8,508Chapter 10: Part I Chapter 10
Edited January 2021
Part One, Chapter Ten
Izar remained focused on his textbook in order to avoid the scrutiny from the students. Because they had never heard of him, they were curious and invasive about the declared Hogwarts Champion. The rumors were outrageous, as was the endless gossip and giggling.
The first day of the scrutiny had been uncomfortably tolerable, but it became increasingly more difficult to endure the concentrated spotlight. He was not familiar with the constant notice—the constant attention. He couldn't even eat properly, having decided to wake up early to grab breakfast and avoid the Great Hall altogether during lunch and dinner.
The thought of trying to eat in a crowded Hall set his stomach ablaze with unfamiliar anxiety.
While his House mates all wanted to know how he was able to pass the Age Restriction line, Izar was left pondering the identity of the person responsible for putting his name in the Goblet.
More importantly, why?
"Good morning." Sirius Black entered the classroom with an especially proud spring to his step.
Izar looked up lazily from his book, watching as the man walked behind his desk and peered down at a roll of parchment. "Please state that you are present." With a flourish, he dipped his black-feathered quill in ink before going through roll call.
Sirius Black seemed to have a bit of an identity crisis. He straddled the line between a grim professional and overeager schoolboy. Upon recognizing a student's surname, he would all but jump excitedly and start questioning the student about their relatives. Izar observed as Anna Beth Clark, a sixth year Hufflepuff, blushed and replied to Black's eager questions. Apparently, after a few casual question-and-answer rounds, Black claimed he had gone to school with both her mother and father and hadn't known they'd gotten married.
But upon encountering a surname he did not recognize—
"Izar Harrison," Black's voice dimmed and sobered.
Charcoal-green eyes focused sharply on the man's bowed head, realizing he had not looked up at Izar as he had for the other students. Instead, his fingers tightened and curled around the side of the desk and there was a stubborn knot to his jawline. Oh, but clearly the man wanted—almost needed—to look at Izar.
"Here, Professor Black," Izar drawled.
Black breathed heavily, his resolve clearly crumbling as he looked up at Izar. The wizard appeared instantly shaken. He shifted uneasily and quickly averted his eyes while running a nervous hand through his hair. In an attempt to hide his disquiet, Black hurriedly looked back down at his desk. For quite some time, he stared unseeingly at his parchment before continuing the roll call in a subdued tone.
Izar narrowed his eyes and contemplated the reaction.
Surely he didn't resemble the Blacks that much.
He then noticed he'd garnered Granger's speculative observation and promptly buried himself back into his book. She was an annoying Mudblood who always stuck her nose into other people's business. She didn't have many friends, if any at all. Like Izar, she preferred books to socializing, but she also preferred drawing attention to herself by asking endless questions in class and providing long-winded answers.
"I've glanced over the coursework provided by your previous professor." Completed with roll call, Black ambled around his desk and leaned against the heavy piece of furniture. His eyes remained focused on the opposite side—conveniently away from Izar. "While they have all covered the material adequately, there is one area that has been neglected. It's an area I believe—as an Auror—is very important for any witch and wizard to master."
Izar closed his book, interested to hear what the man had to say.
"Dueling."
Izar's mood abruptly plummeted.
Dueling wasn't his strong suit. He had never participated in a duel before. Well, that was a lie. He had once, and it had turned out horribly. Whereas Izar could successfully pass any verbal, written, or practical exam, he always had difficulty with dueling. He thought too much. His mind would always provide him with far too many possibilities on which spell to use as offense or defense and the subsequent reason why they would or would not work.
He was not quick, nor instinctive.
Therefore, Izar never signed up for dueling competitions, knowing he'd only make a fool out of himself.
"To prepare, I'd like for you to read the first two chapters of your textbook. In there, you will find the formal etiquette and traditions one needs to abide by in formal dueling. There will be a two-foot essay due next class period."
Groans were heard from the Hufflepuffs. Black chuckled.
