Thanks to those of you who read and reviewed last chapter.
Chapter Thirty Six
"…there will be times of struggle, but as we push forward, we'll build ourselves a stronger, better society."
Thunderous applause echoed piercingly across the room, drawing a thankful nod from the man at the podium. Izar watched darkly from above as the politician adjusted his glasses, glancing down at his notes before looking back at the audience. A true politician. Sometimes Izar found himself wondering what Voldemort's true form was meant to be. A Dark Lord? Or a scheming politician? It was obvious that it was a bit of both, never all of one or more of the other. It was a perfect and equal balance between Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort.
Or simply 'My Lord' as Izar called him.
The Black heir bowed his head, pressing his forehead against the railing as Voldemort continued his speech to the press. It was official. Tom Riddle, the ex-Undersecretary, would replace Rufus Scrimgeour as Minister for Magic. The attack on Hogwarts had just been mere hours ago, but after escaping the battle, Tom Riddle arrived at the Ministry to meet with the Board and later the press. After intense discussions behind closed doors, it was public knowledge that Rufus Scrimgeour had been thrown from the Ministry for his lack of judgment and constant failed attempts of destroying the Dark Lord.
The public had been in outrange when they heard Hogwarts had been attacked. It was exactly as the Dark Lord predicted. But when wasn't the Dark Lord right? Things worked out even better for the man when lawmakers and the press found out about Rufus' decision to alley himself with a French Dark Lady.
Izar found himself feeling a small amount of remorse for the old lion. Rufus had started off strong, but the constant pressures of the public and the Dark Lord's hand were meant to topple him backward from the very beginning. He had been a mere puppet to Voldemort's regime. And Izar knew Rufus was aware of such. He pondered if the man would take this laying down. Would he listen to Izar's advice and flee Britain? Or was something else in the cards for Scrimgeour?
"While Rufus Scrimgeour may have been a prospective leader of this country, he lacked the experience that was needed to run things effectively. He caved under the pressure and made poor decisions. One thing Mr. Scrimgeour had right, however, was his plan for change. This society needs to make altercations to keep up with the changing times. You will find many new policies being put in place during my term and I plan to keep the public's safety and wellbeing in mind as I create these policies."
Izar opened his eyes, smiling bitterly. What kind of leader would Voldemort be? Would he put Britain through chaos with his polices? Or would he truly make a better place for the witches and wizards living underneath him? Izar assumed, and believed, it was the latter. Voldemort wanted to erase Muggle influence, and by doing so, he would make the Wizarding World a stronger place. But then, Izar wasn't a fool. He knew there would be individuals who were on the wrong end of the policies Voldemort put in place.
"I vow, as your new Minister of Magic, to make a safe environment for your children to grow and prosper. We will be stronger than we have ever been before."
And then in a few decades, you can come back to Britain and tear down this durable society you built just for fun, won't you Tom? Izar couldn't imagine Voldemort not targeting Britain again within a few decades time. Britain would always be Voldemort's home—his territory. His endless years of immortality would bring him here more than anywhere else. Just to play with it and claim it again and again.
Placing his chin on his open palm, Izar briefly wondered about the future and… his future. Would he truly have an endless life in front of him? Was Lily's sacrifice really the end to Aiden's vision? He—
"Are you ready, My Lord?" the voice mocked Izar quietly. Rookwood adjusted his Death Eater mask next to Izar, chuckling lowly. "You should probably drink the potion. He's nearly completed with his speech." Next to Rookwood, Bellatrix stood quietly, her recklessness dimmed remarkably since hearing of her nephew's condition.
Izar looked down at the vial in his hands before studying the large robe that pooled off his thin frame. He didn't know how Draco was fairing. Hell, the blond boy could have been dead by now, but Izar hadn't asked Bellatrix and he hadn't made an effort to go see Draco. He was busy after all. As soon as the battle had concluded, Izar was pulled by a distracted Dark Lord and forced to memorize and act out the man's last-minute scheming.
Yes, Izar hadn't even given Draco a second-thought. At least he liked to tell himself as such, all the while ignoring the unctuous feeling in his stomach.
Voldemort had been on the move ever since the Malfoys had Disapparated from the frozen lake. The man hadn't so much spoken to Izar besides instructing him what to do in regards to the political scheme. Despite their inability to discuss things like rational adults, Izar found himself feeling a bit isolated and alone. He had wanted to speak to Voldemort about… things. And he knew the Dark Lord's schedule would only get busier from this point forward.
He allowed himself to sink deep in the depression brimming beneath the surface. Just for a second. He hated this phase in their game.
And then he pushed away the vulnerability and placed a lid over the emotions he wasn't familiar dealing with. It was easier to focus on one thing at a time. Being assaulted by everything at once would render Izar an invalid. Being an invalid now simply wouldn't do. Not when Voldemort needed him to act his part.
