped over a fallen body and cut the throat of an unsuspecting victim a few yards away from him in midair. He smiled broadly as the Frenchman went down. He wasn't going for finesse right now. He was going for a total body count. And he was doing so on the run.
He sprinted up the hill, chuckling quietly as Bellatrix skipped in between her strides. Her black dress was tattered near the hem and revealed a bit too much when she ran. Her wild curls flew in every which direction as she ran with the wind. In all ways, her appearance mirrored her wild and untamable aura. Izar enjoyed watching her magic dance around her in short and choppy waves.
Bellatrix gave a cry of delight as she gutted a female witch, twirling around like a little girl would after receiving a prize. Izar only ran past her, sending his invented Abrumpo toward the group of French wizards who were currently destroying the school. The fire-like worm slithered up the hill faster than Izar's current pace and sought after its victims. He had given the Abrumpo some altercations to make it last longer than one victim and was interested to see how many it could take down.
The curse weaved across the crowd of French wizards, cutting off as many feet as it could encounter before it was stopped by a blasting hex. Izar counted a total of ten that went down, their feet severed from their legs.
"Don't get too cocky," a voice reprimanded from behind him.
Izar clenched his jaw. "Shouldn't you be dueling Dumbledore?"
"My enemy approaches me, not the other way around," the Dark Lord replied tartly, stalking Izar from behind.
The Black heir brushed off the Dark Lord's attempts at luring him into an argument before turning back to his current dilemma. A group of French wizards sprinted toward him, curses flying. Izar smiled widely, running up the hill to meet them. Skillfully avoiding the curses sent his way, Izar took a leaf from Voldemort's book and charmed the hill beneath their feet to turn to ice. He planted both heels into the blanket of ice and thrust both hands out to the sides.
"Tetendi laqueus," Izar intoned deeply. A glowing grey line stretched from both of his hands and parallel to the French wizards as they slid down the ice. He made sure the taunt spell was low enough to the ground so the wizards couldn't avoid it. With wicked glee, he watched as the spell acted as a sort of sharp wire and severed the bodies sliding into it. The majority of the wizards had their heads decapitated, but others ran into the wire-like curse feet first. Those deaths weren't as clean as the others.
One Frenchmen was headed right toward Izar with breakneck speed. As quickly as Izar could, he leaped from the ground. His jump successfully broke the Laqueus and freed his wand arm. He could have just jumped and let the Frenchman past him. But in doing so, he would be giving Voldemort a free kill. And Izar was not in the mood to be generous.
As the startled Frenchman slid beneath Izar in mid-jump, the Black heir brought back his wand and slashed it across the man's face. "Animus Lapis!" His invented curse hit the man in the face just before he slid past Izar.
The young Death Eater landed on the ice in a crouch, turning to observe over his shoulder. The spell began taking affect, stiffening the man's limbs and making him appear like a rigid statue as he spiraled down the icy hill. And as soon as the Frenchman came in contact with Voldemort's feet, his body shattered into pieces. Just like Avery's had when Izar had first tried his spell out.
Izar stood, staring smugly at the Dark Lord. The man smiled thinly from beneath his deep hood, reluctantly appearing impressed. But the smile vanished quickly and deepened into a dark scowl. Around the Dark Lord, the man's aura flared hotly, taking Izar by surprise. It wasn't until Izar felt the approaching aura behind him that he understood he was being targeted. Before he could react, Voldemort beat him to it as he thrust out his arms, releasing a powerful surge of magic.
Pulling his wits together, Izar quickly crouched down to his heels, avoiding Voldemort's magic as it rushed over his head and collided with the string of fire that had been headed in his direction. The younger wizard exhaled in surprise as he felt the two curses collide, sending profound shockwaves across the immediate area. Voldemort's spell had absorbed Dumbledore's curse completely, leaving the two powerful Lords standing across from one another.
Izar, knowing when he wasn't useful, stood up slowly and took a few steps away from the two wizards. Dumbledore seemed to inch ever so slightly in the direction of Izar, but Voldemort batted him another curse the old man had to take care of.
"Keep your attention on me, old fool," Voldemort hissed, diverting Dumbledore's attention away from Izar.
