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8,508Chapter 7: Part I Chapter 7

Edited November 2020

Part One, Chapter Seven

Resting his forehead against the cool glass, he stared tiredly out into the passing scenery. In an attempt to numb the throbbing pain in his left forearm, his right hand clutched at the Mark. He knew it was pointless. He had tried every healing spell he knew of, yet the pain only numbed for several minutes before coming back twice as strong.

He felt miserable. Not himself. And completely ill.

On his lap was a book about the Protean Charm. The Protean Charm was designed to link several objects through one common link. Izar had his suspicions that this was based off Voldemort's Dark Mark. But no matter how much Izar wanted to learn more about the Mark, his mind could only concentrate on the pain thrumming from his arm.

The large leather tome he received from Voldemort—the Eruditio—was stored at the bottom of his trunk, still wrapped in its protective cloth. He couldn't bring himself to use the book just yet. Not when he was less than pleased with the Dark Lord. Despite his childish stubbornness of not implementing the gift, his mind always wandered back to the book.

Was there more information on the Protean Charm in the Eruditio? Did it have any information on the Dark Mark itself?

He doubted it.

Riddle had invented this himself. Izar would have to uninvent it in order to discover its properties.

A loud screech emitted from the compartment door as it opened, issuing a timid first year. "Everywhere else is full, may I…" the boy trailed off timidly.

Izar's neck cracked audibly as he quickly turned and leveled the boy with a glare. "No, you may not sit here. Find somewhere else."

The boy hurriedly shut the door and ran from his compartment. Instead of getting the peace and quiet he required, he was so very pleased to see a blond boy reappearing at his compartment door, peering inside. Malfoy invited himself inside, unaware of Izar's desire to sit alone. He didn't want others to see his pain. He didn't want company.

"What did the little first year do to you?" Malfoy grinned.

Izar leaned his head against the bench, eyeing the blond unhappily. "The same thing you're doing, Malfoy. Invading my privacy."

Malfoy didn't appear bothered by his snide tone. Rather, the spoiled bastard sat on the bench opposite of Izar. The Malfoy heir looked entirely too comfortable being here, especially after four long years of continuously being at odds with each other. Nevertheless, Izar knew exactly why Draco was comfortable here. And he did not like it.

He was afraid this would happen.

He sighed. "We aren't friends. And we are not family, Malfoy. Whatever you heard from Bellatrix will remain between us, do you understand me?" Izar leaned forward, wincing when he put weight on his left arm.

The last thing he wanted to think about was his parentage.

He had put the situation in the back of his mind after his branding. That was… until he had seen Lily at the Department of Mysteries last Friday.

She had approached him with an apologetic expression, no doubt wanting to apologize for what had happened in the Death Chamber. Before she could approach him, however, Izar had turned his heel and left her in the corridor. Whatever she had wanted, he hadn't cared. He wouldn't put himself through that. Seeing her had brought back the pain he had felt at the initiation. He wanted so badly to ask her the broad question of why, but he couldn't go through with it.

It was better to leave the whole situation dead.

Like it had been for fifteen years.

Now that he was on the train to Hogwarts, Izar felt relieved. He wouldn't need to attend a Death Eater meeting until next summer. Moreover, he wouldn't need to see Lily again. In fact, he wouldn't even need to think about his parents when his concentration would be focused exclusively on schoolwork and trying to discover all the properties of the Dark Mark.

But Malfoy had to stick his nose up Izar's arse just because he found out they were 'related'—however distant it was.

Izar wouldn't have it.

He wanted a quiet year before he had to face it all again next summer.

Malfoy paid no attention to Izar's earlier comment. "I heard you were presented with a silver mask. New recruits are almost always presented with charcoal masks." The boy's voice was pinched, faintly envious, yet curious. "The Dark Lord must trust you. And my father seems to approve of our Lord's decision. But what I don't understand is why you didn't receive the salve. I couldn't hear from my position in the back and father didn't have much to say on the matter."

Without taking a breath, Malfoy caught sight of his hand. His eyes widened comically.

"Your hand looks enormous! It's three times larger than your other hand."

Izar growled at Draco. "Your observational skills are almost as remarkable as your aptitude of stating the obvious."

Draco sniffed. "Your attitude always mirrors Severus'. I'm used to it. You can't affect me. He doesn't affect me."

Pity. "Obviously he feels the same way about you as I do."