Izar tipped back the fool-tasting potion and drowned it. His eyes closed briefly as the thick substance seemed to freeze his intestines on the way to his digestive tract. Moments later, he doubled over, clenching his jaw as his body began to shift and stretch.
It wasn't long before his dark hair straightened and lengthened. His body soon followed his hair's trend and began to stretch to heights he never thought he would experience. Izar straightened, his cloak now fitting more snugly around his frame. Slowly, he brought his lengthy hands up to his face, pondering on the sensation of being an adult. When he received his growth spurt the summer of his sixteenth birthday, he had felt superior and so right being in a taller statute. But this. This was a bit overwhelming.
"How does it feel?" Rookwood inquired, staring up at Izar through squinted eyes. "To be in the Lord's body?"
Izar blinked down at Rookwood, who was usually around the same height as he was. Now the man was noticeably shorter than himself. Was this what Voldemort saw when he looked down at Izar?
"A bit nauseating, really," Izar replied, pausing. He smirked. His voice… it would take some time getting used to. This voice could be a weapon in its own right—Izar knew from experience. He just needed to practice in order to get it right.
He nonchalantly touched his neck where the black scales would be but was pleased to note they were still hidden by the glamours. Both he and Voldemort had planned in advance for this and placed the necessary glamours on his body in preparation for the Polyjuice potion. Even his mouth had been glamoured to hide the forked-tongue and fangs.
Taking notice of the creature-side of Voldemort wasn't Izar's most pressing observation. No, it was the magic. Izar had never seen his own aura and had never felt it. Oddly enough, he was able to feel what Voldemort felt in his own body. The magic was just dripping from the extremities of his body. It felt like cool water cascading down his fingers and sending little electric shots up his arm. It wasn't an overwhelming sensation, and Izar could understand how Voldemort would become accustomed to it with time, but it was a welcoming feeling to Izar. To hold this much power over people...
Why don't you use your magic-sensitivity? You'd be unstoppable…
Izar placed his hands down at his sides and slowly walked back and forth to get accustomed to the extra length of limbs. Grudgingly, he wondered on Rufus' words from the battle only hours ago. Did his own set of morals stop him from using the 'gift' Cygnus invented inside his DNA? Why, after killing so many wizards and witches, did he have to hesitate when it came to pinching their magical core? If he was just going to kill them anyway, what was the difference?
Was it his morals? Or was it like he told Rufus, that he was just bored and needed a challenge?
"Perhaps both," Izar whispered to himself as he stared at the dark alcove. Was it even possible to have two conflicting beliefs and reasons residing in one mind?
His eyes narrowed into slits. These past few days, he had been questioning himself and his actions almost relentlessly. What was it that was causing him to have doubts and question the way he did things? And asking so many questions in his mind certainly wasn't healthy. No one was there to answer them, not even himself. His logical voice was oddly quiet, appearing as if it were waiting for Izar to answer these questions.
There was an uproar coming from beneath and Izar turned, slowly approaching the railing.
"He just informed the press and public that he will be meeting with the Dark Lord," Rookwood murmured quietly. "They are unpleased."
Izar scoffed. "They knew Riddle wanted to make a treaty with the Dark Lord from the start. He told the press he wouldn't follow in Scrimgeour's footsteps but would agree to conform to some of the Dark Lord's 'wishes'." His crimson eyes traced over the murmuring reporters. It was true that they were in an uproar, but it appeared as if they were just as excited and frightful at the aspect.
Times were changing. And everyone was beginning to get swept up with the current.
"I will have many Wizengamot members present with me as I meet with the Dark Lord," Riddle continued, holding up a hand to calm and quiet the crowd. They followed his direction immediately. "As I have stated countless of times before, I believe this Dark Lord is overdramatic with his attacks just to get his voice heard. A neutral meeting between the Dark Lord and I will result in policies being thrown back and forth and some being adapted. I have reason to believe the Dark Lord's ranks are growing in number. Our allies in the Ministry are depleting and from the attack last night at Hogwarts, many foreign countries are unwilling to enter into an alliance with us."
Riddle smiled sadly for the public. "You will have my word that I will never adopt any policy toxic to our populations. But there will be dramatic changes, ones that you will have to weigh and question yourself with. Would you rather have these policies set in place, or would you rather have an ongoing war with countless of more deaths?"
Riddle gave one final nod before stepping down from the podium. His Undersecretary, a face unknown to Izar, took his place and began to bid the press farewell.
Izar contemplated the situation. Voldemort would have his hands full. He would need many allies within the press and also as many citizens as he could afford to smooth out the policies being made. There would need to be damage control and people whispering at how well Riddle was leading Britain.
And for some reason, Izar believed the man already had that in line. In fact, Izar was sure Voldemort had his groups already running around Britain, hailing Tom Riddle as a hero. The Dark Lord was always five steps ahead of everyone else in the game.
"Ready?" Rookwood inquired.