Dumbledore easily sent Voldemort's jinx off-course and sent his own back. With his wand as a mere prop, the Dark Lord crossed his forearms in front of his body and braced himself against the curse. When the gold magic hit him, Voldemort seemed to cup and cradled it towards his body, curling himself over it as if he were pained. Voldemort then flung his arms out, giving a roar and releasing the magic. It seemed to have grown double in size at it spiraled toward the old Headmaster. The once gold magic was now tarnished silver with minuscule orange flames licking at the edges.
Izar could only stare. He had only seen Voldemort and Dumbledore duel from a distance, never this up close and personal. And he had never seen Voldemort in this state before. Rumors were that Voldemort was powerful, and others could feel the man's aura at times. But Izar had never really experienced Voldemort's full potential. It was exhilarating to see.
The Dark Lord's cloak whipped actively around him and the snow beneath the man's feet began to melt. By now, Voldemort's hood had fallen back, revealing bright crimson eyes and an expression only other Lords could stand opposite of.
Izar's chest warmed in fascination and he reluctantly continued to back away. This wasn't his duel. No matter how much his curiosity wanted him to stay and observe he had others to deal with. At any rate, he had to remind himself that these were Lords. They didn't favor magical theory as much as they did raw magic. Izar could never match them in strength, but he did have enough reflexes and magical intelligence to be on par.
He turned away from the two wizards and continued up the hill. Who he saw standing in his way surprised even Izar.
"Minister," he greeted slyly.
"Izar," Rufus responded tightly. The man had recognized him even with the mask on. His yellow eyes surveyed Izar briefly before looking beyond his shoulder. "Remarkable duel."
Izar glanced quickly at Voldemort and Dumbledore as they exchanged curses with remarkable speed. He turned back toward Rufus, bored. "Probably not as remarkable as the destruction your allies are inflicting on Hogwarts. Now that is remarkable." As soon as the words left his mouth, another explosion sounded from the castle. Izar taunted the stiff Minister with his eyes. "What's the matter, Minister? Things not going your way?"
Rufus snapped to attention. "We're winning. And that's exactly what I had planned."
Izar gave a deep noise of consideration. "Until the public learns that you enlisted the help from a Dark Lady in France, who, by the way, can't control herself from trying to take over Britain and is currently destroying the home of countless of students. Yes, Rufus, you are ingenious." Izar twirled his wand in between his fingers. "I'm impressed with your aspirations—"
"I will merely blame it on you and your army. After all, it was you who tore down the ancient wards of Hogwarts. By now, most the students inside Hogwarts have already escaped to safe-zones and will not be attacked by the French. No harm done. Only a few minor construction repairs and Hogwarts will be back up and running." Rufus took a single step toward Izar. The wind played with his curly mane, acting as a veil from his penetrating stare.
Izar smiled, pleased with Rufus' engrossed stare. "I think a part of you realizes that you're not going to win this time, Rufus. It's the only thing I can think of to explain your complete lack of common sense. You're usually more intelligent than this."
Rufus frowned deeply, raising his wand toward Izar. The Black heir stood calmly, enjoying the snow and strong winds coming in his direction. "Why don't you use your magic-sensitivity?" Rufus demanded sharply.
The Death Eater raised his eyebrows, surprised at the question. "Please, expand."
Rufus twisted his gloved fingers on his wand, searching Izar closely. "You could be invincible if you used your magic-sensitivity against your enemies. You can deplete them of their magic and strike them down when they're the most vulnerable. You could even destroy Dumbledore within seconds. Why don't you?"
It was a question Izar had never been asked before; and certainly not asked with an air of desperate curiosity. It was if Rufus was trying to figure him out. Izar didn't know what he felt about that. Simply because he believed he was too complex for even himself to understand. "I once read that to educate a man in mind and not in morals is to educate a menace to society. I'm not trying to destroy and conquer the world, Minister. I'm only trying to satisfy my boredom and seek challenge."
Rufus remained motionless, his brows furrowing as he stared piercingly at Izar. "I don't believe that," the man whispered. If it were any other human standing across from the Minister, they wouldn't have been able to hear him through the wind. "I don't believe you," Rufus raised his voice. "I think you have a remarkable set of morals, Izar. They're only turning sour with the company you keep."
"Every monster has their own set of morals, Minister. No matter how buried they are." Izar swept a hand toward the Dark Lord. "You just haven't discovered them yet."
Before Rufus could respond with another plea for Izar to discover his humanity, cracks of Apparation sounded around the grounds of Hogwarts. The two turned, shock on their faces when they realized who had finally shown their faces.
