He lay there on the floor for a good ten minutes before even attempting to move. When he finally did try, the pain that shot its way through his body sent him into a coughing fit. Of course, that only made his lungs burn and his chest absolutely ache with a sharpness that should probably not be there. In the end, he moaned and let his head fall back to the hardwood but did so carefully because his skull was throbbing enough already. There should have been a cream and black Persian rug where he was lying, but it had been removed just as his outer clothes had been. Merlin forbid they muss the irreplaceable carpets or designer suit while they mussed their irreplaceable son.

That he was lying in his own blood was the least of his concerns, he was well acquainted with it at this point. Being the supposed weakest link in the family tended to make one's blood, even if pure and carrying the Malfoy gift, less valuable. Of course, that was the rub in all of this. The actual weakest links in the family were a man so obsessed with asserting his own relevance and a woman so frantic to cement her position with power that both were willing to bend over in subservience to a mutated half-blood. Draco had more than just his own ears at his disposal and family trees were publicly accessible, he was well aware of the self-titled lord's true lineage even if most of his followers were not. If laughing were an option that wouldn't potentially trigger an agonizing experience, he might have given in to the urge.

Darting his tongue out over his lips to test the damage, he winced at the stinging that followed. Both upper and lower were split, and he was sure his face was already bruising from smacking his head into the legs of his bed. He could feel the wetness oozing down from his forehead and cheek. Usually, his parents never touched his face or hands with their discipline, but they certainly wouldn't heal him if he banged into things during the process. The cruciatus was an interesting curse, indeed. It did very little outward damage itself, but the seizing and thrashing which usually accompanied it always made up for that. However, his parents were not so limited in their knowledge as to only have the unforgivables in their repertoire. If one really wanted to express their ill will toward someone, there was an endless supply of curses and spells to use. The Malfoys were quite well informed on that front.

Groaning again at the prospect of what he needed to do, Draco managed to push himself up enough - with the arm he did not suspect was swelling because it was broken - to look around. His wand was nowhere that he could see and he closed his eyes with displeasure. Every so often, they would leave it in his room to tend to himself with but such was apparently not the case this time. If his sight could show him his own fate, it would certainly be more useful.

"Doily," Draco called quietly. His voice did not sound like his own in the least, but that was no surprise. His throat felt like what the hunting dogs ate despite having tried his best not to scream.

The house elf popped into existence before him and, upon looking him over, began wringing her hands with apprehension. All the house elves knew they were not to heal him under any circumstances if he were injured in his rooms, not unless directed to do so by one of the elder Malfoys. A couple years ago, Draco's personal house elf, Dipper, had defied those orders. So beside himself at the state of his favorite Master was the little elf that he couldn't help himself despite Draco's attempts to stop him. Dipper had his throat slit in front of the other house elves as an object lesson the next day.

"Oh, Master Draco!" she cried with wet eyes, "Master Draco, let Doily get you something. Let Doily help."

If he'd been at school, he would be putting on quite the show over his injuries. The reactions he got from his classmates were too delightful to pass up an opportunity to watch. Just like his mother's galas, where everyone pretended to enjoy themselves and like each other whilst actually hating every person there, the level of amusement he got out of observing the grand facade was priceless. Here in his room, where there was nothing interesting to observe and the house elves were actually sincere in their worry, he was simply himself.

"Just my wand, Doily."

Doily burst into great, sobbing wails. "Master Draco, sir! Doily is sorry! Doily cannot get Master Draco his wand! Us house elves have been forbidden by the Mistress, sir! Doily will punish herself, sir!" Without wasting any time at all, Doily ran to his bed and began slamming her head into the nearest wooden post. The sound was disgusting and made the throbbing in his head worse.

"Sod it, Doily, stop. Stop it." After a few more orders to desist her self-harm, the house elf complied but the crying continued.

Draco sent her away with a sigh. If they wouldn't allow him his wand, he should not risk asking Doily for anything. While he was in no way a fan of the ugly and mostly sniveling creatures, abusing them was something he left to his parents. It gave him no pleasure to hurt something that could not defend itself and Draco found they were more compliant, and quieter, if one was at least civil with them. Being civil to the servants also irritated his parents, an added bonus.

With a head still feeling light and a little off, Draco tried to think of what to do now that using his wand was off the table. No wand meant no magic, since he could barely do anything wandless yet, and that could have serious repercussions if he had internal injuries. Looking around his room again, he saw the door to his en-suite lavatory was ajar. After a moment of mentally cursing the Malfoy gift again for its lack of assistance, Draco prepared to heave himself forward on all fours. He kept an entire wall of potions in there, many healing draughts for emergencies like this. If he could manage to fill the tub and reach the shelves, he should be all right.

He heard the door to his room opening and his head swung toward the sound, resulting in a lancing pain in his shoulder and neck. The temperature in the room seemed to drop to freezing as he saw who stepped in, and nausea threatened to empty his already emptied stomach. He recognized that face, he'd seen it often in his mother's family photos.

"Well, look at you, nephew, all a mess," Bellatrix taunted musically as she shut the door behind her, impossibly but undeniably present in his bedroom. "Cissy and Lucius' tempers haven't faded, I see."