Izar glanced at Rookwood, staring over his head at a quiet Bellatrix. She was standing a ways away, her gold-platted mask the only thing visible in the alcove they stood in.
"Don't worry about her," Augustus whispered. "It will take time, but she'll be back to normal." The man winked from behind his mask. "Aside from her nephew's condition, the Lestranges took a pretty big hit during the battle. In fact, her husband was the only survivor."
"I hadn't known," Izar responded tightly. "Barty Crouch Junior als0—"
"I know," Rookwood interrupted darkly, bitterly. "He was a good man, a good wizard. Many of us sacrificed our lives for this cause. I only hope the Dark Lord can understand that and do his best at completing Britain."
Izar stared at him unseeingly, his stomach tightening at the man's admission. What would Rookwood say if he found out that this was all entertainment to Voldemort? Just a phase in his long life of immortality?
Fuck, bloody fucking hell. Izar pushed off from the railing and stalked down the alcove and toward the Green Room. Why was he melting? He felt as if he were turning into an emotional goo of mess. He needed Voldemort. He needed the man to talk sense back into him. Izar wanted to go back to being an impassive wizard who found it hard to empathize about others' feelings. But now he was even sympathizing with Rookwood and grieving over Crouch Junior. He was getting too close. A little emotional attachment was understandable, but this much, to this extent… it was unhealthy and pathetic.
Izar was distantly aware of the two Death Eaters trying to keep up at his back. He pulled his hood over his features, veiling everything save for the thin lips. His footsteps started off as erratic, but slowly began to smooth into a graceful glide. The Ministry workers he passed stopped in their tracks and stared dumbly, almost in horror. Izar made sure he had been near the Green Room when he was watching Riddle's press conference. It wouldn't do to be stopped and gawked at before he had a chance at putting Voldemort's plan into motion.
Finally, he came to a stop before two tall doors, their paint a startling emerald green. The Green Room. It was so named for the neutrality and 'peaceful' conferences between parties.
The two Aurors in front of the doors sneered at him, their hands itching toward their wands.
"Don't even try it," Izar hissed quietly, still trying to get familiarized with Voldemort's voice. "I have an appointment with Minister Riddle. You can either let me enter, or this conference will be adjourned."
"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" An older brunette opened the door to the Green Room from the inside. His eyes swept the length of Izar, in Voldemort's body, before turning to look at the Aurors. "We already agreed on protocol. Let him pass."
The Aurors reluctantly parted from the double doors and the politician from inside the room stepped aside to allow Izar entrance. Without hesitation, Bellatrix and Augustus entered the room first, acting as a guard for Izar. Seconds later, Izar swept inside, approaching the group of men gathered around a large table.
There appeared to be around ten Wizengamot who surrounded Tom Riddle as the Minister sat at the other end of the table. Five Aurors stood against the wall, seemingly acting as silent spectators. At Izar's entrance, Riddle stood from his position, placing his hands on the table in front of him.
"If I had known this meeting would entitle a battle of brute force, Minister, then I would have brought more men with me," Izar called mockingly from his side of the table. This was too bizarre. And quite frankly, it was fun enough to erase Izar's current anxieties. At least for now. "I wasn't aware you needed this many men with you, on your own grounds no less."
Izar wasn't given any set monologue for this meeting. Voldemort only gave him the list of policies he wanted to be brought up during the meeting. When Izar asked how he should proceed with it, the Dark Lord just smiled thinly and responded, "Act as how you usually do, child. We are remarkably similar, you and I."
Riddle gazed at Izar over his glasses, appearing just how a man in his position should look, exhausted but stern. "You called this meeting, Lord Voldemort. Not I. Forgive me for having extra protection, I have only been named Minister for two hours."
"Rightfully so," Izar responded dryly. "I only worry for your well-being. How long will it take for these men surrounding you to crack you like they did Rufus Scrimgeour? They like to preach that they support you, but in reality, they'll eat you alive." The Wizengamot members glowered at Izar from across the table, their expression varying from frightened to full blown rage.
"I am truly thankful for your concern," Riddle drawled. "But wasn't it your hand that destroyed Mr. Scrimgeour's resolve?"
Izar cocked his head to the side, mindful of Bellatrix and Augustus taking position on either side of him. "Perhaps you could consider me a variable to his meltdown." Izar smiled widely. "But I never had it in for the old lion. Just like with you, I wanted to arrange a conference and discuss my demands. He refused. Naturally, I retaliated." Izar traced the edge of the table with his spidery fingers. "Let's pray you don't make the same decisions as old Scrimgeour."
One of the Wizengamot members stood up sharply, his face as red as the crimson robes he wore. "What's saying we don't destroy you where you sit, you bloody bastard? Discuss your demands? I think not."