The Unspeakables.
"No…" Izar whispered, dreading the worse. They would have to retreat. Already, they were outnumbered. With the Unspeakables here, they would be overwhelmed by the forces. They would have to end the battle early and hope Tom Riddle had enough sway with the public to take office. Otherwise, this war would be far from over.
Yet, Izar spied the leader of the Unspeakables and recognized the burly man as Owen Welder, his old boss. The orange-haired man shouted, giving the signal for the rest of the Unspeakables to attack. Izar watched in barely hidden fascination as the Unspeakables began attacking the French and the Ministry with both combative skills and inventions. Remarkable.
Izar remembered his discussion with Owen that night at the Ministry. It seemed like ages ago, but Izar remembered it well. It had been after the Unspeakables created the doomsday invention that would drain the Death Eater's magic. Owen had been irate to know the Minister went behind his back and put together a group of Unspeakables to create it. The Head Unspeakable was also peeved at Scrimgeour for rearranging the Department of Mysteries and cutting projects.
Izar had told Owen if he wanted to fix things, he had to take an active part. Apparently the man was taking Izar's words to heart. The Unspeakables were for Riddle and they also wanted their Department back.
Slowly, Izar turned and smiled widely at Rufus, only disappointed that the man wouldn't see it from behind his mask. "That is what happens when you don't have total control over your subordinates." Izar chuckled. "And never fuck with the Unspeakables' inventions."
Rufus appeared shocked, his eyes taking in the Unspeakables as they actively defended Hogwarts and the Death Eaters. With the eager vigor the Unspeakables brought with them, the Death Eaters seemed to liven up and begin to dominate over the battle.
"Izar..."
Izar whirled around at the hissed call, narrowing his eyes on the Dark Lord as he battled Dumbledore and… her. While Voldemort had his attention on Dumbledore and Marjolaine, Izar knew the man had been the one to call his name in Parseltongue. To know that the Dark Lord was willingly passing Marjolaine to Izar made him feel oddly… hell… he wasn't going to finish that train of thought.
Pulling off his mask and hood, Izar threw the gold-plated mask on the snow and took a few advancing steps toward Rufus. As he got within distance, he grabbed the man around the collar thrusting the Minister closer. Their hair and cloaks entwined together in the fierce winds, bringing more intensity in their embrace then necessary.
"Why try to distract me, Rufus?" Izar whispered hotly. He finally realized why Scrimgeour had been so talkative during battle. The man was trying to give Dumbledore and Marjolaine a greater chance at destroying Voldemort without anyone assisting the Dark Lord. "Do you really think I'd be blind to the Dark Lord's situation?"
Rufus lifted a lip. "I couldn't care a less about the Dark Lord. I don't want you in the crossfire."
The declaration caused Izar's fingers to slacken around Rufus' collar. A horrible sensation weighed heavily in Izar's belly when he realized Rufus didn't want him to be killed. "You're an idiot," Izar snarled, pushing the Minister away along with his conflicting emotions. He reached out, making a pinching gesture with his thumb and index finger.
Rufus went down to his knees in horror as his magical core was pinched. He didn't scream like the others, but his breathing came out in gulps and his face turned white.
"Let me make a suggestion to you," Izar murmured, bending down low to stare at the man in the eye. "Run as far and as fast as you can after Tom Riddle becomes Minister. Because I'm not as amiable as you. I will hunt you down and kill you if you stick around."
Letting go of Rufus' magical core, Izar turned his heel and made his way toward Marjolaine. His perplexing emotions fed his adrenaline and gave him a necessary high to face her. Everything from today's battle came to a head as he watched Voldemort stumble from his strong stance. The Dark Lord fell backwards, unable to defend himself with the double attack. His jaw clenched as he pushed himself back up, a murderous rage in his eye.
Izar took aim at Marjolaine as she brought back her hand for another hit on Tom. "Funis." The glowing rope curled sharply around Marjolaine's right arm. With a sadistic tug, Izar pulled his wand back, and snapped her arm backward. She roared as her arm twisted under the manipulation of his spell. Before Izar could do much damage, the Dark Lady severed the line, growling beneath her breath. Though, as soon as her sharp eyes caught his form, she released a loud laugh.
"You! The Dark Lord's lover!"
"Izar Black," he corrected her darkly. "Though, I'm flattered you remembered me."