Draco raised his hand to examine his fingernails. "Your cynicism is a cover for how you truly feel. My mother confided with me that Regulus was a lot like Severus. You three would get along—" the blond broke off at Izar's thunderous expression. Suddenly, the calm and arrogant Malfoy vanished. In its place was a slightly hesitant and pensive boy. "Listen, Harrison, I didn't come here to apologize to you."

Izar raised his eyebrows. He didn't want to be having this discussion. He didn't want an amicable Malfoy.

"However, I realize I treated you unfairly in the past for unjust reasons. I don't apologize, but I would like to start over."

Izar sneered, sitting back against the bench. "Are you 'turning a new leaf' because the Dark Lord and your father have taken an obvious interest in me, and you wanted to save your own arse? Or are you doing this out of the goodness of your heart?"

The blond made a face. "The former, obviously."

"Obviously," Izar repeated dryly, a bit relieved. He really hadn't expected Draco to have a change of heart. He was a thoroughbred Slytherin who only cared about saving his own hide.

Draco smirked. "I'd like to start over. I'll even agree not to mention your parentage to anyone."

Izar withheld a groan. The boy wouldn't let up. "If I agree, will you also promise to leave me alone?"

"That kind of defeats the purpose of 'starting over', doesn't it?" Blond eyebrows hitched and silver eyes danced across Izar's irritated expression. "Though I suppose it's a start." And after what felt like eternity, Draco stood up. His mouth twisted with amusement—as if he knew what kind of torment he was putting Izar through. "I'll ask Severus to look at your arm. It really doesn't look well."

No shit.

"Leaving so soon, Malfoy?" Another voice entered the compartment, causing Izar to lean his head further against the cushion.

Was it too much to ask to have a bit of peace and quiet?

Daphne Greengrass—in all her pure-blood glory—gracefully entered the small compartment.

"Harrison wants to be alone today, Greengrass," Draco commented snidely. He observed Daphne's growing smile and the way her attention focused exclusively on Izar. "I didn't know you were acquainted so well with Harrison." He sounded jealous, wary. And it was purely because Draco thought he had Izar to himself.

Izar knew the two didn't get along well. They tolerated each other, yes, but they never socialized with one another. Malfoy thought Daphne was too outspoken for a pure-blood witch and Daphne shared Izar's opinion on Draco. He was simply a pampered boy who had yet to grow up.

Brushing aside a few strands of her short blond hair, Daphne sized Draco up. "Some of us have the common sense to see past Izar's façade."

Izar merely picked up his book, already bored with the two blondes. "If you two don't mind." He waved his book. "I'd like to read up on a few things. Without interruption."

Daphne turned away from Malfoy, her attention once again on her prize. "I actually came to sit with you today, Izar. I haven't seen you all summer except at the Ministry gala." Noting Izar's goaded expression, she continued smoothly, "I even brought something to read."

Izar raised his eyebrows, amused. "Purely educational, I imagine."

"You know me so well." She grinned as her perfectly manicured nails opened the new edition of Witch Weekly.

Izar's eyes widened in dismay and he hurriedly looked away from the piece of rubbish and back at his textbook.

The girl never read for leisure, but she passed her classes fairly well based on pure talent alone.

He remembered when they had met. She had been in third year, stressing over her potions essay in the library. When she'd looked up and noticed his observation, he had immediately noted her bloodshot eyes. Of course she had snapped at him, telling him to look elsewhere or she'd hex him. Her extreme frustration had softened Izar a bit. Ignoring her threat, he had offered his help. She hadn't agreed at first, far too proud to accept help, especially from a second year. But she had eventually relented.

Since then, she never took advantage of Izar's knowledge. And since then, she always seemed persistent to linger around Izar, resulting in a rather unusual relationship between the two.

Eventually—reluctantly—he had come to tolerate her presence.

Malfoy cleared his throat, still standing near the compartment door. "I think I'll stay here then." The boy sniffed haughtily, sitting across from them. "Do you have anything to read then, Harrison? Knowing you, you probably have a book up your arse."

Daphne gave a dismayed sigh.

He looked slowly up from his text, haven't gotten anywhere thanks to the constant interruptions.

Over the top of his book, he examined Draco. The boy had matured over the summer, appearing more man than child. He resembled Lucius significantly with the lengthening hair and the expression of cool arrogance. Of course, Izar had never met Narcissa Malfoy, but he did see a softness around Draco's mouth that Lucius did not harbor.

"I think your reading preferences are more in line with Daphne's tastes." Izar quirked a lazy brow as the Malfoy heir glanced at the issue of Witch Weekly. "Perhaps you can ask her for something to read."