Izar calmly sat down in the chair and surveyed the man through hooded eyes. With a sharp fingernail, Izar traced his thin smile, all the while, intentionally intimidating the man enough for him to sit back down. "That is a very good question, good sir," Izar murmured quietly. His finger paused on his lower lip and he placed his hand steadily on the table. All sets of eyes stared at the appendage as if it would shoot fire bolts from the fingertips. "And there is a simple answer to that."
His mind was thinking quickly, trying to come up with an answer that would be threatening and political enough.
"Which is?" Riddle pressed, a dark sneer to his face. Though, if Izar looked close enough, those charmed brown eyes were all but glittering in delight.
Izar chuckled breathlessly and waved his hand carelessly. "I left the students alive during the Hogwarts attack for one main purpose. Leverage. You don't think I know where the professors sent the students during and after the attack?" The Wizengamot members' faces drained of all color. "Yes, while some parents took their children with them, the majority of the students were sent to Durmstrang Institution under the care of Igor Karkaroff. Right now, I have men surrounding the unplottable school. I also have another set of men waiting in the weeds, so to speak, around the Ministry. You are weak and vulnerable right now. One call from me will set a series of attacks you cannot hope to recover from."
"You wouldn't even get a chance to send word. Not if we decide to strike you down," another Wizengamot member warned.
Izar turned his head, leveling the man with a dark expression. "Do you truly believe that?"
"You're a sick monster," the only female in the group spat.
"That insult shattered through my many walls of defense, milady," Izar drawled cynically. Next to him, Rookwood snickered. Izar watched in suppressed glee as the stern-looking woman turned crimson at his mocking.
"You are a monster, that is not debatable," Riddle spoke up, bringing the attention back on him. "You've killed hundreds of Muggles and wizards alike. You've created terror across Britain and even to some of the neighboring countries."
"Is there a point to this, Minister?" Izar interrupted irritably. "That is exactly why I'm here. You can either work with me to reconstruct Britain, or I can do it myself through force. And we both know the public is controlled through fear." Izar flashed Riddle a blinding smile, a sick secret only the two shared. After all, Riddle had been elected into office out of the public's fear. They were being controlled by Riddle's hand—all like mindless sheep.
Riddle took a deep breath, leaning against his chair and staring impassively across the table at Izar. "Let me put one thing on the table, Lord Voldemort. I will not, nor ever be a puppet to you. If I don't like one of your policies, we'll work through it and adjust it to something we can both agree on. Being a marionette Minister was never my intention. I run this country, not you."
Oh, Riddle was getting fierce and possessive. Just as Izar imagined he would. Britain was Riddle's country and Izar was never to question or challenge that claim. For a long moment, Izar remained silent, a loss for words and trying to get himself back under control. He knew Riddle was acting in such a way in order to put on a show for their witnesses. And the Wizengamot acting as witnesses were a good decision on Riddle's part. They usually were the voices of the public.
Only, Izar found himself truly affected by those words. He slowly lifted his chin and stared challengingly at Riddle. Right then, it was not Lord Voldemort and Tom Riddle sitting across from each other. It was Izar and Voldemort and they both knew it.
"For now," Izar whispered icily. He didn't know what made him do it. Challenging the Dark Lord's claim over Britain was never his intentions; it had slipped from his tongue too quickly for him to stop it. Nonetheless, it was something Lord Voldemort would have said, wasn't it?
Riddle's eyes widened only a fraction before they narrowed, a mere sign that he had caught Izar's true intentions behind the threat. "Indeed," he replied grimly. The British Minister motioned to the thin wizard next to him who dipped a quill in an inkpot. "Let's get started, shall we? What's your first demand, Lord Voldemort?"
Izar knew they only had a limited time until the Polyjuice lost its potency. So he decided to jump right into the most pressing topic.
"The practice of Dark Magic."
{Death of Today}
Izar,
I'm writing this, not as a plea for your forgiveness, but for you to understand my resilient love for you. I've dropped the custody battle because I have come to accept Regulus' role in your life. Not only that, but I can also see that you are no longer a boy in need of his mother or father. You have grown into a mature and able wizard, one that no longer needs his parents to tell him what to do.
Perhaps that was the most difficult thing to accept, you not needing guidance from either of us.
By now, you know that I have created a Horcrux in order to protect you from Cygnus Black. Oddly enough, I found that making that decision was the easiest choice I had ever been faced with. You see, that day I held you in my arms after I gave birth to you, I was overcome with a sense of fierce love and protectiveness. A mother's love was once said to know no boundaries. I knew that Regulus' offspring had a chance of possessing the Cygnus' Curse. And because of that, I decided to keep you safe, or any of your descendants safe from Cygnus. I tore a piece of my soul in order to protect you, and I would do it again even after knowing the consequences of my actions.