"You're just a pretty accessory, dear," she taunted. "Just like everyone else on this battlefield."
He clenched and unclenched his fingers around his wand. This was the woman who treated Izar like a pawn during the Triwizard Tournament. This was the woman who had destroyed Acelin Morel's life and his daughter's life. This… was exactly how a Dark Lady should be. And Izar was eager to show her that he was more than just a pretty obstacle between her and Voldemort. He was a threat. And he didn't take kindly to people thinking he was nothing.
She slowly moved away from Voldemort and Dumbledore as they dueled and set her sights on observing Izar as if he were a remarkable specimen. He observed her back, pondering on his plan of attack. It would have to be controlled, for certain, but it would also have to be similar to his past duel with Dumbledore. Careful, logical, and planned.
He looked into her honey-brown eyes, marveling at their color. She was a Veela, he had to remind himself. Her loose blond hair fell past her shoulders in silky waves and her skin seemed to radiate a soft glow. But her looks were nothing compared to her proud posture and alluring aura.
With his sudden reminder of her creature status, Izar slowly began to piece together a solution to his duel with Marjolaine. Being a creature instantly gave that individual an advantage and disadvantage. They had power, but they also lost control. And the creatures who were notorious for their tempers were vampires and Veelas. Veelas with their cruel-beaked bird heads and long scaly wings bursting from their shoulders. And above all else? The ability to launch fire from their hands.
Oh, yes… Izar purred in his mind, a wicked plan forming. To many, they would consider a Veela in that state as a threat. But to others, like Izar, they would see it as opportunity to take advantage. The only complication was trying to get her to lose control.
"You truly want to challenge me, sweetie?"
Izar's eye twitched and he had to remind himself that he was wasn't the one who had to lose control. She would undoubtedly try to use his immortal age of sixteen to her advantage. It was a touchy topic for Izar but he couldn't let her know that.
Bending his knees and planting his feet into the snow, Izar prepared himself for the fury of a vain woman. "As long as you can keep up… old hag."
Her brown eyes widened comically before she lashed out. Izar jumped away from his position, just in time to avoid the explosion that struck the snow next to him. He raised his arms above his head, laughing as he twirled his wand in lazy spirals. The snow began to spiral above him in a small tornado-like blizzard. Izar threw his arm down, causing the funnel cloud to encircle around him. His vision was blocked from the outside world as he quickly duplicated his body and then cast a silenco on his own body.
Keeping the funnel activated, Izar silently Disapparated from outside the funnel and appeared directly behind Marjolaine. She was oblivious to his presence as she attacked the funnel cloud, revealing Izar's duplicated body lying on the ground after the snow cleared.
"All too easy," she boasted.
Izar muffled his chuckle. Lords, or, in this case, Dark Ladies and their arrogance always amused Izar. Truly, being underestimated was probably the best thing to happen in a duel. He bounced on the balls of his feet, his wand mimicking the gesture Voldemort had once used. He placed it to the underside of his chin and glanced at Marjolaine from beneath lowered lashes.
"Yes, I agree. All too easy," Izar drawled pleasantly.
As soon as Marjolaine turned toward him, Izar breathed fire. It took the form of a hunting bird, its wings wide and plentiful as it lunged at her. She batted at it, but not quick enough. The fire ate at her face and hair, turning the beautifully spun blond locks into a charred mess. She screamed in fury and pain, a clear sign of her unstable control. With the fire put out, Marjolaine snapped her neck around to seethe at Izar. She was all but foaming at the mouth.
"Old… and now ugly. What are the chances?" Izar mocked. Her raw face darkened and a shadow of a beak appeared on her face. "All at the hands of a pretty and young accessory." Izar gave her a blinding smile. "How humiliating for you."
"Retreat!"
The commanding voice wasn't Voldemort, so Izar could only assume that the Ministry was retreating. Cracks of Disapparation sounded soon after the command. The Ministry, the French, and the Order were leaving, which only meant that the Dark Army had prevailed. It was a short-lived victory, for Marjolaine was far from over with their duel. Izar felt a bit smug for having had the ability to anger her enough to stay here, past the conclusion of the war.
She bared her teeth and attacked him with vigor. He danced away from as many hexes and curses as he could, but one of them hit him directly in his chest. He was forced off his feet and thrown carelessly off the edge of the cliff. He was falling down toward the large lake below, and before he hit the frozen lake, he saw Marjolaine jump over the cliff to follow him.