"I'm just kidding." His chuckle died when the Ravenclaws merely blinked at him with confusion. The man cleared his throat. "There will be no homework assigned," he specified. "But I expect you all to read. You may do the reading for the rest of the class period here or in the library." The Auror moved down the aisle of students, heading toward the exit. "Dismissed."
He was out the door before any student had the chance to stand up.
The class remained seated, whispering among each other about the odd proceedings. There was hardly a time a professor dismissed a class early, almost an hour early, and left before the students.
Izar thought it was rather amusing. Had he driven the older wizard away? Hopefully he would see a bit more balls from his uncle later on in the semester. While it had been satisfying watching Black shift uncomfortably and avoid even looking in Izar's direction, it was also nice to see some family resemblance when it came to character.
"Are you related to Professor Black?" Granger whispered as she leaned over his desk.
Izar found himself nearly distracted by her overly large front teeth. "We both have dark hair and a pale complexion. If you think that is all that is required to be related to Professor Black, I'm afraid you have more than half of Hogwarts to interrogate." Izar packed his things, ignoring Granger's flush upon her cheeks.
Before he could leave, she stopped him again.
"Izar," she said breathlessly, "I've noticed you skipping meals…" Sensing his dwindling patience, she continued with a quieter tone, "Right beneath the Great Hall, there is a portrait of a bowl of fruit. Tickle the pear and you will find yourself presently surprised." She offered him a mystifying smile before leaving the classroom.
Izar stood stiffly, wondering if it was worth following her advice.
It was.
Death of Today
Izar,
It pains me that our first contact should be through letter as strangers, when all I want to do is speak to you in person and make up for the years we lost together. I need to see you. Will you at least allow me that privilege? I understand you may not even know who I am, or you may not trust me, but I hope you are curious enough to hear my side of things. You have a Hogsmeade trip next weekend, isn't that correct? Should you be willing to meet with me, I will see you at Hogs Head.
Desperately anticipating our meeting,
R.A.B.
Izar clutched the torn and worn piece of paper, grimacing at the wall across from him. He had received the letter several days ago, and the Hogsmeade trip was already here. Tomorrow. Izar had been unimpressed when he'd received the letter from the 'proclaimed' deceased Regulus Black. Snape may have alluded to him being alive, but Izar had been more than happy thinking he was dead.
So, why was Regulus contacting Izar now?
He knew why.
Because both his name and photograph were in the papers now.
He was declared 'noticeable', not only by the population of Hogwarts but by the Wizarding world as a whole. Regulus had clearly taken notice and felt the need to contact Izar, his bastard son. Did the man want to get on good terms now that Izar would bring fame to the family name? Winning the Tournament was surely enough bragging rights for a half-blood wizard to comfortably carry a pure-blood name.
He clenched his teeth. He didn't want to meet Regulus. He would have enjoyed making the man sit and wait at Hogs Head all day. However, Izar's curiosity was at its highest. He had questions. Questions only Regulus could give him.
"Izar!"
Izar quickly pocketed the letter as he felt Daphne's magical aura make its way down the corridor behind him.
She'd be upset at his avoidance this past week, but she wasn't the only one Izar was hiding from. He'd been able to keep his head down these past several days, going about his business without having to interact with many people. Thanks to Granger…Merlin…he never believed he'd say that…. thanks to Granger, he discovered the kitchens and took his meals in solitude.
"You've been avoiding me too long," the short witch said sternly. "I'm not going to put up with it anymore, do you understand me?"
Izar glanced down, meeting her dark green gaze.
"Yes ma'am," he replied impassively, far too accustomed with her ridiculous demands to take her seriously.
Her hands fell to her hips. "If I wasn't so upset, I may be impressed at how easily you can disappear. The only reason I knew you were alive is because we have a few classes together. And then you just leave as soon as we're dismissed." She sounded crestfallen, and Izar couldn't help but to grin. "You aren't at any of the meals, and you aren't in the corridors after classes. You're even avoiding the library!"