As Daphne brought up a hand to muffle her laughter, the Greengrass Family ring glinted from the sun's rays. Izar turned somber as he looked at the ring, knowing Draco also had one on his finger. He turned away when Daphne caught his eyes.

Draco's lips twisted in grimace. "Very amusing, Harrison."

Daphne cut in smoothly. "I'm eager to see the Durmstrang students." She batted her lashes. "I was only in first year when the Tournament was held in France. The younger years were required to stay back, but from what I've heard, they are a handsome lot of men."

It took Izar a long while to understand what she was speaking of. "I had nearly forgotten about the Tournament," he commented before turning back to his book and staring at it unseeingly. Since resuming the Triwizard Tournament nearly fifty years ago, they had decided to also resume holding it every five years.

"Don't forget about Beauxbatons." Draco flashed Daphne a smug look. "Now that is a handsome lot of women."

"Hardly." She looked to Izar. "Do you think they're anything special, Izar?"

He stared at the text on the page, unable to believe he was having this discussion. He would rather be sitting in the Death Chamber with Lily Potter than be evaluating the level of handsomeness between Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. "Are you going to put your name in the Goblet?" Izar easily changed the subject.

Daphne wasn't so impressed by his tactics, but Draco puffed out his chest and lifted his chin.

"Of course I am going to enter."

Izar narrowed his eyes, observing how the boy held himself and the proud flush of pink along his cheeks. There was something about Draco's tone that made it almost certain he would be chosen as a Champion. There was no way in hell Izar could see Draco being picked for Hogwarts Champion, but the boy's expression spoke of utmost confidence.

Just what did Draco know that they did not?

"You don't seem too excited." Daphne touched Izar's shoulder. "Are you going to put your name in the Goblet? I think you would make a brilliant Champion."

"You need to be at least sixteen to enter and I just turned fifteen." She pouted. "Besides, even if I was old enough, I would never go near the Tournament." The last thing he wanted was attention. Fame. Interest. Glory. He couldn't fathom thrusting himself into the heat of publicity, expecting fame and glory.

Even if it was for a large sum of money…

However, there were benefits to having the Tournament this year. He realized he would have so much extra time to research. While the rest of the school would be celebrating the Tournament and attending the Challenges, he could be alone. He could work on the Dark Mark and also his Unspeakable project he vowed to complete this school year before returning to work in the summer.

Draco scoffed, drawing Izar's attention to the present.

"Izar would never enter." The two boys shared a knowing look. "As long as the Norwegian Government doesn't win again, I don't care who the Champion is. Durmstrang has won all the Tournaments with the exception of that first year. Hogwarts has yet to win since the Tournament reopened fifty years ago."

It was true.

The three Ministries were rather competitive when it came to the Tournament. The Norwegian Ministry, or in particular, the Durmstrang Institute carried the highest exam scores and the most bragging rights. From what Izar knew, the high-ranking politicians always placed wagers on the Triwizard Tournament. They grew rather aggressive during the Tournament and even traveled to the hosting school.

And evidently, Britain was hosting the Tournament this year…

Izar's fingers twitched and his book dropped to his lap as he realized something. Tom Riddle was a politician. Only second to that of the Minister. He would most definitely be at Hogwarts for a good remainder of the year.

Izar took a deep breath and tried to calm himself when his left arm jerked painfully.

He had thought he would get a whole year without even seeing the Dark Lord again.

Well…bullocks.

Death of Today

Finally managing to shake himself free of Draco and Daphne, Izar—now dressed in his blue and bronze Ravenclaw robes—entered the castle. He was relieved to be back at Hogwarts. Anything to be out of the orphanage and away from the Department of Mysteries. He didn't know how long he could have tolerated Lily Potter's presence without saying something.

The Ravenclaw prodigy glided toward a column and stood near the shadows to compose himself among the sea of other students.

His left arm burned fiercely. Not only the Mark itself, but his whole arm. The pain and the swelling were up to his shoulder. It had been a chore to put on his robes, and eventually, he had to bend to Draco's offered help.

Izar moaned quietly, setting his hot face against the pillar. Admittedly, he had wanted the salve the day after he was branded, but he'd been too adamant not to contact the Dark Lord. The man made it so easy for Izar to dislike him. One moment, Tom Riddle had empathy and was human, and in the next, he was entirely closed off and treated others as if they were beneath him.

As well, Izar hadn't wanted to bend to the Dark Lord.

However, with the throbbing and burning, he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Pain-filled eyes watched as the students crowded together, whispering and talking loudly among each other. Their strides were wide and hurried as they entered the Great Hall, anxious to see their friends again. And then Izar saw the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students fill inside the entryway.