Words seemed to be stuck in his throat, but Draco took a breath and forced some out. "Aunt," he breathed with wide eyes. "You're...how...?"

"How is your favorite auntie out of Azkaban?" she mocked. "I've been free since early spring, dear, and quite busy. Are you very curious? Shall I show my ickle nephew? Hmm?" Then she let out an extremely off-putting laugh and suddenly was a bat.

Draco jerked in shock and his ankle, the one so swollen he hadn't dared to try moving yet, sent pain enough up his leg to leave him gasping for air. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his already bleeding lips.

When he opened his eyes, she had returned to her human form, the laughing and coy demeanor gone. "Practice, boy. You don't need a wand to be an animagus. But I do have one now."

She pointed a wand at him and Draco went absolutely still, not even daring to breathe. Instead of more pain suffusing him, the pain he did feel faded away and he was left so numb he could barely feel himself breathe. The cuts, scrapes, and gashes felt like they had completely disappeared. He couldn't feel his bad arm nor even his ankle. Draco looked at her in confusion and she snorted in response. Having never met this woman before, only hearing stories, he had no clue what to expect.

"Get up, Draco. That won't numb you for long and I've not the time nor inclination to play nurse."

With sweaty hands, Draco obeyed for that's what intelligent wandless people did when lunatics with wands made demands. His mother had told him enough stories about dear aunt Bellatrix that had he his wand, he'd likely have done the same.

She motioned to the clothes on his bed and he got dressed quickly in the very suit his parents had told him to remove. He knew the blood streaking down most of his body was going to stain the black clothing irreparably, but it was better than the alternative. Standing in his torn shorts and undershirt in front of his mad and powerful aunt was not appetizing in the least. When he was finished, a small object flew into his chest then fell to the ground and his aunt snapped at him to put it in his pocket. Upon doing so, he found that it was the drawstring bag he kept his shrunken school trunks in. The lumps told him all his things were still in it as well.

"Come with me and do it quietly, make a sound and you'll find Cissy was the kinder sister."

Running a shaking hand through his hair, which must be filthy, Draco gave a nervous bark of laughter. When she gave him a warning stare, he said, "I don't understand. What —"

"Shut up!" she hissed. "You can blame your fool parents! You'll never make a proper Death Eater and I refuse to be held responsible for your mistakes when the Dark Lord finally sees Lucius for what he is and disposes of him."

Already his stomach was in knots, and the cold he felt earlier deepened. He was glad he was dressed, even if his suit was being ruined, though it wasn't keeping him warm. Draco hadn't missed the past tense his aunt had used, nor the fact that Bellatrix had only mentioned his father just now. "My mother..."

Bellatrix's face was like a gravestone. "Cissy is dead. One of Greyback's friends got out of hand while Lucius was still up here with you. You're all that's left of her. That's the only reason you're alive. No more talking. Come."

Draco stood numbly as she cast a spell on him that made his skin tingle and tried to keep down the bile that was fighting to exit through his mouth. His head was light before and now it practically floated as he followed while Bellatrix led a complicated path using a few hidden passages out of the manor. When he finally bothered to look at his surroundings, they were in what appeared to be the bottom of a circular pit lined with stone that had no roof. The cramped walls went up at least four or five times his own height and he was dazedly wondering why she had brought them here when he was lifted up along with his aunt.

They came to the top of the walls and, as Bellatrix set them on the grass-covered ground, Draco realized they had been in a well. It normally would have been very hard for him to keep his mouth shut, nervous as he was, but his jaw felt stuck. As his aunt peered around suspiciously, Draco wondered if this was a normal reaction to hearing one of your parents had died. Surely one was supposed to feel something, Potter certainly seemed to and the git had barely known his parents, but Draco felt only a gaping emptiness. A great weight of nothingness.

His thoughts were interrupted by surprise when Bellatrix grabbed him and apparated without warning. When they landed, Draco fell on all fours near a tree and began dry heaving. He caught her boots heading away from him and was both worried and relieved. Bellatrix was decidedly not his favorite aunt, though she was the only one he had met thus far. With his stomach quelled enough to not send him gagging again, he used the tree to help himself stand upright.

Not a moment later there was an explosion and a slight shaking of the ground. Another went off, then one more, all coming from the left of him and he darted forward to see what was going on. They had apparated to some kind of park and as he neared the gate and saw a great stone building with many windows, Bellatrix was coming back through it with a twisted smile.

"Not sure where around here it was, but that should get his attention," she said and tossed something onto the ground near where he stood. "Be a good boy and make some noise so my cousin can find you." With that, she flicked her wand at him, then disapparated.

Immediately, the pain that had been taken away by Bellatrix at the manor came crashing into him all at once and he dropped to the ground with a whimper. Every muscle and nerve ending felt like it was either on fire or being crushed and Draco tried not to scream, for he had no idea who exactly was supposed to find him or for what purpose. Now that he could feel his own body properly, he could tell that everything wrong before had been exacerbated by moving and the apparition.

In a way, this was worse than the cruciatus because it came with the fear that he could truly die from whatever injuries his parents had inflicted. That fear, coupled with the excruciating pain, had Draco screaming his throat raw until the blissful dark that came with unconsciousness took him.