"I apologize," he said out of obligatory instinct. "I'd just rather stay away from it all."
She forcibly looped her arm around his and pulled him down the corridor. "You're eventually going to have to step out of the shadows, Izar. You are going to be an adult soon, one that will need to interact with others politically." She glanced up at him. "We can work on that together, you know. Maybe I can finally be your tutor."
Izar smirked. "Just because I'm Hogwarts Champion doesn't mean I'm suddenly a dancing politician, Daphne."
She glowered. "I'm not just talking about this Tournament. You're not far from graduating, and you'll be on your own then. You'll have a job—and what if you find yourself working in the Ministry? What if you have a job that requires dancing etiquette? You'll need some skill to keep afloat in a position dominated by pure-bloods."
He wasn't planning on working in the main sector of the Ministry.
Little did Daphne know that Izar already had his dream job in the bottom levels of the Ministry. He didn't plan on doing anything else. The only difference he wanted to make with his job was actually producing useful experiments to the wizarding population. Izar just hoped Owen—the Head Unspeakable—wouldn't make Izar do Time Turners again this upcoming summer.
"I don't know if I can handle your social circles, Daphne. The last thing I want to discuss is Pansy Parkinson's choice in hair clip or Draco Malfoy's newest item he received from daddy."
She flashed him an unimpressed look. "We've never discussed things like that, Izar." She then sniffed. "You're hopeless. Someday, I will get you to enjoy politics. You'll be just as good as any pure-blood."
Izar gave a hum, disinterested.
Before they could merge with a busy corridor, Daphne paused and held Izar back. With her right arm still looped with Izar's, she dug through her book bag. "I designed something for the students of Hogwarts with you in mind. You wouldn't have noticed—seeing as you were hiding in dark corners or under your bedsheets these past few days."
She pulled out a deep blue armband.
On the armband, elegant bronze calligraphy spelt out 'Support Izar Harrison!' before the words changed into, 'Support Hogwarts!'.
"The Slytherins started the trend of wearing them on their left forearm." She gave him a meaningful look as she handed him the armband. Now that they stood in a lighter part of the corridor, Izar could see Daphne wearing her own. "I thought it would be a clever idea if you have to reveal a bit of skin during one of the Tasks. You always need to be prepared."
Izar took the band, feeling a bit touched. "You knew?" He fingered the silky armband, staring at the calligraphy.
"Of course I knew," she whispered quietly. "I was there when you were Marked."
He looked at her in surprise.
"Most of the Hogwarts' students who are Marked were in the back, but I could spot you miles away. The Dark Lord seemed to be especially excited about Marking you." Her lips twitched and her eyes grew excited. "He favors you, and he doesn't make it a secret, either." Her expression then dimmed. "Most of the Death Eaters are envious."
Izar snorted as he put the armband in his bag. He would certainly wear the armband underneath his robes to cover the Dark Mark from potential mishaps. Despite the fact that the Dark Lord Voldemort was not yet widely known to the world, it still wasn't something to be advertising.
"I'm serious, Izar. You should be careful. Many of the student Death Eaters have been rather vocal about why the Dark Lord would favor a…" she trailed off, her usual cool façade slipping.
"They want to know why he favors a Mudblood?" Izar finished.
"It's wrong of them not to do their research before passing judgment." She pouted as she brushed Izar's robes affectionately. "Have you ever thought they were the ones to put your name in the Goblet?"
"A jealous Slytherin that wanted me out of the way? Or to humiliate me? Perhaps," Izar mused. In all actuality, that sounded entirely plausible. "But I'm not favored by the Dark Lord. Just because I was presented the silver mask doesn't mean he necessarily 'favors' me."
"Whatever you say, Izar." She smoothed her hands down the front of his robes before turning. "You should be getting to the Wand Weighing ceremony. I'm sure the Norwegian Champion is gloating because he hasn't needed to share the spotlight with you all week." Her eyes narrowed. "You do know that Lukas Steinar is the son of the Norwegian Minister, don't you?"