His teeth clenched and his eyes shut briefly as his arm convulsed again.

Would anyone even notice his absence at the Welcoming Feast?

No.

Opening his eyes, he observed the students walk past him, not seeing him. Izar pushed his back further against the column, noticing how invisible he was. Some of their eyes looked at him and swiftly turned away from him as if they hadn't even noticed him.

But this was what he liked, wasn't it? To be able to do anything he wanted without notice, without scrutiny. On the train, he had been tired of Daphne's and Draco's presence, so why was he affected by the students' oblivious nature to him?

He caught sight of a few Ministry workers entering through Hogwarts' doors. And in the middle of the Britain group stood the tall and charming politician—Tom Riddle. His cheater glasses were upon his nose and his false brown eyes sparkled as he interacted with his colleagues. Before Izar could compose himself and recover from seeing the Dark Lord again so soon, Riddle's eyes rose from the Minister to lock on Izar's form in the shadows.

Izar heaved in surprise. He quickly rotated his body around the pillar as their group passed.

He breathed shallowly.

If he was so invisible to all the students, then how did a powerful Dark Lord notice him so easily? So instantaneously? As if Izar were of importance…

"Mr. Harrison."

With his heart in his throat, he looked up at Severus Snape.

"Come with me."

The potions professor did not wait for Izar to collect himself before swiftly leading the way down to the dungeons. Izar quickly pushed off from the pillar and followed the billowing robes.

"What is it, sir?" he asked as they neared the man's private offices. "Won't we be missing the Welcoming Feast?" He didn't care if he missed the Welcoming Feast. In all actuality, he welcomed the chance to get away from all the noise that would surely accompany the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament.

Snape didn't answer as he held the door open for Izar. The Ravenclaw entered the private offices unquestioningly, looking at all the jars on the shelves. His usual curiosity was oddly absent tonight and he bypassed the unusual ingredients in order to look at Snape. The potions master walked around him, his expression frighteningly pinched.

"You should have owled me or the Dark Lord." Snape's deep baritone cut harshly through the silence. "Take your robe off."

Izar's shoulders slumped at the command. "I didn't want to…" he trailed off as his right hand fumbled with the clasps.

"You didn't want to bend to the Dark Lord, yes, I had my suspicions. However, I am not the Dark Lord and I have possession of the salve. I have been waiting for your owl the past several days." Snape gathered a ceramic jar of ointment from his desk before approaching Izar. "It appears as if you weren't as intelligent as we had originally believed."

Izar flashed the man a withering stare. "I didn't want to be a bother." Truthfully, he wanted to find out how to cure the burning himself. But that plan went astray when he realized his fever was preventing him from studying.

"A bother," Snape repeated dryly. He sighed impatiently and reached out to assist Izar with taking off his robe. "You are a wonder."

A crimson flush spread across the back of Izar's neck as he was undressed by his professor. His expression remained neutral as Snape unrolled his left sleeve, though his neutrality did not last long as the material brushed against his tender skin.

A hiss escaped between Izar's clenched teeth.

"You foolish boy," Snape reprimanded as he studied the fat and pink arm. "You have an infection."

"I wanted to find out myself," Izar snapped, tired of Snape scolding him as if he were a little boy. "I should have been able to find out how to stop the burning. But I couldn't concentrate, not with the burning… not with everything…" he trailed off when his voice cracked with frustration and defeat.

Tears clouded his vision and he angrily blinked them away. Between his parentage, the branding, and his inability of making any progress with the Unspeakables, Izar was having trouble grasping hold of himself and his focus. He had failed with many things this summer, and frankly, he felt like a miserable disappointment.

Snape remained silent as he opened the salve.

The smell of aloe and rosemary hit Izar's senses, soothing him.

"I'm afraid I'm losing my aptitude," he confessed, truly afraid of losing the only power he had control of, the only thing he could be proud of. He needed his intellect.

Snape clicked his tongue in disapproval and applied a generous amount of salve to the pitch-black Dark Mark. "One does not lose their intelligence, Mr. Harrison. Your knowledge only grows with time, it does not diminish." Surprisingly, the man did not scorn Izar for his childish fears. "You are experiencing the acerbic taste of adulthood with all its transformations and difficulties. Your mind is restless and unsettled. It is only natural it cannot rest long enough to absorb knowledge."