Time passes differently when you are living with only a half of a soul. Days merge into months, and months quickly become years. There are months, and even years I can't remember after I created the Horcrux. There are no emotions accompanying memories, thus, time and memories don't stick with me. James and the Healers believe I have severe depression and they have given me potions to help me feel again. In the beginning, they worked only slightly. Now though, I grow ill each day, and each day, my emotions become even more obsolete. I'm an empty shell by all accounts, only stirring when I experience the occasional emotion.
I'm not telling you this for self-pity, Izar. I'm only trying to make you understand the decisions I made in life. I agree that I had no right to betray Regulus in such a way, but I rarely feel guilt towards my past actions anymore. It's you who I feel the most towards. It's almost as if my other half is residing within you now, accompanying you wherever you go. I regret putting you in an orphanage that treated you so unfairly. But understand I had no knowledge that they would act so cruelly to a child. They were frightened of you and your abilities, never understanding that all you needed was love.
It was that love that you wouldn't have found with me, either. While I do feel love and protectiveness toward you on occasion, it has never stayed permanently. I retreat back into a shell, watching as time passes each day. You would have been no better off with a mother who was incapable of caring for you. Quite possibly, you could have grown up to hate me. Just as you do now.
Doubtless of what I could have done differently, one thing remains constant. I do love you. And I would sacrifice everything I have to keep you safe.
Live a long and happy life for me, Izar.
Your mother,
Lily.
Izar stared at the letter for a long while. After months of sitting in his cloak pocket at Voldemort's base, Izar had finally dug it out and read it. He had received it from Regulus the day they found out that Lily had dropped the custody battle. Izar had never opened it until now, always forgetting about it or deciding it was never the time to think on Lily or her sacrifices.
He picked up the photograph that was enclosed with the letter. She obviously gave birth at a Muggle hospital, for the equipment around her bed was all Muggle and the photograph was still frame. Lily sat in her bed, a wide smile on her face as she cradled the dark-haired newborn against her chest. Her red hair was long and wavy, falling down her back and shoulders in silky, yet sweaty waves. Even from the Muggle technology, Izar could easily see the vibrancy those green eyes once had to offer.
He was holding Lily Evans' last day of normalcy in his hands. He remembered Lily's Horcrux telling him that she spent a whole day holding him. This was probably a bittersweet day for her. Knowing that she just gave birth to a beautiful child, only having to give it up shortly.
And Lily was right. She could have done things differently, but she hadn't. There was no use dwelling on what could have been when Izar was relatively happy of how he turned out. He held no grudge against her for giving him to the orphanage, he realized. None at all. And while he felt sorry for Regulus' years and years of reclusiveness, he didn't hold hatred for Lily for what had happened. Regulus and Lily were both young and they were both caught up with an adult's war. Children were doubtless to make mistakes. At any rate, that quarrel was between Regulus and Lily, not Izar.
Izar tapped the edges of the photograph with his fingers. He had to accept what Lily had sacrificed for him. It was finally time to put this old conflicting issue to rest.
He had never experienced her love before, but he was also alive because of it. To have someone love him so much that they were willing to sacrifice their entire soul for him was unsettling to Izar. It was pure and wholesome and Izar had trouble accepting it. There was Sirius and Regulus whom Izar had come to… care about, but never to the extent Lily had for Izar. And to realize that Lily had never even met him. Or interacted with him. He hadn't given her anything in return, and yet, Lily had opted to put herself through a lifetime of hell to save him.
It was… unfathomable to him. Completely baffling. And he didn't like being confused.
But then, she expressed it was a mother's love. Was a mother or father willing to go this far for a child they had never raised before?
Izar stood up from the couch and stalked the length of the living room before entering the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, straightening the dark Muggle suit he wore. Lily could have been acting out of guilt. Her actions could have steamed from the fact that she ruined Regulus' life and conceived a child out of blackmail. Perhaps she had created a Horcrux in order to put herself at ease and lighten her guilt.
It was the only logical explanation Izar could come up with that would explain why Lily would sacrifice so much. Certainly a mother's love wasn't that strong. He couldn't accept love to that extreme. Dying for someone…
Suddenly, Izar wondered if he would die for Voldemort.
He pressed his lips together and turned away from his reflection, disgusted at his train of thought. He was currently dealing with Lily, not Voldemort. That issue would come later, much later when he didn't have so much on his mind.
Nonetheless, despite his uncertainty with Lily's actions, he was able to discern his gratitude for her sacrifices. He had a deep respect for her and would always wonder what it would have been like to get to know the real Lily. And because of everything she had done for Izar, he felt it was his duty to attend her service and bid a proper farewell.
With Voldemort's continued absence away from his base, Izar was free to go wherever he pleased without a Dark Lord breathing down his neck. The meeting yesterday morning had gone as planned and Izar was proud of himself for acting reasonably well in front of a panel of judging eyes. Tom Riddle had his damned policies and he was currently drafting them with the board of Wizengamot members. It wouldn't take long for the public to hear of the new policies taking hold of Britain.