"I'll let the topic of you knowing my schedule drop. For now." Izar averted the subject away from Lukas, simply because, no, he hadn't known Lukas was a Steinar or the Norwegian Minister's son.
Daphne would never let Izar live down his ignorance if she knew.
"I'm expecting you to sit with me tonight at dinner," she called after him as he hurriedly swept away from the darkened corridor.
Izar didn't have the heart to tell her he wouldn't be attending dinner tonight. He might as well take advantage of the kitchens as long as he could.
He glanced at his old pocket watch and cursed. He was a bit late.
Fortunately, he was only a few paces away from the classroom that the ceremony was taking place at. Nevertheless, if Tom Riddle was present, Izar was sure the man would make his displeasure known. His Dark Mark had been burning lately, as if the man was displeased with Izar. But Izar couldn't remember doing anything that would upset the Dark Lord.
He opened the door to the classroom, taken aback at how small the room was. Most the desks were pushed to the sides of the room, creating a bit of space in the middle. There was a larger table at the head of the room which housed all six judges. Upon Izar's entrance, all eyes turned in his direction, some disapproving, some welcoming.
The Ravenclaw quietly shut the door behind him, eyeing the two Champions, Rita Skeeter, and her photographer, Bozo. But more importantly, Izar kept his attention on the silver haired man in the corner.
Ollivander.
"Mr. Harrison, good to see you." Dumbledore stood up with a warm smile as he ushered Izar deeper into the room. The man wore a set of mauve robes with small crescent moons on them.
Izar found himself rather amused by the old man. "Headmaster," he greeted as he watched one of the moons grow arms and wave. "I like your robes. Very ingenious."
The man all but beamed, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Thank you, my boy." The Headmaster paused before leaning down to murmur in Izar's ear. "If you'd like, I can give you the name of my tailor."
Izar's Dark Mark burned rather fiercely, but he remained neutral in the eyes of Dumbledore. "Perhaps later, Headmaster," Izar conceded as he glanced at the Dark Lord beyond Dumbledore's shoulder. Only, Tom Riddle wasn't looking at Izar. His attention remained on the few papers before him.
After ushering Izar to a seat with the other two Champions, Dumbledore reclaimed his position at the head table. "Now that we are all present, I'd like you all to meet the judges this year. For Hogwarts, we have both myself and Mr. Tom Riddle, the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. Regrettably, Cornelius Fudge won't be able to take his place as a Tournament judge. He has many projects to take care of at the Ministry."
Izar withheld an ironic laugh.
Riddle nodded at the Champions, his eyes briefly dancing over Izar before turning away nonchalantly. The Dark Lord was upset about something, and Izar was utterly clueless as to what it could be.
"For Durmstrang, we have Headmaster Karkaroff and Minister Bjørn Steinar."
Bjørn Steinar and his son shared the same hair and eye color, but that's where their similarities ended. Bjørn was not an especially attractive man, but he had charisma that made him noticeable. Izar didn't like him, but perhaps his dislike originated from his disclination toward politicians in general, or because of his relation to Lukas.
"And lastly, for Beauxbatons, we have Headmistress Maxime and Minister Serge Roux."
The two French individuals looked rather amusing sitting together. While Maxime was incredibly tall and large, Minister Roux was a smaller man, both in height and weight. He wore heavy glasses and his long grey hair was tied at the nape of his neck. He appeared bored sitting at the table, and he didn't offer the students a nod like the others had. Instead, he looked at Dumbledore, silently asking when this would all be over.
Izar took a liking to him.
"Rita Skeeter will cover the Tournament this year and will be overseeing the Weighing of the Wands."
"And hopefully some photos," Rita announced eagerly, winking rather suggestively toward Izar. "The camera is picky about who it loves, and it seems to favor one of the youngest Champions."