Her face was now transferred into that of a pissed off Veela. But her wings had yet to come out and there was no fire coming from her hands. Pity. Izar hadn't pissed her off enough.
He landed on the rocky shore of the frozen lake, exhaling nosily as one of the rocks pierced his back. For just a second, he stared up at the high cliff he fell off. It would have killed anyone. And luckily, the only person who saw his descent was Marjolaine herself. And she already knew he was immortal.
Prying himself off the sharp rock, he grimaced when he felt the abrasion slowly begin to heal. He barely got to his knees before she landed next to him, continuously firing curses. Izar jumped away from them, finding himself standing on the ice.
"You're nothing but a little boy," she snarled and caught Izar across the chest with piercing jinx.
He clenched his jaw in a grimace as he watched thick blood drip on the ice in front of him as well as behind him. A hole, the size of a Muggle bullet, pieced his chest. But like most wounds, it began to close with only a minimal amount of discomfort.
He wondered if he had pissed her off just enough to ignite a more powerful urge to kill him rather than the urge to lose control. Bloody hell. How many stages of rage did one go through before they lost control?
Suddenly, the ice exploded beneath his feet, sending him into the chilly depths below. He withheld a sigh of exasperation as the ice closed above him, trapping him underneath. He supposed he would find the many stages of rage as soon as he found a way out of this.
{Death of Today}
Lucius felt an overwhelming sense of liberation and exhilaration as he watched the last of the opposition Disapparate away. He spun around, a goofy smile on his face. The dead bodies littering across the grounds of Hogwarts couldn't even put a damper on his mood.
They had won. They had won. Now the last step to completion was putting Tom Riddle into office so the man could make Britain a safe place once again. The public will love him. They would accept the changes he would make with society just because he would put a stop to all these attacks.
Lucius exhaled noisily, well-aware of the cheers erupting from the surviving Death Eaters. The numbers had diminished greatly, he realized. But so had the numbers for the Light. As far as he knew, Barty Crouch Junior, and the majority of the Lestrange family had fallen. There were more, granted, but Lucius was far too exhausted to reflect on losing his comrades. All that mattered was that he was alive and his family was alive. And…
His eyes sought the battlefield, looking for a particular young wizard or even a Dark Lord to clue him in where to look for said wizard.
"Lucius, Lucius," someone hissed his name.
The blond turned, eyeing Rookwood as the man motioned him over to the edge of the cliff. Around him, other Death Eaters were crowding near, staring at the bottom of the cliff and down toward the frozen lake.
Clutching his wand, Lucius ran over, fearing the worse. Had Izar fallen? Had the Dark Lord… No. It didn't matter if Izar had fallen. The boy was immortal, was he not? A fall wouldn't kill an immortal, unless…
He pushed his way through the throng of Death Eaters before looking down. A small smirk curled the edges of his lips as he observed the battle taking place below. An enraged Veela and a young wizard were engaging in an intense duel, both looking worse for wear. Izar was dripping wet and the Dark Lady was half-transformed into her Veela. The only thing Lucius could really take notice of, besides the remarkable performance, was the wide and playful grin across Izar's face. As usual, the boy was egging on his prey.
Lucius glanced up and across the lake, spying the French army. They too were watching the battle, going nowhere unless they knew their Lady was alive and well.
Before turning back to the battle, he caught sight of the Dark Lord. The man was standing off to the side, his sharp eyes observing the battle keenly. Lucius noticed the man's body was tense and ready to spring. Was that… unease Lucius saw on the man's face? Oh my. It was.
Lucius pressed his lips together in a smile. The Dark Lord had nothing to worry about. If it grew out of hand, Izar had a bruised, yet loyal army at his back.
He subconsciously noticed that there was no Dumbledore hovering around the Dark Lord. Dead or alive. Which only meant the old fool had escaped once again. Did this mean the war was not yet over? Or would the Dark Lord continue on with his plan? Lucius was certain it was the latter, but he also knew that Dumbledore would still be a threat.
Turning back to the battle, he hoped Izar didn't take too long. He needed to see Narcissa and Draco.