Oddly enough, Dumbledore and Scrimgeour had been silent. No activity had been traced to their doing. Izar was a bit disappointed. Then again, the battle at Hogwarts had only been a handful of hours ago. From Izar's perspective, it seemed like a lifetime ago.
He took one last look around the quarters before Disapparating away.
{Death of Today}
By the time Izar approached Potter, the guests had all left. It had been a relatively small and short service. Izar hadn't seen very many faces he recognized. Then again, he had been viewing the service at a distance, unwilling to wear a glamour to his mother's funeral but not intending to be captured by any stray Aurors lingering about.
Izar slowly walked up behind Potter who had taking residence on a snowy hill out looking the sea. The wizard was standing at the edge, appearing as if he were smelling the wind rushing toward him. "I didn't think you'd come," Potter spoke to Izar at his back.
The younger wizard faltered, wondering if he had been making more noise than he had originally thought. "I told you I would pay my respects to her at the funeral." Izar stopped a few feet away from Potter and fiddled with the white calla lily in his hands. "Thank you for sending me notification of the time and location…" he ended lamely.
Potter turned, eyeing Izar and his smartly dressed figure. A bitter smile crossed the man's lips. "It's odd to see you without a Death Eater mask, it fits you so well."
Izar sneered. "I didn't come here to bicker with you, no matter how appealing that may seem." He dropped the lily down to his side and gradually made his way to the edge of the cliff where Potter was standing. "I wanted to speak to you about her, about Lily." His fingers massaged the steam of the lily, wondering when he had decided to spill everything out to Potter. Despite Lily's refusal to tell her husband, Izar felt as if the man had a right to know.
"What could you possibly have to say?" Potter murmured darkly. "She loved you more than anything. And all you did was continue to curse her for her past mistakes."
Izar lowered his eyelids, staring at the horizon in boredom. "What was I supposed to do, Potter? Change sides of the war just because my long-lost mother showed up in my life when I least needed her?" He cast a sidelong glance at the tall male, eyeing the angry crimson blotches on the man's cheeks. "I had forgiven her, and she knew as much. You should know from Sirius that even family can't change one's loyalties and beliefs. We were on opposite sides of the war, Lily and I."
Turning back to the sea, Izar threw out the war, the politics, and the memories. Right now he was just a deceased woman's son, trying to get her late husband to see the truth.
"I do have a question for you," Izar started after a lengthy silence from Potter. "Why did you continue to put yourself through hell? Did you commit a sin that you thought you had to repay by staying with her?"
"You…" James Potter spluttered, his aura heating brilliantly before cooling suddenly. "She asked the same thing, just days before she died."
Izar looked down at the rocks, watching as the water crashed against them. Foam bubbled at the edges of the cliff, bringing the striking imagery to a completion. It was good to hear that Lily wasn't blind to what she was doing to her husband. She had been aware of what Potter had gone through and she had been just as confused as Izar as to why the man stayed with her. "And what did you say to her?" he asked bluntly, in honest curiosity.
"…I said I loved her," Potter replied hoarsely. "That's why I stayed with her."
This love… it was a powerful emotion, Izar realized. It made people do stupid and selfless acts. But it was also ridiculously pure and innocent. He vowed he would never underestimate the power of love. It was an important thing to understand if he had to deal with an enemy who was madly in love with another. Of course they would need to be watched carefully and certainly not be underestimated. It was something Voldemort had insisted on teaching Izar, but not something that Izar had experienced firsthand to understand what the Dark Lord was trying to initiate at the time.
"She suffered from depression," Izar threw the comment in the air, wondering what Potter's reaction would be.
"She told you?"
Izar sighed. Did Potter truly believe depression was all Lily was 'diagnosed' with? "She told me many things that I think you have a right to know." He turned to look at Potter, noticing the man's animated stare. "You need to move on, Potter. You can't dwell in the past, especially when you were kept in the dark for so long." He paused, noticing the growing impatience crossing the man's face. "She didn't have depression." Idiot. "She created a Horcrux just days after giving birth to me."
Perhaps he could have broken the news more subtly, judging from Potter's horrified expression. But then again, that wasn't Izar's character.
"I… I don't understand. Why would she do that?"
Interesting. Izar was anticipating Potter to get angry at him for even suggesting something so Dark. Instead, Potter's horrified expression turned into heavy grief and guilt. And for some unexplainable reason, Izar believed Potter had subconsciously known about Lily, but had never understood it or accepted it. Now that it was being dangled in front of his face, Potter had no chance of turning a blind eye to it.
"Horcruxes are considered to be the darkest of magic," Izar spoke tensely. "But I can reassure you that she used it for what she believed was right." The Black heir hesitated, pursing his lips tightly before continuing. "To make a long story short, she created a Horcrux in order to save me from a family-borne illness."