All eyes turned to Izar, who deadpanned.
He would be damned if he allowed Rita near him.
"Anything for you, Rita," Dumbledore agreed charmingly as he motioned Ollivander forward. "You will have your time with the Champions momentarily." He placed a hand on Ollivander's shoulder. "May I present you all with the expert in wand making, Mr. Ollivander? He will be seeing to your wands today to make sure they are working properly for the Tournament."
Dumbledore then motioned to the redheaded Beauxbaton's Champion.
"Mr. Beaumont, why don't you go first?"
Izar watched the proceedings with interest.
Ollivander seemed to possess a sixth sense when it came to wands. He was able to tell the length, the wood, and the core even if he hadn't been the one to craft the wand itself. It was intriguing, and Izar felt a bit of hope with his problems. Ollivander must know about Tom Riddle's wand. After all, Izar was sure Riddle had purchased his wand at Ollivanders when he was a young boy.
Cyprien Beaumont had a Veela hair core, and Lukas Steinar, the Durmstrang Champion, had a Dragon heartstring core.
Izar and Lukas traded looks as the latter sat back down.
"Mr. Harrison." Dumbledore motioned him forward.
Rising from his chair, Izar approached Ollivander, remembering his first encounter with the man at the age of eleven. "Ah, Mr. Harrison." Ollivander seemed a bit more enthusiastic as he reached for Izar's wand. "I remember this particular wand very well. An eleven-inch Indian rosewood with a hair of a rather stubborn and prideful Thestral."
Izar refused to react when he felt Riddle's mocking eyes on him.
Ollivander studied Izar with a small smile. "I will say the same thing I said to you four years ago, Mr. Harrison. Your wand is remarkably unyielding and destined for very great things."
The wandmaker flicked Izar's wand, sending wine spitting from the top.
Dumbledore clapped merrily, thanking Ollivander. Before Izar could react, everyone stood up and started to congregate together just as Ollivander slipped out the door. For being an older man, the wandmaker could move quickly. Just as Rita was gathering everyone around for a photograph, Izar slipped in the background before phasing out the door.
"Just where did that boy go?" Rita's shrill voice followed Izar's heels as he hurriedly climbed the stairs.
"Mr. Ollivander!" Izar yelled after the wandmaker. The silver haired man turned, eyeing Izar with curiosity. "Please, this may sound odd, but I was curious to know if you remembered every wand you ever sold?"
"Of course, my boy." Ollivander smiled mysteriously. "Every wand is ingrained in my mind. I always spend quality time with each wand after I create it."
Izar wished he were talking with Ollivander under different circumstances. The man knew a great deal about wand cores and it was a fascinating topic worth delving further into…if Izar wasn't so focused on the Dark Mark. "Could you, perhaps, recall Tom Riddle's wand core? I'm—I'm ah…curious to know if his wand core is as…talented as his character."
Merlin, Daphne would balk if she heard that sad attempt of maneuvering.
Ollivander's face darkened and his smile was forced. "I'm sorry, Mr. Harrison, but I'm afraid Mr. Riddle has asked for my word of confidentiality regarding his wand." The man frowned. "Rather peculiar, really. He just asked me to keep it private today, just before the ceremony started."
Izar turned cold.
Voldemort couldn't possibly have known Izar was searching for his wand core, could he?
"I… thanks anyway, Mr. Ollivander," Izar spoke without really hearing himself.
He turned, wondering where to go from here.
"Izar," a voice rang from the top of the stairs.
Feeling his pulse race, charcoal-green eyes slowly looked up, locking eyes with charmed brown. Voldemort motioned Izar forward with a beckoning finger. Could fingers look smug?
"Come back inside, we must take one photo together, you, Headmaster Dumbledore, and I."
Feeling rather defeated, Izar slowly walked up the stairs. As his fingers brushed the wrinkled parchment in his pocket, he grew even more disheartened.
Things had to look up eventually.
Didn't they?