{Death of Today}
If he were human, Izar was positive he would have already collapsed of exhaustion or died of blood loss. His sharp eyes noticed Marjolaine's slight fatigue but she was doing an incredible job hiding it. The difference between Izar and Marjolaine was that she was mortal. She aged, she died, and she had a beating heart. It was natural for her to grow tired after a duel this long. Not to mention she seemed oblivious to the fact that Izar was making her stay on the offensive.
He circled around her on the ice, finding it almost natural now to maneuver around the slick element. He couldn't stop the goofy smile from stretching across his mouth as she continued to fire her magic at him… as if she could actually hit him. Granted, there were a few that caught Izar and cracked a bone or two. But they healed relatively easily, albeit crookedly.
She was tiring and growing more agitated as the minutes passed. Izar realized he needed to put this to an end before she decided to Disapparate away.
"The longer you keep me alive, the higher chance your face stays that way," Izar called sweetly. "I heard the Healers in France aren't too experienced in cosmetic reconstruction. Pity. You had actually looked decent for someone of your old age."
She stopped attacking long enough to stare at him in quiet fury. Izar skated backwards on the ice in mock boredom, clasping his hands behind his back. He was taken by surprise as she sent a Transfigured blade flying in his direction. He hastily put up a shield but it sliced right through. Bending his body backwards in order to avoid it, Izar watched it fly above him and collide with the side of the cliff. Rock and debris exploded from the impact, leaving Izar wondering what the hell kind of curse that was.
She gave a shout of fury as she levitated the debris from the lake's surface and flung it in Izar's direction. The Black heir straightened up and calmly put up a shield. He hunched his shoulders in attempt to brace himself against her powerful magic. His shield pulverized most of the boulders, showering him with layers of fine sand. As soon as the last boulder landed at his feet, Izar dropped his shield and raced toward her.
Marjolaine smiled wickedly at Izar's approach. She flicked her wand, causing ice-like crystals to head in his direction. Though, Izar had been prepared. "Cassesium!"
Hello, my dear friend. It had been months since he used the Cassesium. But it was exactly the spell he needed to send his opponent in a confused and irritate stage. The Cassesium built a web-like shield around him, solidifying in brittle-like strings. As soon as the Dark Lady's curse made contact with the web, it turned blue as it absorbed the curse. Izar reached out and touched the web, drawing the magic to the tips of his fingers.
With renowned determination, Izar swallowed the magic, pleasantly surprised to find it didn't taste as bad as he imagined. His skin turned a brilliant shade of blue as he continued toward her. He enjoyed the perplexing expression crossing her face and he enjoyed it even more as she cast a powerful bout of magic in his direction. Like he anticipated, the woman's curse bounced off him ineffectively.
She continued to cast curses, all of them failing. Her eyes began to alter into a liquid-gold and her leathery wings tore from her back. "You little bastard!" she screamed.
Izar calmly approached her, appearing composed, but poised and ready for her to make the last step in his trap. Would she fall for it? Yes… she would. She was too arrogant and didn't see him as a real threat.
She transformed fully into her Veela, a wicked and cruel smile crossing her face as she held out her hands. She assumed she could take Izar by surprise and burn him alive. And technically, she could. But Izar had been waiting for this ever since he cast his first spell in their duel.
As she thrust her hands out toward him, flames licking at her fingers, Izar mimicked her. Only, he cast a nonverbal rebounding charm. She didn't see it coming. The shield was up seconds after the fireballs released from her hands. If anyone else were standing as close to her as Izar was, they would have been unprepared and charred alive. But Izar sat back, watching as the fire hit the invisible shield and bounced back at her.
Marjolaine's eyes widened when she realized what had transpired. Because Izar had been so close, the shield was mere inches from her. There was no time to block the string of fire as it came back at her and consumed her whole. This time, her whole body was aflame and she screamed in horror. It was true that a Veela's fire wouldn't harm its owner. But once it left her hands and was touched by Izar's magic, it was free reign.
Izar clicked his feet together, rearing up and thrashing his wand across his chest. "Avada Kedavra!"
Marjolaine, rivaling the appearance of a burning demon, screamed something incomprehensible before Apparating away.
Izar stood there dumbly as his Killing Curse hit the frozen lake where she once stood aflame. The green curse exploded a small section of the lake, causing a large piece of ice to break off and fling back at him. He did nothing to stop it as it hit him in the forehead and even humored the piece of ice by falling backwards.