Adulthood sounded miserable. These emotions and feelings were getting in the way of his typical concentration. It was no wonder why he'd always kept to himself. People and their drama had the tendency to distract him from what was most important.

The Ravenclaw considered Snape's bent head as the man applied the soothing salve. "Do you ever regret it?" he asked slowly, gauging Snape's reaction.

Surprisingly, Snape knew exactly what Izar was asking.

"Yes." The man finished applying the salve and turned his back on Izar as he refastened the container. Izar watched attentively as Snape walked around his desk and placed the salve in the top drawer. "Every new recruit has regretted obtaining the Dark Mark, if not at least briefly. You are not alone."

Izar's attention dropped to his vibrant pink arm, studying the strong-smelling paste. "Thank you, sir."

Only when the paste hardened did he pull down his sleeve. It still burned, yet there was a small relief.

Izar did not know if the relief came from the salve or from Snape's reassurance.

"It will likely take a few days until the swelling goes down and the color returns to normal. We will apply the salve once more tomorrow to make certain the infection disappears." Snape leaned against the back of his desk. Crossing his arms over his chest, he surveyed Izar impassively. Nothing ever got past a Legilimens and Izar felt a brief stab of envy.

"Would it possible, sir, to discuss the Dark Mark in more depth tomorrow? I'd like to learn more about it. Its functions and properties." He didn't add that he wanted to experiment with the Dark Mark, just in case the man was against committing such an offense against their Lord.

Unexpectedly, Snape smirked and his eyes were knowing. "I also experimented on the Dark Mark when I first obtained it. I brewed countless of potions in attempt to stop the Mark's influences. Regrettably, I didn't get very far in my studies. Tomorrow, I will give you my notes."

Izar was surprised Snape had admitted to experimenting on the Dark Lord's Mark. "I—thank you, sir. I'd like that very much."

The potions master nodded curtly and swept toward the door. "We are due at the Great Hall. No doubt the Dark Lord has already noticed our absences."

Izar frowned. The Dark Lord wasn't stupid. He would connect the dots. Voldemort had specifically said Izar should contact him in order to get the salve. Izar just wondered if the Dark Lord would hold his tongue in Hogwarts or act on his temper.

As the two stepped into the dark corridor, Izar's fevered face clashed pleasantly with the cool atmosphere of the dungeons. He glanced at Snape from the corner of his eye, wondering about the man. "Sir?" Izar's voice sounded rather haunted in the corridors. "Did you know Regulus Black?"

He vowed he would never bring up the subject himself, but he knew there was something linking Severus Snape to his parents. The man had to have known Izar had brewed the heredity potion in his third year. Why did the man never confront Izar about it, especially when it was forbidden to take ingredients from his personal storage?

Izar remembered hearing about a few Gryffindors stealing from Snape's ingredients. The man assigned them detention for three months and deducted so many points that their House never had a hope to win the House Cup. But Snape had stepped aside and remained silent when Izar took ingredients for not only one heredity potion, but three.

Either Snape favored Izar—enough to overlook such blatant disrespect for his supplies—or he had known and understood Izar's curiosity involving his parentage.

He was guessing it wasn't the first possibility. Snape was rather possessive of his potions.

The older man's demeanor shifted. "I did." Snape's fingers flexed, a gesture usually observed when the man wanted to calm his temper.

"You knew he was my father, didn't you?" Izar accused coldly.

Snape halted and quickly turned to Izar. He peered down his nose at the shorter wizard. "I had my suspicions. And only my suspicions. It wasn't until you grew older when those suspicions were confirmed. Had I known earlier, would you have wanted me to tell you?"

"No," Izar replied with firm resolution. "I was just curious if you had known, that's all."

Izar gave the man an imperturbable look before turning and continuing to the Great Hall. He wasn't upset that Snape had kept the revelation a secret. After all, both his parents had fought desperately to keep it a secret. Why should he blame Snape for doing the same?

Snape's voice followed at his heels. "He is a good man."

Izar turned around swiftly, his eyes narrowing. "Is? I was told Regulus Black was murdered for his act of betrayal to the Dark Lord. Are you insinuating otherwise?" He didn't allow the man to confirm or deny the claims. "Because I guarantee—no matter what the answer is—that I don't care. He's dead to me. And will forever remain gone."

He realized a moment too late that his hands were shaking.

He took a deep breath to compose his anger. It was silly to take his frustrations out on the potions professor. "Thank you for your assistance, sir, I appreciate your help."

He turned and hurried from the dungeons.

Regulus Black is dead.

It was what he had to keep repeating in order to stop the feeling of sharp betrayal.