James' face crumbled and he placed a large palm over his face. Izar stood across from him uncomfortably, watching as the man's shoulders trembled. "Why didn't she tell me? She suffered alone—"
"No," Izar denied hotly, his eyes narrowing into slits. "She had you. She just didn't tell you she created a Horcrux because she didn't want you to see her as a monster."
Potter snapped, lunging at Izar and curling his hands around his collar. The Auror picked Izar off his feet and dragged him toward the edge of the cliff. Izar kept still, finding himself impressed with the man's brute strength. Only the toes of his shoes caressed the snowy hill beneath him. One push from Potter and Izar would be sent off the cliff. Sadly, it wouldn't be enough to kill him.
"How can you stand there and tell me this with an expressionless mask?" Potter breathed heavily in Izar's face. "You act as if her sacrifice was nothing. She gave you everything!"
Izar tipped his head backwards, staring at the blue sky above him. "You have no right to tell me what I'm feeling or what I felt for my own mother, Potter," Izar whispered icily. "Just because I'm not blowing a gasket like you are, doesn't mean I don't appreciate what Lily has done." The younger wizard looked calmly away from the sky and rolled his neck around to stare down at Potter.
The man was pathetic. His guilt and grief for Lily needed a source to blame, and right now, it was directed toward Izar. It was a natural reaction, true, but Izar didn't enjoy being accused of not caring. No matter Lily's intentions when she created a Horcrux, Izar would always be grateful to her. He thought admitting his respect was a leap from his usual self, he didn't need to be crying on Potter's shoulder as any more proof.
Potter released Izar's collar, stepping away as if disgusted. "You lot are all the same," Potter whispered brokenly. "Emotions are for the weak."
Izar stood with his heels hanging off the cliff and his toes pressed into the snow. All the while, he watched as Potter struggled with the information handed to him. Grief and sorrow was strong in the air today… yesterday… it was all around him, and it was potent. He hated to admit it, but it was also making him feel uncomfortable and uncertain.
Seeing the grief from not only Potter but from Bellatrix and Narcissa as well, made Izar realize that it was a natural occurrence in a human's life. Overwhelming grief, like the sorrow Izar had experienced with Sirius' death, was something that would either strengthen an individual or leave them in an empty shell the rest of their lives. For Izar, the sharp pain he felt with Sirius would numb with time and perhaps disappear the longer he lived eternity. These others weren't as lucky. They had a relatively short life and couldn't pass off a death as an experience they needed to go through in order to come out stronger.
Izar stared down at the lily in his hands, figuring it was fitting for his mother. He offered a soft smile as his fingertips caressed the velvet petals. Would he forget about her after centuries of living? He highly doubted it, or, in actuality, he was a bit frightened of forgetting her, just as he was frightened of forgetting Sirius. Moving onward was always an unknown, just as death. It took an incredibly strong man to face the unknown with a raised chin.
Turning toward the sea, Izar caressed the flower lovingly before his fingers loosened around it. The wind took hold of the flower for just a moment, blowing it further over the sea before it dropped in the icy waves. Through lowered lashes, Izar watched as the lily struggled to keep adrift, but the crushing waves easily overpowered it.
"Thank you," Potter spoke at his back. "For telling me about Lily. It's difficult right now to deal with so much…"
Izar looked at Potter from over his shoulder, intrigued by the incontrollable mood swings. He hadn't experienced Lucius' wrath yet, and Izar knew it was coming. He also knew that he should visit Draco at the hospital and stand over his bedside like an unhelpful bastard. There was nothing Izar could do to assist a burned victim. His intellect did not stretch to the human anatomy. Hell, he was still trying to find a cure for Regulus' lack of mobility.
He couldn't do anything.
Nothing.
A cold rush swept across Izar at the realization. Like Potter, Izar was experiencing an overwhelming sense of guilt and helplessness. It was difficult to remember, but Izar believed this was the first time he had ever experienced real guilt. Well, aside from the time Daphne was poisoned at the Yule Ball and also Izar's scheme to betray Voldemort by replicating the Gaunt Ring… that he hadn't let himself think on just yet.
Draco was a bloody fool for defending the fake Horcrux. It was the blonde's fault! How could someone be so… so bloody determined to get in good graces with the Dark Side?
"You know that's not why he defended the Horcrux," a nasty voice whispered in Izar's mind. "He defended it out of honor for you. You led him to believe that the Horcrux was important and that he should protect it with his life. But in reality, he just wanted to impress you and repay you for saving his father."
Izar pressed his lips together and walked stiffly toward Potter. "You can't change what happened, Potter. You couldn't have even stopped it if you tried." He crossed his arms awkwardly over his chest as he grimaced at the man standing across from him. "The guilt you're experiencing is ridiculous and it's not worth your time. Move on."
Potter eyed Izar's awkward stance and scoffed. "You are incredibly sympathetic," the man murmured cynically. "But I understand…" the man trailed off, leaving it as that. It was awkward for both men and they both had their own emotions to deal with. Alone. "Thank you for coming to her funeral. She would have been happy to see you here."