He grunted as he landed on his back. His pale green and charcoal eyes stared up at the sky in gloomy detachment. By now the winds had died down and the snow calmed to a small sprinkle.
He nearly had her! No, he did have her and she fled like… like any other Lord or Lady. They couldn't face death or destruction. They couldn't face death like any proud witch or wizard would gladly do. If Izar would have just kept the anti-Apparation wards up after getting the Death Eaters inside, he would have…
No. He promised his mother he would destroy the wards and release the other half of her soul. He would gladly do it a second time if it meant she would finally be able to rest in peace.
Despite Marjolaine fleeing right before he could kill her, things had gone relatively smooth in the battle. They had won. And it was because of the extra assistance from the Unspeakables. Izar pondered on that for a moment, realizing that he once again proved Voldemort wrong. Attachments weren't weak. And they weren't unnecessary. Attachments were like a double-edged sword. They may bring with it weakness, but they also brought strength and support. If it wasn't for his relationship with Owen Welder, the man may have never arrived here tonight. And… his mother… if it wasn't for her he would—
"Charming," the Dark Lord purred from above him.
Izar closed his eyes briefly, keeping his learned knowledge of attachments close to him for future use. It was something Voldemort may never understand, but it was something Izar could use to his own advantage.
"I had her," Izar whispered darkly. "I had her."
"Technically, yes, but next time, no."
Izar snapped his eyes open, staring at the Dark Lord in distaste. "Of course I will."
A small smirk lifted Voldemort's lips as he stared down at Izar. "They underestimated you, Dumbledore and Marjolaine did. Both your appearance and your age made them think of you as no threat. Next time you'll have a harder time taking them by surprise."
Before Izar could respond bitingly, the man continued.
"I will be more than willing to train you before that time comes."
Izar stared unblinkingly at Dark Lord. "I'd like that," he admitted, albeit a bit tightly. He seethed as he watched the smirk on Voldemort's lips widen into one of immense arrogance. Someday, someday soon, Izar was going to prove to the Dark Lord that he would be taken seriously. It may be a painful lesson for the Dark Lord but Izar vowed he would get one up on Voldemort.
A squeal sounded beside him as Bellatrix slid down next to him. Her face pressed up against Izar's neck as she inhaled. "My sweet nephew," she crooned. "We won."
He smiled grimly, catching sight of Lucius Malfoy as he came to a stop near them. "Moody?" Izar questioned in honest curiosity.
Lucius cocked his head to the side. "Demolished."
Just as Izar was about to congratulate the man, someone beat him to it.
"Lucius," someone called the blond from a few feet away. All attention was turned to Narcissa Malfoy as she seemed to float in a daze toward her husband. Her face was ashen—almost green—and her eyes were rimmed with red. "Lucius… Draco is at St. Mungos. He doesn't have much time." She reached out a frail hand toward her husband, appearing as if she needed a solid body to keep her grounded.
Bellatrix released Izar and sat up in surprise. It was one of the only times Izar had seen her serious and concerned. "I thought he didn't participate in the battle, Cissy!"
"He didn't," she responded harshly. She tugged at an immobile Lucius before her eyes landed on Izar. Her entire body seemed to grow rigid and her red-rimmed eyes narrowed into a mother's protective glare. Her immense dislike channeled toward Izar through her aura. "He was burned alive in the Room of Requirements and was rescued by Granger. You wouldn't have any idea how that happened, Izar, would you?"
Izar, who had just stood from the ice, froze.
Bloody hell… Draco had been defending the Horcrux. Izar didn't know how Narcissa knew as much, but he assumed she found out from either Granger or Draco himself that he had been defending a Horcrux. She was angry at Izar for giving it to Draco, and yet, she didn't know that it had been a fake Horcrux he risked his life for.
Lucius, on the other hand, would soon piece everything together and come after Izar.
He slowly straightened and faced Narcissa's accusing stare with an impassive mask. Guilt tore at his stomach at the devastation across her face. He certainly didn't stop her from reaching over and slapping him sharply across the face. He remained turned, staring numbly at the ice and hearing Lucius pull her away.
He had screwed up royally this time.
*Twiddles thumbs* I hate writing battle scenes, just as I hate writing lemons. You can imagine the torture I was going through as I wrote this (all 11,000 words of it). Anyway, I hope school will be calm enough so I can update within a relatively decent time. I'm excited for the upcoming chapter(s).
Thanks for reading!