Izar nodded once farewell before walking past Potter and down the hill. His nostrils flared and his vision began to blur. He knew he was losing control on what little restraint he was capable of possessing. It wouldn't be long before something tipped his control and sent him spiraling. Everything was piled up so closely together, Izar was having trouble thinking over every little detail logically and analyzing it to the point of exhaustion. It was what he usually did, but lately, he was having difficulty even getting himself to think on these issues at hand. Draco, death, immortality, Lily, Rufus, Lucius, Aiden's vision, this transition in his life… it was all a mess. But hopefully he could cross Lily off his list. He firmly believed he had put her to rest and analyzed the situation as best as he could considering the circumstances.
As soon as Izar escaped to the foot of the hill, he Disapparated away, hoping to find answers by means of heavy segregation. Only, as soon as he arrived at the base, he had to blink once in order to process what he was seeing. He wasn't alone and he wouldn't have the time he needed to figure things out himself.
He hadn't expected Voldemort to be present at the base for at least another few days. And yet, here was Voldemort, sitting cross-legged on an armchair. The man's long fingers cupped his chin lazily and the pad of his thumb pressed against his lips. Those crimson eyes were watching Izar closely, suspiciously. Next to the Dark Lord's chair, Izar recognized Lily's letter open with the photograph placed strategically on top of it.
Izar tried to reconstruct his expression to one of cool nonchalance. The crimson eyes staring at him saw so much and Izar wasn't too sure he had succeeded in veiling his unease.
"You're good, child," the Dark Lord whispered silkily before sitting up and leaning toward Izar. "But not that good."
The Black heir placed his hands in his pockets and leaned smartly against the fireplace. He stared back at the man, not liking the way Voldemort was staring right through him. "I didn't think you would be back at the base so soon after putting your policies in place." Izar cocked his head to the side. "Have you hit a obstruction?"
Voldemort chuckled beneath his breath but his eyes were dark and forbidding. "I'm on lunch break."
Izar looked over the Dark Lord's head and toward the clock, noticing it was nearing five o'clock in the afternoon. "I see," he mused. "And I also see that you picked up decent reading material to keep yourself occupied in my absence. Something addressed in my name." It didn't anger him as much as it would have. In fact, Izar thought it was good for Voldemort to see in the mind of a woman who created a Horcrux.
Plucking the letter from the nearby table, Voldemort assessed the letter with a cool gaze. "What's mine is yours, what's yours is mine," he intoned possessively. "I have little time left to spend with you before I have to arrive back at the Ministry. I hadn't known that her funeral was scheduled for today, otherwise I would have sought you out earlier." The Dark Lord calmly folded Lily's letter and placed it back on the table. "Mind telling me what's on your mind?"
Leaning his head further against the stone fireplace, Izar shrugged. "I have nothing on my mind. I'm just a bit overwhelmed with the end of the war, is all."
Voldemort unfolded his tall frame from the armchair and approached Izar. "Let's cut the petty lies, Izar. While you may be ignorant toward our link, I certainly am not. I can feel your turmoil and melancholy. Quite frankly, I was unaware that anything transpired that would warrant such emotion from you." The Dark Lord came to a stop in front of Izar's lazy form. There was a crease between the man's eyebrows as he tried to piece together something he couldn't possibly understand.
I was unaware that anything transpired that would warrant such emotion from you. That's just the thing, though. Was Izar overreacting? Was there truly nothing to get upset over? If that was the case, then why was Izar, who was relatively impassive, so… preoccupied with these alien emotions?
And even if Izar needed Voldemort to help him past this… this barrier, the man wouldn't be able to assist. The Dark Lord most likely hadn't experienced this before and it was up to Izar to cope with it himself and struggle past it. And he would be able to. He knew it. But right now, it seemed like the end wasn't anywhere in sight. He was used to doing things by himself. When had he started to rely on Voldemort?
After minutes of silence, Voldemort stroked Izar's cheek roughly before turning away. "I cannot help you, if you refuse to speak. Hopefully when I return, you will let me in." The tone was cruel and hard, even if the words hadn't been.
Izar kept his attention forward, even when Voldemort exited the chambers. As soon as the door slammed shut, Izar bowed his head forward and placed his hands over his face. Slowly, his fingers turned into claws and he sliced his skin apart as he raked his hands upward. He curled his fingers in his hair and pulled at it desperately. All these emotions!
"I don't know what's wrong with me!" he admitted hotly to the empty room, vowing silently to himself that he would get through this in one piece.
{Notes} This chapter was another difficult one to write. Izar's going through a phase/transition in his life right now and he will undoubtedly be feeling uncertain/lost/depressed. Next chapter, you'll be getting some unresolved questions answered.
Also, I wanted to thank those of you who enjoyed the battle scenes from last chapter. It really made me feel better that they weren't too bad. So thank you. :)
